in which San Francisco loses half, and suffers whole

I was saddened to learn on Friday morning that Vivian Brown had died. Vivian and her twin sister Marian Brown are known as the City's iconic and much-beloved San Francisco Twins. They became famous San Franciscan icons by simply being their wonderful, bright, and identical selves, and kind to all who stopped to speak or ask for photos. Even a simple Google Image search on "San Francisco Twins" brings up pages of photos of them together. They ARE the San Francisco Twins.

Last year the local paper ran a story on the tragic circumstances facing the Browns. Marian's ongoing suffering with Alzheimer's required more expensive and more constant care than her sister could provide, and for the first time ever, they were forced into a life apart:

"My sister has Alzheimer's, so she has to have 24-hour care, because they're afraid she will go out and get run over or something," says Marian, offering a straight answer to the question everybody who sees her on the streets stops to ask. "Where's your sister?"

The identical twins, who have built themselves into a living San Francisco landmark of irrepressible inseparability, are now barely holding it together, at age 85.

"We don't look much alike anymore," Marian says, in a taxicab en route to visit Vivian at California Pacific Medical Center's Davies Campus. Her memory has been going for a year now, says Marian, who has been caring for her sister in the one-bedroom apartment on Nob Hill where they sleep in twin beds. But a slipping mind led to a slip and fall about a month ago. Vivian went to a doctor, who referred her straight to the hospital, where she has been ever since."

Vivian was only able to visit her sister twice a week because the cab fare was cost-prohibitive.

I remember so fondly my first Twins Sighting in my mid 20s. They are just wonderful, and either by virtue of being southern or merely my parent's child, I had to speak. I stopped to compliment them, as they were in their usual matching splendor, and wished them a happy day. They were ever so gracious, and I remember their smiles so fondly. I only got to see them in person two or three more times, and wished them well by name each time. And each time I left as if their sighting was something magical, and surely a good omen for the near future. It felt like spotting a fairy in the wood or a glimpse of a leprechaun—they truly are part of the magical fabric of San Francisco.

When I read of their dire circumstances, I knew I could not be the only one who regarded them as such a visceral part of San Francisco, and San Franciscan's are quick to rally for our icons, and the "sweet little old ladies" factor could only increase that devotion exponentially. I spent a couple of days thinking about what sort of fundraiser I could possibly host, when I was relieved to see that others in the City had the same idea, and the Red Devil Lounge was playing host to a City-wide fundraiser for them (via the Jewish Family and Children Services) with local jazz legend Kim Nally. The event was ingeniously titled Twin Peeks. Support poured in from other sources as well.

Friday Marian finally succumbed, and it pains me to think of the loss of a life-long companion with such an intimate rapport as a rarely apart identical twin. Their legacy as icons of San Francisco will endure as the words of Herb Caen, Armistead Maupin, and the hue of the Golden Gate Bridge.

They were featured in dozens of commercials for many national companies and appeared in television and films. One of my favorite cameos is never mentioned in any of the press coverage: The Twins appear in the opening credit sequence of the movie "Nine to Five." While the movie is set and filmed in the L.A. area, the opening credits are scenes of downtown San Francisco, complete with Muni buses...and the San Francisco Twins. Just for a second, at the 1:28 mark. (YouTube/Fox got all litigious with the clip. here's the Blogger version.)

I like to think that Herb and Marian will be swapping stories until Vivian can join them.