Horton Plaza Lures Crowds on Weekend

Cars jammed Broadway for eight blocks in glittering gridlock. On the sidewalks, people beetled under pastel banners toward Horton Plaza. Inside, they surged through every level--a roiling sea of confetti, from a bird’s-eye view.

There were jugglers and opera singers and baby-carriage traffic jams. Young women handed out pink leaflets for a Bible class for Yuppie women. Sun shimmered on the mosaic dome.

Photographer David Wing explained simply why Horton Plaza is a cameraman’s feast: “Frame’s full!”

San Diegans and assorted others turned out 60,000 strong for Horton Plaza’s first Sunday--coming before the stores opened, staying after they closed and embracing the place with simple, often inarticulate delight.

They liked the colors. They liked the architecture. It reminded them of Disneyland. It was exciting, classy, art deco, Aztec, unique. They liked the colors--and the architecture, of course. And by the way, where’s the rest room?

Algernon Grady saw a bed he liked. But he ended up buying “a gourmet dinner” in a silver cardboard box. People lined up 20-deep for chocolate-chip cookies. They swarmed around a cart loaded with $100 handmade dolls.

Wheelchair-bound Savannah Tabert, her month-old son in her lap, was already on a return visit, exchanging a scratched record. Angela Taylor established a long-term relationship with the place, buying a suit on layaway.

A few people said the crowds killed their appetite for consumption. Others said they would come back later or only intended to look. “We come from North County,” explained John Fietsch from San Carlos. “We’ve got stores there, too.”

By late afternoon, Horton Plaza spokesmen were hailing the first weekend as a wild success. Patty Danos counted the crowds at 60,000 both Saturday and Sunday. She said she had no estimate on how stores were doing, but people were definitely spending money.

They arrived as early as 8:30, Danos said. By 11 a.m., Broadway was jammed to Eighth Avenue. Two police officers specially dispatched for the day were nabbing cars making illegal turns as they tried to elude the traffic and find parking spaces.

Inside Horton Plaza, families lined the balustrades on each level. They tried on sunglasses, ate corn dogs, slung children onto shoulders. Expensive camera equipment whirred and chattered. People began to sound like the promotional literature.

“This isn’t a shopping mall, it’s a happening,” a man confided to a companion.

“I think it’s trippy,” said Monica Bernal, 15. “Like real cool.”

“It’s pretty vibrant. It’s alive,” said Kelly Lingard, 24.

“It’s not a real party,” said Bill Kelly from Boston. “But it’s close.”

There was Alan Doll, an unemployed cable-television worker, decked out in purple jams, red-framed sunglasses and a safety pin through his ear. “We love it,” he said, speaking for friends. “Because it’s postmodern. It’s something new. It’s more like Hollywood.”

In from Southeast San Diego were Tony Jenkins, who said he chases women for a living, and Rodney Duggins, who spends his time “kickin’ it.” Jenkins said he’d come to look at the ladies. Duggins pronounced the plaza fabulous, “like an old ancient Aztec building.”

Hazel Jellison came straight from church. Seventy-seven-year-old Ruby Osborn came from El Centro. Marvin Johnson, down from Mission Viejo, stood in an open walkway and caught the breeze off the bay: “The only thing I would think is it might be a little chilly.”

On the whole, complaints were minor. The only sign of system overload was an out-of-order toilet in the Mervyns ladies’ room. A few people said they could use better maps. One or two raised a question about the social implications.

“San Diego seems to be attracting the haves rather than the have-nots,” remarked Joe Berardi, scowling. “This is designed for people with money, is it not? Did you ever see the homeless around here? Why didn’t they spend the money to help them, to get them jobs?”

“Oh, sure,” Alan Doll said. “It’s pushing the class system further apart.”

Inside, Mark Simowitz pronounced the place “a class act.” He said Horton Plaza was making him think about moving his law office back downtown--four years after moving out because the street people were taking a toll on “client intake.”

“It seems like they’re going to try and police it better, keep the area safer,” he said. “With the Meridian going up and the whole renovation downtown, you’re changing the whole social class that’s going to be downtown.”

As for those being edged out, Simowitz said, “Well, transients are transients. They can be transients anywhere. They’ll find their niche.” Then he added, “Is that cold? No, I think people can make it if they try. Those that don’t, I think most of them gave up.”

Two blocks away, a bearded man in a leather jacket bent into a trash can, fished out a paper cup from McDonalds, and slipped it into a tattered gym bag. Nearby, a man brandished a Bible, as though he were hailing a cab.

“I love Him!” he sang out, in a mellow baritone. “He calls me first!”