The Panama-Pacific International Exposition of 1915 sprawled across what we now call the Marina District and Crissy Field. Picture it: enormous Beaux-Arts palaces, a Tower of Jewels studded with over 100,000 glass gems that caught the sunlight, and crowds of Sun-Maid Girls posing for photos in front of it all. Nearly 19 million visitors passed through the gates. The whole thing was a flex — a city saying we rebuild, and we rebuild spectacularly.

What happened after is almost more impressive. When the fair closed, the grounds were efficiently dismantled and converted into usable land. The Marina neighborhood rose from the fairgrounds. Crissy Field became a military airstrip. The Palace of Fine Arts — the one jewel they kept — still stands today as one of the most photographed spots in the city.

As one local put it, "I'm so glad the people of yesteryear fought tooth and nail to shape the city what it is today." Another SF resident, a pilot, noted the irony of Crissy Field's transformation: it "would have been the coolest strip to fly into or out of," but added, "I love that it's back to its marshy ways."

Here's what stings about this history: in 1915, San Francisco could envision a massive project, execute it on a timeline, and repurpose the land productively — all without a decade of environmental review, seventeen community advisory boards, and a budget that tripled before a single shovel hit dirt.

The PPIE wasn't just a fair. It was proof that a city with ambition, competent leadership, and a bias toward doing things can achieve the extraordinary. San Francisco used to be a place that said yes first and figured out the details second.

Somewhere between 1915 and now, we traded that energy for process. The Palace of Fine Arts endures as a beautiful reminder — not just of what we built, but of what we were once capable of building.