Synopsis

This film is about Ace Junkyard: auto wreckers, artist resource and event space. It's about its owner Bill Kennedy, and the ways in which communities develop and lives transform in the most unlikely places. On a larger scale, this film addresses a current issue in San Francisco and across the Untied States: where are all our alternative arts spaces going?

The stereotype of junkyards suggests that they are places for grimy men, stacks of junk and scrapped metal. That is what Ace Auto Wreckers and Dismantlers started out as, but over the years, it grew to include computer parts, random defunct electronics, odd bits and bobs, an artist-in-residence known as Number 3, and in Bill's words, "the prettiest women that have ever worked in a junkyard." It provided a creative environment for the freaks and geeks in society who elsewhere are considered outcasts. It created jobs, and provided stability and structure for some that otherwise might have found themselves in unsteady places.

Ace Junkyard served as an event space for many different kinds of performances. It was an underground music and party venue for over ten years, hosting events like the Cyclecide Bike Rodeo and the Power Tool Drag Races. Fundraisers, fire safety classes, comedy events, punk rock shows and more have been staged at this unlikely place. Additionally, Ace Junkyard has made appearances in many films as a fitting backdrop for all sorts of narratives to unfold.

With so many interesting and engaging uses for this place, why did the landlady, Judy, want to shut it down? The current economic climate makes it very unlikely that the property, on 2255 McKinnon Street, an industrial part of San Francisco, will sell or be rented. Why didn't Judy just continue to rent the property, make money and wait out the recession? Now, the emptied junkyard is just another large lot, open to the sky, still lying vacant three months after its closure.

This sort of thing is becoming a common occurrence in urban areas. Everywhere we look, artist lofts and warehouses are being shut down, innovative projects and learning communities are being driven out. Meanwhile, the large buildings and lots that housed them lie empty, waiting for a renter that will never come. How much longer will we, as citizens of this city and country, put up with the banishment of our beloved community spaces? How can we resolve the ancient conflict between economics and art? When will we begin to value our artists, artisans, teachers and pioneers at the level of respect they truly deserve?