I’ve tried to write this so many times. I sit down and I try and I’m empty. I can’t remember things. I can’t remember what I wanted to say or the story I wanted to tell, all the words that had been bouncing around my head are scattered and missing.
I don’t remember meeting Alberto. He just became part of my life, folded in with the rest. He worked with my wife at a clinic for a time. I suppose when we moved to the Castro we started seeing more of him, but I really don’t remember.
Alberto, Paris - 2023
I remember Alberto and his husband Stuart were at the Eureka Lounge every Sunday. They called it their living room. We’d meet them sometimes. I remember a regular there, a six foot five dude in head to toe leather, complete with visor cap and an actual holster for his cigars, who appeared terrifying but was a really nice guy. The Eureka Lounge was a funny place. Then one day they shut down, no warning, closed up after 12 years. We started hosting happy hour on Sundays, at our place, on Eureka Street, as it were. The New Eureka Lounge, every Sunday. Still do…
Alberto Rangel, San Francisco - 2022
Alberto was a painter. He painted these wonderful pieces of his family and his friends and his life and his travels. He would hang little shows at cafes and charge nothing for the work and sell out every single time and it made me absolutely nuts. It was cathartic for him. It was therapy. He just wanted these things out in the world. I remember it pissed me off how nonchalant he was about it all. Maybe I was jealous. I got over it.
When my son was born he became Uncle Alberto. Every Sunday evening he would wind that kid up so tight, tearing around the house, jumping off the furniture… and then leave us with this wired up child and say “gotta go, my work here is done.”
I remember Paris. Alberto insisted the first thing you did after a long haul flight was to have a soak and a massage. We landed at Charles De Gaulle airport and headed straight to the spa for just that. It changed my life.
At a time when much of society seems lost to exhausted apathy, he was always present. As a social worker he cared for the people that most of us actively try to forget about. As a friend, he never turned down an invitation.
He was my friend, and I don’t have a lot of those. He was a big part of my life and I don’t remember how it happened. I can still hear his laugh when I picture him. It could fill a room. Strange, the little pieces we do remember.
On December 4th, 2025, Alberto Rangel was stabbed by a patient in Ward 86 at San Francisco General Hospital. He died two days later. He was 51 years old. I miss him dearly.
You can read more about Alberto and his life at the links below.
MIssion Local - ‘nurturing’ S.F. social worker, remembered for his ‘beaming spirit’
UCSF - Remembering Alberto Rangel
SF Chronicle - “He Trusted The Universe”
Video - State Senator Scott Wiener adjourns in memory of Alberto Rangel
Alberto and my son Thomas - 2025
