Bum really should have been a cat. A canine rugged individualist, he was always polite to people but did not slobber and fawn over them as most dogs do. Intensely curious about the world in which he lived, he enjoyed an occasional calisthenic scrap to keep his system in tone.

    While not purebred, he numbered a galaxy of purebreds among his distinguished ancestors: St. Bernards, spaniels, setters and other exotic bluebloods. Born anonymously, he had no historic plaque to commemorate his natal place. All that is known is that Bum trotted into Downtown San Diego down the gangplank of a steamer from San Francisco in 1886, checked a few pilings, examined the town and took it over.

    Needing a sponsor, he inspected the noisy, shouting citizenry and rejected them in toto. Finally, he adopted a quiet, dignified Chinese gentleman named Ah Wo Sue, who he instinctively knew would not demand fraudulent licks on the face and would keep the groceries coming.

    The two reached an immediate understanding. Ah Wo Sue would have the advantage of a large dog around his establishment, while Bum would have a base of operations - a sort of central office - from which to operate.

    After conducting a grand tour of the town, he saw that he would have a great deal to do. First, however, he made food contacts with restaurant owners and butchers. After all, Cantonese dog food pales after a while, and he wanted red meat, preferably a little on the gamey side. Soon he became an institution in the Downtown area and had all the food he could handle.

    Then Bum, unemotional as he usually was, fell in love with San Diego’s one fire engine. Wherever he was, he dropped everything when he heard the fire bell clang and was always found running and yelping madly beside the panting horses pulling the steam engine. When not attending conflagrations, he officiated at parades.

    Soon, Bum figured out he owned the town. However, a large bulldog had exactly the same idea, and one day the two joined in mortal combat. Unfortunately, they picked the railway tracks for an arena. A train came along while the disgraceful battle was at its height and hit the two contestants, killing the bulldog, and slicing off one of Bum's forepaws and a foot of his tail.

    Delivered bleeding but victorious - courtesy of the train- to his home, he was gently nursed back to health by Ah Wo Sue. From then on in he ran on three feet, and, in time, found his stump, grown hard and bony, was ideal for dog fights. Bum would hold his adversary with his teeth and then clobber him over the head with his rock-like stump, until the other dog saw stars.

    By this time he was as much a part of San Diego as was the new courthouse. He snoozed in the middle of the street and wagons carefully drove around him. He attended trials and listened to testimony with great interest, often joining the judge in his chair. He had a lot to keep track of.

    Then, tragedy struck! He went into a saloon for a bit of free lunch one day and some wiseacre gave him a shot of whiskey. He drank it down, liked it, and yipped for more. Soon, he was one with the rest of the town drunks, barking hoarsely for another round and sleeping it off in the sawdust. Booze was cheap and there was always someone to spring for Bum's beverage needs.

    His Chinese benefactor heard of Bum's downfall, rescued him from a low dive where he was joining his whiskey-racked voice with those of other soaks in choruses of "Sweet Adeline," took him home and began the cure.

    Locked in, Bum came close to having the DTs and whined pathetically, all dignity gone, for just one little snort. But Ah Wo Sue was adamant; this was to be a "cold turkey" cure - no tapering off! In time, cold water and chop suey did the trick, and Bum returned to his old haunts, thin and sober, off the sauce for life.

    He finally redeemed himself in the eyes of the community by carrying a small puppy off the Market Street trolley tracks. There is no mention that there was a street car coming at the time, but he did get credit for the thought if not the deed. Carpers who said he just liked to carry puppies around for exercise were quickly silenced.

    Bum reached the zenith of his fame when the city fathers not only exempted him from paying for a dog license, but put his picture on all other dog licenses issued that year. The thought that every dog in town, large or small, had to wear Bum's picture on his collar must have done wonders for his pride.

    As it must to all men and dogs, time caught up with Bum, now old and racked with rheumatism. No more did he lead parades or race beside the big fire horses. Finally, the Board of Supervisors gave him a new home at the County Hospital where he died quietly a few months later - the first Mr. San Diego.

    Longtime newspaperman "Woody" Lockwood has forgotten more about San Diego history than most historians remember. Two years retired from daily newspaper work, he is researching a book on military food.