The statue is missing from this SF summit. Is that for the better?

Mount Olympus is possibly San Francisco’s greatest anticlimax.

Located at the end of a winding road, the mini-park on a hill in the city center remains invisible until it’s right under your nose. The imposing climb to the landmark – 300 feet above sea level from the nearest Muni Metro stop – includes at least two points where you think, “This can’t possibly be the right way.”

Then, when you reach the end of your urban walk – thanks to the invention of GPS and smartphones – you’ll find a carefully constructed foundation of stone steps and ramparts leading to a massive 16-foot-high stone base. On top of that base is… absolutely nothing.

No statue, no dedication, no explanation. The only evidence that anything once adorned the empty platform is a faded engraving in the stone. Only one word remains, worn by time into an incomplete “Wheel of Fortune” puzzle: “ERECTED.”

What was here? Where did it go? And why has nothing taken its place?

Nicole Meldahl, executive director of the Western Neighborhoods Project and a huge Mount Olympus fan, points out that the remains of landmarks sometimes have more to offer than intact monuments.

“The presence of old things has a reciprocal effect,” Meldahl said. “You feel how long something has been there, and the absence almost makes it more powerful. If the statue were there, it would probably be another statue that people in San Francisco would be fighting over.”

In short, Meldahl said, it’s a beautiful mystery.

The base of the small park is covered with a number of succulents and vines that hang over concrete walls. Cypress trees that encircle the base provide protection from the sun and wind. To the west and east are three-story apartment buildings, but this is not a flaw, but an advantage, as they block the view of all the skyscrapers in San Francisco.

From Mount Olympus you can see San Francisco as a city, not a small town: The dormitory town around Bayview Park. The endless row houses of the Sunset District. The Golden Gate Bridge peeking out from between the trees of the Presidio. A seagull’s eye view of Golden Gate Park, from such an acute angle that you could feel omniscient.

Take it from Chronicle history columnist Robert O’Brien, who lived here in the 1950s: “On a clear Saturday afternoon, with the aid of a pair of binoculars,” O’Brien wrote in 1952, “I was able to follow the ball in every detail of the football game being played at Kezar Stadium.”

This peak was once owned by real estate developer, politician and San Francisco promoter Adolph Sutro, a lover of big baths, distinctive facial hair and European art.

Sutro commissioned a larger replica of Antoine Wiertz’s Triumph of Light statue in 1877 and donated to San Francisco the land on the summit of Mount Olympus, then an unnamed, undeveloped, and windswept peak near the city’s geographic center. The stone inscription on the pedestal read “ERROR BY ADOLPH SUTRO IN THE YEAR 1877 A.D.”

The statue featured the theme of “good conquering evil” and depicted a goddess wielding a torch and sword, defeating a demonic male figure beneath her. Most impressively, the torch contained a “16,000 candle-power” gas lamp that could be seen from San Francisco Bay. In a city that loves its illuminated public art, the Triumph of Light was an important first.

The Chronicle reported a “folk tale” surrounding this place that I’m willing to believe: sailors coming through the Golden Gate were angry because the torch was too far inland and therefore misjudged the Seal Rocks. In the early 20th century, they climbed the mountain and ripped the statue’s arms off.

Whatever the reason, by the 1930s, when housing had increased so much that the base was barely visible, the statue had become so damaged that it was beyond saving. City leaders installed imposing downward-facing hooks on the top of the base to prevent vandalism, which remain in place today. Chronicle readers and columnists called for the statue to be removed.

But that story was largely forgotten, and the statue’s fate remained a mystery for decades. I did some research in 2019 and found nothing. But Arnold Woods, late board member of the Western Neighborhoods Project, found newspaper articles I hadn’t found and published a column in 2020 dating the statue’s removal to 1954-1956.

There was brief talk of replacing Triumph of Light with Benny Bufano’s rocket-shaped Peace statue, then owned by the San Francisco Chronicle.

Ultimately, city leaders have chosen the easiest path: inaction. And sometimes that’s the best choice.

Today, Mount Olympus is less a lighthouse than a place of quiet discoveries.

In San Francisco, there are even more expansive views—Ina Coolbrith Park and Mount Davidson come to mind. There are mysterious and mystical corners of the city that are much more accessible.

But Olympus has developed a mood of its own. Meldahl points out that many of Adolph Sutro’s great designs – including the Sutro Baths, the passenger rail lines and his mansion where Sutro Tower now stands – are gone or in ruins. And those failures became another part of the city’s future.

“What a perfect metaphor for Adolph Sutro, but in a way San Francisco,” she said. “… People come here and pursue their own goals. They create wonderful things in mythical settings. And when they pass, they are almost completely forgotten.”

So what does the present and future of Olympus look like?

It is a place of mindfulness and silence. No one should ever plan a child’s birthday party on Mount Olympus. Everyone should try yoga here.

Olympus was once something that considered from afar. Now it is something to be sought, like a hidden treasure, and a place where look out.

Mount Olympus is broken and perfect at the same time. Just like the city in which it stands.

Reach Peter Hartlaub: [email protected]; Twitter: @PeterHartlaub