Owen Molloy learned to ride his bicycle on the winding roads through the cemeteries of Colma. He learned to drive a car there too.
And when his dad was tending bar at Molloy’s Tavern and his mother was upstairs doing the books, his siblings and friends would play endless games of tag over ground that might host the final resting place of a Wyatt Earp, William Randolph Hearst or Emperor Norton.
“Always hiding in the back of the headstones, trying not to step where they were buried in front,” Molloy says, laughing. “We were kids. But we knew the rules.”…