
Sheep may safely graze
where a good shepherd watches.
Where rulers govern well
we may feel peace and rest
and what makes countries happy.

Sheep may safely graze
where a good shepherd watches.
Where rulers govern well
we may feel peace and rest
and what makes countries happy.


When I first visited the Neely Mansion with my friend Inger Anne Hage it was a mere 71 years old – my age now. But now at 116 it looks considerably better than I. This improvement is the work of the many volunteers who have gathered around it for the restoration and maintenance of this national landmark.
Aaron and Sarah Neely completed the ornate farmhouse east of Kent in 1894. Aaron was seven when he crossed the Oregon Trail with his parents David and Irene Neely in 1853. The family came directly to the future White/Green River valley and was thereby among its earliest settlers.
One of the Neely Mansion volunteers, Karen Meador, introduced me to the historical photograph of the mansion and also took the “repeat” during a visit by Neely descendants. And this would be the proper place to name them.
First the visitors in the “now” photo, left to right. Left to right, Ken Beckman, Aaron Beckman, Grant Beckman, Howard Elliot Neely, and Jane Neely Beckman. Howard is the 93-year-old grandson of the Aaron Neely who built it. Understanding the difficulty of “reading” the faces of the six figures posing in the “then” we will note two with reserved confidence. The young boy, third from the left, is – or seems to be -Howard Elliot Neely’s father Aaron Neely Jr., and the woman, far right, his mother Sarah Graham Neely, Aaron Senior’s wife.
The photograph is almost as old as the house, for by 1900 the family missed the social excitements of town life and moved to nearby Auburn. According to Meador “Through the next several decades the mansion and its 200 fertile acres were leased variously to Swiss, Japanese and Filipino tenant farmers.” Sometime in the 1960’s it made a transition to disrepair. That is how we found it while on our way to the Black Diamond bakery. We peeked in a front window and found a mess. Now thanks to the Neely Mansion Association this classic Victorian is open and operating.
WEB EXTRA







(click photos to enlarge)


I came upon this revealing look into the East Green Lake business district directly after winning a barrel full of umbrellas with the low and only bid of $1.50. I wanted one umbrella, but to get it had to purchase them all at a mid-1980s Wallingford estate auction.
But behind the barrel was a box filled with prints and negatives, including this week’s subject. There were about 400 in all, and all by Lennard P. LaVanway, who had been a Green Lake-based commercial photographer. With very few exceptions, all the contents — weddings, babies, homes, churches, businesses — are images from the general Green Lake neighborhood, and they date from 1946-47.
Here, LaVanway’s centerpiece is the Green Lake Theater in 1947. Both films on the marquee — “The Time, the Place and the Girl” (a musical comedy) and “Falcon’s Adventure” — were released in December of ’46. The theater opened in 1937 with Art Deco features including curves, parapets and a decorated tower.
Lorenz Lukan, the manager and part owner, lived nearby at the Woodland Court Apartments. Lukan’s 1966 obituary in Boxoffice, describes him coming to Seattle in 1891 to become an “early-day film distributor and theater owner . . . He operated the Beacon, Arabian and other suburban theaters in Seattle as Lukan’s Far West Theatres.”
It is a testimony to the exceptional buoyancy of the movie business that such a fine theater could be opened in a Seattle neighborhood during the Great Depression. It is also a testimony to television that it would not last. Stripped of its Art Deco qualities, the not-so-old theater’s long-term tenant is now Pacific Color, which has managed to stay open as a photo-service business despite the digital revolution.
Jean writes: Just across the street from Pacific Color/once Green Lake Theatre, looms the Pit, several years ago slated for development of something-or-other, now a great empty space, a maw; territory behind chain link, beyond the pale. The eye avoids it, an absence, a blank zone. Terra incognita without monsters.

Anything to add, Paul? Yes Jean a few things, but not as much as I would like. It is the usual problem: I cannot find the photographs, either in negatives or scans for two subjects that relate to the above. One of these “missing” – temporarily – is an early 20th century look at the Maust Transit Company’s pie-shaped livery at Winona and 73rd, now a marblecrete apartment or condo. The original clapboard was Lennard LaVanway’s studio for a few years following the Second World War. I came upon a few boxs of LaVanways prints and negatives by attending an auction-run estate sale out of his home on 50th Street N. (near the freeway) about 25 years. I’ll print some examples of his work below. There are a number of subject that have made it into “now-and-then” over the past 28 years that have to do with Green Lake, and we will insert two of them next. And here I must thank you for the bonus, above, of the pit. I hoped for such. It is mentioned in one of the two stories to follow.
EAST GREEN LAKE, Ca. 1911
Deciding, perhaps, to stay clear of the mud on Woodlawn Ave. N., the unidentified photographer of this postcard set his or her tripod safely on the sidewalk at the alley. The subject is therefore peculiarly unrevealing of the clapboard businesses on the left. (For that we include directly below another view – somewhat later of the same block taken from the street.) Still the view from the alley looks into the heart of the then booming East Green Lake Business district sometime after 1907 and before 1912.
The scene has its charms. Note the man waving an American flag while being carted by a friend (or an employee) on a wheel borrow through the street soup. Perhaps it is the pharmacist L.C. Kidd pushing his brother Dr. A.B. Kidd toward their Green Lake Drug Store – the closest storefront on the far left. In its 1903 anniversary issue the Green Lake News notes, “Probably no man at Green Lake is better known or more popular than Dr. Kidd.”
The 1907 date was picked because the Green Lake State Bank was built then at the southeast corner of Woodlawn and 72nd Street. The modest one story structure can be seen over the heads of the couple (father and daughter?) on the sidewalk. Appropriately the bank was the district’s first brick building and stayed so until the surviving two story brick business “block” was built in 1912 across 72nd Street from the bank on the northeast corner of the intersection. Here in the “then” scene its more typical pioneer clapboard predecessor is still standing.
The two-story frame building on the right (at the southwest corner) was replaced in 1949 with the stepped structure that appears in the “now’ scene. (When I find it or reshoot it.) The ’49 building was designed to continue the modern lines of the Greenlake Theatre with which it shares the block. So it had no second floor windows. The second floor occupant’s may have complained for that cheerless arrangement lasted about one years. Windows were installed in 1950.
This scene may have been photographed in the late winter of 1911. “Sure I bet on Hi Gill” is hand written on the border of the original postcard. The controversial Gill was elected Seattle Mayor in 1910 the same year that Seattle women got the vote. In a February, 1911 election Gill was recalled as soft on vice. Most of the 23,000 newly registered women voted against him. But not the owner of this postcard.
Then Caption. In December 2002 I wrote the following caption: In the about 93 years that separate these views (I hope to find the “now” later and insert it.) of the East Green lake Business District practically all the structures have been replaced. The brick bank building at the southeast corner of Woodland Ave. and 72nd Street has been drastically remodeled. The last I looked, which was three hours ago while returning home from dinner with Jean and Karen near Green Lake, the bank corner and everything else on that full block was an impressively huge construction pit. The plans to build upon it were chilled by the recent economy. See Jean’s snap of it above.




GREEN LAKE STATION
Thanks to the industry of M. L. Oaks we have a few score photographs of Seattle neighborhoods in the early 20th Century that might otherwise not have been “captured.” Here with his back to Green Lake, Oaks recorded this view up Northeast 72nd Street and across E. Green Lake Drive North about 1909.
Also close to the photographer – but still like the lake behind him – is the primary stop for the Green Lake Electric Railway that by this time had been making settlement around the lake a great deal easier for twenty years. Much like the University District, which for a number of its early years was referred to most often as “The University Station”, so this most vibrant of commercial neighborhoods beside the lake was known as “Green Lake Station.”
The number of businesses and services available just in this short block running one block east from NE 72nd Street to its intersection with Woodlawn Ave. N.E. is an impressive witness to the commercial vitality of this then booming neighborhood. Included here on the right or south side of 72nd – moving right to left – are Green Lake Hardware and Furniture, a dentist, a real estate office, an Ice Cream parlor that stocks candy and cigars as well, the Model Grocery Co. and the Hill Bros who established the first store in the East Green Lake Shopping District in 1901. At the end of the block – still on this south side – is the Central Market. Across 72nd on its north side are the neighborhood hotel, post office and a paint and wallpaper merchant
Completing this tour of 72nd, two blocks to the east the belfry of Green Lake Baptist rises above its southeast corner with 5th Avenue NE. And to this side of the church, worshipers can complete their cleansing if they feel the need with a visit to the North Seattle Bath House. But then so can the bankers. Green Lake’s only brick structure at the time, the single story Green Lake State Bank, is set at the southeast corner of 72nn Street and Woodlawn Ave – at the scene’s center.
Now and Then caps together. Nothing, it seems, survives on East Green Lake’s NE 72nd Street from the early 20th Century to now. Both views look east from E. Green Lake Drive North. (Historical photo courtesy of John Cooper)
OTHER VIEWS of the EAST GREEN LAKE NEIGHBORHOOD by Lennard LaVanway recorded following the Second World War.



We will conclude – for now – with a few of LaVanway’s subjects found at his estate sale about 25 years ago. After holding on for a few years as a neighborhood commercial photographer (there are lots of baby shots in the collection) LaVanway landed a job at the University of Washington.










When we find them we will add more LaVanway subjects in a blogaddendum – and other Green Lake stories too, although probably not together.





With the evidences of the “real photo post card” printed just above we have found the location for the previously unidentified Daily Sykes #10, which was published here last April 22. The photographer, Philip Wischmeyer, we are familiar with having used his ca. 1910 panorama of Neah Bay in our book “Washington Then & Now.” We are, in fact, making quite a few discoveries as we scan through by now decades old 35mm black-and-white copy negatives (technical pan) of images from diverse sources, thanks to our own Edge Clippings Ron Edge’s loan of another of his picker’s findings, a sizable and fine scanner that will handle 24 negatives at one sitting. Thanks again to Ron.
(click to enlarge photos)


Lewis Whittlesey, a clerk with the Seattle Water Department, visited the Third Avenue regrade in 1906 and took several photographs of its upheaval, including this one that looks north from Seneca Street. After graduating from Amherst College, Whittelsey joined a Rand and McNally expedition into Montana’s Bitterroot Mountains in the late 1890s. It was his first great adventure and last. Upon leaving the expedition, the young surveyor moved to Seattle and was hired by the city, which kept him until his retirement in 1940.
Trained in public works, the city clerk would have known the details of this street work. The parallel timber forms leading up the center of Third probably have to do with the eventual path of the trolley on Third. The stacked bricks to the side are most likely for paving.
With his wife, Delia, Lewis was an active Congregationalist, and he may have chosen this prospect to record the impressive brick pile of Plymouth Congregational Church on the northeast corner of Third and University. Farther on, the sandstone columns of the new federal post office were still a work-in-progress in 1906 and would be for two years more. In the distance, and blocking Third Avenue, the ruins of the Washington Hotel tentatively held on atop the southern summit of Denny Hill. The hotel had its closing ball on May 7. By the end of the year it was razed, and the hill followed.
Within a year of his retirement, Lewis Whittelsey died at the age of 71. His wife donated much of his library to Everett Junior College when she learned of its need for books. She also made a gift of her own book of poems, “Thoughts by the Way.”
Anything to add, Paul? YES Jean – three groups of photographs for three 3rd Ave. locations related to the above now-then.
POST OFFICE – SOUTHEAST CORNER of 3rd and Union.







THIRD AVENUE LOOKING SOUTH FROM PIKE STREET



MORE CHANGES ON THIRD – LOOKING NORTH FROM NEAR SENECA





ANOTHER THIRD AVENUE – A DIFFERENT ONE


We have learned that our friend Nathaniel, the steadfast host of the by now nearly ancient Allegro Coffee Bar in the University District (see our blog post from last Wednesday and only four posts down), has “pulled” through his operation and is now “up and walking around and feeling fine.” That would be still in the hospital, but we are confident that he will soon move from those halls to home and then back again to the Allegro when his family permits it.
(The Allegro is either the oldest or the “next to” oldest espresso bar in Seattle, but the coffee is fresh and the pastries too. Yes we at dorpatsherrardlomont can highly recommend the Allegro, a harbor of repast for both town and gown literati for decades. You will easily find it’s now cozy and very European entrance in the alley 2nd door north of 42nd Street between University Way and 15th Avenue n.e., at the western border of the U.W. Campus. Test their teas and study their bulletin and notices board.)
And this afternoon, a short e-missive arrived from the man himself:
Well, the deed is done. I’m home now licking my wounds, as it were. It has been quite a ride and I am so impressed with the folks in attendance. Now, onward and upward!
We also recommend, for greater acquaintance with Nathaniel and the Allegro, this video portrait.

(click to enlarge photos)

Our friend of many years, Nathaniel Jackson, Café Allegro owner/inspiritor and caffeinated force of nature, put in one last day before undergoing major surgery.
“What’s up?” Jean asked Nathaniel this morning, having heard the news from his cousin Danny Sherrard, who often works behind the counter.
“Tomorrow I’m donating a few inches of colon to the cause,” Nathaniel grinned. Squeezing out another perfect shot of rich powerful espresso, Nathaniel was thoughtful. “Thirty five years I’ve been here, building family.” He’s shaped and nurtured a close-knit community, to which he’s brought his great soul and gentle heart.
We wish him the very very best.

We just received the following poem from Nathaniel. Heady stuff follows:
“Old Barns”
Old barns
Standing in the distance;
Cloaked in grass, morning glories and moss;
Vacant eyes peering over what was and is…
Roofs and walls sagging;
Doors, if there are any, barely hanging,
aided by a rusty nail or two, and entangling vines.
Refusing, thus, to fall all at once…
Beautiful!
Old dogs,
Flea-bitten
Not much to look at,
Hobbling painfully from point to point.
Blink and/or blinding eyes, drooping tail, head bowed;
Concentrating on what was and is…
Periodically rising, with great effort.
Turning a circle or two…
Only to plop back into that very spot,
Now changed in the turning.
Beautiful!
Moth-eaten, sway-backed horses
Standing under a tree,
Or by a fence.
In deep contemplation of what was and is…
Major energy, devoted to standing there.
Obliged to swish
at the pesky flies who have no appreciation
that economy of motion is of the essence
in this moment.
Nothing to excess here.
Beautiful!
These images have intrigued me since early childhood. Of a Sunday afternoon, our family would go for a “drive” through the back-roads of the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia with its rolling hills and farmlands. My special treat, however, was to actually drive, at age 13 (!), along those same roads alone with my father. The icing on the cake was to be able to listen to The Metropolitan Opera, narrated by Milton Cross as I anticipated seeing THAT barn, THAT horse or THAT dog. That I held the car to the road was quite a feat and I think my father would nod in the affirmative on that score.
My interest holds to this day. To the mix I have added: listing outhouses, rotting boats, ancient trees and old folks who are “jes bone taard…” from work, age, or illness. Here, there is no room for pretense. It is what it is: an honesty and an integrity which I experience as the inherent beauty of creation manifesting unencumbered as there is no desire, will or strength to do other than just be.
I feel nurtured, honored and humbled in the presence.
This, coupled with the precious moments with my father who was content to drink his beer and pontificate during the Texaco commercials and letting me drive (!) constitute one of my most treasured memories.
That I have given expression to it, to my satisfaction, and that I was able to share this story with my parents makes it even more precious.
For the experience, the perspective and the memory, I truly give thanks.
And in the tradition of the first folks here, I say loudly,
ALL OUR RELATIVES!!!!
naj

(click to enlarge photos)


As told by the long shadows and what is printed on the cable tracks climbing First Hill on Yesler Way, this look up Ninth Avenue was recorded late Thursday afternoon Jan. 5, 1940. Seven months and four days later the cable cars would stop running on Yesler Way for good — or bad.
The nearly decade-old monolith (from this angle) of Harborview Hospital looks over charming frame homes and apartments on Ninth. Although certainly not “tenements,” these were among the 150-plus structures destroyed to make room for Yesler Terrace — the Seattle Housing Authority’s first big project to provide low-income, unsegregated housing.
In the Polk City Directory, Japanese names are listed in association with half the occupied residences in these two blocks. Stephen Lundgren, First Hill’s historian and longtime employee of several hospitals on “Pill Hill” (another name for this part of First Hill), tells us that the shoe man advertising his “quick” service seen here across the street at 830 Yesler was Toyosaburo Ito.
Lundgren explains that about the time this photograph was recorded, housing authority social worker Irene Burns Miller visited Ito and his neighbors. Her thankless job was to explain to the shoe repairman and the others that they would need to move out; later, the authority would help them find other housing.
Miller could not yet have known what wartime would bring. After Pearl Harbor, here still nearly two years away, these neighbors of Japanese descent would not be “relocated” to Yesler Terrace but rather “interned” to inland camps. Lundgren notes that Miller wrote her reminiscences of these First Hill neighbors in her book “Profanity Hill,” another name for the area. The Seattle Public Library has a copy.
Jean writes: Turning west, I snapped a photo that replicated one of my earliest memories. My dad, a lowly resident at King County Hospital – now Harborview – moved his young family to Yesler Terrace, where we lived for a couple of years.
My first pet, a collie I unaccountably named Zassie, raised our neighbors’ ire because of her nighttime barking. After several months, my parents capitulated and gave Zassie to a farmer in eastern Washington. Soon thereafter, our street was victimized by multiple burglaries. Neighbors pleaded for Zassie’s return, but sadly, she’d been run down on a country road.
Smith Tower loomed large then as now.

Anything to add, Paul? Yes Jean, but only a few photographs with small captions.
(Please Remember to CLICK Twice to ENLARGE)












Soap Lake’s historian/filmmaker Kathy Kiefer confirms what we only suspected. This is indeed Horace Sykes’ look over Soap Lake from its southwest corner. Kathy writes, “I concur that not only is that Soap Lake, I venture to say that it is one of the enclaves used by nude bathers on that southwest corner of the lake. Male sunbathers created the stone circles to alert others that they were nestled within. The women often made tent like structures – much more private. I am sure we talked at some point about the nude beach and the thriving naturist community on the southwest side of the lake?”


When Jean visited Soap Lake in 2005 Kathy was his guide and his “repeat model” as well. Below you see Kathy standing in for the angel of mercy included in the historical photo below it, which dates from about 1922. In many printings of this popular postcard, the promise “It Will Cure You” has been written over the rocks by the card’s publisher. The white-robed angel of therapy is leading a lame and bandaged victim to the alkaline-rich waters of Soap Lake, named for the froth skimmed by the wind and deposited on the beaches. When the lake’s popularity as a mineral-rich panacea gained momentum in the early 20th century, this southern shore was quickly stocked with hotels and all the attractions of a fetching health resort, including massage, mud baths, mineral soaks, and, of course, swimming in Soap Lake and drinking from it. The Siloam Sanitarium, seen on the horizon just below the angel’s gesturing hand, was one of the town’s grander retreats for treating both nervous afflictions and hypochondria.


Kathy Kiefer wound up in Soap Lake in August 1980 and stayed. “I rode from Kirkland over Stevens Pass right to the steps of Soap Lake’s Thorson’s Hotel where Roxie Thorson was sipping port and rocking in her steel chair. I had followed the ashen path. It was the year St. Helens blew.” Kathy’s admired film/video history of Soap Lake can be purchased through filmbaby.com. She also has a Soap Lake website: www.soaplakewa.com and a Soap Lake Facebook Fan page featuring lots of historic photos – among other things. Thanks for the help and stewardship Kathy.








We received a request from Brian who helped us identify Horace Sykes pictographs. Brian wants more and here are a few, although there may well me more in corners of the Sykes collection I have not yet searched, and those are quite a few corners. I will number these in case Brian or anyone recognizes their location. (Click to Enlarge)







(click to enlarge photos)


In 1880 or ’81 Joseph and Virginia McNaught began building their home at the southeast corner of Marion Street and Sixth Avenue. It sat on a high point that made it stand alone against the sky when viewed from the waterfront. The couple took some kidding about having moved so far east of town.
Soon after following his brother, James, to Seattle in 1875, Joseph drove a herd of cattle from the Willamette Valley to a beef-poor Seattle. With the profits he then returned east for a law degree and marriage to Virginia. Returning to Seattle, the McNaughts became one of the area’s most entrepreneurial couples with investments in transportation, mining, shipbuilding, Palouse homesteads and stockyards.
For much of the two square blocks between Sixth and Seventh, Marion and Cherry — all of it part of the Interstate 5 ditch now — First Hill was mostly no hill. Parts of it even lost altitude before joining the climb east of Seventh Avenue. With the grading of Sixth Avenue, first in 1890, the home was lowered a few feet. That year it was also pivoted 90 degrees, so what is seen here facing north at 603 Marion previously was facing west at 818 Sixth Ave. The regrade of 1914, seen here, lowered the site about two stories to the grade of this bricked intersection.
By then the McNaughts were in Oregon raising alfalfa hay and living in Hermiston, one of two town sites they developed. The other was Anacortes. Virginia named Hermiston, and it includes a Joseph Avenue.
Later, the old McNaught mansion was expanded for apartments. All the Victorian trim was either removed or lost behind new siding. Through its last years it was joined with its big-box neighbor as part of a sprawling Marion Hotel until sacrificed for the freeway.
Have you anything to add for this scene Paul? Jean I do but will start out modestly – or rather unprepared. I need to get to bed. But I’ll post a few pictures and include minimal captions, which I’ll elaborate on later.


