Seattle Now & Then: car-sales lots, 1957, and today’s Amazon Spheres

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“Now & Then” columnists Clay Eals and Jean Sherrard soon will give illustrated Zoom talks, titled “An Insider’s Look at ‘Now & Then’ ,” for three local heritage organizations. Here are times, dates and registration links for the free presentations:

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(click and click again to enlarge photos)

THEN: This property-value assessor’s photo, looking west and slightly north from the intersection of Seventh Avenue and Lenora Street north of downtown, was taken Dec. 18, 1957. Car details from our automotive informant Bob Carney: (from left) on street 1953 Chevrolet, 1956 Buick Special and 1953 Chevrolet 210 sedan. To left of Lee Moran building: 1953 Chevrolet. To right of building: 1955 Mercury. The lineup of used cars facing the street: 1956 Lincoln, 1956 Mercury, 1954 Mercury, 1956 Mercury, 1955 Oldsmobile 88, 1955 Studebaker coupe, 1950 Buick (can barely see the portholes) and, at far right, 1957 Ford. (Puget Sound Regional Branch, Washington State Archives)
NOW: Opened Jan. 30, 2018, the Amazon Spheres complex serves as the signature structure for the internet-based colossus. Standing three to four stories tall, the spheres mix 40,000 plants with meeting spaces and stores, but the orbs are closed during the coronavirus pandemic. (Jean Sherrard)

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Oct. 15, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Oct. 18, 2020)

Who could have predicted what these car lots would become?
By Clay Eals

Will Ferrell is mortally worried. Using the phrase “little did he know,” a stranger’s voice in his head is foretelling his death. He consults a literature professor, Dustin Hoffman, who warms to the puzzle by saying that he “once gave an entire seminar on ‘little did he know’ .”

Dustin Hoffman (left) and Will Ferrell in the 2006 film “Stranger Than Fiction.”

We jump from that scene in the 2006 film “Stranger than Fiction” (left) to our “Then” photo from Dec. 18, 1957. It captures a gent in a fedora driving a 1956 Buick Special and in momentary contemplation while stopped on Seventh Avenue at Lenora Street. Little did he know — or could anyone conceive — of the transformation 60 years later of this down-to-earth commercial tableau.

A stone’s throw from post-World War II downtown, this block is a typical 1950s tribute to the internal combustion engine, featuring the Lee Moran, W.R. Smith and ABC Fair-Way businesses and their symphony of signs: from “Cash for Cars” and “Cars under Cover” to “Highest Price for Used Cars” and “All Makes All Prices.” Car dealers had covered the block since the early 1940s, preceded by rental housing back to the century’s turn.

On the day this photo was taken (for use by the county to aid in assessing property tax), the weather forecast was familiar: “mostly cloudy with a few showers, occasional sun,” with a high of 45 to 50 degrees.

Gov. Albert Rosellini was inviting Seattle and King County to lead construction of a controversial second bridge across Lake Washington. Nationally, the first Atlas intercontinental missile was launched at Cape Canaveral, Alabama voters allowed the state to abolish a county in which Blacks outnumbered whites by more than 7 to 1, and actress Elizabeth Taylor underwent an appendectomy. Internationally, NATO delegates pushed Russia to resume disarmament talks.

Dec. 18, 1957, Frederick & Nelson ad, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 16. The “ultra-chrome dome home” resembles, among other things, the legendary Kalakala ferry.

Among newspaper ads this day was one for the classy Frederick & Nelson department store (right). The pitched product was women’s stockings, but the accompanying illustration was a huge, pre-Jetsons cartoon featuring a “man of tomorrow” having landed in a space vehicle and his wife dashing to greet him — in “Round-the-Clock superb sheers” — at the front door of their “ultra-chrome dome home.”

One might say that the many round-topped sedans in our “Then” photo serve as figurative domes, each one a sphere to represent the life of a driver or family.

Today we find the block dominated by the triple-orb greenhouse of Seattle-based Amazon. The online giant is doing everything it can — including, most recently, dabbling in drone delivery — to encompass all of us in its shopping sphere.

Where will that lead? Little do we know.

WEB EXTRAS

To see Jean Sherrard‘s 360-degree video of the “Now” prospect and compare it with the “Then” photo, and to hear this column read aloud by Clay Eals, check out our Seattle Now & Then 360 version of the column!

Below are three supplemental photos and, in chronological order, 21 historical clippings from The Seattle Times online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) and other online newspaper sources that were helpful in the preparation of this column.

Sept. 29, 1943, tax assessor’s photo of the same site as our “then” but taken from Sixth Avenue at the address 2016 Sixth Ave. Car details from our automotive informant Bob Carney: (from left) 1934 Studebaker, 1940 Plymouth, 1939 Ford Standard, and 1930 Studebaker Dictator. (Puget Sound Regional Branch, Washington State Archives)
Dec. 18, 1957, tax assessor’s photo of the same site as our “then” but taken from Sixth Avenue at the address 2016 Sixth Ave. Car details from our automotive informant Bob Carney: (from left) 1956 Ford Fairlane, 1954 Chevrolet 210 station wagon, 1951 Nash and 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air. (Puget Sound Regional Branch, Washington State Archives)
Sept. 8, 2020, Amazon Spheres, facing east from Sixth Avenue. (Jean Sherrard)
May 31, 1903, Seattle Times, page 26.
June 12, 1904, Seattle Times, page 13.
June 3, 1910, Seattle Times, page 23.
April 30, 1911, Seattle Times, page 39.
July 9, 1911, Seattle Times, page 22.
Oct. 5, 1913, Seattle Times, page 43.
Dec. 14, 1913, Seattle Times, page 38.
March 1, 1914, Seattle Times, page 43.
Sept. 2, 1926, Seattle Times, page 27.
Sept. 3, 1926, Seattle Times, page 29.
Feb. 1, 1944, Seattle Times, page 19.
Sept. 3, 1948, Seattle Times, page 35.
May 19, 1954, Seattle Times, page 48.
Feb. 25, 1955, Seattle Times, page 39.
May 19, 1957, Seattle Times, page 56.
Dec. 17, 1957, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 28.
Dec. 18, 1957, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 11.
Dec. 18, 1957, Frederick & Nelson ad, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 16.
Dec. 18, 1957, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 17.
Dec. 18, 1957, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 27.
Dec. 19, 1957, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 40.

Seattle Now & Then: Great Northern Tunnel construction, 1904

(click to enlarge photos)

THEN: Three years before the creation of the Pike Place Market in 1907, an unknown photographer captured savory treats. Just right of the tunnel entrance, a temporary assembly line supplied rivers of concrete to line the tunnel walls. Meanwhile, at upper left, an intrepid gent peers over the precipitous edge of the retaining wall at the laborers below.
NOW: A northbound Burlington Northern train emerges from the still-vital north portal onto a waterfront under construction. Concrete pillars and beams are being poured to support a new road connecting the waterfront to Belltown, the four-lane Elliott Way.

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Oct. 8, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Oct. 11, 2020)

The tunnel that reshaped the waterfront (no, not THAT one)
by Jean Sherrard

Just over a year and half has passed since the ribbon-cutting ceremony opening the 1.7-mile Highway 99 tunnel that replaced the geriatric Alaskan Way Viaduct. Four years of burrowing with Bertha, one of the world’s largest tunnel borers, followed by two years of construction and months of viaduct demolition, left behind a wide-open waterfront, ripe for re-imagining.

That most ambitious of Seattle tunnels invites comparison with another one completed 115 years ago. It, too, was an attempt to solve a waterfront problem. Alaskan Way, originally Railroad Avenue, was ribbed with a wide swath of eight sets of parallel train tracks. The dangerous clatter and din of passing trains separated the upland city from its vigorous bay.

Seattle’s transformational city engineer, Reginald H. Thomson, devised the re-routing of some of that traffic, convincing James J. Hill, the Great Northern railroad magnate, to send his trains through a 5,141.5-foot tunnel from the waterfront to the proposed King Street train station (built in 1906 as a marble temple of transport suitable for the aspiring young city).

On April Fools Day 1903, construction commenced at the tunnel’s northern portal, employing pressure hoses to wash away vast tons of dirt and expose the face of the hillside. Within two months, work began a mile away on the south portal.

Hundreds of men at both ends dug day and night for two years in a fiercely competitive race to the middle. In a marvel of precision engineering, the two boreholes were only a fraction of an inch off when in October 1904 they met. Wags among the workers joked that they had built the longest tunnel in the world: from Virginia to Washington — streets, that is. And for its time, the tunnel did break records. When completed, it was the highest (25.8 feet) and widest (30 feet) tunnel in the world.

The tube was lined with 3-1/2 to 4-1/2 feet of concrete, reaching its deepest point 111 feet below Fourth and Spring. Curiously, it also delved through remains of an anaerobically preserved primeval forest at Fourth and Marion. (Soon after exposure to air, the trees reportedly turned to mulch.)

Though overhead property owners worried about their buildings’ foundations, the only actual casualty of construction was the Hotel York at the northwest corner of First and Pike (in our “Then” photo sporting an enormous mural puffing up Owl cigars). Its underpinning undermined, it was razed in November 1904. In 1912, it was replaced by the Corner Market Building, which to this day anchors the Pike Place Market.

WEB EXTRAS

To watch our 360 degree video, which includes two passing trains and Jean’s narration, click here.

Plus a bit of a backstory here. I found a lovely ‘then’ and tried to repeat it, only to discover that the quality was subpar. The original is not lost, but included in the many thousands that Paul donated to the SPL; so for the time being, unavailable. Here, then, is my first attempt at repeating the shot from below:

Alternate THEN: North portal under construction from below
My alternate NOW
More from below. Girders lined up for the new Elliott Way. Victor Steinbrueck Park above…

And, in no particular order, shots of construction and trains!

Construction, double decker train cars and a receding ferry. Who could ask for anything more?

 

Seattle Now & Then: Mount Baker tunnel, 1940

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THEN: This nighttime view of the eastbound Mount Baker tunnel shows that the original twin tubes had two lanes apiece. The photo was taken at least a few weeks after the tunnel’s July 2, 1940, opening because the 3-foot wide interior sidewalks, with high curbs and pipe guardrail, were not installed until later that month. (University of Washington Special Collections)
NOW: Repeating the original path of our “Then,” this daytime view shows only two of the Mount Baker tunnel’s four present-day eastbound lanes for auto traffic. The other two, not pictured, emerge from the formerly westbound tunnel immediately to the north. (Jean Sherrard)

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Oct. 1, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Oct. 4, 2020)

In 1940, tunnel vision created a connection to the Eastside
By Clay Eals

As spooky as it is ethereal, our “Then” photo suggests Seattle barreling through a spacey cylinder to meet the future. The scene typifies our city’s bent for transforming its topography to satisfy urban dreams.

Eighty years ago, on July 2, 1940, an audacious dream — twin tunnels drilled through Mount Baker Ridge to connect Seattle to Mercer Island and the greater Eastside via an innovative bridge with floating concrete pontoons that crossed Lake Washington — became a reality that countless motorists take for granted today.

From the outset, the inextricably linked tunnels and bridge personified popularity, drawing 11,611 vehicles in the first 10-1/2 hours alone. To sustain this full-to-bursting stretch of what became an interstate artery, a companion tunnel and span were added a half-century later while, astonishingly, the original bridge sank and was quickly rebuilt.

Time was, Seattleites traveled east only by ferrying across or circumnavigating the elongated next-door lake. Some, including James Wood, Seattle Times associate editor, wanted to keep it that way.

“Just about the wildest dream ever to afflict an engineering mind is the proposed 8,000-foot concrete fence,” he wrote on Aug. 13, 1937. He called the tunnel-bridge project “a gross and wholly unnecessary obstruction.”

Prevailing, however, were campaigners for commerce. “The future prosperity of Seattle depends upon removing the barrier of the lake in order to gain easier access to the hinterland,” wrote Medina mogul Miller Freeman in the Jan. 9, 1938, Times. “It will providentially afford Seattle room for expansion in the only direction it can grow successfully.”

Thus the bridge and tunnels joined Seattle’s indelible identity. We of a certain age recall holding our breath through all 1,465 feet when parents drove us through one of the tunnels. Sometimes our elders humored us, generating a riotous echo by honking the car horn. But all was not childish fun.

As the neon indicates in our “Then,” when crossing the bridge to Mercer Island, drivers faced a variable toll of 25 to 45 cents, which ended in 1949. The curved arrow pointed to an abrupt “Lake Shore” entrance/exit opportunity tucked between the tunnels and bridge both east- and westbound at 35th Avenue South. A treacherous invitation to high-speed fender-benders and worse, it was curtailed in 1989.

Other tunnel-bridge idiosyncrasies, inconceivable today, triggered repeated fatalities. An awkward mid-bridge bulge to allow boat crossings was mercifully removed in 1981. Unprotected reversible lanes, instituted in 1960 to ease commuting, finally were eliminated in 1984.

Momentarily inattentive to the latter, as a fledgling 16-year-old driver in 1967 I barely avoided a head-on crash one afternoon.

The prospect still spooks me.

WEB EXTRAS

To see Jean Sherrard‘s 360-degree video of the “Now” prospect and compare it with the “Then” photo, and to hear this column read aloud by Clay Eals, check out our Seattle Now & Then 360 version of the column!

Below are seven present-day photos and, in chronological order, 62 historical clippings from The Seattle Times online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) and other online newspaper sources that were helpful in the preparation of this column.

Traffic heads eastbound out of the two original Mount Baker tunnels on Aug. 28, 2020. Westbound traffic uses newer tunnels out of view at far right. (Clay Eals)
A car emerges from the southernmost original Mount Baker tunnel, Aug. 28, 2020. The original “Portal of the North Pacific” concrete artwork is barely discernible at upper middle. (Clay Eals)
Traffic crosses the Mercer Island Floating Bridge in this eastbound view from atop the Mount Baker tunnels, Aug. 28, 2020. (Clay Eals)
Now a mere side street, 35th Avenue South dead-ends on the south side of the original Mount Baker tunnels, on Aug. 28, 2020. Here is where, for decades, eastbound drivers could enter the highway bridge or exit immediately after driving through the tunnel. Such access to the tunnel and bridge today is blocked and restricted to emergency vehicles. (Clay Eals)
A plaque dedicating the bridge to designer Homer Hadley, Aug. 28, 2020. (Clay Eals)
A plaque designating the bridge and tunnel a National Historic Civil Engineering Landmark, Aug. 28, 2020. (Clay Eals)
With bridge traffic roaring in the distance, this plaque dedicates the bridge to state highway director Lacey V. Murrow, Aug. 28, 2020. (Clay Eals)
Aug. 13, 1937, Seattle Times, page 6.
Jan. 9, 1938, Seattle Times, page 8.
May 15, 1938, Seattle Times, page 1.
May 15, 1938, Seattle Times, page 4.
June 26, 1938, Seattle Times, page 11.
April 1, 1939, Seattle Times, page 27.
Aug. 13, 1939, Seattle Times, page 42.
Sept. 3, 1939, Seattle Times, page 35.
Oct. 13, 1939, Seattle Times, page 16.
Oct. 21, 1939, Seattle Times, page 1.
Oct. 21, 1939, Seattle Times, page 2.
Jan. 26, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 17.
Feb. 5, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 11.
Feb. 26, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 9.
April 12, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 6.
April 13, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 3.
April 13, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, pages 1 and 3.
May 19, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 27.
May 31, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 17.
June 8, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 9.
June 14, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 1.
June 14, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 3.
June 14, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 5.
June 30, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 1.
June 30, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 16.
June 30, 1940, Seattle Times, page 17.
June 30, 1940, Seattle Times, page 19.
July 3, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 1.
July 3, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 6.
July 3, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 6.
July 3, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 7.
July 4, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 6.
July 10, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 10.
July 21, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 66.
Sept. 2, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 3.
Sept. 19, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 9.
Oct. 11, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 31.
Oct. 13, 1940, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 58.
Dec. 17, 1947, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 28.
July 19, 1949, Southeast Missourian.
Aug. 24, 1954, Seattle Times, page 4.
Jan. 7, 1955, Seattle Times, page 8.
May 31, 1955, Seattle Times, page 8.
Feb. 3, 1957, Seattle Times, page 2.
May 31, 1957, Seattle Times, page 21.
Dec. 30, 1959, Seattle Times, page 17.
March 16, 1960, Seattle Times, page 13.
Feb. 22, 1961, Mercer Island Reporter.
March 25, 1963, Seattle Times, page 5.
Dec. 17, 1963, Seattle Times, page 10.
Dec. 25, 1963, Seattle Times, page 67.
Dec. 26, 1963, Seattle Times, page 10.
Jan. 3, 1964, Seattle Times, page 10.
Sept. 23, 1970, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 3.
Jan. 17, 1974, Seattle Times, page 4.
May 20, 1974, Seattle Times, page 11.
Feb. 27, 1979, Seattle Times, page 12.
Jan. 30, 1980, Seattle Times, page 10.
Sept. 4, 1981, Seattle Times, page 98.
Sept. 7, 1981, Seattle Times, page 1.
April 13, 1984, Seattle Times, page 10.
Aug. 16, 1984, Seattle Times, page 56.

Seattle Now & Then: The Ship Canal Bridge, 1960

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THEN: Looking northeast, Harvey Bernard’s cloud-strewn portrait of the incomplete Ship Canal Bridge in October 1960 captures Seattle mid-transformation. The Interstate 5 freeway through Seattle opened in December 1962, and the entire Washington state portion was completed in 1969. (Courtesy, Harvey & Leo Bernard)
NOW: Having helped triangulate Harvey Bernard’s original prospect on a hot, late summer day, Keenan Ingram (left) and Elijah Lev of Seattle anticipate diving into Lake Union to cool off. Seconds later, they did just that. (Jean Sherrard)

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Sept. 24, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Sept. 27, 2020)

A soaring salute to post-World War II car culture
By Jean Sherrard

World War II didn’t just beget a population boom. It also produced the throaty roar of automobile engines. Along with the proverbial chicken in every pot, a growing middle class aspired to afford a car in every garage.

To accommodate the soaring increase in traffic, the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956 provided 90 percent funding for a nationwide network of controlled-access interstate highways. The proposed Interstate 5, crossing 1,381 miles between the Canadian and Mexican borders, became one of the jewels in its crown.

This week’s “Then” photo comes from Leo Bernard, whose father, Harvey, moved his young family to Seattle from Minnesota in 1954 to take a job with Boeing. “Photography and mountain climbing became his twin passions,” Leo says, “and we rarely saw him without a camera.”

From a boat deck near the north end of Lake Union, Harvey Bernard captured his Ektachrome transparency of the Lake Washington Ship Canal Bridge under construction in October 1960.

From his vantage, three of seven concrete piers tower above Lake Union, along with a diagonal hash of equilateral steel trusses, providing support for the imposing double-deck bridge. Within a year, its eight-lane wide upper deck and reversible four-lane lower deck would span the 4,429-foot gap between the University District and Capitol Hill. At the time, it was the longest bridge of its kind erected in the Pacific Northwest.

Just west of the piers, the Wayland Mill silo burner squats like an abandoned potbelly stove. The mill produced Bungalow brand cedar shingles for decades before closing after the war. Restaurateur Ivar Haglund purchased the property in 1966 and installed his Salmon House, which still stands today.

To the mill’s right, the nondescript, grey warehouse, built in 1954, was purchased in 1963 by George and Stan Pocock to construct their legendary racing shells. Pocock supplied shells for “The Boys in the Boat,” who rowed them to gold in the 1936 Berlin Olympics, a story featured last March in this column.

In 1989, Seattle-based glass artist Dale Chihuly bought the 11,352 square-foot building, converting it to a combined living space and glass-blowing studio.

For months, the span, when completed, was a bridge to nowhere. The southern reach of the Seattle freeway had become temporarily mired in controversies over labor and design. Thus, according to the encyclopedic tome “Building Washington” by Paul Dorpat and Genevieve McCoy, planners of the 1962 Seattle World’s Fair proposed using the bridge’s empty decks for overflow parking.

The scheme never materialized. But modern motorists are all too familiar with I-5 as a parking lot.

WEB EXTRAS

Check out Jean’s 360 degree video including a late summer boat ride – and featuring young Keenan and Elijah. To be posted soon.

Also, here are a few more lovely photos from Harvey Bernard, contributed by his son Leo.

Harvey Bernard with an early but beloved camera in the 1930s.
Harvey Bernard in 1965.

Taken in 1970, says Leo – looks like the Salmon House is still under construction.
From a West Seattle viewpoint, the Seafirst Tower (aka the box the Space Needle came in) under construction, 1968.
Seafirst Tower under construction, 1968.
Seattle skyline from North Beacon Hill.

Union Station after the 1965 earthquake.

More earthquake damage on Alki.
Richard Nixon visited Seattle during his 1968 campaign.
Washington state’s Gov. Dan Evans shaking Nixon’s hand.
Harvey Bernard loved Mount Rainier.
He visited the the mountain many times, says son Leo, who shared a favorite family photo on Rainier. Leo is second from the left, next to mom, with his two sisters and younger brother.

Seattle Now & Then: Miller Park neighborhood, 1955

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THEN: This May 2, 1955, view, looking west from 21st Avenue East along the East John/Thomas street arterial, shows clearing to the right (north) for the expansion of Miller Playfield. A 1949 Buick anchors the left foreground. In the distance at center are the Coryell Court Apartments, featured in the 1992 film “Singles.” (Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives)
NOW: Andrew Taylor, the informal Mayor of Miller Park for two decades, stands at the same intersection. (jean Sherrard)

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Sept. 17, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Sept. 20, 2020)

For an ever-changing neighborhood, we ‘single’ out Miller Park
By Clay Eals

These coronaviral days, when distant travel is discouraged, the elements defining our neighborhoods assume extra meaning. We more deeply value our collective, super-local identity even as it undergoes constant, if incremental change.

No exception is Miller Park.

The name may be unfamiliar to some. On the eastern side of Capitol Hill, the neighborhood embodies a trapezoid, bounded north-to-south by East Aloha and Madison streets and west-to-east by 19th and 23rd avenues. Its outskirts include business strips and high-profile hubs of health care (Kaiser Permanente, formerly Group Health), religion and education (St. Joseph Catholic Church and School, Holy Names Academy).

In the glen at its core lies a playground, the initial acreage for which came to the city in 1906 from namesake Mary M. Miller (see clarification below), whose descendants became major local landowners and conservation philanthropists. Next door is Edmund Meany Middle School, named for the University of Washington historian.

In our “Then,” taken May 2, 1955, looking west to the Capitol Hill crest, at right we see land recently cleared to augment the park prior to construction of a nearby community center. Sparse trees punctuate clusters of homes. In the distant center, the John/Thomas street arterial rises to pass a two-story brick building on 19th Avenue that nearly four decades later gained national fame.

Fronted by a communal courtyard, the Coryell Court Apartments, built in 1928, hosted Matt Dillon, Bridget Fonda and other actors playing 20-something love-seekers in Cameron Crowe’s 1992 film “Singles.” While the film widened Seattle’s reputation for grunge music, it also is known for a breathtaking visual finale. Shot from a helicopter, it starts tight on the Coryell building and pulls up to reveal the neighborhood and city.

Nearly 30 years hence, encased by the heavy foliage of mature trees, Miller Park is a mix of single- and multi-family housing. Its residents have reckoned with drug dealing, broadcast towers, affordable housing and today’s influx of transient tents in the park.

Such topics drew Andrew Taylor into the role of nerve center. The now-retired Fred Hutch scientist has lived in the house at the left edge of our “Then” since 1983. Known as the neighborhood’s informal mayor, he launched its newsletter (later a blog) in 1990.

For family reasons, he will move five miles north this fall, but despite the challenges of his “eclectic” soon-to-be former neighborhood, he cheerfully salutes it.

“It’s a quiet, modest oasis,” he says. “It’s ethnically and economically diverse, close to everything, with much activity but still peaceful enough for quiet contemplation.”

In other words, an apt model for our time.

WEB EXTRAS

To see Jean Sherrard‘s 360-degree video of the “Now” prospect and compare it with the “Then” photo, and to hear this column read aloud by Clay Eals, check out our Seattle Now & Then 360 version of the column!

Clarification: Jim Rupp of Seattle points out that while Mary Miller donated the initial land for Miller Playfield, the donation was made the family in the name of her son, Pendleton.

Below are two photos, a video link and a Seattle Parks historical illustration, as well as a clipping from The Seattle Times online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) or other online newspaper sources that were helpful in the preparation of this column.

For those interested in more details about Miller Park, the neighborhood association has a current website and a former website.

Here is an uncropped version of our “Then.” (Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives)
Here is a reverse angle of our “Then” photo, looking east along the John/Thomas arterial. (Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives)
CLICK PHOTO FOR VIDEO: Andrew Taylor, the informal mayor of Seattle’s Miller Park neighborhood, talks about its characteristics and issues. (14:50, Clay Eals)
The Miller Park page of Seattle Parks’ Don Sherwood illustrated historical files. (Seattle Municipal Archives)
Dec. 9, 1967, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 2.

 

Seattle Now & Then: The Central Terminal, 1928

(click to enlarge photos)

THEN 1: The spire of Gethsemane Lutheran Church peeks out above the new Central Terminal’s tiled roof. On the far right of Asahel Curtis’s 1928 photo, a sliver of a Seattle-Everett Interurban train car can be seen. (Paul Dorpat collection)
THEN 2: Jean’s 2010 repeat featured a still-thriving transit hub, surrounded by new construction.
NOW: The 45-story Hyatt Regency looms over a nearly deserted Eighth Avenue. Around the corner but unseen, the Lutherans remain faithful. For more of Jean’s photos of the Greyhound station, including its 2015 demolition, see below. (Jean Sherrard)

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Sept. 10, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Sept. 13, 2020)

Greetings, goodbyes, and the growl of Greyhounds no more

By Jean Sherrard

I left home for the first time in the mid-1970s, bound for college on a cross-state bus. My parents stood together at the gates of the bustling Greyhound depot at Eighth and Stewart, but only my mom waved goodbye as if wiping a fogged window.

Just another emotional departure – to be followed a few months later by a joyful reunion – enacted in the charmless station, witness to decades of greetings, farewells and brimming buckets of tears.

Known for the slender, mid-stride canine in its visual brand, Greyhound began with a single 7-seat bus in 1915. The ubiquitous fleet rolled across America’s heartland and into its hearts, mythologized in popular culture as the buzzing locus of accessible romance and adventure.

From the Oscar-bedecked Frank Capra comedy “It Happened One Night” to Paul Simon’s aural anthem “America,” boarding a bus suggested the promise of open roads, unknown vistas and cute meets. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Twenty years before Greyhound acquired it, Seattle’s Central Terminal was erected in 1927 by the Stone and Webster Management Company, a nationwide utilities cartel with fingers in many pies. (Its complex genealogy can be traced directly to today’s Puget Sound Energy.)

While anti-monopoly laws eventually divided the pies into smaller slices, its three-story, brick-clad Seattle structure was an innovation, accommodating motorized cross-country buses and intercity electric trains within a single station.

Its lively inauguration on Sept. 12, 1927, included a parade of progress along Stewart Street, led by a primitive, hand-drawn sled and concluding with “the most modern motor coach.” Bertha Landes, Seattle’s first female mayor and the honorary conductor, rang a trolley bell to herald the Seattle-Everett Interurban car’s virgin trip from the sparkling station.

This confident investment in the future of mixed-use travel had a shelf life of only 11 years. By 1939, buses shouldered out trains and tracks were torn up and smelted down, replaced by gasoline engines and rubber tires.

In 2015, the terminal was demolished, giving way to high-rise development. I have visited the site several times to capture a photographic whiff of those heartfelt arrivals and departures where Greyhounds once growled. That aroma, however, has been dispelled by the winds of change.

The newly completed Hyatt Regency monolith – at 45 stories and 1,260 rooms, Seattle’s largest hotel – surely boasts luxurious interiors and spectacular views of the city. But its glossy, street-level exterior seems uninviting.

A passing mail carrier offers a trenchant critique: “Five years ago, Eighth Avenue was filled with little shops and businesses. Now it’s all glass walls. Did you know that over there was once a bus depot?”

WEB EXTRAS

As promised, a few photos from 2010, when the depot was still operating at 8th and Stewart:

Signage along Stewart, looking west.
The shit-colored floors were a distinctive feature
Departures and arrivals…
A bus departs from beneath the steel canopy

Then a melancholy few from 2015, nearing the end of demolition:

Seattle Now & Then: Native American camp, late 1890s, and Benson Waterfront Streetcars, 2005

(click and click again to enlarge photos)

THEN1: Pictured just north of today’s Broad Street on the Seattle waterfront by Norwegian photographer Anders Wilse in the late 1890s, Native Americans prepare dugout canoes for their waterborne trek to hop fields in the White and Puyallup river valleys. Queen Anne Hill peeks out at upper left. (Courtesy Museum of History & Industry)
THEN2: One of five George Benson Waterfront Streetcars leaves the Broad Street Station in 2005, just prior to the line’s demise. The 1962 Space Needle anchors the scene at top. (Eric Bell)
NOW: Straddling the two “Then” vantages, our contemporary view shows West Seattle bicyclist and photographer Eric Bell on Pier 70, before the seawall that fronts Seattle Art Museum’s Olympic Sculpture Park. To the right of the outsized human head of “Echo” by Jaume Plensa and below the vertical Pier 70 banner is the site of the former Broad Street station of the Benson streetcars. (Jean Sherrard)

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Sept. 3, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Sept. 6, 2020)

Waves of waterfront change: canoes to streetcars to sculpture
By Clay Eals

It’s natural to mourn the loss of things from younger days – old homes, favored stores – as if they had “always” been there. Self-centered sentiment can steal our sense that something else existed before we entered the arena.

Case in point: today’s pair of “Thens.”

If you lived here from 15 to 38 years ago, you may gravitate to the “Then” depicting the green-and-yellow glow of a George Benson Waterfront Streetcar leaving its Broad Street station and motoring south (right) to Pioneer Square and the Chinatown-International District.

The rickety streetcars – five total – were themselves nostalgia pieces, built in 1925-1930 in Australia and first operated there. Here, tourists loved them, and locals were proud, none more so than Benson, the pharmacist-turned-city councilman for whom they were named and who championed their transition to Seattle as an attraction for the masses. They were a direct nod to our city’s own streetcar heritage, which screeched to a halt by 1941, eventually overrun by petroleum-powered transit.

But what preceded the Benson streetcars? One answer lies in our earlier “Then,” from the late 1890s, angled more directly north and revealing a temporary Native American camp north of Broad (then Lake) Street, long before the city built a seawall there in the mid-1930s.

Pioneer journalist-historian Thomas Prosch labeled this a “common scene.” Via dugout canoes, Prosch said, Native Americans headed from Canada to the White and Puyallup river valleys, where up to 1,000 received low wages to pick hops, fueling a booming industry.

One century later, this waterfront stretch had evolved into pier-based offices and eateries and a breathtaking park named in 1976 for Myrtle Edwards, another city council member, fronting the northern terminus for the Benson streetcars and their maintenance barn when they commenced in 1982.

Having died in 2004, Benson didn’t witness the 2005 demise of his streetcars, whose barn was razed when Seattle Art Museum built its Olympic Sculpture Park, shown in our “Now.”

Some have strategized to revive the streetcars. But trackage and stations fell victim to the 2019 teardown of the nearby Alaskan Way Viaduct for its replacement by a tunnel. Today, a modern, light-rail connector to parallel the waterfront along First Avenue – which some would like to include two retrofitted Benson cars – is stalled by money woes.

Just as those who remembered the Native American canoes are gone, those of us who recall the Benson streetcars will vanish, and the collective memory of the area will default to Olympic Sculpture Park. For the attractive and lucrative waterfront, however, we surely can forecast relentless waves of change.

WEB EXTRAS

To see Jean Sherrard‘s 360-degree video of the “Now” prospect and compare it with the “Then” photo, and to hear this column read aloud by Clay Eals, check out our Seattle Now & Then 360 version of the column!

Below are eight clippings from The Seattle Times online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) and other online newspaper sources that were helpful in the preparation of this column.

Also, check out 18 additional photos, including 13 by West Seattle’s Eric Bell, that were helpful in the preparation of this column. Bell, who worked on the waterfront in 2005, says the failure to retain and incorporate the Benson streetcars was a huge missed opportunity for the city.

May 18, 1980, Seattle Times, page 124.
July 18, 1980, Seattle Times, page 16.
March 13, 1981, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 56.
April 4, 1981, The Oregonian, page 1.
June 16, 1981, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 1.
May 18, 1982, Seattle Times, page 67.
May 30, 1982, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, page 3.
June 24, 1982, Seattle Times, page 72.
Sanborn plate #62 from 1893, showing the location of our first “Then.” (Courtesy Ron Edge)
A 1935 aerial view of the waterfront from Laidlaw and the Museum of History & Industry. (Courtesy Ron Edge)
A 1935 view of the waterfront seawall under construction. (Courtesy Ron Edge)
Elliott Couden (left), further real-estate agent and civil-rights and heritage activist, stands in 1939 with George Benson, future Seattle City Council member, in front of their rooming house in the Green Lake neighborhood. (Elliott Couden collection)
An anachronistic George Benson Waterfront Streetcar crossing sign remains today along Alaskan Way. (Clay Eals)
A 2005 view of a northbound George Benson Waterfront Streetcar, W2-class car 512 leaving Vine Street. (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view of a southbound George Benson Waterfront Streetcar. “The writing is on the wall,” says Eric Bell. “The background beckons the end of the line for the streetcars.” (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view of a southbound George Benson Waterfront Streetcar and the maintenance barn. Seattle Art Museum’s Olympic Sculpture Park now sits on this site. (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view of a northbound George Benson Waterfront Streetcar. Eric Bell says, “The timber and windows of car 482 complement the glazing of the former Seattle Trade Center.” (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view of the interior of a George Benson Waterfront Streetcar. “It’s a non-seasonal day,” says Eric Bell. “Gone are the lunch crowd and tourists.” (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view of a southbound George Benson Waterfront Streetcar, W2-class car 512 in Pioneer Square, with the Alaskan Way Viaduct in the background. “To this day,” says Eric Bell, “I can still feel the car rumble by me.” (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view of a George Benson Waterfront Streetcar at Jackson Street, the southern terminus in the Chinatown-International District. (Eric Bell)
A November 2005 view of two disengaged George Benson Waterfront Streetcars ready for transport. “The advertising,” says Eric Bell, “mocks instead of entices.” (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view of a George Benson Waterfront Streetcar, W2-class car 605, zooming along at 25 mph along the waterfront. (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view inside a George Benson Waterfront Streetcar, indicating that the W2-class cars, produced in 1927 in Australia, largely retained their decor until service ended. (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view of the car number of a George Benson Waterfront Streetcar. The cars retained their original numbers and 1920s headlight design. (Eric Bell)
A 2005 view of a George Benson Waterfront Streetcar logo, originally from the Melbourne and Metropolitan Tramways Board. (Eric Bell)

Seattle Now & Then: City of Seattle Ambulance, ca 1920

(click and click again to enlarge photos)

THEN: Heading southwest along City Hall Park is a city ambulance that our auto informant Bob Carney identifies as a White Motor Company 1-ton truck from the early 1920s. In the background on Fourth Avenue is the Beaux Arts-style King County Courthouse, which topped out in 1916 at a modest five stories. A slice of Smith Tower peeks out upper left. (Courtesy Bert and Elizabeth Prescott)
NOW: Another groundbreaking innovation in Seattle began with the creation of Medic One in 1970. Firefighter/EMT Casey Stockwell stations his truck in precisely the same spot as the city ambulance. Oak trees conceal the 10 additional floors added to the courthouse by 1931. A ball-capped concrete gatepost stands behind the front bumpers in both images. (Jean Sherrard)

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Aug. 27, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Aug. 30, 2020)

A hearse is a hearse, except when it was an ambulance

By Jean Sherrard

As our pandemic-proscribed summer wanes, we may mourn canceled vacations and neighborhood barbecues, but another singularly American institution, beloved by scavengers, collectors and photo-historians, also has bit the dust – the garage sale.

This week’s “Then” is from an album discovered in West Seattle by Bert Prescott at just such a sale in the 1970s. The collection, dating between 1921 and 1923 and shot by an anonymous photographer, features more than 60 images of commercial and official vehicles, ranging from milk and grocery delivery vans to buses and construction and fire trucks.

This ambulance of “The City of Seattle,” captured on Fourth Avenue near City Hall Park, is both lovely and rare. Serving the City Emergency Hospital, literally a stone’s throw away, the vehicle provides insight into a transitional moment in Seattle medical history.

Along with police headquarters, the city jail and the health and sanitation department, the hospital was crammed into the flatiron Public Safety building (now 400 Yesler), and space was at a premium. A city-owned ambulance was an extravagance soon to be replaced with a more economical solution.

Typically, hospitals of the time contracted with funeral homes for emergency transport, providing a profitable second use for hearses. And it passed muster. Whether injured or deceased, prone human bodies require similar dimensions for delivery.

Jason Engler, an Austin, Texas, funeral director and historian for the National Museum of Funeral History, provides a related piece of undertaker lore. “A hearse would get to the cemetery,” he says, “and no sooner had pallbearers removed the casket than they’d head back out on an ambulance call.”

In trade lingo, they were exchanging their black coats for white ones. What’s more, went a morbid joke, if a patient’s survival seemed dubious, an undertaker might dawdle round the block before reaching the hospital, perhaps instead ending up at the funeral home.

In forward-thinking Seattle, Engler suggests, some citizens seemed to treat the joke seriously. To change the status quo, a mayoral delegation traveled in 1922 to Portland, where an enterprising Frank Shepard ran a successful ambulance service unaffiliated with funeral homes. Might he be persuaded to move north?

Shepard agreed, with conditions. Relocating to Seattle in 1923, he purchased ambulances from Butterworth Funeral Home and negotiated a non-compete agreement: Area funeral homes would stop providing emergency transport if Shepard agreed to stay out of the funeral business.

By 1924, the city of Seattle contracted with Shepard Ambulance to serve its hospitals. Over the decades, the company steadily expanded until 1995, when it merged with American Medical Response (AMR).

WEB EXTRAS

Check back soon for our 360 degree video featuring this location.

 

Seattle Now & Then: a house move, the Magnolia Theatre, 1963, & new book!

(click and click again to enlarge photos)

THEN: A house sits mid-move on 34th Avenue West just north of the Magnolia Theatre between June 11 and June 17, 1963, when “It Happened at the World’s Fair” and the Connie Francis vehicle “Follow the Boys” played the second-run house. The theater hit a peak in 1969 as the only place in Seattle to see “Oliver!” in first run, but it closed in 1974 and was razed in 1977. (Ken Baxter / Courtesy Magnolia Historical Society)
NOW: Socially distanced and most with masks down, (from left) Jeff Graham, Tab Melton, Brian Hogan, Gene Willard, Dan Kerlee, Kathy Cunningham, Sherrie Quinton, Mike Musslewhite and editor Monica Wooton from the nearly 70-member team that produced “Magnolia: Midcentury Memories” look southwest in front of Chase Bank, whose previous incarnation, Washington Mutual Savings Bank, opened a branch on the Magnolia Theatre site in 1978. For info on the book’s launch, visit magnoliahistoricalsociety.org. (Jean Sherrard)

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Aug. 20, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Aug. 23, 2020)

For Magnolia baby boomers, it happened at the midcentury
By Clay Eals

Grab a giant popcorn. This week’s “Then” premieres a triple feature.

The photo comes from a project that enlisted 60 writers to document baby boomers’ youthful years in the Magnolia neighborhood. Just-released Magnolia: Midcentury Memories is the third coffee-table book assembled this century by volunteers and represented by the Magnolia Historical Society.

With 448 pages and 450-plus photos, the volume dives into everything from military family life at Fort Lawton (now Discovery Park) to peninsula-wide immigrant roots and racist redlining, from mudslides along the Perkins Lane cliffs to the demise of the Interbay garbage dump.

In our “Then,” the marquee points to the photo’s date (mid-June 1963) and our first feature, the Seattle World’s Fair. The book notes that Fort Lawton was considered for the 1962 exposition site and that from the Magnolia Bridge locals could see the eventual fairgrounds take shape.

Among memories of the fair from then-upper-grade students – most who attended Queen Anne High School, which peered over what is now Seattle Center – is that of Cheryl Peterson Bower. In the book, she tells of securing two autographs, for her and her sister, from Elvis Presley, who was at the fair to star in the marquee movie. But the crooner “signed both sides of the paper dead in the middle, making it impossible to share.”

Parked near the marquee is our second feature, a midcentury house mid-move. This symbolizes a time 14 years prior when Magnolians vigorously debated whether 20 homes to the north should be condemned to make way for a combined junior high school and fieldhouse. What The Seattle Times labeled “Seattle’s most explosive community controversy in many years” ended with a go-ahead. Some houses made dramatic treks in 1950-1951 to vacant lots nearby.

“It was quite a sight for a 5-year-old to see her house being driven down the street,” Karin Barter Fielding says in the book. “It was such a big event for the family. I still talk about it.”

Our third feature is the Magnolia Theatre itself. Opening Nov. 25, 1948, with Cary Grant in “Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House,” it was the largest commercial building in the shopping district, dubbed “the Village.” Seating 985 people, it became a true community center.

Michael Musselwhite, who worked there 1959-1963 as a teen, writes that a tavern was barred from buying on-screen advertising “because children were usually in attendance” and that changing the marquee each Monday evening took two students, a tall ladder and 2-1/2 hours.

A Magnolia blockbuster, the book uses only the right half of our “Then.” So consider this photo the widescreen version!

WEB EXTRAS

To see Jean Sherrard‘s 360-degree video of the “Now” prospect and compare it with the “Then” photo, and to hear this column read aloud by Clay Eals, check out our Seattle Now & Then 360 version of the column!

You can view the Aug. 23, 2020, online Zoom launch of Magnolia: Midcentury Memories by visiting the website of the Magnolia Historical Society. Also, by clicking on their names, you also can view portions of the launch devoted to chapters by authors Brian Hogan (part 1), Brian Hogan (part 2), Skip Kotkins, Whitney Mason, Michael Musselwhite, Greg Shaw (part 1) and Greg Shaw (part 2).

Below are three additional photos, as well as nine clippings from The Seattle Times online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) that were helpful in the preparation of this column. As a bonus, right at the top you will find a nearly five-minute video featuring Monica Wooton, editor of “Magnolia: Midcentury Memories.” Enjoy!

VIDEO: Click photo to see video of Monica Wooton, editor of “Magnolia: Midcentury Memories,” describing the book’s process and product. (Clay Eals)
Cover of “Magnolia: Midcentury Memories”
The Magnolia Theatre marquee shines in 1949. (Courtesy Magnolia Historical Society)
June 11, 1963, Seattle Times, page 17, listing for movies on the marquee in our “Then.”
June 11-17, 1963, an alternate to our “Then” photo, showing the same house being moved. (Courtesy Magnolia Historical Society)
Jan. 12, 1969, Seattle Times, locator graphic from Magnolia Theatre ad.
Jan. 28, 1969, Seattle Times, page 10, ad for exclusive Seattle engagement of “Oliver!”
Jan. 30, 1969, Seattle Times, page 10.
July 20, 1969, Seattle Times, Magnolia Theatre ad after “Oliver!” had won Best Picture at the Oscars.
Nov. 7, 1974, Seattle Times, page 545, announcement of closure.
Dec. 3, 1974, Seattle Times, page 38, closing night for the Magnolia.
July 17, 1977, Seattle Times, page 51, building demolition.
Sept. 8, 1979, Seattle Times, page 17.

Seattle Now & Then: Paul Dorpat, historian without portfolio

(click to enlarge photos)

THEN1: A family photo of rootin’-tootin’ 4-year old Paul in his parents’ backyard in Grand Forks, North Dakota. Snapped by his dad in 1942, this portrait is what Paul calls in retrospect, “Saving the World for Democracy.”
THEN2: Promoting and producing the Sky River Rock Festival and Lighter Than Air Fair near Sultan in 1968, the world’s first multi-day, outdoor rock festivals held on a farm, Paul (right) pauses in his duties for a photo with long-time pal novelist Tom Robbins.
THEN3: Around the time Paul’s “Now & Then” column began in The Seattle Times in 1982, Paul pays a visit to his friend and mentor Murray Morgan, writer of “Skid Road,” at Morgan’s cabin on Harstine Island in the South Sound. (Courtesy, Genevieve McCoy)
NOW: Pre-pandemic on the waterfront, Paul Dorpat lobs French fries over his shoulder to an admiring trio of seagulls, while also, perhaps, blessing his beloved city. (Jean Sherrard)

(Published in the Seattle Times online on Aug. 13, 2020
and in PacificNW Magazine of the print Times on Aug. 16, 2020)

A colossal contribution, and a blast from Paul Dorpat’s present
By Jean Sherrard

This week we drop in on our “Now & Then” column founder, Paul Dorpat.

For 37 years, his witty wisdom (and wise wit), drawn from deep wells of history – and a vast collection of old photos – provided a weekly fount of delight for thousands of fans. Clay Eals and I take ongoing inspiration from Paul’s legacy, but Dorpat ain’t done yet.

Having recently moved from Wallingford into senior housing near the Pike Place Market, he has overseen the contribution of his extensive archive of historical books and manuscripts, as well as more than 300,000 images, to Seattle Public Library.

“I hope my donation will inspire others to do the same,” Paul says. “When we protect and share our history, we can give our community a depth that’s truly resounding.”

Andrew Harbison, the library’s assistant director of Collections and Access Services, concurs: “We’re thrilled to receive this incredible gift and look forward to making the collection available for the public to see and enjoy.”

But that’s not all.

Along with the rest of us, chafing at the isolation imposed by COVID-19, Dorpat continues to collate his many thousands of hours of documentary film and video, dedicated to making this treasure trove available for future generations of historians and documentarians.

“For me, revisiting the past,” Paul says, “has always been a blast.”

WEB EXTRAS

A few more bonbons for friends and fans alike.

Here’s one of my favorites. When Paul and I took a 2005 trip to London and Paris together, we met up with our dear friend and colleague Berangere Lomont (a professional photographer who has through the years served this column as our Paris correspondent). While strolling in the 5th Arr., we did a double take. Paul’s doppelgänger was sitting at a street-side cafe table! The photo op was too good to be missed. Paul sauntered over to the adjoining table and sat down, pretending to examine a menu.

Paul sitting next to his twin in Paris, 2005 (Berangere Lomont)

Berangere took the still and, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh, I pointed the video camera.

More recently, Clay Eals managed to capture a video of Paul feeding gulls on the waterfront (the perfect accompaniment to my still photo used in the column).

Click on photo to see Clay’s video on YouTube.

And in no particular order, a clutch of Paul pix throughout the years.

Paul, baby of the family, accompanied by brothers Dave, Norm and Ted (clockwise from Paul).
Paul with his dad, Rev. Theodore Dorpat, and mom Cherry Dorpat (inset)
Paul in London, 2005
Paul with former roommate Bill Burden and Berangere, Paris 2005.
Paul and Berangere on the Champs Elysees, 2005
Paul with long-time friends Mike and Donna James, 2007. Paul, a registered potentate of the Universal Life church, officiated at Mike and Donna’s wedding.
Paul at Bumbershoot with One Reel’s Norm Langill (plus mime)
Paul and Jean in the Good Shepherd Center’s grotto, posing for ‘Rogue’s Christmas’ PR
Paul with pal Marc Cutler in Bellingham, 2005
Paul signs our book ‘Washington Then and Now’ at Costco, 2007
Paul with historian Alan Stein at the Lakeview Cemetery
Paul at his 70th birthday poses with the late Jef Jaisun, who took photos of Paul at his 40th birthday, on which occasion Dorpat’s beard was removed.
Paul at his 70th stands between Jean’s mom and dad. Howard Lev looms over Paul’s right shoulder
Paul at his 70th, with Ann Folke and Sally Anderson. Eric Lacitis towers upper right.
Paul in Pioneer Square with UW archivist and historian Rich Berner in 2011
Paul at his 75th birthday with this column’s Clay Eals
Paul with Ivar’s President Bob Donegan
Paul performs a pre-prandial prayer at the Lake Union Ivar’s

Stay tuned. More to come…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now & Then here and now