Summertime begins with the Fête de la Musique and the happiness to walk in Paris, listen to some live music. We are rue des Carmes in Quartier Latin Paris 5th.
L’été commence avec la Fête de la Musique et la joie de se balader dans Paris. Nous sommes rue des Carmes dans le Quartier Latin Paris 5eme
Our favorite band : the Parisian Art Rock Trio LLOYD PROJECT playing , rue Descartes at the Antidote since three years. There is such a crowd, that the street is blocked. Their style is a mix of rock and rage and poetry of pop music… Amazing !!!
Notre groupe préféré : LLOYD PROJECT , trio parisien d’Art Rock qui joue rue Descartes à l’Antidote depuis trois ans. Il y a une telle foule que la rue est bloquée. Leur style est un mélange de rage du rock et de poésie de pop music…
Here gain is Werner Lenggenhager on Melrose Place North, but this time looking in the opposite direction to the north and in the summer with the Place now dry and looking like it has been so for a while. We do not known which of the two Werner shot first. We used this one a few years back in our book Washington Then and Now, and the summer comparison also appeared in Pacific, but before they added color to our pages – and many others – in the magazine.
Again, for this Sunday “repeat” (at the top) Jean respects the historical prospect of the featured photograph and returns to it – barely. To really repeat the prospect of the featured photographer, Werner Lenggenhager, would require a hovering drone or the guiding and guarding of a phalanx of the Washington State Patrol Troopers accompanying Jean north of Denny Way to the narrow green belt of shrubbery between the Seattle Freeway’s lower south bound lane and its higher north bound lane.
What Jean did instead was take to the closest prudent prospect: a position above interstate-5 on the Denny Way overpass. From there, looking south, his “now” reveals an electric cityscape of high-rises and cumulous clouds standing above the north-bound late-morning traffic. It is an eye-popping contrast. Within a few seconds of an I-5 driver heading north under Denny Way they will pass by Lenggenhager’s “alley-scape” position in the mid 1950s. It is about a block and a half north of Denny Way. (We found it with the help of aerial photographs.) The sensitive perambulator was then exploring what he knew was the doomed block-wide strip between Eastlake and Melrose Avenues, then recently condemned for cutting the Seattle Freeway.
The Austrian Werner Lenggenhager moved to Seattle in 1939 and was soon working at Boeing. He lived on nearby Olive Street just up the hill. As already not above, this is not the first time we have followed Lenggenhager to this alley. On July 28, 2001 “now and then” featured him looking north at it in the summer when the mud had turned to dust. Next Spring (2018) when Jean and I hope to publish a book featuring an idealized “best of” collection of one hundred picks from the by now nearly 1800 “now and thens” printed in Pacific since the feature started early in 1982, we will want to include one or the other (mud or dust) of Lenggenhager’s nostalgic preludes to the Seattle Freeway.
Werner Lenggenhager retired from Boeing in 1966, giving him more time to explore both Seattle and Washington State with his camera. Parts of the many thousands of prints that make up his oeuvre are kept in public collections, including those at the University of Washington Library, the Museum of History and Industry and the Seattle Public Library.
Anything to add, boys? Yes Jean more faithfully ours and the readers’ Edge Links that will click us about the neighborhood and beyond, followed by a few more from more ancient features. For those you’d best click-and-enlarge to read them – sometimes twice.
This week’s feature may be the earliest surviving look into Ballard. Beyond that we know little about the photo’s intimate parts. We wonder who lived in any of the about thirty minimal structures that can be barely distinguished through the soft focus and smoke. The white vapors are most likely from stump fires. The photo’s focus may be the responsibility of the age of the print, the camera, or the person who held it. We don’t know the photographer’s name, nor are we certain of what the community was called at the time of the recording. However, “Farmdale” is scribbled on the flip side of the worn print I first studied.
Farmdale was Ballard’s first and short-lived name. In 1889 Ballard got its second name, Gilman Park, and the once forested acres that gently sloped south to the north shore of Salmon Bay were divided into hundreds of residential lots and a few larger ones for the factories that were soon strung along the Salmon Bay shoreline. Daniel Hunt Gilman was one of a quartet of robust capitalists who organized the ambitiously named West Coast Improvement Company to develop the site. The place was extraordinary fit for building a community for sawyers not farmers. Judge Thomas Burke,
another of the ruling quartet, was happy to give up his bucolic visions of gardens in Farmdale for factories. In four or five chop-chop years the mill town became “The Shingle Capitol of the World,” and more often than not it smelled like Cedar. With its 1890 incorporation, came the third try at naming, and the citizens chose Ballard. It was given in thanks for William Rankin Ballard the steamboat captain who before the railroad made it to Salmon Bay regularly delivered settlers and their needed supplies to its shores. Capt. Ballard was another of the company’s quartet.
Of the two waterways shining in the featured panorama at the (very) top, Salmon Bay is, of course, the nearer one. The other is Elliott Bay. The wide headland on the horizon is West Seattle. Right-of-center, its highest elevation is “High Point,” the top of Seattle. (The high point tanks were included last week in a Bradley snapshot taken from South Alki Beach. They appear on the horizon.) High Point is about 9 miles south of the Ballard waterfront and about 510 feet above it. Magnolia is on the right, and Queen Anne Hill on the left, with the lowland, Interbay, between them. Left-of-center, at the southwest corner of Queen Anne Hill, the old growth trees of Kinnear Park stand out – and up. For a formality of one dollar, its namesake sold Kinnear Park to Seattle in the fall of 1887, about the time of the featured photo.
Our featured photo is also printed on page 24 of the illustrated history “Passport To Ballard, The Centennial Story.” The caption there reads, “The Gilman Park community on Salmon Bay, on the eve of incorporation. This is one of the earliest known photographs of the community. Old notes identify the street as 22nd Avenue NW.” Jean and I think this likely. We choose NW 57th Street as the repeat for the graded path and planked boardwalk that runs – ca. 1889 – behind the surviving fir tree on the left.
Anything to add, lads? TaTa Jean the same routine. We start with a few recent relevant links that Ron has pulled from the blog itself, and then add a few more that we have scanned for some reason or other from our old clippings. Some day soon we hope to find a phalanx of well-armed volunteers who will scan them all.
Back when the beaches of West Seattle offered a remote respite from the raucous rebuilding of downtown Seattle, an outpouring of tents, shacks, camps and cottages welcomed visitors for a salty stay. One of the sturdiest of these was in the neighborhood called South Alki, now more plainly Beach Drive. This unique structure was – and still is — called Sea View Hall. It was not really a hall and didn’t sport a view of the sea. But the no-less compelling vision from this 1904 vertical-log home was of Puget Sound, a vista that remains today from the second and third floors over the rooftops of houses that sit closer to the water’s edge.
One year after its 1904 construction in then-unincorporated King County, it hosted “one of the dainty weddings of the season,” the bride being Marguerite Rose Maurer, daughter of the builder, John Mauer. as reported in the Nov. 5, 1905, Seattle Sunday Times, “The house, which is one of the prettiest on the point, was elaborately decorated and lighted only by candles.” With its “Adirondike styled logs set vertical rather than horizontal like the “Birthplace of Seattle” Log House museum. The Lodge and the Museum, with the rustic Bernard Mansion (long the Homestead Restaurant), are Alki Point’s three surviving log houses.
The Sea View Lodge soon became a cherished landmark on South Alki warranting its own colored postcard. One example kept in the archive of the Log House Museum and dated June 17, 1911, reads invitingly “This is a good town having parties here every week. Big time here on the 4th, firing up the street already.”
Our featured “then” photo dates from 1954, five years before Benny Goltz with her two sisters moved into the Hall when their mother, Margaret, acquired it. Benny recalls, the place was then nearly “falling down” so much that banks wouldn’t loan her mother money to purchase it. But “Mom fell in love with it,” tapped her savings and hired a carpenter to return again and again to “straighten it up.” Benny was married at Sea View Hall in February 1968.
This week’s feature is our return to Sea View Hall, having first marked it with the postcard photo for a “now and then” on Jan. 23, 2000. (Its is printed here three or more illustrations up.) We revived our interest because after years of careful restoration and renovation of the Hall and its colorful grounds, it is ready for its starring role in the annual “If These Walls Could Talk” home tour of the Southwest Seattle Historical Society. The tour will be both a wonderfully unique exploration of Sea View Lodge and a fundraiser for the 33-year-old organization that promotes the heritage of the West Seattle peninsula and operates from aforementioned log house-turned-museum. Runs from 3 to 5 p.m. next Sunday, June 4, rain or shine. The South Alki address for Sea View Lodge, 4004 Chilberg Avenue, is fittingly one block off the beach and Weather Watch Park.
Those attending (by $10 donation for members, $15 non-members) will be welcomed by proprietors Terry Mann and Glen Poor, as well as volunteer researchers and greeters including Ann McClary, Sandie Wilkinson, Dora-Faye Hendricks, Bobbie Meehan, Molly McNees, Brad Chrisman, Bethany Green, Mary Beth Hatfield. Displays will detail the history of the home and its once-quaint tourist surroundings. For those wanting the benefit of a full presentation on Sea View Hall, plus refreshments and old-time ukulele music, a VIP session is on tap earlier in the afternoon. You can learn more at loghousemuseum.info.
Just shot a gathering of West Seattle High School alums on the 100th anniversary of its opening. Another in a long series of Clay Eals extravaganzas he calls “group hugs.”
Here’s a pretty high resolution version for your enjoyment:
Anything to add, fellahs? Yes Jean and we will begin with a question. How do you reach these heights? I know you purchased a new extender pole of 22&1/2-plus feet for you heavy Nikon, Add to that your about nine-foot reach and perhaps a ladder too, with a wide-angle lens – was that the piggybacking that did it? Or did Clay deliver a cherry-picker to you?
[JEAN ANSWERS HERE: ]
Somewhere in the bunch of related features below, most of them from West Seattle, you will find one that looks at the same front facade of West Seattle Hi. It was graciously shot by Clay Eals years ago – when the story was first published. It was not the first time that Clay helped out with his camera – or more – for this feature. Surely there cannot be many others through the history of West Seattle who have given as much exuberant help to its culture as has this director of the West Seattle Historical Society. I first met Clay thirty-plus years ago when he was the editor of the West Seattle Herald. I gave him minor help with preparing Westside Story, his and the newspaper’s illustrated history of the peninsula. I’ve been fond of him every since.
FIRST a bundle of EDGE CLIPS followed by a few more from ancient features with a reminder from Eda Garena, my mother (also called Cherry) “Repetition is the Mother of All Learning.” (Note: she may have shared it with Horace.)
Jean Sherrard’s and my plans to photographically repeat the inside of Seattle Center’s Mercer Arts Arena (originally the Ice Arena) were interrupted by the recent decision to tear it down. The arena would seat about 5000 – when not flooded for skating. It was dedicated in 1928, and so by antiquarian standards did not qualify as “antique.” And yet in its mere 89 years, the Arena did manage to live within two skins.
The birthday suit of concrete dated from 1927 and showed some “Minimal Romanesque” ornaments like arched windows, decorative trim, and four gargoyles that faced Mercer Street above the Arena’s entrance. These adornments were subdued with Century 21’s architect Paul Thiry’s 1961-2 wrapping (also minimal) with bricks. They were laid for a modern polish thought more fitting for the “forward thrusting” Fair. The changes of course were not necessary for the Fair’s performers using the arena like Lawrence Welk, the Century 21 Horse Show, the Mormon Pageant, the Ringling Bros and Shrine Circuses, and the Ice Follies, to name a few.
The immigrant history for the future Seattle Center began in the 1850s with pioneers David & Louisa Denny. By the 1870s the young couple had nurtured a garden to feed their growing family and also much of Seattle. Beginning in the late 1920s Seattle’s Civic Center grew atop this garden. Its three largest structures, a sports field with covered bleachers, the Arena and the Auditorium – all of them labeled as civic – were bunched south of Mercer Street in what were formerly the Denny’s garden acres.
The Center’s larger parts had all been nurtured from a modest grant bequeathed in the early 1880s when the Denny’s were still tending their gardens. The gift to the city was made by a gregarious bar owner named James Osborne. Over nearly a half-century this spirits’-borne endowment gathered a cash pile high enough to raise what the public house owner had wished for, a public hall owned by the public. The bonus legacy of the Arena was fitted with a floor for the center’s many “Ice Events.” These included amateur and professional hockey, gala ice shows, and extended hours of public skating like that recorded in this week’s featured photograph. Of course, there were skates to rent, instruction to be had, and organ music to accompany nearly a half-year of public gliding. At the start the floor was frozen five months a year.
The recent razing of the Arena did not raise much commotion. In his KIRO radio commentary, Feliks Banel, the station’s zestful historian, quote’s Seattle historian David Rash characterization of the Arena as something of an “orphan.” Rash points out what many others have sensed since Century 21, that the mix of the Arena’s uses – for the most part pop concerts and for the Seattle Opera convenient practice space – with storage – the Arena has had “no built-in constituency of regular users or devoted fans to speak up for it.” Banel notes, “It’s been offline for so many years.”
Let me provide a close-up detail from the ‘Now’ photo – above the arm of the yellow tractor, a last glimpse of the original seating:
Anything to add, lads? Coitenly and silly too, Jean.
Intermittently, Kodachrome slides by Lawton Gowey may be expected with this weekly feature. Lawton was a good friend with whom I often compared and shared photographs. He began his clicking with his father before the second World War and continued exploring Seattle with his camera until his death in the mid-1980s. Lawton was both a creator and a collector, and Jean’s and my illustrated lectures – what we used to call “slide shows” – are elaborately enriched due to Lawton’s many interests, including this one of Seattle’s waterfront and its diverse navy.
Lawton worked as an auditor for Seattle City Light, at the northwest corner of Third Avenue and Madison Street, about five blocks east up First Hill from this Elliott Bay slip between Piers 55 and 56 at the foot of Seneca Street. His office was an excellent prospect from which to keep an eye on the waterfront. It was Lawton’s helpful practice to consistently and clearly name and date his subjects on the borders of his slides; for the featured photo at the top the caption reads “The Nippon Maru, Pier 56, June 29, 1965.” It was the last full day of the Japanese training barque’s visit to Puget Sound before it returned to Tokyo by way of Honolulu. Capt. Isao Kieda, the ship’s master, thanked the 29,849 persons (by his count) who had boarded his ship during its stay. “My young cadets have been deeply impressed by your good will and kindness.”
Parked to the reader’s side of the Nippon Maru in the featured photo at the top are two vessels belonging to Lynn Campbell’s Harbor Tours, long since renamed Argosy. Campbell was stocked with zest, and long-lived. Self-taught, he lectured his passengers on waterfront history or anything else that came up. Following WWII, he started a tugboat business hauling logs across Puget Sound that soon developed into the popular showman’s affordable and interpreted floating tours, most of them around Elliott Bay and/or between it and Lake Washington. Campbell’s daughter Charlotte, a wharf rat, was often aboard. She recalled that in the early 1950s, “This was a working waterfront. Train cars backed into docks. The bows of great ships loomed over our heads.” That soon changed.
By 1965, the year of the Nippon Maru’s visit, Seattle’s waterfront was well into its metamorphosis from traditional maritime work into a midway of cafes like the Cove and import curio shops like Trident – both seen here on the south side of Pier 56. Ted Griffin’s Waterfront Aquarium had opened on the bay-end of Pier 56 for the 1962 Century 21 World’s Fair. The general scramble hereabouts to fill the entertainment holes left by the Fair when it closed in the fall of 1962, included the ambitious Griffin’s aquarium followed in 1965 by his Namu. Griffin’s well-reported convoy pulled Namu, a net-caged killer whale captured in Alaska, down the inside passage to a new pen at the water end of Pier 56. Griffin paid for the prized critter out of a gunnysack filled with $8,000 in loose change he had gathered from friends and businesses on the Seattle waterfront. Along the way, news of Namu spread rapidly (and professionally), and an excited flotilla of naturalists, reporters, and happy hour celebrities formed, with nothing more pressing on their schedules than to follow a killer whale to Seattle.
Anything to add, guys? Dearest Jean Randal Sherrard, and hoping I have got the spelling for you middle name correct. Ron Edge, I, and our readers – I’m confident – wish you a happy 60th Birthday – so Young! And so fit. Here we will insert a late photo of Elvis Presley that dates surely from before his death at the age of 42 in 1977. We will also hang from (or below) Elvis a photo of you about seven years ago (so around age 54) we’ve pulled from a promotional card for one of the many Rogue’s Christmases you have produced at Town Hall. And let the reader know that you look even better now, having lost many pounds at the hands of no one or nothing but your own diet that includes some nearly magic low-cal jello. And now you exersize as well – exploring the city for …
… pictures at an exuberant and often enough joyful pace as you repeat – and re-repeat – 100 locations for the “Seattle Now and Then, Best Of” book that we hope to have completed and delivered to its readers sometime this coming October. And yet Dear Jean feel confident that should some other concern press upon you at school or somewhere else off the Cougar Mountain Campus of Hillside (dear reader, the school is described in a bug near the top) we can always postpone for a season or even a year. For now, though, we pause at the waterfront. Stay happy , healthy and salty – enough.
Here’s the topper – another happy mass of Edge Clippings of apt and old features.
In line and alert, members of the Fremont Historical Society stand for Jean Sherrard’s “repeat” on the southbound lanes of the Fremont Bascule Bridge. The FHS members have just adjourned from their April meeting (the second Saturday) in the nearby conference room of the Fremont Public Library. The historians met in part to consider where to stand for the “repeat” of this week’s featured “then” and together study the inviting jumble of meanings included in the older photograph. The leading goals are, of course, to discover or uncover the “where” and “when” of the photograph, which, judging from the shadows, was recorded around noon. Although it came with no caption, the members easily knew, and in unison, that his was Fremont Avenue. They were less secure regarding its uncertain elevation. That will take more time.
Early during the members joint research someone noticed the sign exhibited, upper-left, in the second floor corner window of the clapboard business block. It reads “Mabel Canney, Piano”. Searches of city directories revealed that Mabel, and probably her piano, were located here in 1908 and 1909 but were then followed in 1910 by her younger sister Ella Mae. This, of course, strongly suggests that the Canneys were a musical family, but also that this subject looking north on Fremont Avenue was photographed sometime when one, or both, of the sisters was in residence there.
With the help and confirmation of other photographs, plus city maps – especially the real estate maps of 1908 and 1912 (as seen for inspection eleven photographs above) – and directories, the deliberating FHS membership could eventually calm the uncanny feeling that something was a kilter here. Through the years of building the Lake Washington Ship Canal, 1911-1917, there were big grade changes here.
In the featured photograph at the top in this first block south of the intersection of Fremont Avenue and Ewing Street, now 34th Street, Fremont Avenue was cut off and dropped below a retaining wall. In the process, both the mercantile building with the Canney piano on the left, and the mill warehouse on the far right, were settled to rest below the deck of the new but short-lived Fremont Bridge constructed in 1911-12. That was not the bascule bridge, which opened in 1917, but its penultimate span that reached N. 34th Street and the Fremont Business district at the new and still holding elevation. The investigating Society also discovered that the railroad track, which curves across the bottom of the subject, was kept to pass below the new Fremont Bridge. It was the Seattle and International Railroad spur that reached Fremont’s main employer, the Bryant Lumber Mill, to the right and behind the unnamed photographer.
Anything to add, lads? Yes Jean, those directly below that Ron Edge put up earlier this evening, and eventually a few more relevant features that I’ll pull from the archive after breakfast. It is 5:19 AM Saturday morning now, and I’m going to bed. Remembering now and in honor of Bill Burden its parent the kind good night “Nighty-Bears.” I climb the stairs.