(click to enlarge photos)
This past spring, Jean Sherrard and I attended the memorial service for Virginia Lee Slate Eals, mother of our friend, the writer Clay Eals. The oldest of three sons, Clay was the principal eulogist, and his memories of his mother were stirring.
The memorial was held at Park West Care Center, where Virginia spent the last six years of a buoyant life that began 87 years earlier, only seven West Seattle blocks away. The big room was filled with flowers, family, friends and photographs. The candid sidewalk snapshot shown here was among them.
From the 1930s into the 1950s, coming upon sidewalk photographers with the pitch of a candid portrait for a low price was commonplace. Virginia Slate had four of them in her album, all taken in her prime, before and during World War II. Clay explains, “She had many jobs downtown, and several of them were copy-girl type positions, delivering printed material from one place to another, so it’s no surprise that person-on-the-street photographers snapped her multiple times.”
With the then-popular Manning’s coffee house and the Colonial Theatre marquee behind her, both the place and time are easy to identify. The view looks north on the west side of Fourth Avenue between Pike and Pine streets in 1945, the year the films “Castle of Crime” and “Hotel Berlin,” on the marquees, upper-left, were making their American runs.
In 1970, Virginia went back to work, in part to help pay for her sons’ education. Clay notes that her job with the Bellevue Traffic Violations Bureau “was both tough and enlightening.” In a letter to Clay during her 18 years there, Virginia reflected, “It’s amazing how many people are repeaters on traffic violations. I’ve been cussed at and told off, which I was expecting, and also lied to. You can never tell by just looking at people what they are like. … I saw a part of life I’ve not been exposed to before, and it’s fascinating and depressing. It makes you appreciate good friends and family all the more.”
Hey Paul, this time round, I just know you’ve got a treasure trove to share with us – but let’s begin with Clay’s extraordinary and moving eulogy for his mom Virginia. What’s more, we’ve illustrated it with a sampler of family photographs supplied by Clay.
And now, on to your mini-survey of street photography now and then from around the planet. And of course I’ll prompt this outpouring with my usual query:
Anything to add, Paul?
First something more about Clay Eals and 4th Avenue north of Pike. This part of 4th first – here in 1947 with the old Colonial.
On October 18, 2009 we put up on this blog a look at this from about the same year – about. It was – do you remember Jean? – a night shots with all the lovely neon aglow and you repeating it in the evening too. I came with you. That now-then also featured an excerpt from film reviewer Bill White’s work-in-progress, “Cinema Penitentiary.” If might be something to visit again for those who know how to use the search machinery. Ask to see anything with “Colonial.”
Next, Clay also figured in another 2009 insertion – the one for June 5th. This was an article putting the Portola Theatre in its proper place – a long move from West Seattle to Queen Anne Hill. Ask to see anything with “Portola” or ask for “Eals.” He comes up in some other stories although he is not identified. He hides more than lurks. You can also – you know Jean because you put him there – find him in the “now” repeat shot for this candid photo of his mother in this – and back to it – block.
Now as time allows (bedtime) I’ll lay in three stories that include street candor, followed by examples of another photographer’s (Victor Lydgman) candid shots on Pike Street (mostly) from the early 1960s, and a samples of my own Broadway Bus Stop project of 1976-77. (About this last I have an uncanny feeling that I showed a lot of these earlier on this blog but I could only find one, and so I will go ahead with it.) I might mix in some other grace notes if they make themselves heard before another nights “nightybears,” which you know is our mutual friend Bill Burden’s (of the button on our front page) customary salutation for metabolic closure, that is, which is his “good night.”
The Seattle News-Letter, a turn-of-the-century weekly, published candid photographs of locals on the city’s sidewalks to accompany a gossipy front-page column, “Stories of the Streets and of the Town.” The couple “posing” here was photographed for the series, although it seems that this shot never made it to print. Perhaps the photographer could not pry any stories from them.
The photographer was a young Walter P. Miller. Pieces of his estate, including these negatives for the tabloid – about 100 of them – survived in their original wraps. Roger Dudley Jr.s’ father worked for Walter Miller and in the mid-1930s bought out the business. The 3-inch-square flexible negatives were part of the deal. Roger Dudley Jr. took over his father’s studio 20 years later, and after a quarter-century more of commercial photography he retire and gave the negatives – these candid ones – to me. Miller lightly penciled the names of most of his subjects on his negative holders. This couple was one of the exceptions.
According to Lois Bark, costume curator for the Museum of History and Industry [in 1993 when this story first appeared in Pacific – on April 12] the woman is dressed conservatively but still modishly. Her hat, held in place with a long pin, is most likely straw-trimmed with tulle (a fine net) and artificial flowers. Her S-shaped figure is a creation of corsets, whale bones, petticoats, hip pads and hooks, and below all that maybe an S-shaped anatomy. Her two-piece walking dress was certainly black, the common dress color of the time, and most likely wool. It required help to get on and off and could not be cleaned, only brushed and spotted.
The man is distinguished by his gold chain. His double-vested waistline is another projection of his affluence or, at least, self-importance.
The couple stands on the southeast corner of First Ave. and Union Street. The pioneer Arthur and Mary Denny home is directly behind them and over their shoulders at the northeast corner is their son Orion Denny’s home. In 1852 he became the first boy born to white settlers in the village of Seattle. He died in 1916.
TWO MORE FROM MILLERS CANDID ONE HUNDRED
Walter Millers example of candid street photography are rare – for Seattle. Perhaps for anywhere, for the practice of “catching” subjects that were not confused by their own movement was dependent on still subjects and/or fast equipment.
MORE CANDOR ON FOURTH AVENUE NEAR (OR AT) PIKE STREET
Although the date for this Fourth and Pike scene is recorded on neither the original negative nor its protective envelop, uncovering it was not difficult. The newsstand at the center of this view includes copies of both The Seattle Times and the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. A 15-power magnifying glass reveals the date. It is Monday, July 25, 1938.
The Post-Intelligencer, just above the dealer’s head, announced “A New Forest Fire Rages at Sol Duc.” A week and a half of record heat had not only encouraged fires around Puget Sound, but also filled its beaches.
On this Monday, Seattle was even hotter with anticipation of a Tuesday-night fight. Jack Dempsey’s photograph is on the front page of the P-I. The “Mighty Manassa Mauler” was in town to referee what those who sport so consider one of the great sporting events in the city’s history: the Freddie Steele-Al Hostak fight for the middleweight title.
About 30 yours after this photograph was recorded, hometown-tough Hostak, in front of 35,000 sweating fans at Civic Field (now the Seattle Center Stadium) made quick work of the champion Steele. The P.I.’s purple-penned sports reporter, Royal Brougham, reported “Four times the twenty-two-year-old Seattle boy’s steel-tempered knuckles sent the champion reeling into the rosin.” Hostak brought the belt to Seattle by a knockout in the first minute of the first round.
The day’s fevered condition was also encouraged at the Colonial Theatre (a half-block up Fourth) where, the Time’s reported, “an eternal triangle in the heart of the African jungle brings added thrills in Tarzan’s Revenge.” The apeman’s affection for a young lady on safari with her father fires the resentment of her jealous fiancé. We will not reveal the ending of this hot affair, although by Wednesday the 27th, Seattle had cooled off.
[HERE we remind the reader that another visit to the Colonial was offered on this blog on Oct. 18, 2009 with an excerpt from film critic Bill White’s work-in-progress, “Cinema Penitentiary.” It is illustrated with a neon-lighted night view of Fourth from this corner in 1945. Search for “Colonial.”]
CANDOR (OR FEVERED PRODUCE EXHIBITION) AT THE PIKE PLACE MARKET ca. 1907
FARMERS AND FAMILIES
(This was first published in Pacific on August 6, 2006. The Pike Place Market and the city were preparing for the former’s100th Anniversary.)
A century ago Seattle, although barely over fifty, was already a metropolis with a population surging towards 200,000. Consequently, now our community’s centennials are multiplying. This view of boxes, sacks and rows of wagons and customers is offered as an early marker for the coming100th birthday of one of Seattle’s greatest institutions, the Pike Place Public Market.
Both the “then” and “now” look east from the inside angle of this L-shaped landmark. The contemporary view also looks over the rump of Rachel, (bottom-left) the Market’s famous brass piggy bank, which when empty is 200 pounds lighter than her namesake 750 pound Rachel, the 1985 winner of the Island County Fair. Since she was introduced to the Market in 1986 Rachel has contributed about $8,000 a year to its supporting Market Foundation. Most of this largess has been dropped through the slot in her back as small coins. It has amounted to heavy heaps of them.
Next year – the Centennial Year – the Market Foundation, and the Friends of the Market, and many other vital players in the closely-packed universe that is the Market will be helping and coaxing us to celebrate what local architect Fred Bassetti famously describe in the mid-1960s as “An honest place in a phony time.” And while it may be argued that the times have gotten even phonier the market has held onto much of its candor.
The historical view may well date from the Market’s first year, 1907. If not, then the postcard photographer Otto Frasch recorded it soon after. It is a scene revealing the original purpose of the Public Market: “farmers and families” meeting directly and with no “middleman” between them.
Then and Now Captions together: The Pike Place Market started out in the summer of 1907 as a city-supported place where farmers could sell their produce directly to homemakers. Since then the Market culture has developed many more attractions including crafts, performers, restaurants, and the human delights that are only delivered by milling and moving crowds.
BELOW THE PIG ON PIKE PLACE
ONE BLOCK SOUTH OF THE PIG THE FIREMAN AND THE YOUNG WOMAN SITS THE BED
FOUR FROM JEAN AND FOUR FROM BERANGERE
This morning I suggested to both our Jean and our Berangere that they apply some candor to this and they have with the following examples pulled from their profound larders or happy hordes or profound multitudes. Four for each – with Jean first.
FOUR FROM VICTOR LYDGMAN – CA. 1962
This quartet hangs around Pike Street too.
BROADWAY BUS STOP – 1976-77
For the two years I lived above Peter’s on Broadway in the grand-box apartment with two floors handed on from Cornish students and faculty to Cornish faculty and students through many years, I took the opportunity to photograph the bus stop across Broadway. It was laid beside the east facade of Marketime, a big place with food and sundries. The light was wonderfully mellow as it bounced off our side of Broadway in the afternoons. In the mornings it slanted from the south – left – directly into the architecture of the bus stop shed and those who were protected by it. I recorded a few thousand shots, both black and white and color. The Friends of Rag also put on a fashion show at the bus stop for the project. I asked many friends to sit for portraits with my zoom lens poking out below the open kitchen window on the second floor above the kindly Peter’s front door. Peter, I think, was the first gay clothier in Seattle, and he was also one of the first oulets for the Helix weekly in the late 60s. Here are a few examples taken from the thousands. A few of these – or others – were exhibited on city buses at the time. (Not all the buses.)
AT LAST MORE SIDEWALK CANDOR
TWO STREET SNAPS OF DELIA & LEWIS WHITTELSEY
Delia and Lewis, like may others, had a custom of doing much of their shopping downtown, and often the Pike Place Market was among their stops. As with Clay Eals’ mother Virginia this frequency meant that they had more than one chance to purchase a candid snapshot of them having their ways on a downtown street. Lewis Whittelsey “contribued” to his blog with his photography on another Sunday. You can search for him.
Located between the Luxembourg gardens, Saint-Germain-des-Pres neighborhood and Necker, Montparnasse is an area where Parisians have often come to party – even before the installation of the famous cemetery. Montparmasse was known for its famous cabarets since the seventeenth century when this neighborhood was then still Iocated in the outskirts of Paris.
Originally, Latin Quarter students were accustomed to recite poems on the Boulevard Edgar Quinet and rue du Montparnasse artificial hill, using poetic allusions to Mount Parnassus in central Greece, the wooded summit which inspired the muses.
For Parisians, the neighborhood evokes the presence of celebrated artists from the Universal Exhibition of 1889, artists such as Apollinaire, Gauguin, and Matisse, the famous “ Montparnos ”, which dates from the piquant years between the two world wars as Modigliani, Picasso , as well as other cinemas, theaters, and restaurants. Although now surrounded by Paris, Montparmasse keeps its mythical connection for links to western France. It is a crossroads. The neighborhood is also famous for the tower built there in 1972. It offers the best view of Paris – one that includes the Eiffel Tower but excludes itself.
Situé entre le jardin du Luxembourg, Saint-Germain-des-Prés et le quartier Necker, Montparnasse est un quartier où l’on est toujours venu faire la fête, et avant même l’installation du célèbre cimetière, il était connu pour ses célèbres cabarets installés en bordure de Paris depuis le XVII ème siècle .
A l’origine, les étudiants du Quartier latin avaient l’habitude de déclamer des poèmes sur la colline artificielle du boulevard Edgard Quinet et de l’actuelle rue du Montparnasse limitant Paris et l’avait surnommé ainsi en référence au Mont Parnasse au centre de la Grèce qui inspirait les muses.
Pour les Parisiens, ce quartier évoque le rendez-vous d’artistes bien connus depuis l’exposition universelle de 1889 tels Apollinaire, Gauguin, Matisse…et les célèbres Monparnos de l’entre-deux guerre, mais aussi des cinémas, de théâtres, de restaurants mythiques, le carrefour dû à la gare déservant tout l’Ouest de la France, et bien sûr la célèbre tour construite en 1972 célèbre pour offrir la meilleure de la vue de Paris , parce que n’étant pas dans la perspective…
(What follows is lifted from “Keep Clam” a work-in-progress on the life of Ivar and Ivar’s. This is part of the longer of two books, and will appear somewhat polished only on the net. The smaller book will be published between covers and available early in 2012. The longer book will begin to appear on its own webpage sometime early next year and “with many extreas” including recordings, video bits, and a reading of the serial installments by the author for those who like to be read to.)
MEETING TED ABRAMS & GUY WILLIAMS
In her revealing memoir “Wash Your Hearts with Laughter”, following her description of meeting Ivar at a Theosophy meeting, Maggie introduces Ted Abrams, the brilliant craftsman, cook, collector and raconteur. “We became friends with the most interesting man two young and green people could associate with.” Raised in a southern Jewish family, Abrams came to Seattle a short time before World War One. He escaped the war years living in Japan, working as a buyer for Seattle’s Frederick and Nelson Department store. Otherwise Ted Abrams lived in Seattle until his death in 1942. In a recorded conversation with Emmett Watson and Guy Williams, Ivar begins to describe Abrams, until Williams interrupts him. “Allow me to interpolate. Abrams! I’ll swear he knew everything.” Ivar continues, “He was a genius.” Guy Williams, Ivar’s college friend and sometimes his press agent as well, was encyclopedic on his own. As a young boy he was already an accomplished auto-dictate. Growing up in the gypo lumber camps that his dad managed, Williams read a multi-volume encyclopedia from A to Z and it would seem he remembered much of it.
Ivar and Maggie met Abrams at his Club Mauve on First Hill. Abrams was both the chef and the entertainer with a gift for rendering blues and gospel music he learned growing up in Savanna, Georgia. Maggie credits Abrams with inspiring Ivar to a more earnest life as a folklorist and songwriter. Club Mauve was designed around Abrams own collection of antiques and exotic art. The young couple was so taken with him that when Abram’s club fell victim of the wrecking ball they invited him to join them in West Seattle. After first distinguishing the old Haglund home on 59th Ave. SW with decorative brick work, Abrams built his own home from salvaged materials on a lot that Ivar donated across a Horton Street that was more an alleyway than a street. A visit to Abrams charmed construction became a kind of pilgrimage for members of Seattle’s Bohemian community in the 1930s. Artist William Cummings recalled the interior of Abrams home in his published, Sketchbook – A Memoir of the 30s of the Northwest School. “The house was crammed with paintings, drawings, sculpture, etchings and first-edition volumes signed by names famous and infamous. Ted managed to live just above the alleged level of poverty with an aristocratic grace that seldom showed the strained and stressed crevices of daily life.”
MEETING IVAR & THE BEES
Another visit to Ted Abrams home is recounted in Bill Cumming’s memoir. It is titled for our subject, “Ivar Haglund.” He might have titled it “Meeting Ivar Haglund” for nearly a half-century later he notes that their bumping “remains vivid” and a bit creepy.
On a spring Sunday afternoon Cumming accompanied Ken and Margaret Callahan aboard their Model A for a visit to Abrams little salvaged manse next door to Ivar’s and Maggie’s place. Abrams’ “tiny astonishingly fragile and graceful elderly nymph” of a sister had moved from Georgia to help take care of her fading brother, (Anguished, Cumming could not remember her name.) and the pair accompanied the Callahans for a visit to the nearby Alki Point. Cumming stayed behind, to explore Abrams’ library and watch his cat Mike “who dozed in a corner while I curled up in a big chair engrossed in a book.” The stage was set for meeting Ivar. Cumming continues.
“I was raised from the chair by a thunderous knocking on a fragile door, which threatened to collapse under the attack. Before I could open it, the door sprang open and on the threshold stood another short stocky figure in ample flesh, pale eyes set over drooping lower lids. At the moment the whole apparition gave off an air of general hysteria. ‘I’m sorry to bother you. My name’s Ivar Haglund and I live next door. I’m a friend of Ted’s and the Callahans’.” Cummings replied, “Yes. They speak of you a lot.” However, before he could complete his observation, Ivar “blurted out, ‘Listen! You wouldn’t know how to get rid of a room full of bees, would you? I mean an entire room full, my bedroom!’ . . . Driven by a Spartan sense of duty I walked back with him to his yard. Creeping through the long grass for all the world like marauding Indians in a B Western, we gained the relative safety of the wall of his house directly beneath the bedroom window, which gaped slightly open. From within floated the ominous hum of multitudinous wings, a hum of anger and threat. Rising up until our eyes just cleared the sill, we gazed into the room, then froze in terror and abject fear. The room was indeed filled with bees, flying, standing on edges and ledges, crawling over bed covers, crawling into and out an hollow containers, into lampshades, out of pillowcases . . . In front of our eyes, barely out of striking distance, the sill was three deep in black and yellow malcontents who glared balefully into our eyes, not yet collected enough to launch themselves across the scant inches between us. Hurriedly we ducked back down and retreated on all fours through the grass, praying that we would not be hit by a sudden raid from the rear.
“Regaining the safety of Ted’s porch, I slumped in a chair, while Ivar wandered off in search of someone who might be of practical help. My only suggestion was to burn the house down. I never met Ivar again. In fact, I never really found out if it actually was Ivar or not. If it’s of any significance to scholars, he wasn’t carrying a guitar.”
(The above was written – often copied – during a blizzard sent early from Canada this Monday evening, November 22, 2010. This morning the 93 year old Bill Cummings died, and the community lost thereby one of its great raconteurs. He had hosted his last painting class in his home a week earlier. Last Friday our mutual friend the pianist-producer Margaret Margason serenaded Bill. She brought with her to Bill’s home some romantic Robert Schumann and some Beatles, and he requested the latter, which she both played and sang. At the time he was reading again the Jeeves novels by the English humorist P. G. Wodehouse. About one month ago Bill celebrated his last birthday with the Margasons at their Wallingford home. A few days earlier I had found in a collection of negatives recorded by the artist Victor Lygdman a series of “artist at work” portraits of Bill that Victor took in the earlier 1960s. Six of these are included below.)