Seattle Now & Then: Upheaval on Spring Street

(click to enlarge photos)

THEN: Looking east up Spring Street from 5th Ave. during its ca. 1909 regrade. (Courtesy Lawton Gowey)
NOW: In 1922 the north side of this block on Spring was filled with the warm and complimenting bricks of the Women’s University Club, up at 6th Avenue, and the 11-story Spring Apartment Hotel at 5th. Through its now 90 years the hotel has also been named The Kennedy and most recently the Hotel Vintage.

In this disrupted street scene we get a fine lesson in how homes were propped while the ground below them was removed during street regrades – here on Spring Street east from Fifth Avenue.  Near the end of the grading these two supported residences will either be lowered with a jack – one spacer at a time – or given a new first floor with a new foundation.  (As it happened, they were lowered.)

St. Francis Hall, the institution up Spring St. at its northwest corner with Sixth Avenue, far right, was built in 1890-91 by Rev. F.X. Prefontaine.  Seattle’s first Catholic priest was known as much for his street savvy as for his pulpit homilies.  Prefontaine rented his new hall first to Jesuits for their original incarnation of Seattle Prep, but then also to many others, including the Knights of Columbus, the Catholic Foresters, dance instructor Professor Ourat (from Florence) and the Andante Non Troppo Club also for dancing.  The hall was managed in the end by the Woodmen of the World and briefly named for them.  The name change was testimony to the admired priest’s flexible disposition.

I’ve chosen “about 1909” as the year for this subject largely from past assumptions joined with some of these half-lighted evidences.  For instance, by 1909 St. Francis Hall has passed from sight and citation – or nearly so.

With a little Ron Edge computer-aided sleuthing we were pleased to discover that in 1884 Matilda and Nelson Chilberg built the home standing here above the corner. Stocked by eight broad-shouldered brothers from Sweden – including Nelson – the industriously extended Chilberg family was famously diverse in its interests. For instance, Matilda and Nelson opened a grocery at the foot of Cherry Street, raised oats on the Swinomish Flats, ran a dairy in Chimacum (near Port Townsend) – selling the milk and cheese in the lumber camps – opened another grocery in Skagway while prospecting in Alaska.  In Seattle the couple opened three new additions to the city.

In 1908 with their daughter Mabel, a teacher at Seattle High School, these Chilbergs left their pioneer corner and moved further up the hill.  The prospect of this upheaval on Spring Street most likely spurred them.


Anything to add, Paul?

Yes and No.  Jean asked this question – again – on the eve of one of this blog’s greater crashes.  I had gathered the parts for a lengthy answer, but then the blog went down and stayed so for a days.  Later – like now – when it would have been possible to return and assemble the “anything” I was busy with the next thing or “otherthing.”   Surely sometimes down the way the anythings I would have put up will appear in other contexts.



Seattle Now & Then: The Gables Apartments on Capitol Hill

(click to enlarge photos)

THEN: Built of local Denny-Renton Brick in 1911, the Gables was one of the largest apartment houses then on Capitol Hill. (Courtesy, University of Washington Libraries, Special Collections, UW 29467z)
NOW: While inside the apartment house turned co-op has undergone many refinements, thru its first century the “Old English” landmark has maintained its presentation to the street fine.

The now century old Gables on Capitol Hill is surely one of the most courtly of Seattle’s apartment houses. The landmark holds the northwest corner of 16th Avenue East and Harrison Street.  Most of our apartments – what architectural historian Diana James calls our “shared walls,” the title of her recent history of them – were built in Seattle during the city’s years of exploding growth.  Our population quadrupled between the mid 1890s when Seattle got very busy outfitting miners for the hardships of the Yukon and the First World War when different “traveling men” were sent off not to gold fields but to the muddy and bloody ones of France.

The Gables first opened to renters in 1911, although the shared observatory with billiard table, dance floor and attached roof garden on the fourth floor was a year late.  It was one of the largest of the 61 apartment buildings managed by Seattle’s super-realtor then: John Davis & Co. The 24-unit apartment was built in two parts, the Annex on the southwest corner of the triple lot – here to the far left – and the much larger U-shaped expression of Tudor nostalgia.  At the time it’s style was described as “Old English.”

Thanks to Abba Solomon, a resident at the Gables, and to Anna Rudd, also attached to this landmark, for contacting Ron Edge about this write-up in the Pacific Builder and Engineer for Sept. 9, 1911. Click TWICE to enlarge.

Neither the Gables rent nor renters were cheap.  This addresses’ highest call for 1912 was $45 for a 5-room apartment – about $1,000 today. While the kitchens were cramped, the living rooms were large enough to entertain.  For what may be one of the earliest scheduled cultural moments there, Mrs. Harry Louis Likert opened her apartment’s door on the Tuesday afternoon of Nov. 12, 1911 to the Emerson Club.  We assume it was for reading and discussing Ralph Waldo.

Readers interested in – or excited by – Diana James’ “living history” of the kind of Seattle’s digs in which residents often enjoy but sometimes endure “Shared Walls,” might want to mark their calendars for June 8th. On that Saturday at 10 am James will lead a Historic Seattle walking tour down and around 16th Avenue East while interpreting what is, she explains, “Probably Seattle’s most intense concentration of apartment buildings representing a wide variety of styles.  Of course the Tudor Gables are included.  For details and pre-registration best to call Historic Seattle at (206) 622-6952.


Anything to add, Paul?

Yes Jean, a few more old features from the neighborhood but beginning with another Old English apartment – a fresh one.  But first a technical confession.  We are, you know, in another wrestle with our server Luna Pages.  So while we will try to join more features to the Gables story we suspect that we will be stopped along the way.

We begin with something, again, from Diana James, an identification of another Capitol Hill apartment, one that has been recently in the news and will continue to be watched with the construction of the big transit tunnel beneath Capitol Hill.  The  hill’s station and access to the tunnel service is being built on the site of the now, of course, raised Eileen Court at the southwest corner of 10th Ave. E. and E. John Street.  Long before there was household or studio scanning I made inter-negatives from an album that include both the construction subject and the as-built record of the Court, which was first named the St. Albans, after an ancient English town that is now about 20 miles north of the center of London.  (By a pleasant coincidence Diana and her family spent a year there many ears ago.)  Diana give the Eileen Court photos a circa date of 1908, which fits well-eough the album from which they were copied.

The St. Albans under construction at the southwest corner of E. John Street and 10th Ave. E. circa 1908. The view looks to the southwest.
The completed St. Albans aka Eileen Court, circa 1908.
The Saint Albans renamed the Eileen Court, photographed by Diana James in 2009. The view looks southwest across the intersection of John St. and 10th Ave. E. The window wraps were not installed for a new paint job, but for the razing of the building. To catch glass, we imagine.
The Eileen Court's last days, looking northwest on 10th Ave. E. towards John Street. Diana James dates this March 26, 2009.



Back-to-back with the Gables and facing the commercial 15th Avenue at its northeast corner with Harrison was Fire Station No. Seven, a tidy brick pile of which we have snapshots mixed here with “contemporary” subjects taken more than twenty years ago and posing person who were staffed in either the Environmental Works community design group or the Country Doctor health clinic – cleverly combined as Earth Station No. 7 –  that replaced the fire prevention paraphernalia.

The west facade of the Gables separated part is seen here on the right behind Fire Station No. 7.

FIRE STATION NO. 7 at 15TH Ave. & HARRSON Street.

(First appeared in Pacific, May 4, 1989)

In 1924 the Seattle Fire Department got rid of the last of its horses. At the beginning of that year the city bought motorized fire apparatus #66 and at the end of year rig #82.  Showing here is one of the city’s earliest fire engines, #7.   According to fireman Galen Thomaier, the department’s official historian and also the proprietor of the Last Resort Fire Department, a fire fighting museum in Ballard, it is a coincidence that this rig was also assigned to Fire Station #7 at 15th Ave. E. and E. Harrison Street on Capitol Hill.

The red brick Station #7 opened in 1920, sans the poop-shoots and hayloft of the 27 year-old frame firehouse it replaced. The jewel-like station served for fifty years more, closing March 23, 1970.  Apparatus #7, however, worked out of Fire Station #7 only until 1924 when it was moved to Station #16 near Green Lake. It survived in the system until 1937 when it was sold.  The department’s first motorized apparatuses were displayed at the 1909 Alaska Yukon and Pacific Exposition before they were commissioned in 1910.  Numbered consecutively the department’s most recent 1988 addition is apparatus #386.  It cost $328,000 or $319,000 more than rig #7 (not figured for inflation).

Station 7?s survival was briefly threatened when the city surplussed it in 1970.  QFC, its neighbor to the north, petitioned to purchase and raze the structure for parking; however, as many readers will remember, 1970 was a watershed year for preservation.  On Earth Day of that year a number of community design activist at the UW School of Architecture formed Environmental Works.  Then with the health clinic Country Doctor and a number of other then new social services they leased the old station from the city and so saved it.  They also renamed it, Earthstation #7.  In its now [1989]  nearly two decades of community service, the interior of the old station has been renovated four times.


THE BAPTISTS on HARRISON – One-half block west of the Gables and across Harrison Street stood the Capitol Hill Tabernacle.  A glimpse of its position can be found far-left in the week’s primary subject at the top.

This view of the Capitol Hill sanctuary was photographed about 1914 when the parishioners briefly entertain relocating their church downtown. But they stayed on 15th and spread — adding first seating and then an educational wing to the 1903 sanctuary. Through its years on Capitol Hill the Tab called eleven pastors. Forest Johnson, the eighth of these, stayed the longest, from March 1944 to June 1969 when he resigned to become director of the church’s Camp Gilead on the Snoqualmie River.


(First appeared in Pacific, June 9, 2002)

For its 1996 centennial celebration Tabernacle Baptist Church – or “TAB” as its member call it – published a church history replete with pictures, the line of pastoral succession, the statistics of worship service and Sunday School attendance, descriptions of its several moves, and the dramatic story of its origins.

The TAB began in conflict.   A protesting minority of members left First Baptist Church after the freshly ordained young Bostonian Pastor S.C. Ohrum failed by a few votes to win 3/4ths approval to keep him beyond a six months trail at the central “mother” church.   The dissenters formed Tabernacle Baptist in 1896 and hired Ohrum as its first pastor.  Their formidable leader was a Ulysses Grant appointee who for many years was the chief judicial officer of Washington Territory.   Judge Roger Sherman Green carried a pedigree to his protests; he was the grandson of Roger Sherman, a signer of the Declaration of Independence.

For a short while the new church hoped to challenge the old as Seattle’s, to quote Green, “but one central Baptist Church” however, the lure of affordable land on the top of the then booming residential Capitol Hill proved more attractive than old protests.  On Sept 21, 1902 Sunday school children paraded from the TAB’s temporary barn-like hall at 11th Avenue and Jefferson Street to the southeast corner of 15th Avenue N.E. and Harrison Street where the congregation would stay for three-quarters of a century.

Soon after the TAB’s present senior pastor Thomas Ruhlman answered the call in 1980 his congregation moved from temporary quarters at 15th N.E. and 92nd Street to join with North Seattle Baptist in Lake City.


Then caption: A procession led by Archbishop Tikhon of San Francisco prepares to carry the church’s relics to the altar during the Dec. 19, 1937 consecration of the then new and unfinished St. Nicolas sanctuary on Seattle’s Capitol Hill. (Courtesy Museum of History and Industry)
Jean’s contemporary looks east across Thirteenth Avenue near mid-block between Howell and Olive Streets.


(First appeared in Pacific, ca. Jan. 2008)

When the St. Nicholas congregation consecrated their new cathedral on December 19, 1937 it was not quite completed.  The accompanying photograph of that day’s procession led by Archbishop Tikhon of San Francisco reveals the tarpaper that still wraps most of the sanctuary.  Church historian Sergei Kalfov explains that the brick façade was added sometime later in 1938.  The sprightly and surviving entryway was also constructed then.

The five cupolas springing from the roof symbolized Jesus Christ and the four evangelists.  Kalfov notes that a church with seven cupolas might stand for the seven sacraments, and so on.  Ivan Palmov, the architect, was also responsible for the St. Spiridon sanctuary in the Cascade Neighborhood.

Both congregations primarily served Russian immigrants, beginning with those that fled the 1917 revolution, when the church in Russian was persecuted and the Czar Nicholas II and his family assassinated.   The Cathedral was dedicated to the memory of the Czar, but its name also refers to the fourth century “wonderworker” St. Nicholas the bishop of Myra in what is now Turkey.

What separated the members of St. Nicholas from those of St. Spiridon was, in part, the former’s continued devotion to the Russian monarchy.   This past May 17th the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russian and the Russian Church, after nearly 90 years of separation reunited in Moscow.  Kalfov explains “St. Nicholas was the first Cathedral to a host a pan Orthodox service shortly after the signing of the Act, where over 14 Orthodox clergy served for the fist time in such a service.”

The congregation’s 75-anniversary celebration continues until May 22, another St. Nicholas Day.


Capitol Hill Methodists, southeast corner of 16th Ave. E. and John Street.


(First appeared in Pacific, 8-23-1993)

That there is very little to distinguish Capitol Hill Methodist church from its dedication in 1907 to its recent [1993] re-dedication as the offices of the architectural partnership Arai/Jackson is evidence of this landmark’s power to escape the crowbars and vinyl sidings of outrageous progress.

When we think church many of us — perhaps most — think Gothic.  Since the Victorian revival of medieval style the popularity of this type of English Parish sanctuary spread speedily throughout Christendom including the southeast corner of 16th Avenue and John.  The architect John Charles Fulton, a Pennsylvanian, was so good in designing popular parishes that in 30 years he sold the plans to nearly 600 of them.

This is the third sanctuary — all of them Gothic variations — built by the city’s second oldest congregation, the members of First Methodist Protestant Church.  The first, the “Brown Church” at Second and Madison, was raised by Daniel Bagley the congregation’s founder and first minister.  It was the second sanctuary built in Seattle and the first to be destroyed by the city’s Great Fire of 1889.  The congregation fled its second edifice at Third and Pine when the 1906 regrade of Third Avenue put its front door more than ten feet above Third’s new grade.

When new, the Methodist’s Capitol Hill address was nearly in the suburbs, but briefly so.  The neighborhood quickly grew and changed replacing its single-family residences with the culture of mixed uses that still distinguishes Capitol Hill.  But with the steady loss of its families the congregation dwindled.   The church’s successful application in 1976 for official landmark status for its sanctuary was done as much to help preserve the congregation as its building.  But by 1991 when the costs of maintaining the old Gothic sandstone pile accelerated well beyond the small congregations powers they moved nearby to share the quarters of Capitol Hill Lutheran Church on 11th Avenue.

The church’s new residents have neither fiddled with its exterior nor made changes within which cannot be readily reversed should the church ever return to being a church.  Actually Arai-Jackson’s work on the structure’s interior is nearly religious.  Their conversion of the sanctuary’s dome room is uplifting.  Its worth a visit.

And these particularly sensitive architects have other responsibilities besides caring for their office’s landmark status.  It is essential that sanctuaries  — especially Gothic ones — so evocative of the preternatural as this should have had at least one ghost sighting.  For the Methodists on Capitol Hill, however, it required one of the building’s latter day users, a new age divine, to claim to have seen none other than old Daniel Bagley anxiously pacing the sacristy.  Now partners Steve and Jerry Arai, Cliff Jackson and Tom Ryan must expect that not only architectural tourists will want to occasionally eavesdrop on their quarters but also an ancient cleric in a “diaphanous bluish light.”


Both views look southeast at Holy Names Academy across the intersection of 21st Ave. E. and E. Aloha Street.   Now [2007] at the threshold of its second century on Capitol Hill, Holy Names Academy opens each school day to about 650 students. (Historical photo courtesy of John Cooper)


(First appeared in Pacific, Jan. 2007)

A century of greening on the Holy Names Academy campus has half-draped the full figure of architects Breitung & Buchinger Capitol Hill landmark, with trees.  However, if the landscape were stripped away we would discover from this angle (from the northwest) a Baroque Revival plant that has changed very little since the “ real photo postcard” photographer Otto Frasch recorded it almost certainly in 1908.  The big exception is the tower at the north end of the school, on the left.   While the earthquake of April 29,1965 did not collapse the tower it did weakened it so that it was removed.

The Sisters of Holy Names arrived in Seattle in 1880 and opened first their school for girls in an available home downtown.  In 1884 the school moved to its own stately Gothic structure on Seventh Avenue near Jackson Street and remained there until the Jackson Street Regrade (1907-1909) made kindling of the school when the block was lowered about sixty feet.

Construction on this third campus began in 1906, the cornerstone was laid in 1907, and in the fall of 1908 the school was dedicated.  Of the 282 students then attending the new facilities 127 of them boarded there.  Many came from Alaska, some from “off the farm,” others from distant rural communities, and a few from nearby and yet still hard to reach contributors like Mercer Island.  In 1908 Holy Names served all 12 grades plus a “Normal School” for the training of teachers.  By 1930 the Normal School was no longer needed, and it closed, as did the grade school in 1963.  By 1967 both convenient transportation and distant alternatives were sufficiently available to allow the school to discontinue boarding students.

Classes may already have begun when Frasch took his photo but certainly the structure’s north wing (the one closest to the photographer) with the schools chapel was not yet finished, and wouldn’t be until 1925.  The chapel was included in the ongoing cycle of restoration that began for the school in 1990.  Scaffolding for the grand structure’s exterior renewal has been a familiar feature for several years.  The restoration has kept apace with the funding – not ahead of it.


Although all of the structures here at the northeast corner of Roy Street and 19th Avenue survive the Roycroft Theater stopped showing films in 1959. Later it became the Russian Community Center (courtesy Museum of History and Industry.)


(First appeared in Pacific in 2005)

Almost certainly 1935 was the year this photograph of the Roycroft corner was recorded.  The names of these businesses at the southeast corner of Roy Street and 19th Avenue E. all appear in the 1935 business directory, and business life expectancy at the hard heart of the Great Depression was poor.

We may note that neighborhood movie houses were one exception to this general attrition.   At little palaces like the Roycroft for 15 cents – a price made more or less permanent here with neon – one could waste a shiftless afternoon sitting through three B movies.   The “Great Hotel Murder”, listed here at the center of this triple feature, is described in the often grouchy Halliwell’s Film Guide as a “lively program filler of its day.”

“Air Hawks” the last film listed is good corroborating evidence for choosing 1935. Released that year by Columbia pictures this story of two aviation firms fighting over a U.S. airmail contract starred the pioneer pilot Wiley Post playing himself.   It was one of the aviator’s last roles.   Later that year Post visited Seattle with the comedian Will Rogers before the two flew off for Alaska and the crash that took both their lives.

The Roycroft was one of the many neighborhood theaters that was built around Seattle in the late 1920s to feature the then new pop culture miracle of talkies.  Watson Ackles managed the Roycroft Theater in 1935, a year in which three other Ackles are listed in the city directory as working in some capacity with motion pictures.

By 1935 this largely Roman Catholic neighborhood was already quite seasoned.  The 19th Avenue trolley line was laid through here as far north as Galer Street in 1907 – the same year that St. Joseph Parish was dedicated nearby at 18th and Aloha and that Bishop O’Dea laid the cornerstone of Holy Names Academy.

In the historical view the cross-topped Holy Names dome stands out.  In the contemporary scene the recently restored cupola is hardly visible because the Capitol Hill urban landscape has grown up in the intervening 66 years.


Most likely in 1902 Marcus M. Lyter either built or bought his box-style home at the northwest corner of 15th Avenue and Aloha Street.  Like many other Capitol Hill addition residences, once the landscape was added, Lyter’s home was somewhat large for its lot.  (Courtesy Washington State Archives, Bellevue Community College Branch.) What Jean found when he recently revisited the corner was . . . well what did he find?

15th & ALOHA CAPITOL HILL, ca. 1902

(First appeared in Pacific, late 2008)

Here we have that happy partnership of a new trolley and a new home.  And the streets – Aloha on the left and 15th Avenue on the right – are paved as well.

The historical negative from which the print was cast is also signed and numbered, bottom-left, “135 W & S.”   This makes it a very early offering of the Webster and Stevens studio.  (Through many of its earliest years the studio was the principal provider of editorial photography for The Seattle Times.)  This negative is so early that it did not make it to the Museum of History and Industry were the bulk of the studio’s work – more than 40,000 negatives – is protected and shared.

Rather, this print is kept in the much smaller “Metro Collection” at the Washington State Archive.  A note on the back of the photograph reads, “James P. Henry motorman taken about 1897.”  Hedging on the date was wise for Capitol Hill trolley car #127 was not delivered to Seattle until 1902.

A more likely date is 1903 when another W&S photo – number 130 – of the home, sans trolley, is featured in a spring issue of the Seattle Mail and Herald with several other homes as examples of residences built in the then new – since 1901 – Capitol Hill addition.  The weekly tabloid identifies the home as belonging to Marcus M. Lyter, a lawyer.  We may imagine – only – that this is Lyter peering through the window of car #127.  But Lyter, it seems, soon vanishes from the Seattle scene.  And did his home disappear as well?

If the reader visits the northwest corner of 15th and Aloha, as Jean Sherrard did recently, and locates one of the few openings, they will find within the semi-evergreen landscape that stuffs the lot, the same home.


Looking east on Mercer to 15th Ave. E. and part of the Canterbury across 15th. This is most likely one of the many photographs taken of the trolley system in 1940, the last years of its operation with tracks. (Courtesy, Lawton Gowey)
I took this high resolution snapshot of the Canterbury most likely in the 1990s. I no longer remember the occasion. Perhaps I was heading for some of Vegetarian Lasagna they are promoting on the banner. I remember the baked potatoes. Like the photograph above this one, here we look east on Mercer to 15th Ave. East.
Nearby on 15th Ave. E. in 1938.

What is now the southeast corner of Seattle University – it’s Championship Field – was for many years a transportation center for the south end where first the Seattle Electric Company’s street trolleys were sheltered and later the Seattle Transit System’s trackless trolleys, like these.  Both views look northwest from 14th Avenue and E. Jefferson Street.  Historical photo courtesy Warren Wing


(First appeared in Pacific, ca. Oct. 2005)

Around noon on the 15th of December 1940 when the winter sun cast long shadows over the Seattle Transit System’s new fleet of trackless trolleys the by then veteran commercial photographer Frank Jacobs took this and a second view of the Jefferson Street car barn and its new residents.   Here Jacob looks northwest from the corner of 14th Avenue and Jefferson Street.  (The second view looks northeast over the fleet from 13th Avenue.)

By a rough count – using the second photograph to look around the far corner of the barn – there are 114 carriers parked here outside for this fleet portrait.  That is about half of the 235 Westinghouse trackless trolleys that were purchased by the city with a loan from the federal government.  The first of them were delivered earlier in March of 1940, and only three years after Seattle voters by a large majority rejected them in favor of keeping the municipal railway’s old orange streetcars.   But the transportation milieu of the late 1930s was even more volatile than it is now and the forces of both rubber and internal combustion  – for the city also purchased a fleet of buses – won over rails and even sacrificed the cherished but impoverished cable cars.

When the Jefferson Car Barn was constructed in 1910 it was the last of the sprawling new garages built for the trolleys in the first and booming years of the 20th Century.  The Seattle Electric Company also built barns in Fremont, lower Queen Anne, and Georgetown to augment its crowded facility at 6th and Pine.  The Georgetown plant was also the company’s garage for repairing trolleys and, when it came time in 1940-41, also for scrapping them.

The finality of that conversion from tracks to rubber is written here in the yard of the car barn with black on black.  Fresh asphalt has erased the once intricate tracery of the yard’s many shining rails.


For the contemporary repeat I could not resist moving a bit closer to the two landmark brick apartments at Summit Ave. and Republican Street on the right.  When constructed in 1909 and 1910, from right to left respectively, they were given the romantic names the Menlo and the El Mondo.  The latter has kept its original moniker but the former (the one nearest the camera) has a new name: the Bernkastle.   Between them they added 31 units to a neighborhood that was then only beginning its conversion from single-family residences to low-rise apartments like these.


(First appeared in Pacific, summer of 2004)

After seven inches of rain in two days the pipeline that supplied Seattle its Cedar River water was undermined and broke near Renton on November 19, 1911.  The week-long water famine that followed closed the schools for want of steam heat, sent whole families packing to downtown hotels where the water service was rationed but not cut off, and featured daily front page warnings to “Boil Your Water” – meaning the water one caught in a downspout or carted from one of the lakes.

There were alternatives.  One could purchase water for 5 cents a gallon or wait in line to fill a bucket from one of the 24 water wagons – like this one — that the city dispatched to residential streets.  Pioneer springs on the slopes of First Hill were also uncapped.  Pioneer historian Thomas Prosch who lived near the spring at 7th Avenue and James Street told a Seattle Times reporter,  “I went down and got a pail of it myself. I have drunk it for years and no better water exists.”

Finding the unidentified site of the historical scene with the city water wagon was mildly intuitive for I lived on Capitol Hill’s Summit Ave. for five years in the early 1970s.  I quickly drove to the spot just south of the intersection of Summit and Republican Street.

In 1911 – the date of the photograph – brick apartments like those on the right were still rare in a neighborhood of mostly single-family homes.  Eventually, however, much of this part of Capitol Hill was converted to higher densities because of its proximity to downtown and the convenient rail service.  (Note the northbound rail on the right for the trolley loop that returned to downtown southbound on Bellevue Avenue one block to the west.)

When the Cedar River gravity system is whole and the water reaches first this "low reservoir" on Capitol Hill.


Any winter parade on Capitol Hill’s Broadway Avenue in the early 1950s may have had something to do with what was then the national basketball celebrity of Seattle University and its two high-scoring guards Johnny and Eddie O’Brien.   (Courtesy Ivar’s Seafoods Inc.) Jean, again with the help of his ten foot pole, gets the credit for a contemporary repeat of another historical scene taken from a prospect and elevation since lost.

Broadway Parade ca. 1951-52

(First appeared in Pacific summer of 2008)

A likely date for this noontime parade on Capitol Hill is late 1951 or early 52.  If I have researched Studebaker convertibles correctly that is a 1951 Champion Regal model on the right crossing the Thomas Street intersection with Broadway Avenue.  It may well be on loan from the neighborhood’s Belcourt dealership at 12th and Pine, which advertised itself then as “Seattle’s oldest and largest Studebaker dealer.”

The two convertibles – a Stude’ and a Chevy – carry in all five women sitting high in the cars’ backseats.  I prefer to think these are honored coeds (rather than Seafair royalty) celebrating some part of the Seattle University’s 1951-52 basketball season when the records set by their O’Brien twins, Johnny and Eddie, brought national fame to the Catholic school in Seattle, which, like its phenomenal guards, was small.

The photograph was taken from Ivar’s on Broadway, which opened in 1951 in a gas station converted for serving an ambitious menu of fish and chips, Mexican and Chinese cuisine, and hamburgers because the students insisted on them.   This original print for this scene also comes from Ivar’s – from its archive.  It is grouped with other student rally subjects including one’s taken in Ivar’s parking lot appointed with a stage for dancing cheer leaders, the basketball stars and proud priests posing above a swarm of fans.

Seattle University basketball rally at Ivar's Capitol Hill Drive-in

Across the street at the northeast corner of Thomas and Broadway (upper-left) is the long-lived Checkerboard Café and Cocktail lounge.  From my years on Capitol Hill in the early 1970s I remember it as Ernie Steel’s Restaurant, with its dark bar, sportsman’s murals stained by decades of nicotine and deep frying, and that special smell that such places share with each other and which no scented evergreen can cover with its small green branches.  Now that red brick corner has been opened to sunlight, as Julia’s on Broadway.


HELIX Vol. 4 No. 5, August 29, 1968 – ANOTHER MIX

The cover for this issue uses a photograph of Betty Nelson’s pets – I think – at her “strawberry farm” outside of Sultan, where the first Sky River Rock Festival and Lighter Than Air Fair was held on Labor Day weekend, this year 1968.  Whoever laid out the cover continued this tabloid’s tradition of being wrong about the proper volume and issue numbers for the Helix then to hit the streets – and it was on the streets were circulation occurred.  There were never very many outlets – just a handful of brave merchants.  It was the vendors who kept the paper going – the vendors and record ads and the staff’s collective acceptance of poverty.  It was hardly worrisome – with a little help from one’s friends.  Again, Bill White and I gab about another issue and Ron Edge puts it and the colorful Helix Logo together,  Thanks to us all.

B.White and P. Dorpat

[audio:|titles=HelixVol 4 No 5]


Seattle Now & Then: Signal Station on Aurora

(click to enlarge photos)


THEN: Five blocks south of what was then still city limits along 85th Street, the landmark Signal Station at 80th & Aurora, with its own comely tower, added class to Seattle’s contribution to the Pacific Coast Highway. The modern ribbon of concrete was poured to both speed and service traffic between Mexico and Canada.
NOW: The old service station retains much of its Art Moderne character and has in its now more than 80 years not only pumped gas but also fixed stereos and is now fitting cars with roof racks.

This Signal Station’s aging tax card has the Art Moderne landmark at the southeast corner of Aurora Ave and 80th Street built in 1929, the upsetting year that set loose the Great Depression. Still the businesses then along Aurora were excited by what was coming. The 1932 completion of their new highway’s great cantilever bridge over the Lake Washington Ship Canal, followed by the May 14, 1933 opening of Aurora directly through Woodland Park, poured onto Aurora’s long commercial strip north of the Green Lake a flood of commercial opportunities, but also speeding violations, and accidents.
1930-31 construction on the Aurora Bridge as seen from the Fremont Bridge.
The Aurora Bridge deck from the south end. I can't tell if this is a record of its lighting done before the bridge was open, or simply an unusually slow moment in its use. Compliments Municipal Archive
“Cunningham Service” is signed on the station in this 1937 tax photo, and all the Cunninghams – Agnes, William and their then fifteen-year-old twins, Bob and Bill – worked the station together.  Bob, now a resident of Horizon House on First Hill, recalls how his and Bill’s help washing windshields, inside and out, was a pleasing double-vision for patrons.  Service stations were then still “full service”, although rarely by twins.
SIGNAL borrows on Tarzan's strength for this early adver printed in The Seattle Times for April 20, 1933.
Twenty years later in another Times adver, this one for Jan. 15, 1953, SIGNAL OIL reviews its first two decades of serving the west with the promise that a user would "go farther with" Signal. But not for long. This was the last SIGNAL ad to appear in the Times.
The Cunninghams lived in the neighborhood.  Bob and Bill’s mother took them to the grand Feb. 22, 1932 dedication of the Aurora Bridge and they walked with thousands across it.  And the twins attended Bagley School, although in the brick plant behind the station on Stone Ave, not the 1907 frame schoolhouse seen, in part, here on the far right.  From Bagley they graduated to and from Lincoln High School.
George Washington AKA Aurora Bridge dedication day, Feb 22, 1932.
Our William S. Cunningham - he is listed bottom-left - was active with the Independent Order of Foresters. This "notice" appeared in the Seattle Times for Feb. 8, 1937 another dipping year during the Great Depression.
After about twenty years pumping gas on the corner, Agnes and William Cunningham “retired” to developing apartment houses on the other – south – side of Woodland Park.  By then the Signal Station had turned to Flying A.
On Feb. 3, 1965 traffic on Aurora suddenly slacked, when Miss Sno-King, Rose Clare Menalo of Meadowdale High School, opened the 19.7 mile section of Interstate-5 between Seattle and Everett.
In the 1912 Baist real estate map Aurora north of Green Lake is still named Woodland Park Ave. Bagley School is shown in yellow on green near the center of the detail, and Signal Gas is still many years from replacing the residence, and perhaps small store front, at the southeast corner of 80sth and "Aurora."
This 1933 look south on Aurora sites thru 80th Street, but missed the Signal station at it concentrates on it intended subject, the Foster and Kleiser billboard on the southwest corner of Aurora and 80th. This is one of several hundred such street scene photographed by the sign company as examples of their services. Often in the 5x7" negatives for these prints the billboards have been painted over thereby making - or printing - a featureless wholly white billboard, a fresh canvas (again, in the print from the negative) upon which a prospective client may imagine their own product. A bit of Green Lake reflects ahead. Later and off camera to the left the Trolley Shop (next, below) opened with curb service.
The TROLLEY STOP at 8018 Aurora and so only a few doors north of Cunningham's SIGNAL GAS and on the same side of the speed way. At the tax photo scrawl shows, this record was made on August 3, 1945, one day after the conclusion of the Potsdam Conference on what to do with the defeated Germans and three days before "Little Boy" the first atomic bomb, was dropped from the Enola Gay onto Hiroshima. Three days later "Fat Man" was dropped on Nagasaki.
The tax photographer returned to 8018 Aurora in 1956 to witness the changes at what had by then become the Cafe Avel with bigger windows and cheap hamburgers at 20 cents each - but not the cheapest.
Nearby and ten years later Zips at 8502 Aurora indicated the sincerity of their 19-cent Zips Burger by signing the price in neon. (Courtesy, Washington State Archive, the branch of it at Bellevue Community College.)
Another SIGNAL service and near the Cunninghams but set at 8500 Aurora even nearer Zips although earlier, ca. 1937-38.


Anything to add, Paul?
Yup Jean and mostly photographs of the neighborhood and/or of other gas stations sampled from the same Tax photos as the Signal Station was above.   First Ron Edge will set up a few “buttons” for links to past stories that relate to Aurora.  They will be, in order, features on the Dog House, Dags Drive-in, The Seattle Speed Bowl, the Igloo Cafe (neighbor to the Dog House), an Igloo Menu from Ron’s menu collection, and a return to the Aurora Overpass on 41st – the one, Jean, your mother used to cross as a very young scholar living with her parents in Wallingford reach B.F. Day Primary School in Fremont.

Avoiding stairs the serpentine Aurora overpass to Oak Lake School at 10040 Aurora Ave. Mayor Clinton and Super of Schools, Ernest W. Campbell, helped dedicate it. Police Capt. George W. Kimball was also thanked during the inaugural. His service of running Oak Lake’s Junior Safety Patrol was, with the new overpass, no longer needed. For the junior patrol there would be no more wearing of badges and other official gear. The project was spurred by the school’s PTA, and the picture taken by The Seattle Times.
Aurora's overpasses in Woodland Park when new in the 1930s. Below is the swath clear-cut through the park for the speedway and below that the section when it was new and still reflecting light from its fresh concrete. (All of these are Courtesy Lawton Gowey and the Municipal Archive.)


SERVICE STATIONS – A SELECTION (with few exceptions) from the late 1930’s KING COUNTY TAX PHOTOS in the keep of the WASHINGTON STATE ARCHIVE, at its Bellevue Community College branch. The architecture for these shrines to nearly everybody’s mobility is often rewarding – for sales too.  For the most part we will adjourn from caption writing.  The photograph’s have their own. The brands are easily noted, although many of them will be familiar only to students of petroleum or old pump-hands like these.

This SHELL station on Roosevelt has some of the Moderne touches about it given more lavish attention with Cunningham's SIGNAL Station.

This taco stand at 20 W. Denny Way - and so near the southern border of the Aurora Speedway - was lifted north from Arizona by a late summer tornado. The brand name, Texaco, does not contradict this story of its travels.

We may make this our last stop for gas, at 18445 Aurora, nearly to the county line. This Standard station's dainty architecture may be compared to the variations on the standard Standard stations included above.



Ordinary in its plan but lavish with its eccentric brick, this residence faces Aurora at 6609, and so it looks west across the speedway to Green Lake. There is along this west side of Aurora a long line of residences, which, I assume, were zoned free from commerce in the interests of the park. The colored shot is used courtesy - we hope - of Google and its street views. Note that the porch posts have given up their bricks and the complexities of the front door have been discarded. Directly behind these homes on Linden Ave. commerce was allowed to pursue its ambitions in a zone of commercial anarchy - more or less. And yet the next photograph - again from the tax survey - shows a modest Depression-time example. We may wonder if they could afford the tax assessment.
Courtesy - like most of these tax pics - of the Washington State Archive, the Bellevue Community College Branch.

This Shell Oil outlet was linked with the home fuel service - wood, kindling, coal, stove oil - directly north of it at the combined address of 8700 Aurora and so paying on the same tax bill.

Another home fuel dealer - this one at 8700 Aurora and later, in 1953 - has manure on its lot as well.

Above and below, the litter of 1956, later at 8700 Aurora.

Still part of the Pacific Coast Highway in 1953, Aurora, as it passed through Seattle also passed by many motels.


Grand opening for a Cunningham neighbor, the new Tradewell at 7816 Aurora. (Again, as happens every Sunday morning around Two, we will close the book and climbs the basement stairs to nightybears. I once knew the date for this Tradewell opening, and will try to uncover it once I am rested. The "Now" below was, again, borrowed from the generous horde of the Google street mobile.



Seattle Now & Then: Orpheum Descending

(click to enlarge photos)

THEN: At 5th and Westlake, Seattle’s last of three Orpheum Theatres opened in 1927 and served up vaudeville, concerts and movies from its corner for 40 years. It has been observed that had the theatre made it for a half-century, the local forces of preservation would have never allowed its destruction. And the difficulties encountered wrecking it, suggested that this Orpheum could have stood 400 years. (Photo by Frank Shaw)
NOW: In a Sept 8, 1967 letter to the Times editor, Carl W. Kraft offered “words of comfort” for those mourning the loss of “the beautiful Orpheum Theatre.” Karl suggested that “late in the 21st Century the old Washington Plaza Hotel will be demolished and it its place a beautiful new theater will be built. It could well be named the Orpheum.” But Karl was parodying the mourners. His letter concluded with a run-on. “Late in the first half of the 22nd Century . . .”

Seattle’s renowned theatre architect, B. Marcus (Benny) Priteca, sitting in the “Louis XIV majesty chair” he had appointed for it 40 years earlier, and holding a glass of champagne as high as his eye, gave a “farewell toast” to what many considered the greatest of the more than 150 theatres he had designed: Seattle’s own Orpheum.  The champagne, it was explained, helped both the popcorn go down and the pain of losing the landmark.  Seattle Times photographer Vic Condiotty’s recording of Priteca’s toast appeared in the paper’s issue for June 19, 1967.
Architect Priteca's bitter-sweet toast to the Orpheum on the advent of its destruction
One week later the “majestic chair” was sold in the anticipated two-day auction supervised by Greenfield Galleries.  It’s proprietor, Lou Greenfield explained “everything will be sold that can be unscrewed, chiseled or blasted loose . . . You can buy a chunk of marble of the wall if you want, but the problem of removing it is yours.”  Greenfield added, “The dismantling of much of the theatre’s majestic interior will be impractical.  It will fall victim to the wrecking ball.”  That last observation can serve as the caption for the colored slide printed here at the top that Frank Shaw took of the Orpheum’s battered proscenium arch on the 10th of September ‘67.
The auction began on Monday June 26.  A day earlier the then 74 year-old Priteca, “In a reminiscent mood” – and candid too – was again quoted in the Times, this time by John Hartl. “Priteca thought the ‘modernizing’ the Orpheum had undergone in recent years was unforgivably tasteless.  ‘There’s some beautiful stuff behind that cheap cloth,’ he said pointing to the gaudy draperies that now cover the stage.”
Adver in the June 8, 1967 Seattle Times.
Orpheum marble had legs. Two weeks after the auction an ad in the Times read, in part, “Fine Imported Marble . . . All From the ORPHEUM. Bargain Prices.”  This time there was no indication that a buyer would be required to not only pay for and pick up the marble at the theatre but remove it from the walls as well. Some of that polished rock made it to a Queen Anne yard sale years later.  It now covers part of my desk.
Another Seattle Times look into the still lavish ruin.
Frank Shaw, who took the kodachrome slide at the top, also stepped across Westlake Ave. to look at the same subject over the Tsutakawa fountain at the Westlake Ave. triangle bordered by Stewart Street, Westlake and Sixth Avenue.


What a poignant story of loss, beautifully told, Paul. I know you have much to add this week.
Rather Jean we will hold back and give less than we might have, for thru the years, you know, we have featured the Orpheum and/or its neighbors many times.   For instance – and see below – three years ago this March we ran one on the Orpheum’s opening and, compliments of Ron Edge, also a copy of the elegant chapbook that tooted its production and anticipated opening in 1927.  Now Ron has brought the booklet back below with a link to it thru its cover.  Be patient for the download.  It is followed by another link – one to the recent feature of March March 13, 2010.   You may agree Jean that those three years have pass so impetuously that it feels like a punch in the body clock. But Jean, the title you have created “Orpheum Descending”  for this feature as it appears here on top shows the edge of eternity like a good classic and so for the moment at least we are freed from time.
Camera West photographer Bill Houlton engaged Seattle Rep. actress Pauline Flanagan to pose beneath the ruins of the Orpheum’s proscenium arch.   Below her two poses is another clip from the Times, an especially nostalgic one for older locals easily evoked by memories of the Seattle’s early Rep.   Our Jean who acted with the Rep as a talented and tall prospect long ago answered me “I did not know Flanagan, but I bet actors I acted with did.”  Surely they did.
NOTE:  At least on my MAC I need to click the clip below TWICE in order to enlarge it for reading!
Lou Guzzo, long The Seattle Times Arts and Entertainment Editor, gives a long announcement on the arrival of Pauline Flanagan into the Rep's players. The article is from June 30, 1963, a date with its own Golden Anniversary soon at hand.


Asahel Curtis' oft-used look into Times Square with the then new Orpheum.


(First appeared in Pacific, Sept. 11, 1994)

This portrait of Times Square is almost a potboiler. Well-copied and well-studied, even the moment of the photographer Asahel Curtis’ recording is known: Oct. 11, 1927, and, judging by the long shadows, sometime around closing time.

It doesn’t require an honoree of the American Institute of Architects to figure out what is so appealing about this image. Start with its centerpiece, the Orpheum Theater. Most likely Curtis was preoccupied with this palace, which opened in 1927. As the multistoried sign on the roof proclaims, the Orpheum offered both vaudeville and films. But with the introduction of “talkies” that year, the future of stage acts here and at other venues was bleak. Reading the marquee, “Varness, the IT girl of Vaudeville” and “Beatrice Joy in Dances on Broadway” may never have returned here.

Two of Seattle’s terra-cotta landmarks enter from the sides: the Times Square Building on the left and the lower stories of the Medical-Dental Building on the right. The former was home for The Times from 1916 to 1931; the latter, built in 1925, is still the professional home of many physicians. (Far right is a sliver of the Frederick & Nelson Building, built in 1918.)

Photographed in June of 1927, the construction of the Orpheum is nearly completion. The Times Square building is on the left. (Courtesy Ron Edge)

It is the diagonal of Westlake Avenue that creates these opportunities for landmarks to greet each other across intersections made interesting by their irregularity. First proposed as early at the mid-1870s, Westlake was finally cut through in 1906. Here at Times Square the city’s layout was made doubly engaging by its shift at Stewart Street.

A Bradley slide looking north on 5th from near Pine with Frederick and Nelson's west facade on the left.
A glimpse of the Orpheum from the Monorail's Westlake Mall terminal. Photo by Robert Bradley.
Robert Bradley's late portrait of the Orpheum with the monorail on the far left.
The hotel that replaced it with Gov. John Harte McGraw standing between it and the streaking yellow motorcar.


An early Orpheum marquee records its mix of film and vaudeville. "The Young Bride" with Hellen Twelvetrees was released in 1932. All Hoffman was a popular tin pan alley composer responsible for hits like Allegheny Moon, and Papa Loves Mombo. Hoffman was also part of a jamming team that wrote a song that still disturbs me - or delights me: Mairzy Doats. The lyrics are few and repeated, but still hard to spell, although not hard to remember - obsessively and a little bit daffy and divey. Here on stage are the Donatella Bros. They were still doing their tricks on other stages a decade later, as evidenced in the adver below pulled from a 1942 Billboard Magazine.
The Donatella Bros features with a small ad in the March 28, 1942 issue of Billboard Magazine.


ORPHEUM INTERIORS (Thanks to Ron Edge)

A Mighty Grand Lobby

Part of what surrounded and covered you once you took a seat.




This TIMES clip from August 15, 1967 reveals what a tough time the contractors had razing the not so old Orpheum.
Early hammering at the front facade and so approaching the lobby or perhaps in it.
Destructive entertainment across Westlake Ave.


The Seattle Times caption for this look into the exposed thorax of the Orpheum reads, in part "The Death of a Theatre' . . . A stage that had held entertainment for Seattle audiences since 1927 was nearly all that remained intact of the Orpheum Theater today. It is being demolished for the construction of the 38-story Washington Plaza Hotel. This view was from the 12th floor of the Medical and Dental Building. The Iversen Construction Co. has the demolition contract. Dick Iversen, project manager, said the stage will be gone in about two weeks. He estimated that it will take about a month more work to complete the project. Footings ... 25 feet below street level must be removed. Demolition began August 6."
A last look for now. Looking north across Westlake Ave and up Fifth Avenue in 1939 with the Orpheum upper-right.


Another stripped stage - where stripping was once routine.





Seattle Now & Then: The New Railroad Avenue

(click to enlarge photos)

THEN: Snapped from the Fire Station #5 tower in late 1901 (or early 1902) it nicely displays the then new Northern Pacific Piers facing a widened Railroad Ave. (Alaskan Way) north of Madison Street. In two years more and the trestle for wagons and rail spurs would be completed across the watery gap in the foreground. (Courtesy Larry Hoffman)
NOW: With the latest fire station – and its tower – moved further into the Bay Jean Sherrard resorted, again, to his faithful ten foot extension pole to peek thru the sidewalk landscaping on Alaskan Way.

Lying here at low tide in the slip between waterfront Fire Station #5 and the nearly new Pier 3 (54), the little freighter T.W. Lake was built in 1896 by its namesake, Thomas Lake, a productive Ballard builder of “mosquito fleet” steamers for Puget Sound.

On Aug. 25, 1900, its holds stuffed with empty grain sacks, the T. W. Lake steamed north to the LaConner flats where fields of oats were in shock, ready for threshing and wanting sacks.  The steamer may have also later helped carry the Skagit Valley’s sacked oats here to Pier 3 (54), and its principal tenants, Galbraith and Bacon.   James Galbraith began selling hay and feed on the waterfront in 1891, and Cecil Bacon, Galbraith’s new partner, was a chemical engineer with extra cash to invest in expanding the partnership onto the new Pier 3.

Built in 1900-1901, and seen here all in a row, Piers 3, 4, and 5 were parts of the Northern Pacific Railroad’s contribution to then boom-town Seattle’s elaborate makeover of its waterfront.  The Yukon gold rush first heated Seattle with “gold fever” and surplus wealth in 1897.  That was also the year that Reginald Thomson and George Cotterill, the city’s brilliant and politically-adept engineers, convinced dock owners and the railroads to conform to the city’s state-sanctioned plans for a uniform waterfront.

At the scene's center, PIER 3, with its white walls and block-letter sign reading "Galbraith Bacon & Co." extends from Railroad Ave. west into Elliott Bay and at a slight slant. Pier 3 with the other new railroad piers join in a uniform row, built to conform with the waterfront's new plans as of 1897. The smaller and darker warehouse sheds this side of Pier 3/54 and Madison Street, crowd Railroad Ave. at the old eastern limits of it, which were chosen following the city's "Great Fire" of 1889. These little piers "address" the bay at a right angle to the railroad trestle, and they would soon be razed. Then the wagon right-of-way that extends between the Northern Pacific piers and the telephone/power poles would be extended south of Madison Street as well with new and longer piers - in time.

These abiding landmarks were part of waterfront changes that were later seriously threatened only once, and that following World War Two when the Port of Seattle considered replacing them with great longitudinal piers for the bigger ships then expected.  Instead, the waterfront moved its trans-shipments to new longitudinal piers south on the tideflats.  There they built parking lots for containers, with no pier warehouses needed.

A small but steady part of Puget Sound’s “Mosquito Fleet,” the T.W. Lake served well and long, but ended tragically on Dec. 5, 1923.  Loaded with 300 barrels of lime and en route to Anacortes from Roche Harbor she ploughed into but not thru winds of 70 miles per hour plus.  The T.W. Lake sank off Lopez Island taking with her all 18 men aboard in one of Puget Sound’s greatest maritime disasters.

With deep waters but not wide and with few shoals and the Olympics sheltering it, maritime tragedy is rare on Puget Sound. Among the early settlers and developers much of it was "man-made" - exploding steam engines, bad or foolhardy navigation. Obviously the captain of the T.W. Lake was over confident in the routine of making his deliveries. The freak storm and heavy load drowned him and his. Not far away, the Columbia Bar, the "Graveyard of the Pacific," is famous for consuming vessels of all sorts trying to make it into or out of the Columbia River. I recently found this hand-colored recording of its dangers buried with a deeply shelved collection at the University of Washington Library, Special Collections.


Anything to add, Paul?

Jean and a lesson in memory too.  I began my search for other features
from the “same neighborhood,” in this case Pier 3/54, by a key-word
this blog to see whatwe might have already advanced here.  With Ron Edge’s help, I found so many
examples that after seven features I restrained myself, and looked no further.
Here they are in a row – the same row used here first on October 30, 2010.

They are in order,

The Fireboat Duwamish, circa 1912

The sidewheeler Alida 1870 ro 71

The fireboat Snoqualmie

The Norther Pacific Piers on Railroad Avenue ca. 1902

The “Mosquito Fleet” steamer Kitsap, ca. 1910

The sternwheeler Capitol City

and the Gorst Air Taxi that began flying back and forth between Pier 3 and
Bremerton in 1929 – just in time for the Great Depression.

To see/read them all just click your mouse on the photo of the Duwamish Fireboat, directly below.

Beyond these seven features we will conclude with a few more illustrated “notes” on Pier 3/54.   (The number was changed in 1944 by the military as an “act of war.”  The army hoped to rationalize – put in order – the diverse numbers and letters then used for the piers on Elliott Bay.)

The FOUR (4) Subjects that follow relate to the features that are buried (or trapped) under the BUTTON Above – the button that is the fireboat Duwamish. (Free them – Touch it, tap it, press it)

A Wilse's portrait of the first Fire Station at the foot of Madison Street. Built after the Great Fire of 1889, to service the waterfront with the Fireboat Snoqualmie, which shows, in part, here down the ramp, far right, and also with its own story/feature that is reached by mousing the photo of the Fireboat Duwamish - above.

The Last of the seven features reached by pressing one’s mouse against the Duwamish Fireboat pix above, treats on the Gorst Air Taxi.   Here follows are some related subjects.

An early 1930s aerial of the waterfront reveals the open hanger for the Gorst Air Taxi at the water end of Pier 3/54, left-of-center. The comparison that follows takes the detail of the open hanger pulled from this aerial and prints it side-by-side with the same hanger after it was moved to the southwest corner of Lake Union. I believe that steamer in the bay is the Alexander - or something close to it.






[Disclaimer:  I am currently rushing to complete my now one dozen years in the  making biography of Ivar Haglund titled – predictably – “KEEP CLAM”!   Watch for it in Fish and Chips stands near you.]

Since he first opened his aquarium and fish-and-chips stand in 1938, Ivar Haglund has become first the talk of the pier and later after he opened his restaurant on the same Pier 3 at the foot of Madison Street in 1946, of the entire waterfront. You'll need to know your bodies by Fisher to date this set-up with Ivar strumming in front of his Acres. Or is that a Ford product?
This early Acres of Clam advertisement is well supplied with warranted confidence and Ivar's sincere folksy copy. He alternated this with screwball comedy and often brilliant hoaxes.
A broadside with music promoting his radio show "Around the Sound with Ivar Haglund"
Some will still recall the excitement attendant to visiting the nautical decor of the Acres of Clams when it first opened in 1946 with a parrot acting as the receptionist. Here "Where Clams and Culture Meet,' one of Ivar's guiding truisms, hangs above the front door.
In the late 1940s Ivar hired a trackless trolley to remind locals that the folk singer who had been entertaining them on radio was now also in the restaurant business. Ivar is in the dark outfit. He stands just to the right of his head chef, Claude Sedenquist. "Keep Clam" is signed near the rear of the trolley. (click to enlarge)
Ivar standing at his own fish bar. For a while he named his sprawling sidewalk fish bar, the "Northern" and "Southern" bars.
During Seattle's 1951-53 Centennial, Ivar promoted his own landing at Pier 54 as second only in historical importance to the settlers arrival at Alki Point in 1851.
Before 1962 Century 21, Ivar opened a south seas trader gift shop next to this Acres of Clams, and named it exotically for himself - backwards. After the fair he sold out his entire stock in a benefit for the Seattle Symphony. Some of the decorations at Trader Sravi may survive at Ivar's Salmon House.