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A NOW & THEN APRIL FOOL’S SPECIAL

Are These Quirky Tales for Real?

Certainly plenty of weird things have happened in the Seattle area and beyond — but have all of these?

By Clay Eals and Jean Sherrard

Through the decades, we’ve all seen them: the wacky people or experiences that make us laugh, cry, roll our eyes — sometimes all three. Often they’re enshrined in photos that rarely make the history books. But what’s April Fool’s Day for if we don’t flaunt such images and mess with the annals of time?

We at “Now & Then” dug out some of our favorite quirky images and asked local history compadres to do the same. We boiled them down to 10 vignettes.

Below, enjoy these off-the-wall snapshots of yesteryear, but keep your guard up for tomfoolery. Think of each “Then” photo and vignette below as a mystery, and of the corresponding “Now” (which you can find when visiting the link below each “Then” vignette) as the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help us history!

And don’t forget to click here to see The Backstory!

Quirky tale #1:
Discovering a vicious sea monster

Long before radio and TV (and certainly the internet), newspapers abounded with eyewitness tales of dreaded sea serpents. It became almost a sport to try to prove such sightings. In 1906, a group of natty gents took matters into their own hands, showcasing visual evidence of such a find. At Rainier Beach, they wrestled a sharp-toothed beast to stillness just long enough for a photo to document their temporary prize before rolling it back into Lake Washington.

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?
CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!

Quirky tale #2:
Sculpting faces in raw meat

Where horsemeat once was peddled in the Pike Place Market — during wartime rationing in the 1940s — now stands Mr. D’s Greek Delicacies, a take-away restaurant serving customers for more than four decades. Along with classic Hellenic fare, owner Demetrios Moraitis, 89, creates art in the bizarre medium of gyro meat. Over the years, Mr. D. has carved lamb busts of notables — from Market savior Victor Steinbrueck and Zorba the Greek to Barack Obama and the 2016 matchup of Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump.

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!

Quirky tale #3:
Bashing a bicycle, Balch-style

In the 1970s, zany Dick Balch was a mind trip. In ever-present TV ads, the hippie-ish huckster with a high-pitched giggle wielded a sledgehammer to clobber cars at his Federal Way dealership. The man drew attention! Promoter Ben Laigo understood this. So when he launched the first official Seafair Bicycle Rally & Picnic in 1972, he persuaded Seafair Queen Lynn Garcia to pose in Balch’s lot to “smash” a 10-speed with a sledge. Ever the ham, Balch joined in the scene with a giant grin.

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?
CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!

Quirky tale #4:
Notching another official Seattleite

On Oct. 7, 1937, the front page of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer showcased this cheeky photo. In it, cigar-chomping Eddie Rivers, a popular PR and advertising man for Seattle’s Hamrick-Evergreen Theaters, chose a unique way to announce the birth of his third child. Named after a popular song, Rivers’ daughter Charmaine was, he insisted, a “first-class attraction” appearing for a “long-term engagement some five weeks ago.” He credited the booking to “A. Stork.”

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?
CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!

Quirky tale #5:
Facing a nun-too-subtle challenge

For amateur photographer Max Loudon, who documented his lively bachelor life in the early years of the 20th century, this snapshot of six Benedictine nuns in their habits during a visit to Seattle’s first world’s fair, the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exhibition of 1909, is one of a kind. What expressions! From grin to grimace, the sisters’ enjoyment of the AYPE seems … mixed. Loudon noted their provocative question: “How do you tour a city like Seattle?”

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?
CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!

Quirky tale #6:
Shining light on a riverside petroglyph

South of Fall City, the Raging River sometimes sloshes at high levels, but not enough to obscure a mysterious marker carved onto a 5-by-6-foot piece of riverside granite. Depicting a salmon and the sun, the petroglyph sits flat, as if on a tabletop. When hikers stumble upon what seems like ancient art, they’re stunned. Shouldn’t it be highlighted on some guide map? Well, Fall City historians don’t like to disclose its precise locale. Best not to invite vandals, they say. So in obscurity, its legend lingers.

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?
CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!

 

Quirky tale #7:
Fishing for a streetside dinner

Infamous Gutter Creek, running down First Avenue before the Denny Regrade reshaped much of the city’s topography, was notoriously muddy. Returning salmon could even be caught in its shallow freshets at certain times of year. In our “Then” photo, snapped between 1903 and 1906, an enterprising young fisher trolls for his dinner. A small crowd observes from the sidewalk in front of the Virginia Bar, erected in 1903 at the southwest corner of First and Virginia.

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?
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Quirky tale #8:
Pigging out on the shoreline

He hid it well, but Seattle Mayor Carl Hinckley moonlighted as a bedraggled buffoon on the downtown waterfront in 1908-09. Masquerading as “Uncle Hiram and His Pig,” he induced his porcine partner, Betsy, and various dogs to perform crowd-pleasing tricks, while his hay-filled “Studebaker” wagon poked gentle fun at his campaign contributors. Hinckley built a following as what the Seattle Post-Intelligencer called “one of the best impersonators of the original down Easterner in the country.”

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?
CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!

Quirky tale #9:
Doppelganging a Dorpat

On a 2005 trip to Paris, his first since age 16, our favorite Seattle historian, Paul Dorpat, then 68, was on a mission. Newly available birth records from a Grand Forks, N.D. hospital questioned his family history. In a double whammy, he learned not only that he was adopted in 1938 but also had an identical twin, Denis Poisson-d’Avril, who had moved to Paris after World War II with his own adoptive family. Hoping to visit this noted Left Bank philosopher at his Sorbonne digs, Dorpat serendipitously caught a glimpse of his twin at a sidewalk café and without a word sat at an adjoining table.

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?
CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!

Quirky tale #10:
Sinking an unexpected hole

It was an encounter too close for comfort. Here we have evidence from Nov. 12, 1957, of a little-known and quickly hushed-up incident in which an asteroid entered the earth’s atmosphere and crashed onto a boulevard on the north side of Queen Anne. It left a massive hole before rolling down a wooded slope to Aurora Avenue North.

IS THE ABOVE VIGNETTE TRUE OR AN APRIL FOOL?
CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!

And don’t forget to click here to see The Backstory!

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Published in The Seattle Times online on March 21, 2024
and in Pacific NW Magazine of the printed Times on March 24, 2024

Climate of today sinks Puyallup’s 1941 ‘House of Tomorrow’

By Clay Eals

The setting was — and remains — idyllic.

It’s just a stone’s throw (or two) from busy Highway 167 and the green-tinted George Milroy truss bridge that crosses the robust Puyallup River at 66th Avenue East. But this quiet spot in rural Pierce County also is hidden by woods and tucks itself along meandering Clarks Creek.

Facing the babbling stream and hearing little but the chirps of birds, you might never guess that behind you, for 83 years, has stood a unique multi-floor residence that its designer and builder dubbed the House of Tomorrow.

If you’re familiar with hucksterish home shows, such a label sounds like so much real-estate hype. But it’s an identifier as singular and audacious as its originator, Bert Allen Smyser (1893-1987).

The brash entrepreneur assembled a career of not always highly heralded feats and schemes. His 1930 coffee-pot shaped Tacoma roadhouse survives today as Bob’s Java Jive. Rejected, however, was Smyser’s late-1950s brainstorm to host what became the Seattle World’s Fair, complete with a “sky-high” restaurant and a swirling, suspended transit system, in Auburn.

Smyser — whose nickname was “Bullnose” because he preferred rounded to square corners — lived with his wife for decades in his Clarks Creek creation, a symphony of curves in the established international Art Deco style known as Streamline Moderne. Equally notable was Smyser’s pioneering use of plywood as a primary building material. Upon the home’s construction, the Tacoma News Tribune declared it “as modern as milady’s next fall chapeau.”

Over time, however, the elements took a soggy toll. Repeatedly and increasingly frequently, Clarks Creek flooded the building — four times between 1941 and 1978, and in at least seven instances since 2008, when its latest private owner purchased it. The twin culprits, says Randy Brake, Pierce County project manager, were nearby development and climate change.

In 2016, the county sought mitigation funds from the Federal Emergency Management Agency. In 2022, FEMA granted $600,000 to help the county buy the property and raze its signature home, determining that it was neither cost-effective nor practical to relocate it. The county aims to return the site to wetland in perpetuity.

At only 1,012 square feet, the House of Tomorrow is hardly a mansion. But Smyser’s creation and the experimenter himself present a complex, fascinating tale, authenticated by historically meticulous and richly illustrated research documents totaling 272 pages. At last-peek open houses Jan. 17 and Feb. 3, streams of visitors verified its appeal.

But demolition is nigh. The bulldozer is due to arrive in April.

Alas, once again tomorrow cannot keep pace with today.

WEB EXTRAS

Thanks to Adam Alsobrook and Randy Brake for their invaluable help with this installment!

No 360 video or additional newspaper clips this week, but you will find covers of two research documents totaling 272 pages on the House of Tomorrow.

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Published in The Seattle Times online on March 14, 2024
and in Pacific NW Magazine of the printed Times on March 17, 2024

A Seattle treasure soon to be demolished — but not forgotten

By Jean Sherrard

Our mission, should we choose to accept it: Find a rare image of a soon-to-be razed mansion and repeat it on location. Surely not impossible, right?

Fortunately, the Museum of History & Industry supplied the only extant “Then” photo of what director Leonard Garfield calls “one of the great private estates from one of Seattle’s golden eras.”

But capturing the “Now” photo proved a greater challenge.

“This is a caper,” MOHAI board member Maria Denny said as we glided through Montlake Cut in a battered cabin cruiser, turning north into Lake Washington on a balmy winter’s afternoon.

Maria’s great-great uncle Rolland Denny (1851-1939) commissioned noted Seattle architectural firm Bebb & Mendel to design a three-story Spanish Mission Revival mansion. Completed in 1907, it was christened Loch Kelden — a fusion of wife Alice Kellogg’s name and Denny’s own. Overlooking “Loch” Washington, the then-50-acre estate was a wilderness retreat accessible only by boat from Madison Park.

In 1974, the Unification Church acquired the mansion and its remaining 1.7 acres, using it as a domicile and hosting dignitaries, including founder Sun Myung Moon and his wife.

On the market since 2022, Loch Kelden recently was sold to developers for what real-estate sites say is $5.999 million, “pending feasibility.” Preservationists could not nominate it as a city landmark because the state Supreme Court has exempted religious entities from landmark designation unless such owners support or seek it. Thus, demolition appears imminent.

In February, Scott Dolfay, the church’s retired property manager and caretaker for more than two decades, graciously offered a farewell tour to a group of historians. Two days before our visit, however, the invite was rescinded due to a strict nondisclosure provision of the sale agreement. Access to the grounds to take our repeat photo also was denied.

So we opted for a boat’s-eye view. Putt-putting past expansive waterfront homes, we spotted the cream-colored mansion on Windermere bluff. “Spectacular!” said Maria Denny. “I’d forgotten how lovely it is.”

It stirred a raft of family memories as well. Her father, the late Brewster Denny, often visited Loch Kelden, fondly recalling his 11th birthday party, thrown there by his “Great Uncle Roll,” notably the youngest member of the well-known Nov. 13, 1851, Alki landing party.

Two months old and near starvation, Rolland was not expected to live. But Duwamish tribal members supplied the infant with life-saving clam nectar.

In the end, why does this lovely place matter? For Maria Denny, the answer is simple: “Holding onto pieces of history means that we continue remembering them.”

An improbable and uphill mission, perhaps not yet impossible.

WEB EXTRAS

Thanks to Elke Hautala, Cari Simson, Scott Dolfay , Leonard Garfield, Eugenia Woo and Maria Denny  and Howard Lev for their invaluable help with this installment!

To see Jean Sherrard’s 360-degree video of the “Now” prospect and compare it with the “Then” photos, and to hear this column read aloud by Jean, check out our Seattle Now & Then 360 version of the column. Also, below you will find a video interview of Maria Denny by Clay Eals.

See below for 5 more photos from fall 2023 by David Williams.

And further below, see 8 photos from Magnolia resident Tab Melton, in the 1950s before he was born and when his family lived at Loch Kelden.

Here are the 1950s photos provided by Tab Melton, when his family lived in a log cabin on the Loch Kelden estate. The photos show Tab’s three older siblings. Tab recalls that when his father, George Melton, lived in the mansion, the two watched the Nov. 25, 1963, funeral of slain President John F. Kennedy on a portable TV in the mansion’s parlor, where the copper fireplace was festooned with tapestries.

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Published in The Seattle Times online on March 7, 2024
and in Pacific NW Magazine of the printed Times on March 10, 2024

Panoramic book reveals Space Needle’s newly transparent views

By Clay Eals

Somehow I can’t forget a delightful ditty from when I was 11 years old. Its lyrics come from one of many Seattle World’s Fair-themed songs in 1962, sung to the show-tune melody of “Hey, Look Me Over”:

Hey, look us over, come to the fair
Come to Seattle, fun is everywhere

Climb up in space, look all around
You’ll be amazed at the sights you see
You never knew that could be found …

Of course, the reference was to the Space Needle, now the preeminent worldwide symbol of Seattle. To me, the 605-foot beacon is calming, inspirational, ubiquitous. It’s in framed posters at home. It’s on my smartphone wallpaper. It’s in the corner of my eye whenever I zip around the city. I doubt I’m alone.

You might not have visited the Needle other than to show visitors. Whether dissuading you was the press of everyday life or the price of admission ($26-$39 today, depending on age, vs. $1 in 1962), your last ascent might have been years ago.

In fact, you might not have ridden the golden elevators to the “top house” since its breathtaking renovation of 2017-18.

But hey, now you can learn about and enjoy the big redo at ground level.

Just published is a lavishly illustrated book, “New Heights: Transforming Seattle’s Iconic Space Needle” (192 pages, Images Publishing Group). It was written and assembled by Olson Kundig, the Seattle-based international design firm that shepherded the $100 million project.

The book snugly complements Knute Berger’s definitive 2012 tome “Space Needle: The Spirit of Seattle” (184 pages, Documentary Media).

And just as with the song lyrics, “New Heights” makes clear that for the Needle’s renovators, the views were THE thing.

Heeding the city Landmark Preservation Board’s admonition to retain the Needle’s original look and profile, changes nevertheless were substantial — and stunning. Off came exterior security cages in favor of tall glass panels. Interior windows were deepened. Off came opaque walls. Away went the rotating restaurant in favor of a rotating (and revealing) glass floor. Transparency ruled. The relentless refrain was: “Does it serve the view?”

With 160 images, including eye-popping panoramas, the book depicts history, visions, models, construction and finished results. Brief text adds insights and incidentals. Examples: TV’s “Jetsons” possibly assigned the Needle the persona of “a midcentury cartoon.” And when navigating the new glass floors, the project architect’s two young daughters had clearly divergent (!) reactions.

Naturally, the book can’t fully substitute for the actual experience. So the best place to find and purchase “New Heights” might be atop the Needle itself. “You’ll be amazed at the sights you see …”

WEB EXTRAS

Thanks to Mathilde van Tulder, Alan Maskin, Blair Payson and Cate O’Toole for their invaluable help with this installment!

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

No historical news clips this week, but below you will find 2 additional then/now photo comparisons and an additional “then” photo. And we’ve just gotta include the full lyrics to “Hey, Look Us Over,” sung to the tune of “Hey, Look Me Over” and referenced at the beginning of this column:

Hey, look us over, come to the fair
Come to Seattle, fun is everywhere

Climb up in space, look all around
You’ll be amazed at the sights you see
You never knew that could be found

And while you’re here, take a boat ride
Out on the Sound
Find the joys of living, pleasures here abound

So get out of the habit of staying home
Take a plane, a train or bus
Come to Seattle, have a good look at us!

Plus, of many videos promoting the Space Needle and Seattle Center, click here for a choice one from 1968.