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Published in The Seattle Times online on March 27, 2025
and in Pacific NW Magazine of the printed Times on March 30, 2025

A 36-second thrill ride immerses us in a 1973 route to Seattle

By Clay Eals

Homemade time capsules can be uniquely evocative. This I know from the creativity of a long-ago best friend.

Seattle native Mark Tyrrell, a buddy starting when we both were 5 and growing up on Mercer Island, had an offbeat and entertaining affection for our regional milieu, revealing it in unexpected ways.

In the early 1950s, the vortex of the baby boom and long before seemingly everything was digital, our fathers purchased home-movie cameras, captured soundless 8mm vignettes of family events and regularly screened them for us.

At age 22, as shown in this video and in “then” screen grabs (below), Mark took this pastime to the next level.

With his dad’s two-lens Ampro Eight 350 camera — and its “Accurator” viewfinder, with adjustments for light and frames per second — he fashioned a fast-motion film in 1973 that documented the west end of U.S. Highway 10 before completion of its successor, Interstate 90.

In an impossibly swift 36 seconds for a real-time 9-minute journey, his rollicking, windshield’s-eye footage covered 7.2 miles, from Mercer Island’s forested Gallagher Hill Road to the James Street exit of Interstate 5. It’s a westbound thrill ride both startling and smile-inducing, especially for those of us who recall the route.

Therein, coming alive on grainy, color celluloid are many sights that evaporated decades ago, including:

• The thoroughfare at ground level, instead of elevated, sunken in a trench or covered by a concrete “lid.”
• The prominent TraveLodge motel in the Mercer Island business district. (During childhood, I’m embarrassed to say that I took its sign too literally and mistakenly called it the “Trave Lodge.”)
• The Lacey V. Murrow floating bridge, just two lanes each way. Built in 1940 across Lake Washington with a 40 mph speed limit, it featured a midway water pocket for large-boat openings but also a dangerous “bulge” for cars and trucks to navigate.
• The bridge’s equally perilous reversible lanes, with red “X” and green arrow markers that switched during rush hours. Unsafe as well: abrupt pre-tunnel entry and exit turns.
• A pullout lane near Rainier Avenue for crossing against full-tilt traffic (!) to a ramped shortcut to Beacon Hill. (My brother, Doug, recalls a similarly dangerous cross-traffic turn opportunity to reach the upper Shorewood apartments on Mercer Island.)
• A come-to-a-halt stoplight at Dearborn, near Goodwill, on the way to Interstate 5.
• The isolation of downtown’s then-tallest tower, the 1969 Seafirst Building (now Safeco Plaza), “the box the Space Needle came in.”

Sadly, Mark died way too early, at age 46, of myelodysplasia after a dozen years of multiple sclerosis. But his breathtaking mini-travelogue and other filmed and written pieces survive for us to ponder and enjoy.

Today, what Seattle sites do our smartphones and dash-cams record that soon will vanish?

WEB EXTRAS

Big thanks to Howard Lev for his invaluable chauffeuring assistance with this installment!

To see Jean Sherrard’s 360-degree video of the “Now” prospect through an automotive sunroof 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.

Below, you also will find 6 “Then” and “Now” comparisons from the route, a high-school paper on Interstate 90, and a children’s book illustration of the infamous floating-bridge “bulge.”

You can see many other vintage Washington state highway videos at this YouTube channel.

Also below, look for another fast-motion video by Mark Tyrrell from 1972 (of him changing the readerboard at Look’s Pharmacy on Mercer Island) and a booklet of Mark’s writings, prepared by Clay for a gathering of friends following Mark’s death in 1997.

COMPARISON 1

COMPARISON 2

COMPARISON 3

COMPARISON 4

COMPARISON 5

COMPARISON 6

AN APPRECIATION OF MARK TYRRELL:

 

 

 

 

 

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Published in The Seattle Times online on March 20, 2025
and in PacificNW Magazine of the printed Times on March 23, 2025

113-year-old Roosevelt District jewel houses tiny shops ‘of hope’

By Jean Sherrard

What do storybook characters Ferdinand the Bull, the Little Engine That Could and the subject of today’s column have in common? All are plucky, dignified survivors in a seemingly indifferent universe.

“It’s like a reverse ‘Up’ house,” says Ryan Donaldson, adding to the trope and referencing an unassuming two-story structure anchoring the corner of 65th and 16th in the Roosevelt district.

His grandmother, Lucille Moreau Mrozcek, lived and

worked here beginning in 1980. Built in 1912, the combined house and shop, once Jewel Grocery, today stands isolated in what resembles a war zone, strewn with graffiti-covered broken concrete foundations.

“For years, my grandmother refused to sell,” Donaldson says. “This place was her home, full of family history, and she wanted to preserve it.”

“Mom’s my idol,” adds daughter Barbara Donaldson. “She never let up.”

In the early 1960s, Lucille and then-husband Conrad Mrozcek opened an artists’ supply shop on “The Ave,” serving university art students and professionals. Within several years, they opened a complementary business, Seattle Auction Palace, dealing largely in art and antiques.

Following their divorce in 1968, Lucille continued working full time while raising seven children. Buying the corner house and shop near Roosevelt High School made juggling life as a working single mother tenable. For nearly 40 years, she helmed Silhouette Antiques downstairs while nurturing children and grandchildren above.

“She had a signature saying,” Barbara recalls. “ ‘You do what you’ve got to do.’ Simple as that.”

Even as investors snapped up nearby properties, Lucille was adamant, refusing to move out. “She was definitely a thorn in their side,” Ryan says.

After her death in 2020, hoping to preserve the

existing structures, her family sought a sympathetic buyer. “We put up a for-sale sign,” Barbara says, “and in walked a young couple who lived just up the street.”

The two, Jenny Gerstorff and Josh Frickberg, were thrilled at the idea of opening a business in a location with neighborhood history. After many months of DIY renovation, repair and re-use, their shared vision bore fruit.

Ravenna Rocks, featuring crystals, gemstones and a host of geologic marvels, is housed in the Silhouette Antiques space, while just upstairs, Ravenna Refills offers organic shampoos, soaps and lotions in reusable containers.

For Lucille’s offspring, the preserved place provides the perfect coda. “We get to come and visit whenever we want,” Barbara says. “It’s like adding another branch to the family.”

“With so much bad news these days,” Gerstorff says, “we’re really happy to be good news for the community.”

Ravenna Refills partner Robin Dreisbach agrees: “We’re like a little shop of hope.”

WEB EXTRAS

Ravenna Refills will be having its official grand opening celebration on Saturday, March 29th, 3-6pm. We’ll be on hand to document the event!

Click right here to watch our narrated 360 degree video of this column.

Scroll down for more photos telling this fascinating story.

And here’s an interesting coincidence, discovered by Josh Frickberg’s dad. The Pingreys – Albert and Kittie – (pictured below) who also once owned the structure and ran a grocery there, are Josh’s 7th cousins, 3 generations removed.

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Published in The Seattle Times online on March 13, 2025
and in Pacific NW Magazine of the printed Times on March 16, 2025

Librarian hears 20 years later how ‘her kids’ felt they belonged

By Clay Eals

In some pursuits, you have to trust that you’re having an effect that lasts. Teaching is like that. Journalism, too. So is being a children’s librarian. The kids you engage may never again pass your way.

Not so, however, for Laura Meyer. An educator/entertainer of kids for Seattle Public Library for 35 years, mostly in Lake City, Meyer was known for puppet shows and employing X-ray vision (actually a keen memory) to tell stories while facing a book forward for all to see. She retired at age 58 in 2005. Two years later, she and her husband moved south to Vancouver.

She made periodic trips to Seattle to see relatives. But years passed, and the youths she captivated became adults. Do they remember her?

Enter Casey McNerthney. An ex-newsie who is the spokesperson for the King County prosecutor, he recently pondered his mid-1980s affection for Meyer.

As a tot, he asked Meyer for the in-demand book “A Chair for My Mother.” When it came available, she telephoned him at home.

“I thought it was so cool that she called specifically for me,” he says. “She said she would save it for me. It was like having Taylor Swift play the song you requested.”

A father himself, McNerthney absorbed Meyer’s lesson: “She was the first person I remember meeting, outside of my family, who conveyed to children that they mattered.”

Wouldn’t it be great, he thought, if she could reconnect with “her kids,” whose ages would now be roughly 20 to 65?

He organized a Lake City reunion, spreading word via social media. On the day-of, two-dozen people streamed through the branch door. Scores more sent well-wishes from across the country, even Ireland.

The branch had been renovated twice since she last worked there, but Meyer, it seemed, was no different. Same broad, crinkly-eyed grin. Same bold, expressive voice. Same flower in her hair.

It was Story Time again. Only this time, the grown-ups told as many as did Meyer.

“She was the kindest, most caring person you’d ever want to meet,” said John Desgrosellier. “I still remember a couple of books she shared with us when we were younger — ‘The Boxcar Children’ and ‘The Iron Giant’.”

“She always made me feel like I belonged here,” said Kristine dos Remedios Edens, who brought her daughter Avery to meet Meyer and to convey thanks. “It’s important to tell people like that,” she added. “Usually, you don’t get to tell them the impact that they’ve made.”

Meyer’s response: Tears, smiles and, of course, more stories! Mission accomplished, Casey.

WEB EXTRAS

Big thanks to Laura Meyer, Casey McNerthney and “Mrs. Meyer’s kids” for their invaluable help with this installment!

No 360-degree video this time, but below you will find:

• A half-hour video of the Laura Meyer reunion on Feb. 1, 2025.
• A downloadable pdf of transcripts of 1998 and 2025 interviews of Meyer.
• A selection of 8 additional photos.
• And 7 historical clips from The Seattle Times and Seattle Post-Intelligencer online archive (available via Seattle Public Library), Newspapers.com and Washington Digital Newspapers, all of which were helpful in the preparation of this column.

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Published in The Seattle Times online on March 6, 2025
and in PacificNW Magazine of the printed Times on March 9, 2025

At this 1938 Seattle cathedral’s blue domes, ‘heaven and earth meet’

By Jean Sherrard

For a first-time visitor, Sunday services at St. Spiridon evoke elaborate ritual.

After the ringing of eight bells mounted on the church’s side porch and tower, worshipers of all ages assemble in the square nave, most standing throughout the hour-long liturgy.

Priests perform a complex choreography before the altar, featuring arrivals and departures through multiple doorways, curtains that open and close, and mesmerizing recitations accompanied by a choir. Throughout, the delicate musk of frankincense wafts through the cathedral.

“We believe in the literal power of the sacred,” says John Cox, the church’s official zvonar, or bellringer. Cox relinquished Episcopal roots to join the Russian orthodox congregation in 1998. “For us, faith is not just a metaphor.”

This includes the physical church itself, which presides half-hidden amid high-rises on a slope just west of Interstate 5 in South Lake Union. For orthodox believers, Cox says, it is “a place where heaven and earth meet.”

St. Spiridon was founded in 1895 by Russian, Ukrainian, Greek and Serbian immigrants working in Seattle’s lumber and fishing industries. The congregation initially erected a wooden New England-style meeting house at the foot of Capitol Hill.

Following the 1917 Russian Revolution, great

numbers fled the new Soviet Union, and St. Spiridon’s congregation swelled to accommodate the new arrivals. The Bolshevik government, however, while shuttering churches across Russia, also sent out “church” representatives who attempted to seize ecclesiastical properties worldwide.

In 1924, ignoring the protests of church members, Seattle courts ordered that the building be ceded to the Soviet emissaries. In the dead of night, irate parishioners broke into their sanctuary and stripped it bare, removing icons, altars and religious art.

For 12 years, St. Spiridon met in rooms donated by the sympathetic Episcopalian archdiocese nearby. By 1936, members had raised enough capital to purchase another plot of land and erect a traditional Russian parish church.

They hired Russian-born architect Ivan Palmaw (1896-1979), also noted for designing Capitol Hill’s St. Nicholas Cathedral and the art deco Renton Fire Hall (now the Renton History Museum). Palmaw had fled post-revolution Russia, eventually landing in Seattle to attend the University of Washington School of Architecture.

“Orthodox churches are not built this way just because it looks cool,” Cox says. “Every aspect holds meaning.”

St. Spiridon’s nine domes — all robin’s egg blue —

represent the nine orders of angels and archangels. Their onion-like design is significant. “They are shaped,” he says, “like the tongues of fire that appeared over the apostles’ heads on Pentecost.”

On a blustery Sunday, he adds a wryly practical, if secular note: “They also shed snow really easily.”

WEB EXTRAS

A cool photo collage from St. Spiridon’s basement foyer illustrating significant moments in construction.

And to view our 360 degree video of the column, please wander over here.

For a short video of the Sunday service complete with choir and bells, click on the YouTube below:

And here’s a video treasure bell ringer John Cox just alerted me to: