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Published in The Seattle Times online on Sept. 21, 2023
and in PacificNW Magazine of the printed Times on Sept. 24, 2023

Dedication drives longtime Filipino champion Dorothy Cordova

By Clay Eals

With salmon leaping eagerly into a giant can (“From the sea to you!”), this week’s “Then” portrait depicts a festive float. Surrounding it are local Filipinos, 59 men and 8 women, heartily gathering downtown to take part in Seattle’s Labor Day procession of Sept. 5, 1938.

No less hearty, the present-day repeat of our “Now” photo speaks to a national organization documenting a community’s legacy and guided by a local Filipina dynamo, Dorothy Laigo Cordova.

In the 1938 shot, many don formal dress, and some hoist cans of salmon, celebratory symbols of the 1933 formation of the Cannery Workers and Farm Laborers Union, Local 7.

The first Filipino-led union in the United States, it spoke for thousands of often unrecognized immigrants who traveled summertimes to the then-Alaska Territory for arduous fish-cannery work. They called themselves “Alaskeros” (ala-SKERR-ohs).

The float also reflected political tensions. Although many CWFLU members were categorized as “nationals,” not U.S. citizens, and could not vote, they joined other unions in urging defeat of “strike control” Initiative 130, on the statewide ballot that fall.

The initiative was led by business interests who sought to “stamp out racketeering and violence in Washington” and promised “peace, pay checks [and] prosperity.” But union sympathizers held sway. The measure failed, 295,431 to 268,848.

Revealing just one swath of local Filipino history, the float image holds prominence among countless photos, posters, oral histories and documents stored and displayed at the headquarters of the Filipino American National Historical Society (FANHS, pronounced “fonz”). The combination library and organizing center spans several rooms on the first floor of Immaculate Conception Church in the Central District.

Dorothy Cordova launched it in 1982 with her husband, the journalist, college spokesman and renowned civil-rights leader Fred Cordova, as an outgrowth of their late-1950s Filipino Youth Activities organization and early-1970s Demonstration Project for Asian Americans. Today, FANHS boasts chapters in 41 cities.

Fred died in 2014. Remarkably, Dorothy, 90, a Seattle native and longtime sociologist, teacher, researcher and activist (not to mention mother of eight), still runs FANHS. Unpaid, she commutes from Montlake to the office five days a week.

Dorothy’s decades of accomplishments and awards are formidable. This year alone, she received a legacy award in May from the Association of King County Historical Organizations, and at a banquet Thursday, Sept. 28, Historic Seattle will honor her as a “preservation champion.”

Why keep at it? “Curiosity!” she spouts. “Actually, it’s a mission: ‘Did you know anything about us? We were nobody.’ We try to set the record straight.”

And there’s always more: “You just have to keep plugging away.”

WEB EXTRAS

Thanks to Ben Laigo and especially Dorothy Cordova for their invaluable help with this installment!

To see Clay Eals‘ 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.

Below, besides an additional video of Dorothy receiving a legacy award from the Association of King County Historical Organizations, are 4 additional photos, and, in chronological order,  70 historical clips from The Seattle Times and Seattle Post-Intelligencer online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) and Washington Digital Newspapers, that were helpful in the preparation of this column.

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Published in The Seattle Times online on Sept. 14, 2023
and in PacificNW Magazine of the printed Times on Sept. 17, 2023

Where to find ‘golf utopia’ in 1931? No lie: at Mount Rainier!

By Clay Eals

It was outlandish 92 years ago. It’s outlandish today. But out on the land immediately south of Mount Rainier, there once arose, in golfing vernacular, an alluring ace.

For two Depression-era months in the summer and fall of 1931 at aptly named Paradise, the gem was a nine-hole golf course.

Don’t believe it? Photos, news stories, a logbook and even a blueprint prove that Paradise Golf Course was no high lie.

On opening day, Aug. 8, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer called it “golf utopia,” and not just for the up-close views of the 14,411-foot peak. Paul Sceva, then Rainier National Park manager, claimed that every drive had 30 yards more carry than on any other course in America. The reason? The 5,000-foot altitude sliced air resistance to a minimum.

“There is no question about it,” said its architect, Roy Herbert Dobell, of Aberdeen. “The ball travels 25% farther up here in the skies. I’ve proved it many times.”

The course also provided “a most interesting feature to the tired business man,” the P-I reported. “Every fairway is downhill.” A car regularly waited at hole No. 9 to carry golfers back to the first tee, which teetered over a bluff, a breathtaking 300 feet above hole No. 1’s fairway.

The Northwest Hickory Players, a 10-year-old, no-dues club of 125 golfers who play with vintage clubs and duds, recently drove to Paradise to revel in the place of their period predecessors. The club’s Martin Pool, of Kenmore, labels the setting a “spectacular novelty.”

By the 1920s, golf’s national popularity had soared. Pool’s research indicates that the park’s concessionaire proposed the course to boost sagging business at the mountain’s lodge, especially overnight stays.

“Golf is a country game, not a city one,” responded Horace Albright, then National Park Service director. “It can be justified in parks easier than tennis. Anyway, I want to try out the thing, and as the Rainier Company needs revenue more than any other company, I am disposed to let them try the experiment.”

Some 200 men and women, mostly from Puget Sound but also from Los Angeles, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, St. Louis, Niagara Falls and Tokyo, Japan, gave the course a try. Fees at the time were $1.50 for 9-hole play and $3 for all day.

Of course, the remote locale invited unique challenges, including a pair of bears who ambled the greens at dusk, snapping off bamboo flag sticks and pulling out cups. Then there was the weather. When snow blanketed the area in early October, the course closed, never to reopen.

Today, it’s one of history’s sweet spots.

WEB EXTRAS

Thanks to Martin Pool, Gary Smyres, John Quickstad, Rob Ahlschwede of the Northwest Hickory Players, along with Ben Nechanicky and Mount Rainier National Park curator Brooke Childrey for their invaluable help with this installment!

To see Clay Eals‘ 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.

Below are 2 documents , an additional video, an additional photo, a 6-page log book and blueprint and, in chronological order,  4 historical clips from The Seattle Times and Seattle Post-Intelligencer online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) and Washington Digital Newspapers, that were helpful in the preparation of this column.

 

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A BONUS!

This column installment begins below, But first a delightful bonus above. Here we present a one-minute radio commercial for First Bank, which is how Seattle-First National Bank branded itself from 1975 to 1977. Click the red promotional record below to hear the commercial, titled “Another Nice Thing.” Next to the record are images from its sleeve. Enjoy!

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Published in The Seattle Times online on Aug. 24, 2023
and in PacificNW Magazine of the printed Times on Aug. 27, 2023

A former bank on Denny Way, but not its site,
retains its status as a Seattle landmark

By Clay Eals

Can a Seattle landmark lose its protection? If can if the Seattle City Council overrules its Landmarks Preservation Board.

In the 50-year history of the city’s landmark program, the council rarely has approved such a reversal. But it almost did so last January, before a compromise saved a building but not most of its surrounding site.

The site, at 566 Denny Way, is known mostly for its notable neighbors: the Space Needle, the Monorail, the KOMO-TV complex, the Chief Seattle statue, Denny Park (the city’s first), the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation and the gaggle of South Lake Union mid- and high-rises informally known as Amazonia.

Since 2009, the site has operated as a Walgreens, but it took shape in 1950 as a Seattle-First National Bank branch, among the firm’s “customer-friendly” banks built after World War II.

The building — with its gently concave roof, stone logo plaques and brick-faced and limestone entries, augmented by a curved drive-through lane, parking lot and prominent identifying brick pillar — embodied design known today as Mid-Century Modern. It also brought stature north of downtown to a district of wood-frame houses leveled in 1928-30 during the final phase of the hill-sluicing Denny Regrade project.

Today, it bears unfortunate earmarks of decline: persistent graffiti and a closed front entrance to deter theft. But in 2006, the Landmarks Preservation Board designated the building exterior and site a landmark for its design, architects (Lister Holmes, John Maloney) and contribution to neighborhood identity.

Last year, the building and site faced the final step in the landmark process. Specific controls agreed to by Walgreens and the landmarks board and staff headed to the City Council, which routinely OKs such negotiated agreements. Not this time, however.

Backed by urbanist housing advocates, a council committee voted 4-0 on Dec. 9 against landmark controls for the building and site. Led by chair Tammy Morales, committee members said preserving a one-floor, auto-centric building and parking lot in a dense neighborhood “doesn’t make sense” amid a citywide housing crisis.

Heritage advocates disagreed. They also said the committee vote threatened the landmark board’s autonomy and expertise.

Their lobbying produced a compromise: On Jan. 10, the full council voted 9-0 to protect the ex-bank building but open most of the rest of the site to development. No plan to develop the site has surfaced.

The debate spotlighted the council’s desire to foster affordable housing despite its inability to compel property owners to build it. In addition, it addressed transfers of development rights, and it refocused attention on which landmarks are worth saving, especially those that express the city’s more recent history of change.

Discussion surely will continue.

WEB EXTRAS

Thanks to Michael Houser, Michael Herschensohn, Leanne Olson, Tom Rasmussen, Nick Licata, Deb Barker, Kathy Blackwell, Karen Gordon, Erin Doherty, Midori Okazaki and especially Eugenia Woo for their invaluable help with this installment!

To see Clay Eals‘ 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.

Below are 4 landmark-related documents  and, in chronological order, 33 historical clips (including 11 clips that detail how Seattle’s landmark ordinance came to be in 1972-1974) from The Seattle Times and Seattle Post-Intelligencer online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) and Washington Digital Newspapers, that were helpful in the preparation of this column.

 

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Published in The Seattle Times online on Aug. 10, 2023
and in PacificNW Magazine of the printed Times on Aug. 13, 2023

Photographer grateful his images can ‘hit the moment in time’

By Clay Eals

You grow up an ordinary guy on the outskirts of Los Angeles. You’re not great at academics, but in the late 1960s you pick up a camera and shoot for the high-school newspaper and yearbook. Later, you work at McDonalds and a Ford plant. You deliver sailboats around the country. In 1979, you move north, bouncing from Granite Falls to Green Lake to the Alaska town of Valdez and, finally, to Shoreline.

All the while, you immerse yourself in enormous concerts by the biggest names in rock, blues, country and folk, your camera a constant companion. Over more than 50 years, you amass a rare archive.

You’re Steve Schneider, whose musically panoramic imagery fills “The First Three Songs: Rock & Roll at 125th of a Second,” a 220-page coffee-table compendium whose title alludes to the brief time at the opening of shows when promoters typically let photojournalists work up close. The tome bolsters Schneider’s uncomplicated mantra: “It’s always been about excitement, about fun. I just want to get the shot.”

The 71-year-old has earned day-job pay from documenting conventions of professional associations and occasional journalistic assignments (UPI had him shoot a 1984 Seattle campaign visit by Democratic VP candidate Geraldine Ferraro, see below). But nights and weekends are a different story.

His “Who’s Who” concert subjects range from CSNY to Pearl Jam, Dylan to Cobain, Bonnie Raitt to Carlos Santana, Willie Nelson to Paul Simon, to McCartney, Clapton, Jagger, Springsteen, Bowie and, yes, the Who. Whew!

Schneider’s most enduring focus, however, has been the trippy Grateful Dead, known for its freeform shows and faithful “Deadheads.” He has seen at least 100 Dead concerts. More than 20 appear in the book.

His Dead shots began with a May 25, 1974, gig at UC Santa Barbara featuring then-beardless leader Jerry Garcia. Exactly 21 years later, Schneider captured a greying Garcia at his last Seattle concert, at Memorial Stadium. Garcia died 76 days later at age 53, and Schneider’s portrait filled a page in Time magazine’s tribute.

The band persisted in various forms, most recently as The Dead & Company, which disbanded in July. Its fourth- and fifth-to-last shows were at The Gorge Amphitheatre. Schneider was there, part of “the family.”

For the Dead, and all of Schneider’s star subjects, the most compelling factor has been the music itself. “It once was all new,” he says. “The songs hit the moment in time. Today you enjoy the song, and it brings back good memories. I just preserve a bit of history, that moment in time that I saw.”

You might say it’s what keeps his Dead soul alive.

WEB EXTRAS

Thanks to Steve Schneider for his invaluable help with this installment!

Below are 26 additional photos (not enlargeable here)  and, in chronological order, 10 historical clips from The Seattle Times and Seattle Post-Intelligencer online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) and Washington Digital Newspapers, that were helpful in the preparation of this column.

 

 

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Published in The Seattle Times online on Aug. 3, 2023
and in PacificNW Magazine of the printed Times on Aug. 6, 2023

Water cannons evoke big blazes fought by fireboat Duwamish

By Clay Eals

Wildfires often command today’s attention. But how’s this for a different kind of wild?

Early on May 20, 1910, at the foot of Vine Street along Elliott Bay, a kettle of melted asphalt sprang a leak, mushrooming into a “blazing pile of more than 100 tons of inflammable asphalt” and producing “the thickest smoke that ever rolled up from a city,” reported The Seattle Times.

The fire destroyed Independent Asphalt Co. and damaged Occidental Fish Company nearby but could have been catastrophic for the waterfront if not for gushers from “the highest powered fireboat in existence,” the Duwamish. Thousands of tons of water — shot from the vessel’s cannons for more than an hour, aided by two land-based engines along Railroad Avenue (now Alaskan Way) — doused the flames.

Eyewitnesses said the sight of “streams from the fireboat playing across her bow was the prettiest firefighting spectacle ever witnessed in this city.”

The inferno came 10 months after the launch of the steam-driven Duwamish, named for the city’s Native American tribe and only river. The fireboat fought decades of water-proximate fires, many with dramatic smoke plumes from both the conflagrations and the fireboat’s aging steam engine. Dieselized in 1949 and retired in 1984, the Duwamish endures as a city and national landmark at South Lake Union.

Seattle’s first fireboat — and the first one on North America’s west coast — was the Snoqualmie, launched in 1891. Sold in 1932, it became a freighter in Alaska, where it burned in 1974. The city’s third fireboat, the Alki, launched in 1927, lingered for decades at Lake Union and recently was scrapped. Thus, the in-between Duwamish is the sole old-time survivor.

West Seattle’s Bob Carney, a retired electrical-parts salesman who first toured the Duwamish at age 8 in 1968, could be its biggest historian and fan. He is rivaled only by Beacon Hill’s Steve Walker, who traces his maritime affection to “The Sand Pebbles” (1966) starring namesake Steve McQueen, “the king of cool,” as a military steamship engineer.

Walker, a state ferry retiree, helms the Duwamish, moored permanently at the Historic Ships Wharf next to the Museum of History & Industry. He and Carney lead Sunday tours, spouting gentle cannons of marine lore for visitors.

Today’s four operating Seattle fireboats are the Chief Seattle (launched in 1984), the Leschi (2007), Fire One (2006) and Fire Two (2014). During summer festivals, their pumps propel a sizeable spray. But the most inspired show emerges from the deck of the Duwamish where, for a few gripping moments at its disabled water cannons, anyone can imagine being a waterborne hero.

WEB EXTRAS

Thanks to Molly Michel, Seattle Design Festival; David Cueropo, Seattle Fire Department; Xin Tong, Kristin Wong, Tom Liu, Devon Lawrence, Tom Smith and especially Bob Carney and Steve Walker for their invaluable help with this installment!

To see Clay Eals‘ 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.

Below are a video interview of Steve Walker, a historical timeline and fact sheet by Bob Carney, 38 additional photos  and, in chronological order, 6 historical clips from The Seattle Times and Seattle Post-Intelligencer online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) and Washington Digital Newspapers, that were helpful in the preparation of this column.

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Published in The Seattle Times online on July 27, 2023
and in PacificNW Magazine of the printed Times on July 30, 2023

An overdue return trip for railway workhorse and zoo touchstone

By Clay Eals

We at “Now & Then” usually take our “Now” photos at, or near, the same spot as the “Then” images, but this week, the spatial spread is greater. We’re talking 35 miles.

At least the locales are in King County, and you may abide the distant pairing because the fundamental function of our subject is to move people and things from one place to another.

Those who lived here as children between 1953 and 1980 (or as adults with kid-like awe) likely recall with warmth and admiration, if not worship, the colorful locomotive #1246 that greeted visitors inside the south entrance of Woodland Park Zoo. The Great Northern Railway gifted the steamer to the city on the cusp of dieselizing its locomotive fleet.

Built in 1907, it had what today would be called a “wow” factor. To fully appreciate the gleaming engine, more than 15 feet tall, you had to look way up. In person, it demanded honor and deference — more than could be conveyed by mere visual or verbal depiction.

Of course, #1246 possessed a mobile past that long predated its stationary role as a zoo touchstone. For decades, it toiled on rails from Portland to Vancouver, B.C., and over the Cascades to and from Wenatchee.

For a time during the locomotive’s zoo stint, a placard heralded #1246’s historic status as a consolidation-style engine, featuring two small pilot wheels followed by eight 55-inch-diameter drive wheels:

“They were slower and less spectacular than earlier, lighter types, but their initial (starting) tractive effort was superior, and they could start and pull longer trains. For more than 75 years, they were the workhorses of American railroads, and their performance in mountainous terrain played a significant part in the development of the west.”

The narrative fits “The Railroad Changed Everything” tagline of Snoqualmie’s Northwest Railway Museum, which brought #1246 back to King County in late April after nearly 30 years of negotiations with owners in desert-like southern Oregon. Though looking “like it was pulled up from the bottom of a lake,” says Richard Anderson, executive director, it is reassuringly intact, complete with “grime and grease” from when it last operated 70 years ago.

Restoration will take years, but Anderson says #1246 already stands as a “massive and powerful” asset among the organization’s 75 rail vehicles. “You can walk right up to it and touch it,” he says, and the steam legacy adds “a sense of life.”

Eventually it will bolster an anticipated 35,000 square-foot addition to the museum’s current 24,000 square feet — just in time to awe the senses of a new generation of children.

WEB EXTRAS

Thanks to Kevin Weiderstrom, Bob Kelly, Richard Anderson and Dan Kerlee for their invaluable help with this installment!

To see Clay Eals‘ 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.

Below are 34 additional photos  and, in chronological order, 31 historical clips from The Seattle Times and Seattle Post-Intelligencer online archive (available via Seattle Public Library) and Washington Digital Newspapers, that were helpful in the preparation of this column.