VintageSeattle.org

On a cold morning in the dawning days of the 21st century, a national historic landmark collapsed. It was 5:45 in the morning. The streets around Pioneer Square were quiet, dark, cold, as a man, Peter Benard, drove a US Xpress Enterprise truck. Inexperienced, he drove the 18-wheeler into a historic iron and glass pergola, destroying it. It collapsed in a heap. The driver left unscathed and the truck didn’t have much damage at all. The pergola, the driver might have known after the reports starting leaking out about its destruction, after the TV news crews started to descend on Pioneer Square, was that it had been standing since the early days of the 20th century.

It was 1909 and Seattle was a’bustle. Workmen had just completed building the world’s largest artificial island, Harbor Island, at a stout 350 acres. In the International District, locals could see kabuki for the first time staged at the recently opened Nippon Kan Theater. The Anti-Tuberculosis League of King County is founded. The Sorrento Hotel opens, inviting guests of the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition. Suffragists hold a convention. John Miler is Seattle’s mayor. The Seattle Turks of the Northwestern League are winning baseball game after baseball game fielding stars like Lee Magee, Pug Bennett and Ralph Capron and, in Pioneer Square, on September 23, 1909, the “Queen Mary of the Johns” is opened – the nation’s most elaborately appointed underground restroom. Above the bathroom stood the pergola, used as both a stop for the Yesler and James Street Cable Car Company and as a graceful feature to the bathrooms below. The pillars in the pergola were hollow, used as ventilation for the bathrooms below.

It could accommodate 10,000 patrons a day. The underground toilets were of the highest class. “The man of travels will find nowhere in the Eastern hemisphere a sub-surface public comfort station equal in character to that which has recently been completed in the downtown district of Seattle,” noted Park Board secretary Rolland Cotterill. “In the United States there are very few that will be found equal to it.”

Indeed – for sub-surface public comfort stations it was unrivaled. Designed by MIT graduate Julian T. Everett, who also the architect of Seattle’s Leavington Hotel and the Pilgrim Congregational Church, and build by general contractor Thomas Flynn at a cost of $24,505.85, the bathrooms were elegant and extravagent. Underground, there were bathrooms for both men and women, both free and paid. The all included toilets, wash basins, urinals (for the men), and sinks. Both men and women could lounge in the anteroom that had oak chairs and shoeshine stands. Men could purchase cigars. The stalls were marble. The fixtures were brass. The walls were white-tiled and the floors were terrazzo. The toilets were flushed thousands of times a day, more on Sundays when the saloons closed.

And above that, the pergola sat. “The canopy is a combination of cast-iron posts with ornamental bent iron brackets, cornice and ridge line,” noted Seattle’s weekly publication Pacific Builder and Engineer. 65,000 total pounds of iron works were used in the pergola. The supporting columns weighed 500 pounds. The ventilation columns weighed 2,000 pounds. “The entire roof of the canopy,” the paper continued, “is covered with wire glass, which was installed by the Westlake Sheet Metal Works.”

The toilets were used again and again and again until World War II when they were closed and capped over. The pergola was restored in the early 1970s with a large donation from the Casey family. James Casey was one of the founders of United Parcel Service. UPS was established in Pioneer Square two years before the “Queen Mary of Johns” was opened. In 1977 the pergola, and the Tlingit totem pole nearby, were designated national landmarks. Then, in January of 2001 it was shattered to the ground. The company that caused the destruction helped pay for its restoration. That work fell to the Seidelhuber Iron and Bronze Works who used almost all the parts that had crumbled to the ground, welding pieces back together that broke apart, recasting salvaged pieces, reworking and redoing the entire structure.

The rebuild cost $3.9 million. Heidi Seidelhuber said at the reopening of the pergola in August of 2002, “The accident will have been a gift in disguise to the city if we can make the pergola survive longer because of the work we have done.” It will stand, then, in the 21st century and into the 22nd.

Jonathan Shipley
11/28/2009

The line was long. It stretched along 7th and Olive that first day – April 19, 1929. 5,000 people were already awaiting entry into the grand Fox Theatre at 10 am that morning, two hours before the first matinee showing. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer newsmen were combing the lines looking for interview subjects in the crowd, using new-fangled sound film, asking them about their thoughts on the new building.

The spring of 1929 already had plenty of good news to share. Grand Teton National Park was established in late February. In March, Seattleites read about the San Francisco Bay Toll-Bridge in the Seattle Times, the longest bridge in the world, opening. Also opening was a new vista in regards to American politics. On March 4, just a month and a half before Fox’s grand opening, Herbert Hoover was inaugurated as the nation’s 31st president, succeeding Calvin Coolidge. Little did they know that bad news was just around the corner. In October, $30 billion would be wiped out of the New York Stock Exchange – The Great Crash.

Those events weren’t on the minds, however, of those seeking entrance into the Sherwood Ford-designed state-of-the-art entertainment palace – the last arts venue opened in Seattle before that fateful Black Tuesday in October. There was a buzz throughout the crowd as they awaiting entry in the William Fox-owned movie house.

Fox, an Austrio-Hungarian-born movie mogul was known the world over. He founded the Fox Film Corporation in 1915, the Fox West Coast Theatres chain in the 1920s. In 1927 he acquired patent rights to a sound-on-film process developed by a Swiss-firm. He was rich and, with that, made sure that the theatres he owned were equally rich. Seattle’s was no different.

It was elegant beyond the words of many who stood in front of it that morning. An extravagant Spanish motif splashed across the exterior stonework. The interior was decorated in the 16th century Spanish tradition. The timbered front doors were flanked by suits of armor. The grand foyer was carpeted in red. Velvet drapes hung from pseudo-weathered walls. They were colored green and rose. On the stairway landings were enormous murals of Spanish warriors in fight scenes. The building, inside and out, was a Moorish castle and Seattleites were enthralled.

Yes, the Paramount Theatre had opened the previous year to pomp and pageantry, but the opening of the Fox (originally planned and designed under the name Mayflower before Fox purchased it) was for the masses, and mass they did. 5,000 grew to 10,000. By the end of the first day, 15,000 got to see it.

Tickets were 35 cents for matinees, 60 for evening shows. The first ticket purchased was done by Mrs. Sarah J. Stearns. She stood and marveled at the lobby, admiring the décor, quite possibly unaware of all the technological and modern amenities all about her. For women there was a glass-enclosed room for noisy tots. They could care for their brood in the quiet room while the sound of the movie was piped into it. There was a room for men, as well – a smoking room. The projection room up top had an electronic warning system that let the projectionist know when it was time to change film reels. There was an electronic seating chart, as well, helping ushers find empty seats, amongst the 2600 of them, for late entries. And the organ! One of the most expensive in the city (it cost a staggering $60,000), the Morton organ could ascend and descend from the orchestra pit. Not only that, it could revolve as well, facing the screen or the audience.

The first patrons at the Fox sat for the motion picture. It was The Broadway Melody (“The pulsating drama of Broadway’s bared heart speaks and sings with a voice that will stir your soul!”). Starring Bessie Love, Charles King and Anita Page, the Harry Beaumont-directed film later went on to win the 1930 Academy Award for Best Picture (the first sound film, and first musical, to do so). They all sat, Sarah Stearns and the rest, amidst the warrior murals, the grand entryway, the suits of armor, and watched the movie.

Harriet and Queenie Mahoney, a Vaudeville act, go to Broadway where their friend, Eddie, needs them for a number in a Zanfield Show.

They watch, not knowing the future fate of the building they sit in.

The economic collapse in October didn’t help the theatre. The series of owners in the 1930s didn’t help. The fact that it sat outside Seattle’s retail and entertainment core didn’t help. In 1929 it was the Fox Theatre. In 1933 it was renamed The Roxy. In 1934 it was known as Hamrick’s Music Hall. In 1936 it was purchased by the Clise family.

Eddie was in love with Harriet when she came to Broadway but later falls for Queenie instead. Queenie’s being courted by a New York high society-type.

The theatre continued to limp along. 1962 - The Music Hall. In 1967 it was called the 7th Avenue Theatre. In 1978 it was called Jack McGovern’s Music Hall. 1987 – the Emerald Palace.

Queenie realizes that the society man doesn’t really love her.

In 1989 the Seattle Symphony rejected a proposal to relocate to the theatre permanently. The Clise family applied for a city permit to demolish the building.

Harriet realizees that Eddie loves Queenie.

Community activists rose up. Led by Allied Arts, in 1990 the hall was designated a city landmark.

The final credits roll on Metro-Goldywn-Mayer’s TALKING SINGING DANCING Dramatic Sensation. The crowd roars with thunderous applause. It’s not just because of the quality of the film (star Bessie Love would continue acting through Warren Beatty’s Reds), but also because they were sitting in the lap of cinematic luxury, the opulent Fox Theatre.

Two hours after the first throng of movie-goers entered the building, they left, into the spring Seattle day. They had a spring in their step knowing they participated in a small way in Seattle history; knowing that the beautiful building was worthy of civic pride; not knowing, impossible for them to know, that in January 1992 a wrecking ball turned it to rubble.

Jonathan Shipley
10/9/2009

Gary “Ding Dong” Bell took to the mound on April 11, 1969. The 6’1” right hander from San Antonio, Texas already had a good career before sprinting out on opening day. A four-time all-star with the Cleveland Indians and Boston Red Sox, Bell was well respected in the American League. Two years previous, age 30, he pitched in the World Series against the St. Louis Cardinals. Game three he pitched. Poorly, but still. Lou Brock hit a triple off of him. Mike Shannon smashed a homer to deep left. That was the past, though, those games with teammates like Carl Yastrzemski, Luis Tiant, Rocky Calavito.

Now, behind him, the first team fielded by the major league baseball team Seattle Pilots. There were guys like Tommy Harper, Ray Oyler and Wayne Comer. In the bullpen, men like Diego Segui and Jim Bouton.

Bell faced the White Sox that opening game, trying to get outs out of Bill Melton, Bobby Knoop, Luis Aparicio. The White Sox brought all-star Joe Horlen to the mound. A runner-up to the Cy Young Award in 1967 (he lost to Jim Lonborg), Horlen was a formidable pitcher in his own right. Bell was on his game, however, and dominated the White Sox that first game. It was a complete game, in fact, and the first win for Seattle’s first major league baseball team at a newly renovated Sick’s Stadium.

It was over 30 years prior when Sick’s Stadium first opened. It was June 15, 1938. The minor league Pacific Coast League’s Seattle Rainiers took to the field named after Emil Sick, the owner of the team and of the prosperous Rainier Brewing Company.

The field could hold 11,000 fans. Left field was 325 feet, center, 400, right 325. It cost, at that point a staggering sum, $125,000 to build. The team did well at the park (the site of a former minor league park, Dugdale Field, that burned to the ground July 4, 1932). They finished first in the league in 1939, 1940, and 1941, winning pennants in ’40 and ’41.

Rainiers play continued at Sick’s Stadium until 1964 (the same year Sick died). They changed their names to the Angels and played further at Sick’s Stadium until 1968. The stadium remained, ever aging to the cool climes of Seattle.

Oh certainly, as Seattle fielded minor league team after minor league team (minor league play started in Seattle as far back as 1890 as local fans cheered the Seattles of the Pacific Northwest League), there was talk of big league teams forming in Seattle. The Cleveland Indians almost moved to Seattle in the early 1960s. The Kansas City Royals considered a move to the Emerald City as well. Charlie Finley, owner of the Royals, thought Sick’s Stadium was aptly named. The stadium was simply not suited for big league play. If Seattle wanted a big league team they’d have to renovate Sick’s Stadium in a big way.

They did, or at least tried to. Seattle agreed to have a 30,000 seat stadium built before the start of the 1969 season when they’d field the Seattle Pilots. Opening day, only 17,000 were ready. The scoreboard was completed the night before the first pitch. More seats were added later in the season, many with obstructed views. They hadn’t bothered renovating the plumbing and piping system at the park. At around the 7th inning water pressure throughout the park became virtually non-existent. Toilets wouldn’t flush. Players had to shower at the hotels they were staying at. Visiting team announcers couldn’t see plays along third base or left field. Sick’s Stadium was simply not up to par as the Pilots played their games in 1969.

Ding Dong, and the rest of the Pilots, played only one season in Seattle. Only 678,000 fans showed up for it. They ended the season in 6th place in the AL West with a record of 64 wins, 98 losses. Don Mincher led the team with 25 home runs. Tommy Harper had 73 stolen bases. Right fielder Mike Hegan batted .292. Gene Brabender led the team with 13 wins (he lost 14). Diego Segui had 12 saves and Fred Talbot had a 4.16 ERA.

They were bad and the team went bankrupt. The team moved to Milwaukee in 1970 and became the Milwaukee Brewers, leaving the park, at the intersection of Rainier Avenue and McClellan Street in Rainier Valley, empty.

But it limped along, the park did, aged, decaying, no longer the edifice it tried so hard to be. The class A Seattle Rainiers played at the park from 1972 to 1976. One player that took the field, Casey Sander, went on to become an actor and regular on the TV series, “Grace Under Fire.”

With the return of pro ball to Seattle (the 1977 Seattle Mariners at the King County Dome Stadium), Sick’s was but a shell now. On September 6, 1976, George Meyring and the Rainiers beat the Portland Mavericks 2 to 0. It was the last professional baseball game played at Sick’s Stadium.

It had witnessed quite a lot, Sick’s did. The ball games, the Elvis Presley concert in 1957, the Floyd Patterson fight, the Janis Joplin show, but it couldn’t stand much longer. The demolition began on February 9, 1979. Standing there now is a plaque and a Home Depot.

Jonathan Shipley
10/9/2009

I love your site! I live across the street from the “Forgotten Capitol Hill Mansion”, and can’t tell you how excited we are to see its restoration. We in the neighborhood, had long ago given up hope that this beautiful old home would be saved. What a gift.

Your piece on the 6th Church Christ Scientist was also of interest because it was designed by my Grandfather, Gerald C. Field, (not Gilbert C. Field, his son, and my father). As a young twenty-two year old architect fresh from New York, he joined the firm of Bebb and Mendell, and designed hundreds of NW buildings over his fifty year career. One of my favorites, The Jolly Roger Roadhouse, mysteriously burned to the ground shortly after attaining historic statis. I donated most of his drawings and blueprints to the UW, but I do have a photo of the church taken when it was first built, and a copy of his original drawing of the building.

Pamela Field Generaux
Via E-Mail
9/2/2009

“Poor children! Beaten about in the great tempest of the world, they have known nothing but suffering; they have never experienced the sweetness and charms of virtue.” - Mary Euphrasia Pelletier, Founder of the Good Shepherd Order

“The unfortunate women” lived there. “Fallen girls.” “Troubled teens.” “Wayward women.” “Keepsakes for Heaven.” It was the Home of the Good Shepherd. Piousness was of great import for the girls send there by the courts or families that knew of nowhere else to turn. Morality was taught, spirituality instilled.

Residents, in those early days, rarely left the grounds, could not excuse themselves from the nuns sharing with them those experiences of sweet virtue. Bars were in the windows. There was strict adherence to scheduled – waking, teaching, working at the laundry downstairs, eating meals, bed. Oh how coveted were those Sundays when they could have “parlor” – a time in which appropriate visitors could see them.

Routines were adhered to religiously. A former resident remembered, “We were assigned one day a week to take our bath and wash our hair. We washed our underclothes and socks every night and hung them over a bed rail. The dorm monitors would always check to see that you had washed your clothing.”

Everything was monitored. Toiletries were lined up in a specific order in their small nun-appointed cubbies. One girl at each table, during meals, was sent for food for the entire table. Butter was served only on Sundays. Nuns sat on platforms overseeing the meals, when they weren’t censoring the girls’ mail. Nuns oversaw the girls scrubbing floors, weeding the grounds, polishing woodwork, attending Mass. At the laundry, girls were assigned to shaking, sorting, pressing, folding, and packing the clothes. The commercial laundry was how the orphanage and wayward girls’ home made their money. Their major customers included the Great Northern and Northern Pacific Railroads, along with several downtown hotels. Classes were held Monday through Friday, 9 to 5, that’s if they weren’t already working the kitchen, or in the altar bread room making host for the parish, or in the sewing room making uniforms, or pursuing beautician certification, or at church services. Everything was monitored until the home officially closed for good in June of 1973.

It opened in 1890, as five Good Shepherd nuns arrived by train to Seattle. They opened an orphanage house for orphans and girls leading an immoral life on First Hill. The orphanage grew. The nuns then looked to the newly platted Wallingford and bought property. The new home was designed by the architectural firm Breitung and Buchinger (who also designed Seattle’s The Academy of the Holy Names and the Saint Alphonsus School, amongst other structions) and opened, on 4649 Sunnyside Avenue, in 1907. It housed 171 children.

Those children lived on those grounds, and went little place else. There were two wings in the building – those that were orphans and those that were wayward. They were kept apart. “There was a good side and a bad side,” remembers one resident, “the Angel Guardian side on the right as you go in and Sacred Heart side on the left. On the left side…they did the laundry and that sort of thing. There could be some real hard girls over there.”

In 1926 the orphans were transferred to a home in Laurelhurst, leaving the “Sacred Heart side.” And there they stayed, in later years, behind barbed wire, opaque windows and security systems. All the while, they worked at schooling, chores, their everlasting souls. The nuns were not to use corporal punishment, however. Good behavior was rewarded. Perhaps that meant recreation - like roller-skating, square dancing, swimming (a pool was built in 1959 that’s been since filled in), ping pong.

The 1960s saw declines on most all levels for the school. There were less girls admitted. There was less need for the commercial laundry. There was less supervision even. Some girls were even allowed to walk, unsupervised, to the University District on Saturdays. The laundry closed for good in 1970. Boeing, having given large financial donations to the Home, was having financial difficulties of their own and cut back. The maintenance of the building grew overwhelming and so they closed. Seattle bought the property in 1975, the building was transferred to Historic Seattle and is now used as a multi-purpose community center, complete with schools, non-profits, small businesses, and, sometimes, the quiet footfalls of women who once lived there themselves.

Jonathan Shipley
9/18/2009