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Boren Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-12-21T00:50:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Boren Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Jackson Street

Southwest Side
none

Northeast Side
110 Triangle Service Station gas station
312 Crown Furniture

Boren becomes Rainier Avenue South at Jackson.

Twelfth Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-12-21T00:21:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Twelfth Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Dearborn Street (12th Ave. Bridge)

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
none

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
106 Vacant
110 George Hickman

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
none

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
309 Electro-Chrome Co. Inc. platers
311 Electro-Chrome Co. Inc. (mill division) [photograph exists; see http://www.foresthistory.org/ead/Forest_Industries_Magazine.html; I haven't seen it]

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
304 Vacant
306 Church of God in Christ (side entrance)
308 Mrs. Laura C. Beckwith
310 Vacant
312 Jimmy Jue
314 Floyd J. Wright
316 Vacant
318 Vacant

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
409 Northwestern Safe Co.

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
404½ Vacant
406-08 Richard Tidwell
414 Henry E. Barnes
416½ Calvary Pentecostal Mission - Rev. Jack C. Nelson

From King St. to Weller St. - West Side
501 Vines Body & Fender Repair
507 Apex Radiator Works
507-11 Apex Fender Works - Apex Automotive Works
519 Seattle Glove Co. manufacturers

From King St. to Weller St. - East Side
500 Jack Loo
504 Tobo Co. oriental gift & gifts [sic]
506 George Y. Suzuki
510 Roberta Gonzalez
512 Lorenzo Nabarro
520 Tom's Service Station gas station

From Weller St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
611 Bailey Gatzert School [1921-1987; still exists five blocks north on Yesler)

From Weller St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
606 Mrs. Ruth L. McCain - Harvey F. Mayfield junker
608 Gim Yueng Eng
612 Vacant
616 Vacant

Dearborn Street intersects at the 12th Avenue Bridge.

Eleventh Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-12-21T00:18:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Eleventh Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Charles Street

This street does not exist today in this area. The northern blocks, from Yesler to Main, are part of Yesler Terrace, with addresses on those streets; south of there, I don't think there was an 11th Ave. S. here even in 1960 -- if there ever was.

Tenth Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-12-16T16:09:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Tenth Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Charles Street

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
111 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
510 Leonard R. Dawson
511 Richard D. Haugen
512 Vacant
513 Mrs. Addie D. Driver
514 Claude L. Johnson
515 Hing Yee Locke
516 Mrs. Loretta Gipson
119 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
503 John C. Rogers
504 Paul P. Wittry
505 Mrs. Ethel M. Walton
506 William Bauman
507 Richard G. Blaset
508 James F. Simms
509 R. Scott McKean

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
110 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
517 Mrs. Pauline Perez
518 Vacant
519 Jacobus C. Ferdouw
520 Mrs. Hazel R. Goff
521 Marguerite B. Morphis
522 Mrs. Hattie B. Madison
523 Walter M. Morrison
524 Thomas Campbell
118 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
496 Jack Manson
497 Sarah H. Nims
498 Perry Ko
499 Mrs. Pauline E. Johnson
500 Mrs. Tommie L. Donaldson
501 Darrell A. Kammer
502 William P. Fisher

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
none

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
none

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
409 State Transfer Co.

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
424 Farwest Cafe

From King St. to Weller St. - West Side
none [note: seems wrong to have 500 & 600 numbers both between Weller and Lane; 500s should be between King and Weller normally]

From King St. to Weller St. - East Side
none

From Weller St. to Lane St. - West Side
515 Farwest Lubrication gas station - Seattle Farwest Service Corp. taxi operators - Farwest Cabs
515½ Farwest Lubrication gas station - Henderson Auto Service repairs
621 Mrs. Sho Tsuijimoto
625 Yasuo Ito

From Weller St. to Lane St. - East Side
none

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
705 Cantrist Smith
709 Mrs. Fannie S. Hopgood
711 Joe Bonti
715 Mike B. Stefano

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - East Side
702 Sakae Hamasaki landscape gardener
710 Alex Johnson Sheet Metal Co.

From Dearborn St. to Charles St. - West Side
none

From Dearborn St. to Charles St. - East Side
832 Mike's Transfer

Ninth Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-12-16T15:38:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Eighth Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Charles Street

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
none

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
none

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
none

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
none

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
417 Western Gear Corp. manufacturers - James Brinkley Co. office

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
none

From King St. to Weller St. - West Side
525 Seattle Refinishers Inc. household appliance repairs

From King St. to Weller St. - East Side
504 Coast Hotel (side entrance)
506 Vacant
510 Western Gear Corp. (warehouse)
514 Japanese Presbyterian Church of Seattle

From Weller St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
none

From Weller St. to Dearborn St. - East Side
620 Beaver Wholesale Inc. variety

From Dearborn St. to Charles St. - West Side
none

From Dearborn St. to Charles St. - East Side
none

Eighth Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-12-16T15:37:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Eighth Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Charles Street

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
111 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
256 Fook F Locke
257 Donald L. Hanson
258 August E Miller jr
259 Don M. Lund
260 Timothy F Brennan
261 Mrs. Bernice Hedgeman
262 Michael Gasster
263 Rafael Kimpo
119 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
288 Moris Barsion
289 Robert H. Louie
290 Mrs. Willie M. Mallory
291 Mrs. Erna E. Munske
292 Marvin L. Bourne
293 Richard M. Gordon
294 Chong L. Chin
295 Mrs. Mary E. Hester

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
110 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
344 George F. Herold
345 Mrs. Mildred Cooper
346 Dennis C. Taylor
347 Mrs. Winnie C. Fletcher
348 Arch Robertson
349 Mrs. Ethel L. Hockett
350 Mrs. Alma C. Cain
351 Mrs. Anna M. DeMars
352 Mrs. Maude Williams
353 Vacant
354 Mrs. Louise White
355 Mrs. Nettie Long
118 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
356 Frank W. Green
357 Nils Toftoy
358 Mrs. Bessie B. Gaza
359 Walter J. Dickson
360 Allen G. Church
361 Mrs. Etna Olson
362 Daniel Moorhead
363 Ed Austin
364 Naz Watson
365 Ira M. Saltz
366 Mrs. Ida A. Allen
367 Mrs. Daisy G. Moore

From Washington St. to Jackson St. - West Side
209 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
317 Mrs. Betty Johnson
318 John C. McCallum
319 Lewis H. Oliver
320 Hong Chin
321 Mrs. Marge J. R. Green
217 Apartments (Yesler Terrace)
322 Chong Sun Kim
323 Ernest Foottit
324 Mrs. Maxine C. Morse
325 Frank W. Blasher
326 Mrs. Anna Fagan
327 Amanda Wrice
328 Harry A. Kirwin interpreters [local history author & photographer]
329 Lawrence J. Walsh

From Washington St. to Jackson St. - East Side
none

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
405 Safeway Stores Inc. (branch)
417 Lock Bow Gum Club

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
410 Western Hotel lodgings - Peter A. Shimuzu
412 Yee Benevolent Association
414 Bak Chin
416 Young Wah Co. importers - Glee M. Lee
420 Hip Wah Sing Club
420½ Pak Y. Lau
422 Hen Sen Chin herbs

From King St. to Weller St. - West Side
507 Mrs. OuShee Eng
509 Vacant
511 Frank Dong
515 Henry S. Luke physician
515½ Doe Jing Chin

From King St. to Weller St. - East Side
506-08 Chong Tsue Co. (side entrance)

From Weller St. to Lane St. - West Side
607 Golden Hotel lodgings
611 King Eng
615 Gardner-Denver Co. construction equipment
619 Cutler Hammer Inc. electric equipment manufacturers
623 Vickers Inc. pump manufacturers

From Weller St. to Lane St. - East Side
616 Seattle Art & Photo Supply Co. [2009 = Reprographics NW]

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
707 Lynell Chapman
709 General L. Porter
711 Joe L. Arnold

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - East Side
none

From Dearborn St. to Charles St. - West Side
807 Glen Hotel lodgings - Taniguchi & Taniguchi plumbers
809 Vacant
811 Vacant
813½ Vacant

From Dearborn St. to Charles St. - East Side
none

Charles Street intersects

[Mission Macaroni was on eighth just one block south of here, between Plummer and Norman, at 1016; this is under I-90 interchange now.]

Canton Alley, Seattle 1960

2009-12-16T15:31:00.000-08:00

[Canton Alley is between 7th Ave. S. and 8th Ave. S. only. The alley continues but is not separately numbered outside of this one block.]

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Canton Alley
From King Street to Weller Street

West Side
1 Ben Tone Chinn
2 Mrs. Tio Wui Chinn
3 Sing Eng
4 Huie Watt
5 Chinn Song
6 Mrs. Toy Dong
[not sure why these are numbered this way, or if this is really the west side]

East Side
414 D. C. Jay
416½ Fong Dong

Seventh Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-11-29T17:45:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

SEventh Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Airport Way South

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
111 Apartments [I think these were part of Yesler Terrace; now demolished for I-5]
272 Joseph Engelka
273 Mrs. Maudry Johnson
274 Charles Norgaard
275 Mrs. Pauline Forcier

117 Apartments [I think these were part of Yesler Terrace; now demolished for I-5]
276 Sun Ock Wong
277 Mrs. Odella Johnston
278 Mrs. Carol Noia
279 Mrs. Alice W. Haynes

125 Apartments [I think these were part of Yesler Terrace; now demolished for I-5]
296 L. C. White
297 H. W. Woo
298 LeRoy F. LaBelle
299 Hiroomi J Takamura

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
110 Apartments [I think these were part of Yesler Terrace; now demolished for I-5]
264 Willie White Jr.
265 Vacant
266 Vacant
267 Norman Eatough
268 Mrs. Mary K Knox
269 Paul B. Tanasovich
270 Douglas Smoot
271 Mrs. Anna L. Renfrow

118 Apartments [I think these were part of Yesler Terrace; now demolished for I-5]
280 Seow Tung Lock
281 Vacant
282 Joseph E. Cox
283 Mrs. Rose C. Gin
284 Henry G. Schriever
285 Vacant
286 Mrs. Helen M. Brooks
287 Mrs. Lupe Perez

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
none

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
none

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
403 Detroit Garage auto repair
413 Herb's Repair Shop auto - Herb's Taxi Meter Sales & Service - Jerry's Frame Service auto
415 Daniel Investment Co. real estate
415½ Hop Yick Apartments - Leong Fong - Mrs. Louie Toy - L. H. Jung - George W. Toy
417 Bing Kong Association
419 Robert Wong insurance - Norman Mar bookkeeping service

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
406 Vacant
408 B & J Builders and Plumbers building contractors
410 Twin Dragons Cafe
412 Wong Ming Electric & Radio Shop repairs
414 Hing Lun Co. gifts - Jim Dea
416 Chew Lun Benevolent Association
416½ Yuen Lun Hotel lodgings - Yuen Lun
418 New American Hotel lodgings - Kaori Hagimori
420 Vacant
424 Linyen Cafe

From King St. to Weller St. - West Side
509 Don Ting Cafe
511 Vacant
515 Chinn's Electric contractors - Joe Chinn
517 Asia & Co. importers - Charles Y. Wash realtor - Gwing Foo Yee
519½ Gee How Oak Tin Association [2009 still there, at 519]

From King St. to Weller St. - East Side
506½ Vacant
508 No return
510 Vacant
510½ Vacant
512 Ngi Luck
516 Gim Ling Restaurant [2009 = China Gate restaurant]
522 Chong Wa Benevolent Association - Chinese Community Hall - Chong Wa Chinese School

From Weller St. to Lane St. - West Side
607 Vacant
609 Vacant
611 Vacant

From Weller St. to Lane St. - East Side
602 Wai Tuck Chin
604 Nan Woo
606 Vacant
606½ Vacant
610 Victor Wee
612 Under construction
622 Anthony McMullen

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
701 B & M Cleaners
705 Vacant
717 Vacant
719 Vacant
723 Vacant

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - East Side
none

From Dearborn St. to Charles St. - West Side
811 Ruby Chow's Frozen Chinese Foods Inc. [2009 = a parking lot; Run by Harry and Mary Pang. Mary was the sister of Ruby Chow (famous restaurateur and City Councilwoman). In 1995 the Pang's son set a fire here for the insurance that killed four Seattle firefighters (it was called Mary Pang's Food Products by then)]
815 Vacant

From Dearborn St. to Charles St. - West Side
806 Russell Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Ruth S. Hayatsu

Charles Street intersects

Maynard Alley, Seattle 1960

2009-11-29T17:33:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Maynard Alley
From Jackson Street to King Street

Maynard Alley is now called Maynard Alley South. It exists as an alley outside of these blocks but not with street numbers or business entrances.

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
none

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
none

From King St. to Weller St. - West Side
506a Vacant
508a Vacant
510 Yau San Poon

From King St. to Weller St. - East Side
507 Wah Mee Club Inc. restaurant [and secret illegal gambling house; February 1983 scene of horrific murder of 13 people by three men intent on robbing the gamblers; it has been padlocked and un-entered since that night]
509 Vacant [2009 = Liem's Aquarium & Fish Shop]
513 Charles L. Chinn
515 Vacant

Weller Street intersects

Maynard Avenue, Seattle 1960

2009-11-29T16:53:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Maynard Avenue
From Yesler Way to Dearborn Street

Maynard Avenue is now called Maynard Avenue South.

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
107 Mrs. Marian Deling
121 Aston Hotel lodgings - Henry S. Nakamura
123 Peter Lemeer
(all demolished for the freeway)

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
none

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
none (this block is all Danny Woo Gardens & Kobe Terrace park now)

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
307 Vacant
309 Olympus Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Albina Pierce
311 Vacant
315 U. S. Hotel lodgings - Albert O'Daniels
315½ Vacant

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
304 Smile's Dry Cleaners
306 Julius Reagan
306½ Isaac Adams
308 Elbert E. Jones
308½ Amos Johnson
316 Rainier Heat & Power Building (see also 654 Jackson)
;emsp; Rooms:
;emsp; 102 Sakahara Insurance Agency
;emsp; 103 Toru Sakahara lawyer
;emsp; 105 Toshipigo Uchido dentist
;emsp; 108 Clarence Aral lawyer

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
409 Vacant
413½ Great Wall Hotel lodgings - Tom Way
415 Asia Social Club
417 Maynard Cafe
419 Twentieth Century Insurance Agency

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
408 Pappy's Shine Parlor
410 Joe's Tavern
412 Atlas Theatre
414 Jimmy's Cafe
416 Frank's Laundry - Frank Chinn
416½ Cathay Post No. 186 American Legion
418 International Cabs - Oriental Cabs
420 Hotel Atlas lodgings - Masato Terada
422 D. & A. Barber Shop

From King St. to Weller St. - West Side
505 Re-New Cleaners clothing cleaners
507 Hong Kong Restaurant
511 Mar Hotel lodgings - Takashi Ishii
513 Hotel Adams lodgings - Leo Ohashi
513½ Bataan Barber Shop
515 North Coast Importing Co. wholesale grocers
515½ Filipino Social Improvement Club [sic "Fillipino"]
519 Grace Chapel Church of God in Christ

From King St. to Weller St. - East Side
424 Atlas Cafe [possibly placed on the wrong side of King St.]
506 Liberty Barber Shop
506½ Eastern Hotel lodgings - Teddy Janopol
508 Star-Lite Club
510 Nisei Recreation billiards
512 Sing Keong Society
514 Knock Chow Mah
516 Shai Hoo Gardens restaurant - Chin C. Poy [2009 = Honey Court Seafood Restaurant]

From Weller St. to Lane. St. - West Side
none

From Weller St. to Lane. St. - East Side
606 Vacant
608 New Hinode Cleaners
610 Weller Hand Laundry - Yutoka Kutayama
614 Bush Garden Sukiyaki restaurant - Roy Seko [2009 still there]
620 Atlas Equipment Co. Inc. pump manufacturers

From Lane. St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
none

From Lane. St. to Dearborn St. - East Side
none

Dearborn Street intersects

Sixth Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-11-29T16:04:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Sixth Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Dearborn Street

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
none

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
none

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
-- Chevrolet Motor Division (GMC)

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
307 Golden Pheasant Cafe
311 Governor Apartments
201 J. Takejuro Shigemura
202 Mrs. Sarah Ramsay
203-06 Ernest F. Ching physician
204 O. S. Lee
207 Young B. Lee dentist
208 Henry Wong
209 Tokiyi Sato
210 James Filinoff
211 K Mayeda
212 Bing Mar
214 K. Y. Locke
215 Henry Yamada
216 Kim Mar
217 Harry Lim
218 Fay Chin
219 Dan Mar
220 Lum Woo
221 Yook Chung Kwan

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
302 Yu Hashidate Hand Laundry
304 Maneki Cafe [still there]
306 N. P. Hotel lodgings - Mirsaburo Hirano - Frank Sagiura
310 N. P. Hotel Cleaners - George Kawaoka
314 Toyojiro Uji barber
318 Jackson Building
Rooms:
101 Shuichi Watanabe interpreter
102 Sheldon G. Hagen Co. real estate
103 John S. Ogishima insurance
106 Susumu Fuuda dentist
107 Utaka F Fujujama insurance
110 Mimbu & Wong lawyers
114-15 Hajime Mitsumori dentist
116 James M. Unosawa osteopath
121 Edward K. Yip bookkeeper service
122 Howard Sakura Realty Co. & Aloha Homes
123 Vacant
124 Vacant
126 George M. Hori accountant

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
417 Star Barber Shop
419 King's Cafe

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
404 Welcome Annex Hotel (side entrance)
406 Vacant
408 Vacant
410 Vacant
414 U.S. Post Office - International Station

From King St. to Lane St. - West Side
519 Airport Machinery Co. Inc. - Piston Service Inc.

From King St. to Lane St. - East Side
500 Mikie's Tavern
502 Mariano L. Bolancio importer
504 Verna's Cafe restaurant
506 Jackson's Diner restaurant
514 Vacant
516 Vacant
518 No return
522 Mom's Box Lunch (warehouse)
524 Mom's Box Lunch

[Weller Street]
600-04 Kkeda Co. Inc. (warehouse)
602 Ikeda Co. Inc. wholesale grocer
604½ Pacific Hotel lodgings - Fred Y. Oakda
612 E. F. Bailey Co. industrial supplies
616 Vacant
620 Ted's Tavern
622 Lane Grocery

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
705 John Y. Scott Saw Co. saw and knife sharpening
707 Fremont Hotel lodgings
711 Vacant

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
712 Vacant
714 Vacant
716 Puget Sound Cafe
718 Puget Sound Hotel lodgings

Dearborn Street intersects

Fifth Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-11-29T15:38:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Fifth Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Dearborn Street

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
[Note: Washington Street not indicated here but I know it intersected then.]
none

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
[Note: Washington Street not indicated here but I know it intersected then.]
110 Dojac Parking
114 Reno Hotel lodgings - Charles Madko
116 Mrs. Louise Patton
118 Vacant
120 Vacant
122 Vacant
124 Vacant

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
213 Dionicio C. Sabanal
213½ Vacant
215 North American Post Inc. newspapers
215½ New Troy Hotel lodgings - George Hikida
217 Alaska Fish Cannery Union

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
200 Bataan Recreation pool
204 Alki Hand Laundry - Hamada Kazue
204½ Alki Hotel lodgings - Tak Nakagawa
206 Golden Pheasant Noodle Co. manufacturers
208 Vacant
210 Vacant
212 Vacant
214 Cabelleras de Dimas (Evangelista Lodge No. 6)
216 Dimond Hotel lodgings [sic] - Fuji ["Friji" sic] Ogishima
216½ Vacant

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
308½ Bowling Hotel Annex lodgings - Eigi Fujitomi interpreter
310 Lee's Barber Shop - Lee's Manufacturing Co. cosmetics
320 McKales Corp. (branch) gas station

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
none

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
404 Ma's Cafe
406 Vacant
408 Vacant
410 Depot Garage auto repairs
414 Jim's Barber Shop
416 Mary's Cafe restaurant

From King St. to Weller St. - West Side
none

From King St. to Weller St. - West Side
504 Publix Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Yone Hoskiwara
506 Vacant
508 Diamond Expansion Bolt Co. Inc. - Murray Hendry Co. manufacturers agent
510 George Fong Eng
512 Rainier Heat & Power Co. (plant office)

From Weller St. to Lane St. - West Side
none

From Weller St. to Lane St. - East Side
600-622 General Motors Corp. - Truck & Coach Division

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
none

From Lane St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
700 Big Bear Stores Inc. (Div. of Lucy Stores) (office) - Old Yankee Foods processors - Eugene D. Goddess & Associates consultants - Autodata Corp. bookkeeping service - Industrial Steel Co. manufacturers
708 The Allis Louis Co. electric motors - KMCS-FM (Market-Casters Inc.) radio station
720 K. S. Service gas station

Dearborn Street intersects
Airport Way intersects

Fourth Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-11-29T15:07:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Fourth Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Airport Way

From Yesler Wy. to Prefontaine Pl. - West Side
101 Printing by Heath

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
100 Vacant
102½ Alcoholics Anonymous Seattle Rehabilitation Center - James P. Murphy
104 Vacant
106 Macapas Barber Shop - Thomas Macapas
108 Grand Union Hotel lodgings - William R. Nickey
112 Union Gospel Mission Bargain House used merchandise
112½ Garner Hotel lodgings - Hajime Tiyitomi
116 Jim V. George cabinetmaker
118 Wor Ezra Lodge No. 56 (AF & AM) [I think this means "Worshipful St. Ezra Lodge"; "AF & AM" is "Ancient Free & Accepted Masons]
120 BoLee Laundry - Mrs. Mary Dong
122 St. Vincent dePaul Salvage Bureau (branch)

From Washington St. to Airport Wy. - West Side
none [this is overlooking the rail lines and tunnel entrance]

From Washington St. to Airport Wy. - East Side
210 Diamond Parking Stations Inc. (branch) parking lot
212 Sound End Radio Service repairs - Ray Petz
214 Helen & Johnny's Information Tavern
216 Richard's Jewelry - Duncan M. Tsuneishi optometrist
222 Vacant

[Main Street]
300 New Richmond Supply Laundries Inc.
304 Vacant
308 New Richmond Hotel - Robert Ryan - New Orleans Room cocktail lounge
310 New Richmond Coffee Shop restaurant

[Jackson Street]

Airport Way intersects

Prefontaine Place South

2009-11-29T14:22:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Prefontaine Place
From Yesler Way to Fourth Avenue South and Washington Street

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
101 Tashiro Hardware Co. outboard motors
103 Vacant
103½ Vacant
105 Courtesy Barber Shop
109 Tashiro Hardware Co. fishing tackle
119 Neehans Litho Press Works
121 Composing Center printers
123 Bob's Jewelry & Watch Repair
125 Deluxe Cleaners clothing
129 Kaplan Paper Co. (supply room)

From Yesler Wy. to 4th Ave. S. - East Side
100 Norris Safe & Lock Co.
104 Gordon Luther Co. electronic equipment - Blacklight Corp. lighting equipment
106 Printing By Heath
108 Hudnut Sales Co. cosmetics - Kelling Nut Co. edible nuts - Fred S. Saltz manufacturers agent
110 Prefontaine Building - Arnold Tiedeman
Rooms:
200 General Mechanical Products Co. wholesale hardware - George L. McLaren & Associates manufacturers agents
202 Commercial Equipment Co. office equipment
300 Archie J. Little typographer
301 Decorative Designs by Leta
302 Scientific Equipment Manufacturing Co.
304 Vacant
310 Walker & Whiteford Inc. map publishers [later Walker & Assoc. after partner Jay Whiteford left; company still in existence, part of Aero-metric Inc. http://www.aerometric.com/Offices/seattle.htm]
402 Wo Hee Chinese Medicine (side entrance)
405 Vacant
5th Floor Seattle Curtain Manufacturing Co.
600 Coast Uniform Cap Manufacturing Co.
602 Vacant
603 Moulton Printing Co.
606 Vacant
street continued
112 Major Cleaners clothing cleaners
114 Sapho Restaurant
116 Sapho Tavern
118 Prefontaine Barber Shop

Fourth Avenue South intersects
Washington Street intersects

Third Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-11-29T13:53:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Third Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Connecticut Street

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
117 Frye Hotel Garage

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
110 Down Beat Tavern - Kahn & Salant Inc. tavern
114 Spring's Litho Printing
118 Evergreen Wholesale Furniture Co.

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
201 Vacant

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
200 Vacant
202 Vacant
204 Vacant
206 Dinner & Klein Inc. direct mailing [pioneers of direct mail; see http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/obituaries/2009520688_kleinobit23m.html]
208-10 Vacant
212-214 William A. Gore Co. industrial steel shelving - Hagen & Waters manufacturers agents
218 Alaska Wrangell Mills Inc. wholesale lumber
220 International Engineering & Construction building contractor - T. T. Corp. real estate owners - C. T. Takahashi & Co. Inc. exporters - Third & Main Building Corp. real estate owners

From Main St. to 2nd Ave. (Ext.) - West Side
none

From Main St. to 2nd Ave. (Ext.) - West Side
none

From 2nd Ave. (Ext.) to Jackson St. - West Side
307 Mottman Building - Robert E. Priebe Co. electrical equipment
309 Nicholson's Venetians C. blind manufacturers
311 Golden Gate Cafe & Tavern
315 Vacant
317 Vacant
319 Vacant

From 2nd Ave. (Ext.) to Jackson St. - East Side
none

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
none

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
none

From King St. to Connecticut St. - West Side
none

From King St. to Connecticut St. - East Side
520 Railway Express Agency Inc. (branch)

Connecticut St. intersects

[Connecticut Street is now Royal Brougham Way].

Second Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-11-29T13:29:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Second Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Hanford Street
{This street ended at about the middle of where Qwest Field is today. The last number is 736, which is about where Dearborn (my boundary) would have intersected, but there are no intersections between there and Hanford St. over a mile to the south).

Note: See Second Avenue Extension article for the story of that confusing street.

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - West Side
none

From Yesler Wy. to Washington St. - East Side
none

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
207 Full Moon Tavern
207½ Castro's Barber Shop
211 Acme Amusement Co. vending machines
215 Ruggles Inc. office supplies - Globe Wernicke Co. office furniture - National Blank Book Co. - John C. Moore Co. stationery
219 Northwest Tavern
219½ Domenico's Barber Shop
221 Hop Lee Laundry - Mrs. Chin Tew Park Look
223 Brotherhood Dry Cleaners

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
220 E. Masin Furniture Co. Inc.

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
301 City Fire Dept. (Headquarters)
315 Duncan & Sons Inc. shoe findings
319 Vacant
325 Phil's Coffee Shop restaurant

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
300 Mary's Cafe
302 Owsey Lener used clothing
304 Regina Hotel lodgings - H. Yoshiichi Tanaka
310 Herman & Blumenthal Co. wholesale men's furnishings
312 Vacant
314 Vital Foods Distributors - Albert G. Abendroth
316 Vacant

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
419 Crane Supply Co. (branch) plumbing supplies

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
none

From King St. to Hanford St. - West Side
611 Woodhouse Beverages Inc. (garage)
617 Woodhouse Beverages Inc. beer distributors

From King St. to Hanford St. - East Side
700 Coast Carloading Co. forwarding agent
720 Tarte's Hudson Transport Expeditors purchasing agents
730 Pacific Forwarding Association (warehouse) - Transcontinental Freight Service forwarding agents - Universal Carloading & Distributing Co. forwarding agents - Universal Transcontinental Co. forwarding agents
736 International Forwarding Co.

Hanford St. intersects
(more than a mile south of here; was it rail yards, or open truck loading and parking? Was there a 2nd Ave. S. here? This was all demolished for the Kingdome in the early seventies.)

2nd Avenue (Extension), Seattle 1960

2009-11-29T13:06:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Second Avenue
From Jackson Street to Yesler Way
[I hope I haven't screwed this up. This street is listed in the book as "2D AV", but it's clear that it's the street that is today called "Second Avenue South Ext.", or "Extension" (sometimes seen as "Extended"), not the one called "Second Avenue South", which is also in the book.

[This street runs southeast to northeast, not north to south like the others. Today it starts at 4th Ave. S., but then it started at Jackson just a short ways north. Note also that the street appears to have been numbered from south to north, where it is now numbered from north to south in accordance with all other South streets. This means these street numbers will not agree with today's. I don't think.]

[If you're unfamiliar with Seattle geography, this confusion is caused by the change in direction of all the downtown streets at Yesler, an anomaly caused by disagreements among the early settlers as to how the city should be platted (a similar discontinuity can be found north of the central downtown section, at Denny Way). If I'm not mistaken, the south portion (Pioneer Square, etc., which I'm documenting here) was platted by Doc Maynard; the central section from Yesler to Denny by Henry Yesler, and the north section, north of Denny, by Arthur Denny.]

From Jackson St. to Main St. - West Side
221 International Longshoreman's & Warehousemen's Union Local No. 37 (rear entrance)
225 Julie's Tavern
From Jackson St. to Main St. - East Side
210 Nemco Electric Co. manufacturers
222 Seattle Lighting Fixture Co.

From Main St. to Washington St. - West Side
301 Betty's Coffee Shop
313 Northwest Hotel Supply Inc.
319 Vacant

From Main St. to Washington St. - East Side
312 Union Gospel Mission (coffee shop)
318 Union Gospel Mission - Union Gospel Mission Lodge lodging house

From Washington St. to Yesler Way - West Side
401 Barney's Jewelry & Loan Co. pawnbrokers
403 Barney's Jewelry & Loan Co. (warehouse)
407 Double Header Tavern
407b Four-O-Seven B Social Club
411 Bitt's Inc. restaurant
417 Busy Bee Cafe
419 G&G Cigar Co.
421 Second Avenue Clothing Exchange used clothes
423 Metropole Building - Metropole Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Shizue Kikuchi
427 G. O. Guy Drugs (br) [? Still don't know what "(br)" stands for]

From Washington St. to Yesler Way - East Side
400 Carlo's Corner restaurant
404 Second Avenue Cafe restaurant
408 Silver Dollar Tavern ["Dollard" here but "Dollar" in alphabetical listing]
410 Griff's Clothing Store men's clothing
412 Monterey Cafe - Standard Hotel lodgings - Kametaro Kawaguchi
416 The Salvation Army (Harbor Light) lodgings

Yesler Way intersects

Occidental Avenue, Seattle 1960

2009-11-24T22:20:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Occidental Avenue
From Yesler Way to Connecticut Street
[Dearborn St. does not and did not intersect Occidental. Connecticut St. is now Royal Brougham Way]

From Yesler Way S. to Washington St. - West Side
101 Vacant
107 White Rock Tavern
109 Safeway Stores Inc. (br) [bakery?] grocery
111 Hank's Cocktail Lounge
115-17 Hank's Inc. restaurant
119 Occidental Shoe Shop repair
121 Lahr's Chowder Corner restaurant

From Yesler Way S. to Washington St. - East Side
102 Irwin's Merchandise Liquidators - general merchandise
104 Oasis Tavern
106 Zion Mission
108 M. Wenkert Co. men's furnishings
110 Parcel Checkroom used books
112½ Occidental Hotel lodgings - Kemzo Kiyomizu
114 Logger's Labor Agency
116 F. & F. Cafe & Lounge tavern
118 Maiorano Shoe Repair
118½ VAcant
120 Billy's Barber Shop
120½ Mario's Cafe
122 Dan's Working Man's Store used clothing

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
201 California Tavern
203 Square Deal Lunch
205 Vacant
211 U Park System Inc. auto parking

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
206 ABC Junk Co. (storage)
208 ABC Junk Co.

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
301 State Employee Security Division - Casual Labor Office
303 Vacant
307 M. D. Johnston Co. manufacturers agents
309 Vacant
311 Olive Branch Mission
311½ Vacant
313 Vacant

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
300 Vacant
312 Shaffer & Nelson manufacturers agents
3145 Variety Merchandise Inc. wholesale
316 McCoy Grocery
318 Vacant
322 Vacant

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
419 McKesson & Robbins Inc. wholesale drugs

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
400 Harold's Cafe - Harold's Tavern
402 Vacant
406 Star Brass Works
408 C. E. Riggs Inc. wholesale electrical supplies
410 Vacant
416 Vacant

From King St. to Connecticut St. - West Side
none [there's an old building along here; perhaps it had a King St. address]

From King St. to Connecticut St. - East Side
500 Mike's Chevron Station
530 Vacant
532 Standard Warehouse & Transfer Company (warehouse)
558 Taylor-Edwards Warehouse & Transfer Co. Inc. (warehouse)
834 Pioneer Fruit Co. - Pure Gold Inc. wholesale fruit - Washington State Apple Commission [these buildings are now Qwest Field's north parking lot]
932 Frederick & Nelson (warehouse)
1021½ Mrs. Verla M. Welsh [approximately in Qwest Field] [may be a typo]

Connecticut St. [now Royal Brougham Way] intersects

First Avenue South, Seattle 1960

2009-11-24T21:20:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

First Avenue South
From Yesler Way to Dearborn Street

From Yesler Way S. to Washington St. - West Side
101 Geneva Tavern
105 Vacant
107 Golden Sales Co. general merchandise
109 Allan S. Plotkin men's clothing
111 Vacant
111½ Jericho Inn Mission
113 Northern Hotel lodgings - John A. Coleman
115 Vacant
115½ South End Baths
117 Maynard Building
Rooms:
201 Vacant
205 Standard Press printers
3rd floor Vacant
4th floor Vacant
119 Graphic Art Press printers - Der Reporter newspaper
123 Vacant

From Yesler Way S. to Washington St. - East Side
104 Moler Barber & Beauty School
106½ Curtis Hotel lodgings - Ray W. McAleer
108 M. Kind Novelty Co. wholesale
110 City Club Hotel lodgings
110½ Vacant
112 Bowery Tavern
114 Vacant
114½ Vacant
116 Vacant
118 Del Mar Hotel lodgings - Tadae Toyoji
120 Harbor Drug Co.

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
201 J & M Cafe tavern [closed 2009]
203 J & M Hotel lodgings
205 Kline's Beverage Store
207 Central Cafe tavern
207½ Skagit Hotel lodgings - George T. Yamaoka
209 Farwest Agencies manufacturers agents - Farwest Trading Co. electronic equipment - Fawest Manufacturing Division Inc. - electronic equipment
211 Vacant
211½ Vacant
213 Vacant
213½ Vacant
217 Alaska Hardware
219 New England Hotel lodgings - Frank Arase
221 Green Front restaurant

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
200 Seaport Tavern
204 Buttnick Manufacturing Co. men's clothing manufacturers
206 City Loan Office pawn brokers
208 Molin & Offer (store room)
212 State Tavern
214 Grand Central Hotel lodgings
220 Molin & Offer salvage

From Main St. to King St. - West Side
301 Bread of Life Mission
307 Selfpark auto parking
309 S. M. Stusser Textile Manufacturing Co. canvas goods
311 Seal Rock Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Kaku Yumada
313 Smith Printing Co. Brokers Inc.
313½ Lindy Hotel lodgings
317 Steinberg Brothers wholesale men's furnishings
319 Food Store Equipment Co. (warehouse)
321 Food Store Equipment Co. refrigeration
401 Schwabacher Hardware Co. wholesale
409 West Coast Wholesale Drug Co.
419 Hambach Building
1st floor Trowbridge Desk Co. - Wholesale Office Equipment Co.
2nd floor Vacant
3rd floor Roffe Inc. uniform manufacturers
4th floor Vacant
5th floor Sunset Sportswear Inc. (factory)
6th floor Sunset Sportswear Inc. (factory)
7th floor Sunset Sportswear Inc. men's clothing manufacturers
425 Trowbridge Desk Co. (warehouse)

From Main St. to King St. - East Side
300 Globe Tavern
304 Abraham Pupko wholesale men's furnishings
310-16 Seattle Quilt Manufacturing Co. Inc.
312 Nord Hotel lodgings - John Davis
314 Vacant
322-24 Garrett & Shafer Engineering Works boilers manufacturers
414 Pacific Fruit & Produce Co. (warehouse) - Tempco Quilters Inc. jackets & sleeping bag manufacturers

From King St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
501 Seattle Hardware Co. wholesale
539 E. C. Griffin Co. manufacturers agents
541 Best Linemen's Supply Corp. electrical equipment
543 Badger Meter Manufacturing Co.
545 Auto Freight Barber Shop
547 Auto Freight Lunch
549 Vacant
551 Lou's Tavern

From King St. to Dearborn St. - East Side
500 M. & S. Coffee Shop restaurant
502-06 R. H. Brown Co. bicycles
508 Haughton Elevator Co. maintenance
510 J. E. Haseltine & Co. industrial supplies
512 Bailey's Transfer Co.
518 Greeway Aluminum Co. Inc. window and door frame manufacturers
518½ Allendale Food Products Co. packaging service
520 Adelman Machinery Co. - J. C. McDougall Co. manufacturers agents - Francis P. Rogers Co. manufacturers agents
522 Vacant
524 W. Montelius Price Co. electrical suppliers - John Perline Co. bolt manufacturers
524½ Seattle Security Building - Seattle Security Co. real estate owners - Glass Laminators Inc. plastic products manufacturers - Industrial Hardware Corp. wholesale - American Bag & Salvage Co. (storage) - Norfin Inc. designers
526 Ingersoll-Rand Co. air equipment machinery manufacturers
532 R. M. Wade & Co. pumps
534 Northwest Janitor Supply Co. - Edward A. Will manufacturers agents
536 Vacant
538 Stewart Electrical Co. electric motor repair
542 Mastercraft Furniture Manufacturing Inc. - Northwestern Furniture Sales Inc. (warehouse)
548 Central Refrigerating Corp. cold storage warehouse - Chef Canning Co. frozen foods - McGregor Seafoods Inc. packers - Pacific National Foods Inc. brokers
558 Liftruck & Equipment Co. manufacturers agents - Oakite Products cleaning compounds - Security Transfer & Storage Co. - E. A. Thompson Co. waterproofing materials
560 Traders Inc. purchasing agent
562 Vacant
566 Broadway Movers
568 Provident Building - Allenherb Inc. manufacturers agents - Charles-Alan Co. manufacturers agent - Modern Lounge Co. furniture manufacturers - M. Willner Co. Inc. department store
570 Artex-Green Corp. of Seattle - table pad manufacturers - US Van Lines - A to Z Electronic Service
590 Seattle Plumbing Supply Co. - Seattle Pipe Supply Co.

Dearborn Street intersects

Alaskan Way South, Seattle 1960

2009-11-24T20:59:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Alaskan Way South
From Yesler Way to Dearborn Street

From Yesler Way S. to Washington St. - East Side
108 Buchanan Auto Freight
110 Draper Engineering Works Co. machinists
114 Norco Manufacturing Co. blinds - West Wind Corp. fan manufacturers - West Wind Manufacturing Co. Inc. fan manufacturers
116 Norco Manufacturing Co. (warehouse)

From Yesler Way S. to Washington St. - West Side
101 Pier 50 - Shoblad Lumber Co. wholesale - Waterfcton [sic] Fish & Oyster Co. wholesale - Evans Products Co. marine heating supply - North Pacific Marine Terminals

From Washington St. to Main St. - West Side
208 Peoples Supply Co. hardware
212 OK Hotel lodgings [famous 1990s indie rock club]
214 Western Hardware Co.
220½ Boston Hotel lodgings -- Satoshi Jinka

From Washington St. to Main St. - East Side
201a City Harbor Patrol Station No. 1

From Main St. to Jackson St. - West Side
none

From Main St. to Jackson St. - East Side
-- Pacific Coast Terminals - Modern Heating Supply Co. wholesale furnaces
-- Pier 48 - Matson Lines (dock office) - Matson Terminals Inc. stevedore co. - Pope & Talbot Lines steamship - System Transfer Co. (warehouse) - Weyerhauser Steamship Co.

From Jackson St. to King St. - West Side
304 Otto Sturham & Sons

From Jackson St. to King St. - East Side
-- Pier 47 - Crown Seafood Sales Inc. wholesale - Haines Oyster Co. wholesale
-- Pier 46 - Port of Seattle (dock) - US Customs

From King St. to Dearborn St. - West Side
none

From King St. to Dearborn St. - East Side
501 Pier 45
525 Pier 44 - Port of Seattle (general offices)
549 Pacific Lunch

Dearborn Street, Seattle 1960

2009-11-21T11:47:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Dearborn Street
From South Alaskan Way to Rainier Avenue

From S. Alaskan Way to 1st. Ave. S - North Side
90 E. F. Houghton & Co. manufacturers agents - Pacific Traffic Bureau - Western Cartage Inc.

From S. Alaskan Way to 1st Ave. S - South Side
none

From 1st Ave. S. to 4th Ave. S - North Side
none

From 1st Ave. S. to 4th Ave. S - South Side
none

From 4th Ave. S. to Airport Way - North Side
none

From 4th Ave. S. to Airport Way - South Side
none

From Airport Way to 6th Ave. S. - North Side
508 Schepper Litho-Plate Service
514 Dearborn Carter Service Center gas station

From Airport Way to 6th Ave. S. - South Side
511 Malone's Shell Service Center gas station

From 6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. - North Side
600-24 K C W Furniture Co. Inc.

From 6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. - South Side
617 Vacant

From Maynard Ave. to 7th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From Maynard Ave. to 7th Ave. S. - North Side
657 Crescent Mfg. Co. wholesale spices

From 7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. - North Side
700 Gavosto & Moretto Co. sausage manufacturers
710 Charles Limbeson
714 Vacant
716 New Cascade Hoel
718 Park Avenue Catering Products Co.

From 7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. - South Side
701 Dearborn Cafe
703 Fraser's Boiler Service Co.
711 George O. Rains
711½ Albert Luna
715 Willard R. Gulliford
715&frac; Masao Nakashima
717 Blanche Brooks
717½ Willis Holiman painter
719 Joseph Abeyta
721 Vacant
721½ Palmer Hotel lodgings - Bunpei Ikegami
725 Dearborn Cash Grocery

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. - North Side
802 Gray Line Sightseeing Co. - Avis Rent-A-Car of Washington Inc. - Gray Line Tours Inc.
816 Spic'n'Span Cleaners clothing cleaners

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. - South Side
805 Carl's Flying A Service
815 Terry's Auto Service gas station

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. - North Side
912 Ric's Transfer Co. Inc.
914 Twentieth Century Delivery Co.

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. - South Side
915 Bay City Market & Lockers
915 Family Provisioners of Washington Inc. freezer plan

From 10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. - North Side
1004 Dearborn Lumber Co.

From 10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. - South Side
1001 Richards Brush Co. manufacturers
1019 Dearborn Plumbing & Heating Supply

From 12th Ave. S. to Rainier Ave. - North Side
1300 George Heiser Body Co. Inc. truck body manufacturers
1320 Puget Sound Pattern Works - Sunglo Venetian Blind Manufacturing Co.
1326 Goodwill Industries (hardware storage)
1330 W. E. Stone & Co. Inc. refrigerating engineers
1350 Mayflower Donut Corp. (br) [bakery?]
1400 Seattle First National Bank (building management department)
1412 Bowling Distributors Co. - Washington State Bowling Proprietors Association
1416 Keystone Paper Box Co. Inc.
1426 Northwest Envelope Co. manufacturers
1590 Vacant

From 12th Ave. S. to Rainier Ave. - South Side
1403 Little Bohemia Tavern
1405 Eagle Cafe
1405½ Glen E. Clements
1407 Eagle Bottling Works
1421 George S. Schuster Co. Inc. wholesale building materials
1501 Columbia Sales Co. lawn sprinkling systems

Rainier Avenue intersects

Lane Street, Seattle 1960

2009-11-21T11:34:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Lane Street
From Fifth Avenue South To Rainier Avenue

From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S -- North Side
none

From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S -- South Side
none

From 6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. -- North Side
none

From 5th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. -- South Side
none

From Maynard Ave. to Maynard Alley -- North Side
none

From Maynard Ave. to Maynard Alley -- South Side
659 Mrs. Gertrude J. Meriweather

From Maynard Alley to 7th Ave. S. -- North Side
668 Morse Fairbanks & Co. (broker) scale manufacturers

From Maynard Alley to 7th Ave. S. -- South Side
665 Robert J. McElroy
667 Herbert Fletcher
667½ Thomas Monroe
673 Yale Apartments - Willie D. D. Davis

From 7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. -- North Side
710 Omaha House lodgings - Sentaro Hashimoto

From 7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. -- South Side
711 Green Hotel lodgings
715 Dennis McFarland
717 Mrs. RAchel K. Taylor
725 Edward Coleman

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. -- North Side
814 American Floor Machine Co. - Wilshire Power Sweeper Co. wholesale - Lincoln Floor Machinery Co. wholesale
822 Janco Supply Co. janitorial supplies

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. -- South Side
none

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. -- North Side
none

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. -- South Side
901 H. D. Fowler Co. water works supervisors
915 Joe C. Badua
919 William R. Brown
919½ Joe Demich
921 Vincent V. Johnny
921½ Dave R. Babcock

From 10th Ave. S. to 11th Ave. S. -- North Side
none

From 10th Ave. S. to 11th Ave. S. -- South Side
none

From 11th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. -- North Side
none

From 11th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. -- South Side
none

From 12th Ave. to Rainier Ave. -- North Side
1224 Earl R. Tillman
1400 Seattle Goodwill Industries

From 7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. -- North Side
none

Rainier Avenue intersects

Weller Street, Seattle 1960

2009-11-21T10:06:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Weller Street
From Fifth Avenue South To Rainier Avenue

From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S -- North Side
none

From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S -- South Side
none

From 6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. -- North Side
606 Far Eastt Brokerage importers - Yuki Commercial Photography - Yee H. King
608 Star Tofu Manufacturing Co. food products
610 Helser Industrial Tooling Co.
614 Gem Hotel lodgings
616 Vacant
618 Lillian's Tavern
618½ Ohio Hotel lodgings - Robert Furukawa
620 Weller Street Barber Shop
620½ Vacant
624 Fujii & Co. exporters - Washington Trading Co. exporters

From 6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. -- South Side
607 Vacant
609 Supreme Consistory Legionarios del Trabajo in America Inc. (Northern District) lodge [Philipino-American fraternal association founded in 1923]
M. H. dePilar Wor Lodge No. 629
A. R. Vevora Wor Lodge No. 537
Maria Clara Wor Lodge No. 132
611 Crescent Cafe
613 Pacific Hotel (side entrance)
615 Puget Sound Fish Co. wholesale
617 New York Bakery (warehouse)
617½ K. K. Hotel lodgings
619 New Golden Shoe Repair - Koyo Kinok Akutsu
623 New York Bakery - New York Coffee Shop restaurant
623b New Lucky Hotel lodgings - Henry M. Hashimoto
625 Vacant

From Maynard Ave. to Maynard Alley -- North Side
none

From Maynard Ave. to Maynard Alley -- South Side
651 Vacant
653 New Central Tavern - Harry S. Fong
655 Jaffe Supply Co. salvage
657 New Central Hotel lodgings
659-63 Jaffe Supply Co. (warehouse)

From Maynard Alley to 7th Ave. S. -- North Side
664 No return
666 Goon W. Haye
668 Norn L. Woo
670 Eclipse Hotel lodgings
672 Chin T. Lew
674 Dick S. Dong

From Maynard Alley to 7th Ave. S. -- South Side
665 Sato Barber Shop
667 Hotel Presley lodgings - Harry Fujino
671 Salzberg Surplus & Salvage
673 Wing On Dry Cleaners - Hing Wong
675 American Noodle Manufacturing Co.

From 7th Ave. S. to Canton Alley -- North Side
710 Chong Wa Chinese School (side entrance)

From 7th Ave. S. to Canton Alley -- South Side
705 Mow C. Wong - Stephen Jue
711 Mrs. Inga Renshaw
711½ Henry Boley

From Canton Alley to 8th Ave. S. -- North Side
none

From Canton Alley to 8th Ave. S. -- South Side
none

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. -- North Side
none

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. -- South Side
815 Junge & Co. food processers
819 John Hendrickson
825 Rev. Kiyoshi Noji

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. -- North Side
none

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. -- South Side
909 Commercial Refrigerator & Store Fixtures
913 Cabbie's Grill Restaurant

From 10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. -- North Side
1000 Railway Express Agency Inc. (garage) - (broker)
1042 Nichiren Buddhist Church

From 10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. -- South Side
1001½ Nicola Furfaro
1003-05 City Produce Co. wholesale
1007 Vacant
1007½ Beacon Hotel lodgings - Albert G. Hikida
1009 Vacant

From 12th Ave. S. to Rainier Ave. -- North Side
1206 Shohichi Tsuji
1210 Fushio Abe gardener
1216 Blas G. Maza
1222 Henry Lee
1230 G. T. Nakamura
1232 Tomiichi Naito
1238 Vacant
1300 Gunpei Hirayama
1312 Tsuruhiko Yanagimoto

From 12th Ave. S. to Rainier Ave. -- North Side
1211 Henry Ellison
1213 Eddie M. Okamoto
1213½ Masataro J. Shibata
1223 Mrs. Berta M. Lundin
1227 Radio Systems Inc. electronics
1327 Arrow Iron & Machine Works

Rainier Avenue intersects

King Street, Seattle 1960

2009-11-20T21:55:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

King Street
From South Alaskan Way To Rainier Avenue

1st Ave. S. intersects
Occidental Ave. intersects
From Occidental Ave. to 3rd Ave. S -- North Side
none

From Occidental Ave. to 3rd Ave. S -- South Side
113 Schermerhorn Brothers Inc. cordage - D. L. Snellman Co. manufacturers agents
171 International Brokerage Co. food brokers - Snoboy Inc. frozen foods - Paul Bunyan Foods Inc. wholesale grocers - Mountain Foods Inc. wholesale grocers - Fine Foods Inc. produce - Pacific Fruit & Produce Co. - Pacific Gamble Robinson Co. wholesale produce
181 Northern Pacific Beneficial Association - Northern Pacific Railway Co. (offices)
201 Great Northern Railway Co. (offices) - Western Fruit Express Co. (office)

3rd Ave. S intersects
5th Ave. S intersects
From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S. -- North Side
500 Johnson Corner Tavern
500½ Red Front Tavern
504 International Pool Room
506 Vacant
508 Frank's Transfer Co. - Americano Joe Shoe Shine Parlor
510 Pablo C. Soria
512 King Street Barber Shop - Mrs. Masayo Jungugi
514 Victory Baths - Victory Barber Shop
518 Victory Laundry - Harry Chinn
520 American Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Yoneko Funamori
524 Rushmore Mutual Life Insurance Co. - Ferrera Sups wholesale grocers
526 Powder Box Beauty Salon

From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S. -- South Side
501 Publix Lunch & Tavern
505 Vacant

From 6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. -- North Side
614 Manila Recreation
616 Manila Cafe
616½ Beck Hotel (side entrance)
620 Beck Hotel lodgings - Saturo Kumasaka
620½ King Street Tavern (side entrance)
622 King Street Tavern

From 6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. -- South Side
605½ Six-O-Five Club
609 Nitta's Food Mart grocery
611 Vacant
613 Burgos Lodge No. 10 (CDA)
615 Sing Louie
617 Tao Insurance Agency
619 International Barber Shop
621 Hotel Alps lodgings - Tom Hamanishi
623 Fon H. Luke
625 Hi-Lite Amusements

From Maynard Ave. to Maynard Alley -- North Side
654 Gene Sing Eng Barber Shop
656 Merry Meat & Fish Co.
656½ Vacant
658 A. Mar. Young
660 Oriental Club
664 Little Three Grand Cafe restaurant - Gim Lee Gui

From Maynard Ave. to Maynard Alley -- South Side
651 Russell's Fair Market meats
655 Tai Tung Cafe [still here in 2009]
657 Rex Hotel lodgings - Catalino N. Espana
659 Tai Tung Cafe
661 Quong Wah Co. wholesale poultry
663 Wa Sang Grocery

From Maynard Alley to 7th Ave. S. -- North Side
666½ China Cab Co. Inc.
668 Vacant
668½ Milwaukee Hotel lodgings
670 Jimmie John Tailor Shop
672 Bow Wah Co. jewelers
674 Vacant
676 Vacant
704 Mar Society Club
704½ Vacant
706 King Chong Lung Co. importers & exporters
708 Dong's Association club
710 Vacant

From Maynard Alley to 7th Ave. S. -- South Side
665 Palace Pool Hall - Hong Nen Look
667 Hen Sen Chin
669 Wah Mee Club (side entrance) [site of infamous 1983 massacre, from alley entrance]
673 Chun Louie Wai
675-77 Kwan On Wing Co. (warehouse)
679 Kawn On Wing Co. exporters - Garman Toy

From 7th Ave. S. to Canton Alley -- North Side
704 Mar Society Club
704½ Vacant
706 Kie L. Chinn
708 Dong's Association club
710 Vacant

From 7th Ave. S. to Canton Alley -- South Side
701 Wong Soeck
701½ Vacant
703 Chong Quong Co. grocery
703½ Chinese Musical Club
705 Yick Fung & Co. importers
705½ Vacant
707 Chung Lung King Co. importers & exporters
707½ Vacant
709 Gom Hong Co. grocers
709½ Vacant
711 Kuo Min Tang (Chinese Nationalist Party)

From Canton Alley to 8th Ave. S. -- North Side
none

[Note: book does not mention 8th Ave. S. here, but there is a gap in the text, and the street definitely existed then; I'm assuming here it's a typographical error.]

From Canton Alley to 8th Ave. S. -- South Side
715 China Poultry Co. wholesale
715½ Kwong Chow Bow On Association social club - Ngoh Chow
717 Vacant
719 Sun Wah Co. oriental [sic] imports & gifts
719½ Freeman Hotel lodgings
721 Quong Tuck Co. social club
723 Vacant
725 Yee Goon

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. -- North Side
none

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. -- South Side
801 Tsue Chong Co. Inc. noodle manufacturers
803 Quan Lee
805 Pong Chinn
807 King Tu Yee
809 Yit T. Wong
811 Vacant
813 Nicholas P. Bartolome
813½ Manuel B. Ursua
815 Flores G. Cajita
815½ Teofilo Abad

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. -- North Side
920 State Transfer Co. Inc.

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. -- South Side
901 Coast Hotel - Mrs. Elbe Bell
903 Harlem Inn tavern
925 Chinese Baptist Church - Chinese Baptist Church Nursery day nursery

From 10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. -- North Side
1010 Vacant
1010½ Vacant
1012 Vacant
1024 Acme Poultry Co. wholesale

From 10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. -- South Side
1001 Western Gear Corp. (warehouse)
1013 Vacant
1017 Ray M. Stewart
1041 Systi-Matic Co. saw manufacturers
1041½ Systi-Matic Co. (shop)
1043 Vacant

From 12th Ave. S. to Rainier Ave. -- North Side
1212 Nisei Veterans Committee
1220 Kakichi Terada
1220½ Y. James Tsujita
1222 George M. Matsuno
1224 Wilson J. Daniels - Jerald F. Kertham
1234 Olite Smith - Danny L. Williams
1236 Mrs. Mary Dorsey - Alex StGerman - Richard Oshiro
1238 Jerry E. Desmond - Mrs. Ollie Wilbur - William L. Rice
1244 Apartments (four names)
1248 Eddie A. Toniguchi
1248½ Mrs. Tsuneyo Nobuyama
1252 Vacant
1256 Robert Ford
1264 George W. Raber & Co. leather goods cleaners
1306 Nikko Sukiyaki Restaurant [Run by Larry & Shirley Saiki, this was (possibly) Seattle's first sushi bar, featuring sushi master Shiro Kashiba, who started there in 1966; 2009 = Mikado Restaurant]

From 12th Ave. S. to Rainier Ave. -- South Side
1211 Friendship Baptist Church - Richard Washington
1221 N & S Tool & Die Co. Inc.
1223 Todd Chemical Inc. plant
1235 Kiyomi K. Hayashi - Frank K. Mihara
1239 El Johnson Food Specialties Inc.
1247 Koso Yagi
1251 Joseph V. Jainga
1261 Karoku Okada
1265 R S Auto Rebuild auto body repair
cor City Light Sub Station (now labeled 1269)

Rainier Ave. intersects

Jackson Street, Seattle 1960

2009-11-20T01:15:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Jackson Street
From South Alaskan Way To Boren Way

From S. Alaskan Way To 1st Ave. S -- North Side
74 Transport Storage & Distr Co auto garage
88 Vacant
90 Security Printing & Lithograph Co.

S. Alaskan Way To 1st Ave. S -- South Side
none

1st Ave. S. to Occidental Ave. - North Side
108 Capitol Hotel lodgings - Kuro Nakano

1st Ave. S. to Occidental Ave. - South Side
101 Bowles Co. Inc. plumbing & heating suppliers
115 Rautman Plumbing & Heating Co. contractors
119 Henry S. Silver & Co. (warehouse) - S Reikes & Sons wholesale glassware - James Factors Inc. wholesale glassware
123 Steam Supply & Rubber Co. mill supplies

Occidental Ave. to 2nd Ave. S. - North Side
160 Sportscaster Co. (warehouse)
162 Washington Shoe Building
2nd fl Washington Shoe Co. Inc.
3rd fl Lasley Knitting Co. manufacturers
164 Vacant
168 Cadillac Hotel lodgings - Kaizo Chikamura

Occidental Ave. to 2nd Ave. S. - South Side
161 Vacant
171 North Coast Electric Co. wholesale electrical equipment

2nd Ave. S. to 3rd Ave. S. - North Side
206 Vic's Clothing used
208 Fred Rogers Co. men's clothes wholesale
208½ Merz Sheet Metal Works
210 Annex Tavern
220 Vacant

2nd Ave. S. to 3rd Ave. S. - South Side
none

3rd Ave. S. to 2nd Ave. S. (2nd Ave. S. Extension) - North Side
none

3rd Ave. S. to 2nd Ave. S. (2nd Ave. S. Extension) - South Side
303 King Street Passenger Station - King Street Passenger Station (baggage department - Great Northern Railway Co. (passenger station) - Northern Pacific Railway Co. (general manager office) - Northern Pacific Railway Co. (passenger station) - King Street Passenger Station (ticket office) - King Street Station Barber Shop - James H. Brown shoeshiner - King Street Station Chuck Wagon restaurant - M. J. Schiffer Newstand Inc. - Yellow Cab Co. (stand)
Rooms
200 Northern Pacific Railway Co. (purchasing department)
201 Great Northern Railway Co. (mail baggage and express agent)
205 Great Northern Railway Co. (car distrs office) - (chief dispatcher office)
210 Great Northern Railway Co. (telegraph department)
217 Great Northern Railway Co. (operating department)
301 King Street Passenger Station (superintendent office)
302 Great Northern Railway Co. (electrical department)
305 King Street Passenger Station (aud dept)
306 Great Northern Railway Co. (engineering department)
309 Great Northern Railway Co. (engineering department) - King Street Terminal Credit Union
326 Camas Prairie Railroad Co. (operating department)

2nd Ave. S. (2nd Ave. S. Extension) to 4th Ave. S. - North Side
none

2nd Ave. S. (2nd Ave. S. Extension) to 4th Ave. S. - South Side
none

4th Ave. S. to 5th Ave. S. - North Side
none

4th Ave. S. to 5th Ave. S. - South Side
409 Union Station lobby - Ernest E. Anderson barber - Barkalow Brothers Co. cigars - Chicago Milwaukee St. Paul & Pacific Rail Road Co. (passenger station) - Depot Lunch & Check Room restaurant - Union Pacific Rail Road Co. (passenger station ticket office)
Rooms:
118 Vacant
201 Union Pacific Rail Road Co. (special agent office)
204 Union Pacific Rail Road Co. (traffic department)
208 Union Pacific Rail Road Co. (property department)
209 Union Pacific Rail Road Co. (operating department)
213 Union Pacific Rail Road Co. (roadmasters office)
214 Pacific Fruit Express Co.
215 Union Pacific Rail Road Co. (traffic analysis committee)
216 The Pullman Co. sleeping car service
218 Union Pacific Rail Road Co. (telegraph department)
304 Railway Express Agency Inc. (office)
307 Trans-Continental Freight Bureau inspection bureau
311 Freight Agents Association
315 North Pacific Coast Freight Bureau
318 Chicago Milwaukee St. Paul & Pacific Rail Road Co. (police department)

5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S. - North Side
514 Vacant
518 Takano Studio photographer
520 Chihara Jewelry & Appliance
526 Vacant

5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S. - South Side
501 Angelo's Cafe - Angelo's Tavern
503 Angelo's Barber Shop
503½ Vet's Pool Hall
505 Idaho Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Bertha Johnson
507 Edith's Barber Shop
511 Main Cafe
525 Seattle-First National Bank (international branch)

6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. - North Side
600 Jackson Loan Office pawn brokers
602 Higo Variety Store
610 Jackson Cafe
612 Vacant
614 Vacant
616 Peace Shoe Repair
616½ Crockett's Trade Shop
618 Cago Cigar Store - Liberato B. Cago
618½ Leyte Hotel lodgings - Kogo Yamaguchi
620 Mary's Market grocery
622 Charles G. Adams tailor
624 Downtown Bendix Laundreteria

6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. - South Side
601 Togo Clothes men's
603 Vacant
607 Jackson Clothing Store men's
609 Sammy's Tailors
611 Gilt Edge Cleaners
613 Joe's Cafe
613½ Welcome Annex Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Mae Roletto
615 George Kashiwagi's Store men's clothing
617 Frank's Jewelry
621 Bush Hotel lodgings - Mooney Lew
623 Vincent's Barber Shop
625 Robert Chinn & Associates insurance
627 United Savings & Loan Association

Maynard Ave. to Maynard Alley - North Side
650 Jackson Furniture Co.
652 Vacant
654 Rainier Heat & Power Building (see also 316 Maynard Avenue) - Kovar Insurance Agency - Rainier Heat & Power Co. real estate department
656 Gosho Drug Co.
658 Vacant
662 Serv-Self Laundry
662½ Filipino Fraternity Hall

Maynard Ave. to Maynard Alley - South Side
651 Eastern Cafe restaurant
653 Anner Finkel hardware
655 Pastime Pool
655½ Evergreen Hotel lodgings
657 The House of Beauty beauty shop
659 Vacant
659a International Realty Co.
661 Acme Beverage Store

Maynard Alley to 7th Ave. S. - North Side
664 W. Nakamura Co. jewelers
666 Vacant
668 Vacant
670 Jackson Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Agnes C. Hattori
672 Vacant
676 Terrance M. Toda optometrist

Maynard Alley to 7th Ave. S. - South Side
667 Welcome Corner tavern
669 Jasper's Barber Shop
671 Roma Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Birdie Allison
671½ Sea Gull Tavern & Pool Hall
677 Victory Flowers

7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. - North Side
700 Baroh Wholesale Grocery
708 Seventh Avenue Body Service repairs

7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. - South Side
701 Seventh Avenue Service gas station
707 Jackson Beverage Store

8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. - North Side
818-20 Hikida Furniture & Appliance Co.
822 Tacoma Hotel
824 Vacant
826 Jackson Street Community Council

8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. - South Side
805 China Super Service gas station
813 Art Louie's Sporting Goods
817 Chinn's Grocery
819 Gong's Aquarium - Toy J. Gong
821 Kenneth S. Louie dentist

9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. - North Side
none

9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. - South Side
909 James Brinkley Co. (office)
923 Tenth Avenue Service gas station

10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. - North Side
1032 Connor Sales Inc. household appliances
1038 Dumas Recreation tavern
1040 Smith's Cafe restaurant
1042 Vacant
1044 Vacant
1044½a Vacant
1044½b Mrs. Ardelia Brown
1060 Vacant

10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. - South Side
1001 McCulloch Sales & Service Co. Inc. chain saws - Pacific Equipment Inc. chain saw manufacturers
1017 Mrs. Julia Gasser - Seiichi Higashida dentist
1017½ Vacant
1919 Garland Florists
1023 Vacant
1029 Vacant
1035 American Plumbing Co.
1037½ Cloteil's Hair Design
1039 Jun's Barber Shop
1043 A-1 Auto Rebuild auto painting
1125 Jackson Street Service gas station

12th Ave. S. to Boren Way - North Side
1200 Sanders Louisiana Kitchen restaurant
1204 Meter Maid Laundromat - Willie Hill
1212-1218 Lloyd Heating Co. (warehouse)
1220½ Vacant
1222 Silver Top Barber Shop - Bernard C. Young
1222½ Vacant
1224 State Liquor Control Board No. 38
1228 M & L Co. beverages
1236 Night & Day Fuel & Salvage
1236½ Dennis Abraham
1240 Mrs. Margarett Webb
1314 Frank Hattori realtor

12th Ave. S. to Boren Way - South Side
1201 Ark Ten Cent Store
1203 Raindrop Inn tavern
1207 Mint Beverage Store
1207½ Harvey Riley
1209 Jack's Cafe - Jack Kamimura
1211 Summerrise of Seattle phonograph & record dealers [R&B record shop run by KQDE DJ Bob Summerrise; hangout of Jimi Hendrix in high school; this is a remnant of the Jackson St. jazz & R&B scene]
1213 Lloyd Heating Co. coal & wood - Lloyd's Second Hand Sales furniture & appliances
1221 Vacant
1223 Vacant
1223½ Vacant
1225 Square Deal Barber Shop - Hollis Scott
1225½ Vacant
1229 Vacant
1233 Ingram's Janitorial Service
1235 Washington Cleaners
1237 Banquet Cafe & Tavern
1239 Acacia Florist
1305 Pacific Market grocery
1307 Jackson Fruit Produce
1311 Seafood Products Co. food packers

Boren Way intersects
Fourteenth Avenue South intersects
Rainier Avenue intersects

Yesler Way, Seattle 1960

2009-11-20T00:19:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Yesler Way
From South Alaskan Way To Boren Way

From S. Alaskan Way to Western Ave. - North Side
72 Western Automotive Service gas station

From S. Alaskan Way to Western Ave. - South Side
67 Astro-Gears Inc. mfrs.
67½ Baranof Hotel lodgings - Charles F. Chapin
71 John K. Thanos ice cream

From Western Ave. to Post Ave. - North Side
76 H. G. McLaughlin Co. Inc. marine suppliers
78 Star Office Equipment Co. used furniture

From Western Ave. to Post Ave. - South Side
73 Yesler Tavern
75 Litho Trade Service lithographs
77 Yesler Hotel lodgings - Y Mizuta
79 Plastic Sales & Service (plant)

From Post Ave. to 1st Ave. - North Side
80 Traveler's Hotel lodgings - Kikutara Nakamura
82 Pup Tavern
84 OK Coffee & Waffle House
88 General Merchandise Liquidators
90 Post Hotel lodgings - Ko Takeuchi
94 Vacant
94½ Julian M. Prias barber

From Post Ave. to 1st Ave. - South Side
81 Plastic Sales & Service Inc.
83 C & S Cafe
85 Jack F. Rosario barber
87 Northwest Cleaners
89 Mary's Barber Shop
91 Vacant
93 Nick's Cafe

From 1st Ave. to Occidental Ave. - North Side
100 Vacant
112 Modern Barber College

From 1st Ave. to Occidental Ave. - South Side
101 B & R Restaurant - Starfish Cove cocktail lounge
103 Vacant
105 Mendal Katz men's clothing
105½ Cascade Hotel lodgings - Mrs. Sachi Osumi - Masachiyo Uyegaki
107 Pioneer Barber Shop
107½ Sam's Cafe
109 Merchants Cafe tavern (still open in 2009)
109½ Merchants Hotel lodgings - Jitsushi Yoshida
111 Totem Pole Tavern
115 Tripoli Hotel lodgings - Shokichi Yanagimoto - Paul M. Ortega shoe shiner
117 Frank's Shoe Repair - Richard H. Karkigian hat cleaner
119 Vacant

From Occidental Ave. to 2nd Ave. - North Side
none

From Occidental Ave. to 2nd Ave. - South Side
153 Bob's Barber Shop
155 Kathy's Gift Shop
157 Boeing Airplane Co. (warehouse)
159 Daverso's Italian Restaurant

From 2nd Ave. to 3rd Ave. - North Side
202 Street Car Men's Union Division 587 - Seattle Street Railway Credit Union

From 2nd Ave. to 3rd Ave. - South Side
203 Don's Cafe - Mocombo Room cocktail lounge (actually Mocambo Room; gay bar)
205 Nick's Barber Shop
205a Morris M. Nash watch repairer
207 Campbell & Fuller Inc. grocery
209 Coffee Corral restaurant
215 Frye Hotel Chuckwagon restaurant
219 Frye Hotel Barber Shop
223 Frye Hotel - Kawaguchi Travel Service - Las Vegas Room cocktail lounge - JoVonne Stylists beauty shop - Ashley N Doak
225 Frye Hotel Cigar Stand - Frye Hotel Florist

From 3rd Ave. to Prefontaine Pl. - North Side
none

From 3rd Ave. to Prefontaine Pl. - South Side
none

From Prefontaine Pl. to Dilling Way - North Side
From Prefontaine Pl. to Dilling Way - South Side

From Dilling Way to 4th Ave. - North Side
none

From Dilling Way to 4th Ave. - South Side
315 Industrial Workmen of the World
317 Vacant
319 Athenian Social Club
321 Vacant
323 Pierce's Beauty Salon
323½ Vacant
325 Commerce Press Inc. printers
327 Wo Hee Chinese Medicine Co. herbs

From 4th Ave. to 5th Ave. - North Side
none

From 4th Ave. to 5th Ave. - South Side
401 Vacant
405 Vacant

From 5th Ave. to 6th Ave. - North Side
none

From 5th Ave. to 6th Ave. - South Side
515 Terrace View Hotel Parking

From 6th Ave. to Maynard Ave. - North Side
none

From 6th Ave. to Maynard Ave. - South Side
605 Terrace View Hotel lodgings - George O. F. Woon
607 Vacant
607½ Paul Refrow
609 Munro Apartments lodgings
609½ W. Karl Wiita
611 Vacant
615 Vacant
615½ Yesler Terrace (housing project) (too many names to type)
625 Church of God and Christ Faith Tabernacle

From Maynard Ave. to 7th Ave. - North Side
none

From Maynard Ave. to 7th Ave. - South Side
651 Mrs. Jessie Mitchell
653 Aiko Bradley
655 Donald E Brt (sic)
657 Mary V Smith
703 Harry Deloff - Charles E. Smith Jr. - August Radtke

From 7th Ave. to 8th Ave. - North Side
none

From 7th Ave. to 8th Ave. - South Side
707 Mrs. M. A. Davenport
715 Edward G. Mattison - Mrs. Eleanor Olson - Mrs. Othello D. Cox - Leo S. Rybus
719 Mrs. Nellie Dykeman - Raymond W. Newbold - Edward Olson - Octava E. Norris
723 Mrs. Lillian Finnie - John W. Fishback - Erna Taylor - Mrs. Ollie Fleming
727 Mrs. Maude K. Darden - Mrs. Louise Gregg - Soon Q. Look - Bert Edwards
731 U. G. Murphy - Carl J. Flory - Mrs. Lola Fletcher - Mrs. Doris StPeter
735 Justin O. Lewis - Walter C. Thomas - Emil J. Wolf - Benjamin Howard

From 8th Ave. to 9th Ave. - North Side
none

From 8th Ave. to 9th Ave. - South Side
803-17 Yesler Terrace (housing project)
803 Apartments
330 Marie Josephine Lee
331 Mrs. Mary Jones
807 Apartments
332 Mrs. Edna M. Hilyard
333 Mrs. Bertha Nelson
334 Mrs. Pearl L. Coleman
335 Mrs. Emma P. Hills
811 Apartments
336 Mrs. Jennie W. Rennie
337 Mrs. Kasa Moul
338 Mrs. Clara Yakovich
339 Mrs. Olga Kinneberg
817 Apartments
340 Mrs. Cora F. Johnson
341 Mrs. Orpha F. Patterson
342 Mrs. Zola B. Harris
343 Mrs. Bessie L. Graham
821 Neighborhood House Inc. Community Center
825 Housing Authority of the City of Seattle (Main Office)

From 9th Ave. to Broadway - North Side
none

From 9th Ave. to Broadway - South Side
903 Housing Authority of the City of Seattle (Yesler Terrace office)

From Broadway to 10th Ave. - North Side
none

From Broadway to 10th Ave. - South Side
907-1033 Yesler Terrace (housing project)
907 Mrs. Odessa Davis
909 Mrs. Kainuko M. Huntoon
911 Harold E. Alley
915 William P. Burge Jr.
917 Floyd A. Hennings
919 Vacant
921 Thomas J. Hansen

From 10th Ave. to Boren Way - North Side
none [Note: book shows 12th before Boren, which is wrong]

From 10th Ave. to Boren Way - South Side
1003 Mrs. Birdy M. MicDowell
1005 Ronald R. Clarke
1007 William E. Morrill
1009 Gock Q. Ng
1011 Mahlon E. Kreibel
1015 Dante F. D'Alessandro
1017 William A. Douglas
1019 Mrs. Ernestine Johnson
1022 Yesler Terrace (housing project)
540 Frank F. Joy
541 Mrs. Isabel Wilson
542 Mrs. Myrtle Piles
543 Mrs. Helen M Hoyt
544 Sotaero Tanginan
545 Mrs. Elizabeth Nelson
546 Mrs. Josephine Irvine
547 Mrs. Ruth Shuster
1023 Harry Fanning
1025 Tim F. McBride
1027 Paul Gua
1029 Mrs. Lena M. Morimoto
1031 Larry L. Schrader
1033 Mrs. Thelma Simuel

Boren Way intersects

Washington Street, Seattle 1960

2009-11-18T10:58:00.000-08:00

From 1960 Polk City Directory

Washington Street (now South Washington Street)
From South Alaskan Way to Boren Way

From S. Alaskan Way to 1st Ave. S. - North Side
68 L & H Printing Co.
76 L & H Blue Printing Co.
90 Kelly Printing Co. Inc.

From S. Alaskan Way to 1st Ave. S. - South Side
77 Compass Center Mission - Lutheran Compass Mission
79 Compass Center Hotel lodgings
79½ Vacant
81-84 L & H Printing Co. (office & plant) [even number?]
81½ Vacant
85 Vacant

From 1st Ave. S. to Occidental Ave. - North Side
108 Jerry's Grocery
110 Vacant
116 Occidental Tavern
116½ Vacant
118 United Loan pawn brokers
118½ Vacant
124 William Llewellyn printer
126 Greenland Inn Tavern

From 1st Ave. S. to Occidental Ave. - South Side
101 Washington Cigar Store (now Elliott Bay Book Co.)
105 United Shoe Repair
107 Vacant
109 Blue Front Cafe
115 Russo's Tavern
115½ Skidroad Beanery restaurant
117 The Loggers tavern
117½ Loggers Hotel lodgings
117½ Earl H Turner
119 Loggers Barber Shop

From Occidental Ave. to 2nd Ave. S. - North Side
154 Blas Morante barber
156 Workers Lunch
158 Lucky Tavern
160 Vacant
164 Vacant
168 Vacant
170 All Nations Cafe - Mrs. Ruby Deligan
172 Casino Cafe - Casino Recreation social club [an important landmark in Seattle's rough and tumble history. In 2009, this underground room at 172 S. Washington St. is Heaven nightclub, but in the 1890s it was the location of a bawdy vaudeville theater run by John Considine, "offering women who danced and sang on stage and then strolled among the playing tables trolling for drinks. Couch-like box seats were deep enough for the men to draw the women inside and then pull curtains for whatever sexual pleasures could be had." (Gary L. Atkins, Gay Seattle [Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2003])

Considine's vaudeville was naughtier than the classy sort performed uptown; among other performers, he featured Little Egypt, a nationally-known "coochee-coochee dancer and stripper. He also introduced the infamous Seattle Police payoff system, paying patrol officers for tolerance of his disobedience of the 1894 "barmaid ordinance", which forbade women from working in places that served alcohol. This "tolerance policy" eventually spread throughout every level of Seattle's (and Washington's) bureaucracy until it exploded in 1970 with, among other events, the firing of the Chief of Police Frank Ramon and the arrest of the interim Chief Buzz Cook.

Ironically, the payoff system allowed an underground scene of gambling, prostitution, and gay bars to flourish, in spite of blue laws against them. By the 1930s, the basement of current building was the Casino, a drag bar run by Joseph Bellotti that for the next forty years, along with the Double Header tavern upstairs (still in operation in 2009, see 407 2nd Ave. Ext.) provided a haven for Seattle's gay and lesbian community. The wooden marquee over the entrance still says "CASINO DANCING".]

From Occidental Ave. to 2nd Ave. S. - South Side
151 Vacant
153 Alex's Cafe
159 Pastime Tavern
161 Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Center
165 Peniel Mission
167 Columbus Tavern
169 Workingman's Clothing Store used
171 Jim's Cafe
173 Silver Star Tavern

From 2nd Ave. S. To 3rd Ave. S. - North Side
210½ Yick Keong Society social club
212 Basa Trade Shop antiques - Sidro L Basa
214 Rice Bowl Cafe
214 Marcel Domingo
214½ Vacant

From 2nd Ave. S. To 3rd Ave. S. - South Side
201 Light Spot Inc. tavern
209 John Battee shoeshiner
211 A & J Tavern
211½ Vincentian Center employment office
215 Mike's Place cigars
216 Vacant
217 Vacant
219 Vacant
219½ Vacant
221 Vacant
223 Zumie Davis

From 3rd Ave. S. to Prefontaine Pl. - North Side
300 Kaplan Paper Co. wholesale
308 Vacant
310 Schooley Printing Co.
312 Litho Film - Ransdell Photography commercial photographers

From 3rd Ave. S. to Prefontaine Pl. - South Side
305 Joe Galanta
307 Union Hotel lodgings - Yoshio Akada
311 Henry's Barber Shop
311½ Ramos Rabero

From Prefontaine Pl. to 4th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From Prefontaine Pl. to 4th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 4th Ave. S. to 5th Ave. S. - North Side
424 Washington Service Station gas station
[Note: intersection with 5th Ave. S. not shown but clearly existed then]

From 4th Ave. S. to 5th Ave. S. - South Side
none
[Note: intersection with 5th Ave. S. not shown but clearly existed then]

From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S. - North Side
502 Vacant

From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S. - South Side
505 Vacant
507 Vacant
509 Vacant
511 Vacant
517 Hanson Hotel lodgings - Frank U. Hashimoto - Roy M. Hashimoto
525 Berry-Jeffrain Apartments lodgings - Mack Mayfield

From 6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. - North Side
616 Kwick-Kafe of Seattle vending machines
618 Vacant
620 Vacant
624 Vacant

From 6th Ave. S. to Maynard Ave. - South Side
621 Peter B. Alupay

From Maynard Ave. to 7th Ave. S.- North Side
none

From Maynard Ave. to 7th Ave. S.- South Side
none

From 7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. - South Side
701 Mrs. Sarah Morris
703 Calvin Bowell Jr.
705 Vacant
707 Mrs. Beverly Cantrell
709 Mrs. Ida Releford
705 King D. Cheng
717 Vacant
719 Frank R Koop
721 Mrs. Gussie O Tucker
723 LeRoy B White
725 James Martin
729 Marion P. Villanueva
731 William E. Fawcett
733 Mrs. Dorothy Watkins
735 Gary L Huxford
737 Harold C. George
739 Mrs. Lillian G. Hayes

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. - South Side
803-1044 Yesler Terrace (housing project)
803 Apartments
368 Tommy Yuen
369 Coenraad VanDerWal
370 Mike Baumgart
371 Mrs. Jessie Mae Lemes
372 Mrs. Laura M. Hyde
373 Charles F. Murphy
811 Apartments
374 Saint M. Owens
375 Donna M. Clifton
376 Rev. Lee V. Kirkpatrick
377 John M. G. Wong
378 Mrs. Bobbie J. Sims
379 L. Joe James
819 Apartments
380 King D. Anderson
381 Roger M. Haglund
382 Rovert A. McLauchlan
383 Howard M. Robinson Jr.
384 John C. Simon
385 Buck F. Chin
386 Mrs. Gloria E. Tippins

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. - South Side
915 Apartments
387 Mrs. Viola Matthews
388 Vacant
389 Mrs. Kathleen DeGroff
390 Vacant
391 Mrs. Nellie Gammon
392 Venny A. Ayco
919 Apartments
393 Henrietta J. Miller
394 Mrs. Miriam L. Hill
395 Nils Nygard
396 Joseph M. Brule
925 Apartments
397 Mrs. Phoebe Willard
398 Mrs. Alice Kruger
399 Mrs. Flora E. Klatt
400 Stanley M. Schwab
929 Apartments
401 Gaven E. Waller
402 Mrs. Shirley A. Harrold
403 Philmore T. Payne
404 Jather Lee
405 Mrs. Josephine Conklin
406 Cheow Chuk Chinn
407 Vacant

From 10th Ave. S. to 11th Ave. S. - North Side
1020 Apartments
490 Mrs. Stella Anderson
491 Richard L. Olson
492 Mrs. Sumiko Matro
493 Robert Lamb
494 Mrs. Beverly J. Fauvelle
495 Shing Pin Sun
1028 Apartments
478 Mrs. Carrie Strong
479 Richard P. Behrendt
480 Mrs. Jackie Edwards
481 Paul M. Rice
482 Mrs. Carrie E. Harris
483 Mrs. Marion M. Dailing
1036 Apartments
469 Donald M. Gates
470 Ted Howe
471 Ray E. Longfellow
472 Vacant
473 John H. Chinn
474 Vacant
475 William A Bosonitz
476 Ernest R. Zimmerman
477 Mrs. Izola Hall
1044 Apartments
461 Mrs. Frances H. Wilson
462 Mrs. Emma M. Dooley
463 A. Blanche Williamson
464 Fred A. Lundgaard
465 Joseph J. Miller
466 Mrs. Margaret Eddy
467 Mrs. Josephine Marton
468 N. Seigfred Nelson [sic]

From 10th Ave. S. to 11th Ave. S. - South Side
1005 Apartments
408 Robert D. Campbell
409 Mrs. Jewel D. Russell
410 Dean F. Obenchain
411 Mrs. Agnes Johnston
412 Vacant
413 LeRoy W. Lusher
414 William H. Foege
415 Sammy M. Verzola
1011 Apartments
416 Mrs. Queen Quinn
417 Mrs. Gusta B. Sharp
418 Mrs. Nancy L. Garner
419 John E. Keene
420 Roger S. Mitchell
421 Irene O. Walsh
422 Charles B. Davis
423 Mrs. Violet Chin
424 Mrs. Eleanor Mariano
1019 Apartments
425 Walter L. Harris
426 Phillip O. Bridenbaugh
427 Ott Woo
428 Mrs. Anna L. McCoy
429 James L. Tilzey
430 Tom F. Chinn
431 Allen Gooden
432 Lowell Klatt
433 Paul Martin
1027 Apartments
434 Eddie Patrick
435 Kenney Chin
436 Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas
437 Mrs. Lena Hoffer
438 Mrs. Lorraine M. Melissa
439 Mrs. Frances L. Mulkins
440 LeRoy W. Coulsey
441 Monte W. Martinsen
442 Louis Robinson
443 Vacant [wrong number?]
1033 Apartments
443 Sueo Fujikoa
444 Oliver R. Cunningham
445 Arthur R. Koch
447 Wing H. Jung
448 John W. Lebo
1035 Apartments
457 Mrs. Lula B. Carmack
458 Mrs. Anna Tarabochia
459 Mrs. Ethel Beach
460 Mrs. Priscilla Simpson
1039 Apartments - Charles M. Walsh - Mrs. Sadie T. Ward
1043 Apartments
449 Frank K. Yamanmoto [sic]
450 Mrs. Lydia Hill
451 William F. Elliott
452 Leslie Crittenden
453 Mrs. Winnfred Henderson
454 Mrs. Elsie Fulton

Eleventh Avenue South intersects
Twelfth Avenue South intersects
Boren Avenue intersects

Main Street, Seattle 1960

2009-11-17T19:40:00.000-08:00

Taken from 1960 Polk City Directory

Main Street (now South Main Street)

From South Alaskan Way To Boren Way

from S. Alaskan Way to Occidental Ave. - North Side
76 Puget Sound Hardware
80-82 Instantwhip Seattle Inc. food mfr.
84 John A Chales whol candy and tobacco
98 Solomon Shippers Supply Co. second hand boxes

from S. Alaskan Way to Occidental Ave. - North Side
77 Poop Deck Tavern (aka Pete's Poop Deck) [1970s Shelly's Leg gay disco]
83 William Argens Safe & Lock Co.
83½ Our Home Hotel lodgings - T Maruhashi - Dodd Fulkerson
87 Quong Sing Laundry - Stephen K Luke
89 Bread of Life Mission (dorm)
93 Bread of Life Mission (lunch room) - Alonzo D Garrett
107 Globe Hotel lodgings - Harukidi Fugami
109 Sound Leatherwear Co. jacket mfrs
115 Union Gospel Mission used clothing
119 Masin E Furniture Co. Inc. warehouse

From Occidental Ave. to 2nd Ave. S. - North Side
164 Crawford Brothers Employment Agency
168 Rainier Hotel lodgings - Junya Yamamoto

From Occidental Ave. to 2nd Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 2nd Ave. S. to 3rd Ave. S. - North Side
202 Porter & Johnson Inc. ivory products
208 Main Hotel lodgings - Junzo Nishimoto
210 Tommy's Cafe

From 2nd Ave. S. to 3rd Ave. S. - North Side
207 Trinity Chapel
213 International Longshoremen's & Warehousemen's Union Local No. 37 - Amor L Guerzon bookkeeping service

From 3rd Ave. S. to 4th Ave. S. - North Side
302 Main Bowl Barber Shop
304 Vacant
306 Vacant
308 Vacant
310 Gasparetti's Roma Cafe

From 3rd Ave. S. to 4th Ave. S. - North Side
307 Nemoc Electrical Co. (shipping door) - Seattle Lighting Fixture Co. (shipping door)

From 4th Ave. S. to 5th Ave. S. - North Side
404 Vacant
406 Leo George
408 Huck's Cleaners
408½ Eagle Hotel lodgings - James M. Smith
410 Vacant
410½ Preston's Barber Shop
412 Station Barber Shop
414 Uwajimaya Co. (warehouse)
414½ Station Hotel lodgings - Shinji Kameda
416 Uwajimaya Co. (store room)
420-22 Uwajimaya Co. importers general merchandise
422½ Empire Hotel lodgings - Masao Yamaquchi
424 Happy Tavern

From 4th Ave. S. to 5th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S. - North Side
500 Main Ice Cream Shop
502 Japanese Placement Service employment agency
502½ Dan's Barber Shop
506 Belmont Food Market grocery
508-10 Gyokko-Ken Cafe
508½ Belmont Hotel lodgings
514 Vacant
516 Vacant
518 Togo Realty Co.
520 Tenkatsu Cafe restaurant
520a Sun Hotel lodgings - Toshio Toyoji
522 Main Drug Co.
522a M S Hotel lodgings - S Kamachi
524 Sagamiya Co. books and confectionery

From 5th Ave. S. to 6th Ave. S. - North Side
501 Main Street Grocery - Isidore Supnet
501½ Bowling Hotel lodgings
503 Tommy George
505 Main Shokudo restaurant
507 Main Pool Room - Jack Watanabe
509 Vacant
511 M K Fish & Grocery Co.
513 Ajax Photo Supply
515 Miyako restaurant
517 Vacant
519 New Chinatown Dance Hall
521 Kinomoto Travel Service - Frank Y Kinomoto accountant
523 Arlington Hotel Building Corp. real estate owners - Abbottsford Investment Co. Inc. real estate owners - Globe Investment Co. Inc. - HTK Management Co. real estate - Seattle Hotel Building Corp. real estate owners - Seaview Development Co. real estate owners - H T K Investment Co. Inc. real estate
527 New Chinatown Cafe

From 6th Ave. S. to 7th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 6th Ave. S. to 7th Ave. S. - South Side
601 Vacant
603 Vacant
605 Valley Food Market grocery
605½ Panama Hotel lodgings - Takashi Hori - Mariya Saito dentist
607 Kosaku Sato
609 Vacant
611 Keisuke Yoshida
651 Vacant
651a Vacant
653 Vacant
653a Marion E Price
655 Vacant
655a Howard Smith
657a Vacant
657b Martha Cook
659 Mrs. Essie Kilgore
659b Vacant
661 Mrs. Ollie Johnson
661a Vacant
661b Vacant
665 Eligie Jackson
665b Vacant
667 Mrs. Gracie L Willis
669 Mrs. Blundell Carr
671 Henry L Prater
673 Vacant
675 James W. McCullough
675½ Vacant

From 7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. - North Side
none [I-5 freeway today]

From 7th Ave. S. to 8th Ave. S. - South Side
none

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 8th Ave. S. to 9th Ave. S. - South Side
none

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 9th Ave. S. to 10th Ave. S. - South Side
none

From 10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. - North Side
none

From 10th Ave. S. to 12th Ave. S. - South Side
none

From 12th Ave. S. to 14th Ave. S. - North Side
none [Note: the Boren extension (Boren Way S.) was cut through from Yesler to 12th in 1948-50 but, but the intersection with Main is not listed in the book -- I don't know why. The Jackson intersection with Boren (and Rainier) is listed. Was this last section not completed yet in 1960?]
1200 Boren Chevron Service
1212 Thomas W Shelby - John Sessions
1236 Frank Russo Apartments - Frank T Russo
1 Vacant
2 Vacant
3 Dale Thorn
4 Monroe Williams
5 Vacant
6 Gilbert Logan
7 Vacant
8 Vacant
9 Bradley Pierce
10-11 James F Fairbanks
12 Robert Bantry
13 Vacant
14 Patricia Lupino
15 Vacant
16 Vacant
17 Vacant
19 John Townsend
1238 Forbidden City Dine & Dance
1256 Rainier Apartment Hotel
1 Lamar Greer
2 Mrs. Josephine Mench
3 Tom Prince
4 Lillie P. Stewart
5 Katy Riles
6 Vacant
7 James McLairun
8 Charles King Jr.
9 Mitsus Komoriya
10 George K. Baba
11 Kazuko Nakano
12 Sandy S Spencer
14 Robert Martin
15 Clemy Brooks
16 Ernest Wright
17 Albert Rucker
18 Jessie Young
19 William Lee
20 Kagoro Nozaki
21 Kagoro Rosebrook
22 Asataro Fiijimoto house cleaner
23 Dobie Adams
24 Cleveland Waters
25 Sank Henderson
26 Joseph Kawamura gardener
28 Mattie Prince
1320 Peter Thomas & Co. Inc. truck body builders

From 12th Ave. S. to 14th Ave. S. - South Side
none
1203 Dewitt Gathings
1205 Mable James
1207 James McQueen
1207½ Mrs. Catherine Cannady
1211 Frank Davis
1211½ Marvin D Marshall
1213 Mrs. Leola Miller
1215 Mrs Ludie Brinkley
1217 New Born Church of Christ
1217½ Vacant
1219-23 Reno Apartments
1 Abraham Duggins
2 Vacant
3-4 Ulysses A Artego
5 Vacant
6 Emil F Steele
7 Vacant
8 Vacant
9 Vacant
10 Vacant
11-12 Vacant

Fourteenth Avenue intersects

Mexican Folk Song

2009-05-29T22:46:00.000-07:00

Friend, when I am dead,
Make a cup of the clay I become.
And, if you remember me, drink from it.
Should your lips cling to the cup,
It will be but my earthly kiss.

Source unknown; found in The Popular Arts of Mexico (see post below).

1 CTN BEER: MY ADVENTURE WITH ICHIRO, BEER, AND HOMELAND SECURITY

2009-05-28T10:05:00.000-07:00

"If I was not in the situation, and I was objectively watching what had happened to this team in the last week, I'd probably be drinking a lot of beers and booing [...] usually I enjoy Japanese beer, but given the situation, if I was objectively watching the game, I wouldn’t care if it was Japanese beer, American beer or beer from Papua New Guinea." -- Ichiro Suzuki, Seattle Mariners, May 23, 2008

Some of the readers of USS Mariner, the best sports blog in creation, including myself, took this as a challenge: Find some Papuan beer and drink it in Ichiro's honor.

Derek Zumsteg, maestro of USSM, quickly ascertained that SP Lager was the stuff we were after. I personally visited the strange and wondrous Big Star beer store up on Northgate Way, but they didn't have it. Others tried Bottleworks on 45th; no luck. Uwajimaya, no. No place. You cannot buy SP Lager, or any other Papuan beer, anywhere in Seattle--nor anywhere in the United States.

So we tried online. I know more than a few of us paid our $13.75, plus $5 shipping. A month later, after no word, I was a little worried, but then I got an email saying it was on the boat. On July 31st of last year, it arrived in LA. Whoo hoo! Beer!

Then the shipping company called. You can't just send beer in a UPS box; it's gotta be shipped like freight. Plus, since it's alcohol, they have arcane rules: if it's over five bottles or cans, I have to become an importer. I have to sign up with the FDA's Industry Systems program, whatever the hell that is, and fill out a Prior Notice Application, which is a million pages long, and I'm going to have to write a letter to US Customs begging for permission to bend the rules just this once. And then I'm going to have to pay the freight forwarder NINETY DOLLARS to pay for their end of the deal.

I said screw it. I told them I was abandoning the shipment. No beer for me. Five bottles of wine and I'd be in the clear; a six-pack and I'm considered to be Heineken all of a sudden.

The reason I'm writing this post now is to provide the coda to this tale of woe. I got a pink letter from the Department of Homeland Security yesterday. They still have my six-pack, and they're going to AUCTION IT OFF. Abandoned property, you know.

Any readers who live near Carson City and have a hankering for beer that's been on a slow boat for a month and a warehouse for a year, be my guest.

Stay Lucky

2009-05-12T14:22:00.000-07:00

The best band in the whole world are breaking up. The Lucksmiths call it quits.

I first saw the Lucksmiths in Chris Munford's living room on Roosevelt, back when he was in Incredible Force of Junior, playing with Kissing Book. Just the three of them then, Tali's snare drum and duct tape kit, Mark grazing the ceiling with his head and the head of his bass (I've seen him smack others), and Marty hunched over his big f-hole guitar (Gibson? Gretsch? Guild? Ibanez? I never pay attention to these things). They were different; I'd never really heard an indiepop band until then with a singer who could really sing.

And their songs were so homely and charming and bookish and cozy and comfy but tricky and true. And words! "Outside every thin man is another man who's fat." "When we were arrested we were bare-chested." "I'm not happy but I'm near enough." "That was the winter of my discount tent." "She's a damsel in distress; she feels a damn fool in this dress." Very clever, but more than that: funny and vernacular and aware. Marty's songs were as true as the clear ringing yearn in Tali's sweet voice. With a bit of warble. I like a bit of warble.

At the time they reminded me of another great Australian band The Sugargliders, who had a similar approach, but not as personal, as quotidian, as these Melbourne scruffs.

Is there a more evocative, anticipatory phrase in pop than "take the tennis ball off the towbar"? Seven words. And then "If either one of us could dri-i-i-ive, we could drive away, and the times of our lives could begin today". Indiepop is always striving for wistfulness, but the Lucksmiths make it look easy. And little things like the way he sings "The hedges and the hibiscus" in "Untidy Towns" -- right there on the "hi" of "hibiscus" still make my heart flutter like a little girl.

That first time was 1997; they should have played the Seattle Popfest but we were too stupid. They had records out but they were rare and foreign and acquirable only at gigs. For many years I thought "A Green Bicycle Case" was some sort of confusing, er, case that you'd put a bicycle in for some arcane Australian reason.

Later that year we stumbled across them in a restaurant in Somerville, Mass., where they were playing in front of a roomful of diners who clearly weren't there for the music. Cramped -- the Lucksmiths could always set up in the tiniest of corners -- they charmed further. They are the most charming band ever as well.

Further gigs, every two years, more or less: Graceland (or was it still the Off-Ramp then?); The Baltic Room; Victoria, BC in front of three spectators other than the opening band (the amazing Salteens) -- me, Nancy, and the drunkest man in the world who alternately demanded I buy him a beer (the bartender had cut him off), sloppily hit on the Salteen's girl keyboard player, complaining about how hard it was to be gay in Victoria, and calling me a goddamn faggot; Bellingham; the ~~Crocodile~~ Sunset Tavern a couple of times; the 2003 San Francisco Pop Holiday, another gig at the Rickshaw in San Francisco we stumbled across by chance; Portland; a few odd record store appearances; and a wonderful trip to Melbourne to see the Candle Records Tenth Anniversary show at the Corner Hotel. I've missed a few, I'm pretty sure.

Every single one of them was magic, not just magic but like points in a line an infinite series of magical moments too close together to distinguish from each other.

I haven't even mentioned Mark's inventive and yet oddly sociable bass lines or Marty's guitar playing, surely the least-obtrusive in the world, just enough to prop up the improbable rollercoasters of the melody, or fourth-member Louis's altogether more muscular guitar texture, roaring (but subtlely, if that's a word) like something out of Loveless-era My Bloody Valentine or early Slumberland band Lilys. Or, most amazing of all, the crazy breath control that allows Tali to sing like an angel while playing drums standing up. Pretty good drums, too; I've always felt that the best drummers are the ones with the fewest pieces.

The records are pretty great, too. Naturaliste and Why That Doesn't Surprise Me are the two best albums of this decade to my mind, and I'll take "Midweek Midmorning" from Naturaliste to dance to, or the overlooked b-side "Winter Proper" from Spring A Leak to cry to: "she's going if not gone, and nothing said could stop her; put something warmer on, and await the winter proper" --Tali's voice slicing it off clean like a limb cut off so quickly there's no blood yet.

Next week I'll have a different two faves, maybe "The Music Next Door": "it might have been the music from next door, reminding me I should have loved you more, a song I've heard a hundred times before" -- Tali, better than anyone, better than Morrissey or Ferry or Lennon or Presley, drives another one home. He's relentless, both a butterfly and a sledgehammer at once. His phrasing is unparalleled.

Or "Here we are, silhouetted in the smoke from the shipwrecks at the bar of the Anchor and Hope" and the last time he sings "And I haven't seen you smile in quite a while, and I haven't seen you anywhere in ages", damn, that little rise makes my heart pucker and buckle every time: "Synchronized Sinking".

Or "You keep the curtains closed and you hide behind the newspaper; You got yourself some nicotine in the nick of time. And even though the weekend doesn’t really make much difference, You spent Thursday on your backside whistling “Friday On My Mind”, Super-supine."

Or "And I say it like it’s unrehearsed but I said it in the bathroom first."

Or "What sorry sights we sometimes are; these sameshit nights under stayaway stars -- these sameshit nights in the saddest bars, the city lights and the stayaway stars". Like a good dozen or more of their songs on this one when the chorus swells my heart rises in my chest and my eyes well up with tears; I'm doing it now just looking at the lyric of the song.

"Your loyalties are divided between digital and vinyl, but I’m biding time until the cassingle revival, because you promised when it happens you’ll return." Now I'm waiting for it too.

I know the lads are not deceased, and music will continue to be made. I wish them all the happiness there is. A different poet, E. E. Cummings: "Accept all happiness from me. Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird sing terribly afar in the lost lands." That little bird is singing a Lucksmiths song. God bless.

EDIT: aside from a couple of idiotic errors, I seem to have somehow neglected to mention that all of the song lyrics quoted above are by the incomparable MARTY DONALD, ladies and gentlemen.

A Tepic and Nayarit Bibliography

2009-05-08T11:01:00.001-07:00

Herbert Corey. "Along The Old Spanish Road in Mexico: Life Among the People of Nayarit and Jalisco, Two of the Richest States of the Southern Republic". National Geographic, 43 (3), March, 1923, p. 225-281. With illustrations from photographs by Clifton Adams. Long and insightful article with many great photographs, several of them full-page. A color photograph section includes other parts of Mexico. This is the earliest Nayarit item I've been able to find.

Harry Carr. Old Mother Mexico.With illustrations by Louis H. Ruyl. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company; Cambridge: The Riverside Press, 1931. 270 pp. A Breezy, charming automobile blitz through Mexico with a Hollywood reporter. Chapter XIII is entitled "Old Tepic", of which he says "Of all the towns in Mexico, I like Tepic the best. It is very old. It sits there, sweet and complacent and contented, while the rest of the world tears around in such a hurry that it is like a chicken with its head cut off." Carr likes his cliches. He also tells the one about the peon on his way to market who refuses to sell his entire load for a great price, because then he would have no reason to continue on to market, his greatest pleasure. Is this the first appearance of this trope? There's a lovely illustration of the Tepic plaza, above. Amusingly, a previous borrower of this book from SPL has added every single missing accent mark including over the e in México in the title, on facing pages; there must be five hundred pencil slashes.

Frances Toor. A Treasury of Mexican Folkways: The customs, myths, folklore, traditions, beliefs, fiestas, dances and songs of the Mexican people; illustrated with 10 color plates, 100 drawings by Carlos Merida, and 170 photographs. New York: Crown Publishers, 1947. 566 pp. The classic study of indigenous folkloric traditions, including many references to the Huichol and Cora people of Nayarit.

Dana Lamb and Ginger Lamb. Quest for the Lost City: A true-life adventure.Santa Barbara, California: Santa Barbara Press, 1984 [1951]. 340 pp. Photographs. Enormously popular swashbuckling adventure story of the 1950s, from an intrepid couple who traveled mostly on foot down the west coast of Mexico to Chiapas and Guatemala in search of a "lost city" and gold tablets of the Maya. Their archaeology is suspect, and accusations of fakery have been made, but the portion of the story taking place in San Blas seems pretty straight-forward.

Howard E. Gulick. Nayarit, Mexico: A Traveler's Guidebook to this historic and scenic state of Mexico's West Coast, and its capital, the city of Tepic. Maps—Illustrations—Index. Glendale, California: The Arthur H. Clark Company, 1965. 168 pp. The kind of quirky, individual guidebook that just isn't made anymore. Gulick covers just about every inch of drivable ground in the state, with meticulous mile markers. Mexico was opening up to automobile tourism, by Americans traveling down to Mexico City or one of the beach resorts, and Tepic was a handy overnighting spot by then, with a good highway through to Guadalajara. But he also gets up into the remoter towns. A substantial state history and overview of the flora and fauna is included. Tipped in at the back is a gorgeous hand-drawn map. I wish there was a 2009 edition of this!

Kojin Toneyama. The Popular Arts of Mexico. With a foreword and notes on modern Mexican folk crafts by Carlos Espejel, Director, Museo Nacional de Artes e Industrias Populares, Mexico City. New York & Tokyo: Weatherhill/Heibonsha, 1974. Japanese text translated by Richard L. Gage. Significant section of Nayarit crafts, including the well-known yarn paintings, with many bright oversaturated photographs, including photos of the Nayarit countryside. An attractive book. The focus is on current (i.e., 1970s) market-stall crafts, in a combination of styles, not particularly "authentic" in terms of pre-Columbian traditions but often-overlooked modern interpretations of indigenous life and art.

John M. Ball. A Return to Tepic, Nayarit, Mexico: A personal geography. Atlanta: Inman Park Publications, 1991. 42 pp. Monograph No. 1. The author, a geography professor, describes his parents' retirement in Tepic, in 1957, and his subsequent visits there in the 60s and 80s, with photographs.

Richard F. Townsend, ed. Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past. With essays by Patricia Rieff Anawalt, Christopher S. Beekman, Barbara Braun, Kristi Butterwick, Maria Teresa Cabrero, Jane Stevenson Day, Peter T. Furst, Mark Miller Graham, Lorenza López Mesta Camberos, Joseph B. Mountjoy, Robert B. Pickering, Jorge Ramos de la Vega, Otto Schöndube, Richard F. Townsend, Francisco Valdez, Phil C. Weigand, and Christopher L. Whitmore. New York: Thames and Hudson, 1998. For the Art Institute of Chicago. 308 pp. Profusely illustrated with drawings, maps, paintings, and color photographs. This is the big Kahuna, the standard survey of Western Mexican art and archaeology. You will find no more comprehensive look at what is known about the shaft-tomb people and their artifacts. The area covered includes Nayarit, Jalisco, and Colima. This is a beautiful (and expensive) book.

Estado de Nayarit, México: Guía Turística. Aguascalientes, Aguascalientes: Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática, 2001. 204 pp. Three tipped-in folding maps; one large separate folding map. Government-produced tourist guide to the entire state. Many color photographs. Nothing like this exists in English, alas. It's as complete a guide as you could ask for.

Mauro Lugo Izaguirre. El Museo Regional de Nayarit. Tepic, Nayarit: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 2001. 130 pp. In Spanish. Useful guide to the museum, which is located in downtown Tepic in an eighteenth-century house, which was used as a school until the museum opened in 1971. The book briefly covers the history of the region, with special attention to the archaeological discoveries of the West Mexican tomb-shaft peoples. Several photographs of important artifacts and displays are included.

Bruce Whipperman. Moon Handbooks: Puerto Vallarta, Including Guadalajara and Lake Chalapa. Sixth Edition. Emeryville, California: Avalon Travel Publishing, 2005. Devotes eleven pages to Tepic, which is generous by modern English-language guidebook standards, and includes a good map of downtown. Whipperman is "not an adventurous eater", and seems to list mostly pizza restaurants no matter where he goes, but he's good on the culture, and driving instructions and so forth. There is also coverage of San Sebastian, with a map, which is rare.

Nayarit: Planos de las Cds. de Tepic, Acaponeta, Ahuacatlán, Compostela, Ixtlán del Río, Tecuala, Santiago Ixcuintla, Tuxpan y Mapa General del Estado. México: Ediciones Independencia, [2007?]. Standard folding highway map of the state and major towns. Some inaccuracies have been found, but it's the best available.

Michael D. Coe and Rex Koontz. Mexico: From the Olmecs to the Aztecs. Sixth edition, revised and expanded. With 181 illustrations, 20 in color. New York: Thames and Hudson, 2008 [1962, 1977, 1984, 1994, 2002]. Excellent survey of pre-Columbian cultures, including few pages on, and some good photographs of, the Western Mexico shaft-tomb art.

Stains

2009-02-01T12:19:00.001-08:00

Ban School Football

2009-01-28T10:10:00.000-08:00

An examination of the brain of an 18-year-old high school football player who collapsed and died showed degenerative brain disease, chronic traumatic encephalopathy. The boy had suffered numerous concussions playing football.

Recent evidence suggests that most NFL players suffer brain damage during their careers. A Boston University study of six brains from players who died between ages 36 and 50 showed that five of them had it. NFL players, particularly linemen, tend to die young, both from brain damage and heart disease brought on by their 300-pound-plus bodies.

A sixth player, Tom McHale, formerly of the Bucs, Eagles, and Dolphins, and who died of a drug overdose last year at 45, also has been diagnosed with CTE.

It's an epidemic. Players even in high school are much, much bigger, faster, and meaner than they have ever been. High school football is destroying young mens' brains. Why is this permitted? Not only permitted but encouraged and lavished with spending?

Whither Sarah Palin?

2008-11-13T15:16:00.000-08:00

Most Democrats are pretty eager to see the celebutard pageant queen with the avant-garde language skills, Sarah Palin, lead the Republican Party off a cliff, but history suggests she won't be in the spotlight much longer, and will not be leading anybody anywhere.

Do you know who the dyspeptic-looking gent above is? That's William L. Dayton, who ran as John Fremont's vice-presidential candidate on the very first Republican ticket in 1856. They lost, to Democrats James Buchanan and John C. Breckenridge. After the election, Dayton, a former senator from New Jersey, held some important jobs, including New Jersey Attorney General and U.S. Minister to France under Abraham Lincoln, but he never attracted so much as a whiff of support for the nomination as president or even vice-president again.

This is pretty typical. Losing veep candidates do not go on to the presidency. Losing presidential candidates can, like Dick Nixon did, but even that's pretty rare. Veeps? Never. Well, there was one, but it took him 12 years to get back on the ticket.

Don't believe me? Here's some more:

Joseph Lane, George Hunt Pendleton, Francis Preston Blair, Jr., B. Gratz Brown, Thomas Andrews, William Hayden English, John Alexander Logan, Allen Granberry Thurman, James Gaven Field, Arthur Sewall, Adlai Ewing Stevenson (grandfather of the later presidential candidate, and himself a former vice president, which isn't the same thing), Henry Gassaway Davis, John Worth Kern, Hiram Johnson and Nicholas Murray Butler, Charles W. Fairbanks, Franklin Delano Roosevelt (our sole exception; lost in 1920, ran again and won, on the top of the ticket this time, in 1932), Charles W. Bryan, Joseph Taylor Robinson, Charles Curtis, Frank Knox, Charles L. McNary, John W. Bricker, Earl Warren (later Supreme Court justice, but don't tell Sarah that!), John Sparkman, Estes Kefauver, Henry Cabot Lodge, William E. Miller, Ed Muskie, Sargent Shriver, Bob Dole (who did later run for president, but was very instructively beaten), Walter Mondale (ditto, and another former veep), Geraldine Ferraro, Lloyd Bentsen, Dan Quayle, Jack Kemp, Joe Lieberman, and John Edwards.

And now Ms. Palin.

I wouldn't get your hopes up.

Besides, if she doesn't shut up soon, I think some of her fellow Republican governors are going to take her out to the pool and drown her.

Today Let's Change The World

2008-11-04T12:49:00.001-08:00

Originally uploaded by Fnarf

The Credit Crisis and the Bailout

2008-09-30T11:56:00.000-07:00

I wrote this originally in an email to my cousin, who lives in Mexico, and doesn't understand "the bailout" issue very well. I don't understand it all that well either, but this is my take on what's happening, in what I hope is simple and straightforward language. Corrections welcome if I've mangled any economic truths here.

Here's the problem: modern economies run on credit. If the baker down the street wants to buy a new mixer so she can make more cookies, she goes to the bank and gets a loan. This is how ALL economic expansion works. Ultimately it goes back to the Federal Reserve, which loans to big banks, who loan to small banks, who loan to people to do stuff. You do the same thing when you take out a mortgage.

The loans are secured by the promise of value. If the bank thinks your house is worth the money, then your mortgage is safe and they'll loan it to you. Ditto the baker's mixer. The loan money is used by the person borrowing it to create some kind of value, and that value is partly used to pay the loan back. There's WAY more money outstanding in loans than anyone can pay back, because you're not expected to pay it all back NOW; you have years to pay it. During those years, you have to grow, or you won't be able to pay it back.

If the baker goes to the bank and the bank says "sorry, we can't loan you anything right now", the baker is screwed. They might say that because they think her business model is bad -- "these cookies taste like crap!", but they also might say that because THEY don't have any money.

This is all highly regulated. The amount banks can lend is tightly controlled, based on how much THEY have borrowed, which depends ultimately on how much the Fed wants to pump in. You might think the Fed could just pump in as much money as they wanted, and everybody'd have all the loans they want, but if those loans exceed the growth rate of the economy, you get inflation -- what they call "printing money". Your money is worth less, because there isn't anymore VALUE going around, just more dollars.

But there's another consequence of loaning too much: if they loan to people who can't pay, they don't get their money back. Remember that they've loaned way more than they actually have, and the banks have to pay their loans back too. Bad loans mean they can't pay, and banks fail. That's what's happening now; there isn't enough value in the country -- all the goods and services and so forth that we make -- to pay the loans. Banks are going tits up.

The problem that leads to is a "crisis in liquidity", which simply means there isn't any money available for new loans; it's all gone out to these bad loans, and the banks don't have enough money to pay their own bills, let alone loan out more. So nobody can get a loan for anything right now, not even good stuff like expanding a really successful business.

A liquidity crisis is bad in many, many ways. As I said, EVERYTHING in this economy depends on loans. Ultimately, that's where economic expansion comes from. Not just bakers buying mixers, but college students getting student loans -- virtually ALL college students today need loans. No loan, no college. That hurts the students, and it also hurts the colleges, which can't pay their bills.

Another example: durable goods. Not too many people go in and buy a car with cash; they get a loan. No loan = no car, which is bad for the car buyer but REALLY bad for the car maker, the dealer, the auto worker, the brake repairman, everybody. If you can't get mortgages, real estate agents and construction workers and carpet salesmen and furniture makers suffer. There are many examples.

So what happens is -- and this has happened MANY MANY TIMES in lots of economies around the world -- you have economic contraction instead of expansion, massive unemployment, government tax revenues fall, all these bad things. Everybody suffers.

So one possible way to forestall this is to bail out the banks.

That's what Congress is trying to do now. The problem is, bailing out the banks -- buying their bad loans so they can lend to good people again, paying off their debts, paying their depositors, etc. etc. -- means giving an absolute TON of money -- they're saying $700 billion but nobody really has any idea, it could be several times that -- to the very same people who got rich off all these bad loans in the first place.

To a lot of people, it looks like rewarding bad behavior. When the guy down the street can't pay his bills, they take his house; when the rich asshole on Wall Street can't pay his bills, he wants Congress to give him billions. That looks like a bad idea to a lot of people.

Unfortunately, there isn't any other choice. You NEED these banks to stay alive to keep the economy going. Without a bailout of some kind, we WILL have a major, major recession, contraction, maybe even a full-blown depression like we haven't seen in almost 80 years. It's by FAR the worst situation we've had in all that time. You just have to look at what happened in Japan during the "lost decade" to see how bad it can be -- we could easily be talking about massive, massive unemployment for ten years or more.

That hurts the entire world. Imagine what happens to Mexico's economy if (a) they are suddenly unable to sell anything to broke Americans; (b) stop having any tourists and (c) have all the migrants stop going to America because there's nothing there for them. In a fragile country like Mexico, a major depression in the US is going to cause a TON of poverty like you've never seen before, African poverty. But even strong economies like the UK, Canada, Germany, etc. will suffer.

Global depression is a bad thing. The people blocking the bailout now are doing so from an understandable position -- why should we bail out these rich assholes who have destroyed themselves -- but the consequences of not bailing them out will be EXTREMELY DIRE.

This is in fact what government is FOR -- floating us through a bad economic time. We used to have these episodes ALL THE TIME in the nineteenth century, but they were short; the Great Depression in the 1930s, though, was long, and something needed to be done, and FDR did it. In addition, all sorts of regulations were put in place to prevent this sort of thing from happening again. Unfortunately, the Republicans (with plenty of help from Democrats as well) have systematically gutted those regulations, so that we are in many ways right back where we were in 1929.

The thing is, these regulations DO hurt the economy a little. But they are NECESSARY; we give up a tiny bit of free expansion, but gain security, because the regulations prevent the economy from overheating and these markets from getting out of control. We can fix things when they break, or could; now we can't, and that's why we're in this fix.

What they SHOULD be doing is talking about rationalizing the deficit by raising taxes on the rich and putting some of the banking regulations like the Glass-Steagall provisions that were gutted in '98 back in place. But Congress is too stupid and pigheaded to do that. So the best we can hope for is this crummy bailout.

Yes, it's crummy, but it's necessary. That's what it boils down to. For once Bush is probably right. Ironically, now the House Republicans are against him. But they don't have any solutions of their own, just "NO!" They're like two year olds, really. Always have been, these damn Republicans.

Right now, it's a game of chicken. We need a bailout, but no one really knows how bad it's going to get without one, and everybody's just sort of waiting for one side to blink. I go back and forth; I think we can do a lot better deal than this one, but we have to do SOMETHING. Unlike the Republicans, I'm not willing to throw away the country for ten years just to spite these Wall Street jerks. Too many people are going to suffer.

ADDENDUM: I go back and forth on this one. I could be happy with this defeat if there was some indication that a better deal was coming. I absolutely do not agree that we can just let these banks fail; the people who would suffer most are not white-shoe Wall Street guys but everyone else, the ordinary people with their investments for retirement. And even more importantly, the forward motion of the economy.

A dead economy is going to have dire effects on lots of other things. Any chance at a rational energy policy, or workable health care, dies too.

But this bill? It stank. But we need something.

Nicky Samuel

2008-09-06T13:05:00.000-07:00

For my birthday I would like some boobies, please:

I hope to get away with this because the woman in the picture, Nicky Samuel, is surely in her sixties now.

Nicky Samuel was the wife of Nigel Waymouth, who owned Granny Takes A Trip, probably the grooviest boutique on the King's Road. She was Ossie Clark's best customer, and modeled his clothes. The above picture, taken after Ossie's show at her house at 28 Mallord Street in Chelsea (built for the painter Augustus John, and used as his studio), gives a sense of her irrepressible high spirits. The early seventies were sexy, and Nicky was glowing with it this night.

I can't find any information about her. I know she modeled, and this amazing picture of her in another incredible Celia Birtwell print (shot by Norman Parkinson), appeared in the December 1972 Vogue (British edition):
Just lovely.

Both these pics were taken from Judith Watt, Ossie Clark 1965–74, London: V&A Publications, 2003.

The King of The King's Road

2008-08-28T10:23:00.001-07:00

Judith Watt. Ossie Clark 1965–74. London: V&A Publications, 2003.

Produced in conjunction with a retrospective exhibition of Ossie Clark’s life and clothes at the Victoria and Albert Museum, which ran from 15 July 2003 to 2 May 2004. The book was designed by Vaughan Oliver at V23 (of 4AD Records renown).

Ossie Clark was an exotic bird. Unjustly forgotten in the roll call of Swinging Sixties fashion designers, he was one of the most significant figures moving the sixties forward into the seventies. Hugely popular with the society set and the rock’n’roll aristocracy in the years leading up to punk, he dressed people like Bianca Jagger, Marianne Faithfull, Jerry Hall, and Gala Mitchell (who appears on the back of Lou Reed’s Transformer), and consorted with the likes of Bryan Ferry, David Hockney, and Anthony Price. Perhaps most notably he designed Mick Jagger's ridiculous white catsuit that he wore during the infamous 1972 US tour.

While Clark's full flowering came in the early 70s, he was a key figure in the mid-sixties as well. Even earlier, as seen here in 1961, as a student in the early part of the decade, at the Royal College of Art in Manchester, he was foreshadowing the decade that hadn't really started yet; his hair is pre-Beatles but her skirt is pure Mary Quant (years before Mary Quant):

By the mid-sixties Ossie was a superstar, in Alice Pollock's King's Road shop Quorum, and in Vogue, as with this magnificent quilted coat (on Chrissie Shrimpton); as usual, Ossie was quite the visual sensation himself, almost as bold to look at as his clothes:

But his real genius was not in Swinging London but later, in the Baroque sixties, and well into the Glam Rock seventies, when he started producing his classic flowing bias cuts using the prints made by his wife, Celia Birtwell. Her botanic prints were breathtaking and possibly an even greater achievement than the perfectly-cut garments themselves. Just look at this blouse, from 1969:

Ossie Clark's story doesn't end well, like a lot of sixties stories; drug abuse, divorce, bankruptcy, exile, and a sad end in 1996, when he was murdered by his male lover. But for this amazing decade, he made some of the prettiest clothes anyone has ever seen. This book is a beautiful tribute.

Next up: a brief look at one of Ossie's friends and favorite models, Nicky Samuel.

The Human Race Must Be Exterminated

2008-08-26T21:17:00.001-07:00

Here’s the incontrovertible proof.

Wordle

2008-06-16T16:58:00.000-07:00

Here's what the front page of this blog looks like when run through Wordle.

What eggs are chickens!!

2008-06-09T12:57:00.001-07:00

What eggs are chickens!!
Originally uploaded by Tim Kiser

One of my favorite Flickrites is the wry Mr. Kiser, who travels around Middle America unearthing treasures, like this pair of billboards. I could make any number of jokes here, but none of them would approach the wonderfulness of these signs, so I'll just let you enjoy them.

Take an hour and flip through the rest of Tim's stream, too. It's very charming. His grammar is a little shaky at times, but his eye is keen and his perceptions faultless.

All Dressed Up

2008-06-04T11:35:00.000-07:00

Jonathon Green. All Dressed Up: The Sixties and the Counterculture.. London: Pimlico, 1999 [1998].

The book was retracted immediately publication when the author was sued (successfully) by George Harrison of The Beatles and Caroline Coon of the charitable group Rescue for stating that the latter had solicited donations from the former with sex. Apparently that's not true. I don't care either way; but I agree with the author when he says in a new introduction to the paperback edition: "too many individuals, famous for fifteen minutes when that cliché was still fresh, have become modern-day Miss Haveshams, clinging forever to their once relevant past." A bit petulant, perhaps (and George had a bit more than fifteen minutes), but true of sixties partisans nonetheless, hanging onto the past.

Ah, but what a past it was. This is an English book, so it's an English, and particularly a London, perspective (with a dash of May 1968 in Paris). Many of the central Sixties ideas and expressions came originally from America, but the English Sixties was quite different than the American one. Their pop music was very different, of course, and they had "Swinging London", and they didn't have the JFK-RFK-MLK assassinations and Kent State and Chicago 1968, except second-hand.

To an American, the English story isn't as well-known; we know about the Beatles, and the Mods and Rockers, but who in the US has ever seen a copy of IT, or has ever heard of the Angry Brigade or Michael (not Malcolm) X?

This book is a comprehensive overview of the English threads that make up that thing called "The Sixties" -- not the actual Sixties, but the Sixties of the mind. I'm still waiting for the book that tells the whole story, wherein the top-selling pop singers are Dean Martin and Englebert Humperdinck, not the Beatles and the Stones; wherein new car models like the Mini and the Ford Falcon matter more than the avant-garde galleries; and wherein the creation of a new mass market of JC Penney clothes and color TV and explicit sex in popular books and movies matter more than what which radical leftist said to which other radical leftist in some dingy commune. This isn't that book.

But "The Sixties" was a real thing, and as Green points out, it still reverberates today -- in 2008 as much as a decade earlier when this book was written. It's not just the familiar names, like Margaret Thatcher (a bluenose art censor from Finchley, among other things), Mary Whitehouse (Christianist loon morals advocate), and Richard Branson (alternative-press hanger-on); it's the whole zeitgeist of the times. It still gets people riled up, as former 60s people are firmly in charge of major institutions on both sides of the Atlantic (and both sides of the intellectual divide). The 60s still matter, and it's this version of the decade that Green covers so well.

He starts by covering the antecedents: starting with the Teddy Boys, who were sort of the Edwardian English version of American bikers without the motorcycles, and the Beats, who were wholly American but had a major impact in England and Scotland. That impact is spelled out here, from Jim Haynes's Edinburgh poetry bookshop to the famous poetry reading at Albert Hall in 1964, which was sort of a coming-out party for all the freaks in London (who quickly made whatever fragments were left of the Beats obsolete). His chapter on the Mods is very good; he's very finely tuned into fashion ideas, and grasps the "three waves" of Mod, with only the last, greatly watered down, being the sort of Mods who made the papers.

This is as good as source as you're likely to find for the main political threads of the decade, beginning with the CND marches in the 1950s, which accomplished little but were a model for all of the street action that followed, including the events in Paris in 1968. He charts the rise of the rather plodding New Left, and its split into various flavors of Revolutionary Socialism on the one hand, and boring, accomodationist left-Labour on the other -- which nonetheless accomplished a great deal of good, through the efforts of Roy Jenkins and Lord Annan in breaking down some of the bleak old morality code. And he also shows how the alternative-society freaks paid little attention to either side, preferring instead to make their own mistakes in the realm of dope, rock and roll, and fucking in the streets.

The art world played a major role in creating the atmosphere of newness and fresh creation, primarily filtered through the galleries of Robert Fraser and Barry Miles. Miles's Indica gallery was as much a part of the London scene as the Scotch of St. James or the UFO Club, and artists like Peter Blake set the visual tone much as did Mary Quant in fashion.

The spread of pot and LSD, the famous censorship trial of Lady Chatterley's Lover, gay rights, women's rights, the growth of the alternative press, and the burgeoning rock scene, so different than the old-school sharkskin-suited promoters like Larry Parnes, with wild-eyed hippies putting on light shows and free (or not so free) festivals on a Woodstock-like scale; it's all in here.

Green covers an astonishing amount of detail here, with dozens of obscure names and movements filling in around the obvious ones. He doesn't shy away from ridiculousness; perhaps the emblematic episode of the 60s in Britain was the utter chaos of Apple, where the biggest pop group of all threw away millions of pounds in spectacularly insane fashion rather than give them to the taxman. The Beatles are of course at the center of many of the stories here, but the more interesting ones are on the periphery, in the offices of IT and the rotting hulks of pirate radio.

Green is good at showing how the impact of the actions of a relatively few innovators (or blowhards) on the wider society. The horror that Carnaby Street almost immediately became (so reminiscent of the Haight-Ashbury, though in very different ways) sprang from the genuine creativity of early tailoring stars:

[...] home of such traditional 'gents outfitters' as Aquascutum and Austin Reed, it was a block down from Newburgh Street where ex-photographer Bill Green, trading as 'Vince', had a decade earlier set up London's first ever outlet for chic young men. His original patrons were the gay musclemen, airing their pecs round the corner at the Marshall Street Baths, but Vince soon found itself selling to a wider market--not the teens (they couldn't afford its prices)--but Peter Sellers, Lionel Bart, John Gielgud and similar showbiz celebs. It was the start of something big. Green's star faded by the late Fifties (he moved into catering) but a replacement did all he had and more. John Stephen, a refugee Glaswegian who learned his trade in the military department of Moss Bros., set up his first business in 1957, working in Beak Street under the name of 'His Clothes'. When His Clothes was accidentally burnt down he shrugged, and moved round the corner to Carnaby Street. And where the older generation still went to Vince, Stephen attracted a new breed: Cliff Richard, Tommy Steele: the pop stars. He undercut Vince, putting immediacy and excitement in the place of traditional tailoring standards. Attuned to the ephemerality of 'youth culture' he drew in the young, including--at first--the Mod exquisites. As Nik Cohn explained 'There were ... ploys, lots of gimmicks and publicity stunts. But this was all embellishment. Underneath the central equation was that every time you walked past a John Stephen window, there was something new and loud in it, and when you counted your money you found you could afford it.' By the end of 1961 Stephen had four shops of his own and his imitators--Donis, Domino Male--had opened in Carnaby Street. They had a new name: the boutique. Originally it had meant a store within a store, dealing the latest fashions. It was a bit Frenchified, a bit camp, but no one objected to this little tribute to Carnaby Street's gay origins.

Carnaby Street truly took off in 1963, the year of Beatlemania, a brief interregnum in which the Establishment believed that it could grab 'youth' and consign its eccentricities to the dump-bins of commercial exploitation. Two years later it was dead, a tacky carnival Midway full of Union Jacks and hucksters, inflated rates fattening the local council coffers, tourists blocking its passage as they searched for the real-life version of what they'd read in Time.

Of course, the Establishment COULD grab youth and consign its eccentricities, etc., and just a couple of years later I was having my mother buy me tragic versions of these fashions, filtered through The Monkees' TV show, at JC Penney and Frederick & Nelson in Bellevue Square. But that's another story. This story is wonderfully told, though, in this book, whatever frigging George Harrison thought. It expands wonderfully upon the brilliant essay that opens Revolution in the Head by Ian MacDonald, and makes a nice sixties companion to Groovy Bob: The Life and Times of Robert Fraser by Harriet Vyner, Quant by Quant by Mary Quant, and the more mainstream period history Run It Down The Flagpole by Bernard Levin (or his later The Pendulum Years), to name a representative sample. I liked it at least as much as I did Shawn Levy's poppier, less political Ready, Steady, Go!. But good luck finding it; I had to get mine through Interlibrary Loan.

The Birth of The New

2008-06-04T08:11:00.000-07:00

Doug Englebart using the chord keyboard

On December 9, 1968, a researcher at the Stanford Research Institute named Doug Englebart gave a presentation at the Fall Joint Computer Conference that introduced many of the computing concepts that we now take for granted, fifteen years before anyone in the general public ever heard of them. Englebart and his remote colleagues Don Andrews and Jeff Rulifson in Menlo Park (home of SRI, 30 miles south of San Francisco, where the demo was held) showed the first computer mouse to the public there, the first rasterized (drawing-capable) video monitor, the first live teleconferencing, the first inter-user messaging system (forerunner of email), the first use of hypertext (forerunner of the web) and even a rudimentary form of what became the internet.

Doug Englebart speaking

This demonstration was later called "the mother of all demos" by author Steven Levy, a phrase which has become rather oddly famous, because while it's more or less true, it's also kind of dumb. But nevertheless.

Console with chord device, keyboard, and mouse

Remember, this was before history. The personal computer had been developed; no PC, no Mac. No one on earth had a computer in his or her home; if you wanted to do computing, you went to a computer center at your university or business and sat at a console which probably didn't even have a text-only monitor; your only display was a TTY, a printer with a roll of pin-feed paper. No graphics of any kind, except for early forms of ASCII art (pictures made from typed letters). No windows, no icons, no menus, no nothing except a command line waiting for your typed, punch tape, or punch card input.

I used one of these computers, with punch tape and a TTY, in high school in 1973; I don't remember what model it was, but it was a mainframe belonging to the Dallas School District, and we connected to it via an antique modem at probably 50 baud. We used cartons and cartons of pin-feed paper, writing our stupid little BASIC programs (I remember helping write a not-very-successful bowling game) and printing out our terrible ASCII art. I remember getting yelled at (not too forcefully) for using too much expensive connect time. Of course, there was nothing like an internet nodes anywhere near us then. That was five years AFTER Englebart's demo of technology that was to become so important decades later, but totally unimaginable to us hobbyist fiddlers.

Don Andrews demonstrating the potentiometer mouse; note the cord traveling the wrong way, under the hand

Englebart changed everything on this day. While his vision for computing was ultimately unsuccessful -- he didn't accept the emergence of the PC in the 1970s, for instance -- his ideas were unusually revolutionary and ahead of their time even in an industry marked by rapid advances. The mouse didn't really catch on until the Apple Macintosh in 1984, for instance. The internet, then called ARPANET, didn't come online until 1969, and wasn't opened to the public outside of universities and research companies until the late 1980s. But it was all here at this demo, at least in part.

Programmer Jeff Rulifson

I knew most of this from reading books. What I didn't know is that video exists of this historic event. You can watch it here (streaming Real Audio with good descriptive text) or here (Flash). Finding this video is rather mind-blowing; to me it's like finding video of the apple falling on Newton's head. This is the birth of a new world, even if no one but a thousand geeks knew about it for another decade. It's probably the most boring video in the world to most people, but if you're interested in seeing where all this internet stuff came from, this is the source. At least watch the first mouse segment here if you can.

This post is illustrated with some screenshots I grabbed. This is real nerd action the way it should be!

My New Favorite Car: Panhard Dyna Z

2008-06-03T11:13:00.000-07:00

Panhard Dyna Z by David Bally

These were made from 1954 to 1959 in France. Aluminum body! Suicide doors! Front wheel drive. 50 HP from 851cc. More techno-gibberish here at Wikipedia and Citroënnët; really, I just care about the gorgeous streamlined shape of the thing. French cars are so beautiful.

Here's another shot of Dave Bally's friends' car, which he graciously allowed me to share:

Panhard Dyna Z by David Bally

Jerks

2008-05-24T16:51:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't been a very good blogger lately. I'm sorry. I'll have some stuff soon.

Today I was emptying the food waste into the yard waste bin and I noticed that one of the young families that frequently park in the neighborhood to go to the zoo had left us a little present in Nancy's beautiful garden:

Two dirty diapers.

Thanks a lot, assholes.

Taking Away Their Toys

2008-05-08T10:06:00.000-07:00

I'll just pretend to post this here for the benefit of my readers (uh-huh) who don't read Slog, and not because I'm blowing my own horn again.

You may have heard about the recent NPR broadcast about the little boy who wants to play with dolls and wear pink, whose parents, on the advice of his psychiatrist, have taken a harsh approach to making him behave like a proper little boy and stop with this horrible fag nonsense. It's a heartbreaking story. Dan Savage Slogged it, and as usual I had to comment. My comment was adjudged to be good enough to get another Slog front page. Of course, I'm chuffed, but I also think it bears repeating. I'm proud of what I wrote:

Look, people. The boy isn’t asking to go in and have his willie chopped off. He wants to play with dolls. He wants to identify as a girl for a while. That doesn’t mean that he going to be transgendered when he grows up. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. Why don’t you deal with that when it comes up—or maybe let HIM deal with it? Then?

Nobody has to make a final, permanent, irrevocable decision when they’re six.

In the meantime, though, torturing him by taking away his toys and, most importantly, implanting in his mind the idea that WHO HE IS IS WRONG, is a really, really bad idea.

Nobody cares if you’re squicked out by gender reassignment surgery. Nobody cares. This isn’t ABOUT gender reassignment surgery. It’s about a little boy who is being turned against himself.

And, really, even if you think the surgery is “as bad as plastic surgery”, the correct response is—as always—”then don’t have it.” Adults who think it’s right for them have the right to have it EVEN IF THEY’RE WRONG. Even if they’re “making a terrible mistake.” It’s none of your damn business. And, you know, there is a large number of people for whom it absolutely WAS the right decision, and if they squick you out, it’s your damn loss, not theirs. I don’t have a problem with it, and I embrace my transgendered friends every bit as much as my gay and straight ones.

But that’s nothing to do with this tragic little boy. Maybe it will be someday. You don’t know, I don’t know, Dr. Mengele there doesn’t know, HE doesn’t know. He’s a little kid. Let him play with his toys.

I didn't say it there, but I'll say it here: if bullies beat up your kid, and you side with the bullies, I don't understand you at all.

Photo of pink child's coffins (by Maurycy Gomulicki) swiped from Pingmag.

They're On To Me

2008-05-05T23:47:00.000-07:00

How do they know? It hasn't even happened yet. Way to rub it in, guys. Jeez.

No, I'm not going to send it in!

To top it off, Julio Franco, who was long the only major-league baseball player older than me, retired from professional baseball the other day. He was playing for the Quintana Roo Tigers in the Mexican league, which doesn't count; but last year, in September, he was with the Atlanta Braves, which does. You're not old as long as at least one guy older than you is still playing. Franco was that player for four blessed years, ever since Jesse Orosco hung 'em up in 2003. Thanks, Julio!

Bullshit!

2008-04-18T18:54:00.001-07:00

Yes, it's sticking. Yes, we (and a hundred other families) have a giant yard sale tomorrow covering hundreds of blocks.

Snow on April 17th is BULLSHIT!

Boston ball grounds - 1912 (panorama #3), 9/28/12 (LOC)

2008-04-18T13:14:00.001-07:00

Boston ball grounds - 1912 (panorama #3), 9/28/12 (LOC)
Originally uploaded by The Library of Congress

This is part of a panoramic series of pictures of brand-new Fenway Park in Boston in 1912. It's from a glass-plate negative taken by an unidentified photographer for the Bain News Service -- possibly George Grantham Bain himself, I wouldn't know. The Library of Congress has it up on their Flickr page.

This particular view shows the left field bleachers, the little jog next to them, and the famous Green Monster, the biggest wall in baseball, in the days before it was green; it's covered with advertisements.

The bizarre thing about this is the six or seven rows of seats in front of the wall. These must have been insanely dangerous, being closer than 300 feet to the plate (the wall is 304 feet, whatever lie the Red Sox are telling these days), and well within right-handed line drive range.

I'm guessing that's why these seats were removed. I've never seen or heard of them before. Left field at Fenway in front of the wall is famous not for seats but for "Duffy's Cliff", a slope of grass running up to the wall, an unprecedented (and never repeated) ballpark feature that confused and tumbled opposing fielders until 1934 when it was leveled. Duffy Lewis, the master of climbing this mountain, was the left side of Boston's incredible outfield of the teens.

There's a shot of his centerfielder Tris Speaker right after this in the series; Speaker is seriously on the short list of possibly greatest players ever -- a hitter comparable to Ty Cobb, and arguably the greatest defensive centerfielder ever (though I'll argue for Gary Pettis, a player I've actually seen).

There's no better place to watch a baseball game than Fenway Park. I know Safeco Field and all the modern parks have the brick and retro gewgaws that make numbskull traditionalists swoon, plus all the modern amenities like adequate toilets and edible food (or so they claim), but there's nothing like sitting in a hundred-year-old park and seeing the mound that Babe Ruth pitched off of and the grass Speaker and Ted Williams patrolled.

Unlike modern stadiums, the "rake" or angle of the stands is sharp, which raises the fans up but keeps them close. The views at Fenway are incomparable; you simply cannot get that close in a modern ballpark. For comparison, the closest row of seats in New Comiskey ballpark in Chicago is further away from the action than the furthest row at Old Comiskey, built in the same era as Fenway here.

On the downside, all the seats in the right field stands face not towards the plate but towards the field, resulting in about 10,000 cricks in 10,000 necks on a typical day, but hey, you can't have everything. The atmosphere is worth it.

Muscat Grapes Are Here!

2008-04-09T13:34:00.001-07:00

My favorite table grapes are finally in stores. Yeah, yeah, they grow them in Chile or someplace and fly them here, but I don't care. They're sweeter and richer than regular grapes, with a honey-flower-citrus ping that I can't get enough of.

These are the same grapes they make Moscatel from, along with loads of other varieties, usually sweet. Asti sparkling wines from Italy are made from muscat grapes. I like 'em right off the stem. Check your supermarket.

A Fenny For Your Thoughts

2008-04-01T18:20:00.000-07:00

I like booze. It's no secret. Love the stuff, and I've tried everything. When I go places I try to find exotic liquors, like the bottle of Suze (a gentian-and-vanilla flavored aperitif) I brought home from Paris, or the Xtabentun (Mayan honey-and-anise liquor) I enjoyed in Mexico.

Today I discovered a new one, from Goa in India. It's called Fenny, or Feni, and it's distilled from the cashew apple.

The cashew apple, as I also discovered today on Slog, is a false fruit that grows behind the true fruit (which bears the seed, or cashew nut as it's called) of the cashew tree.

I've never seen or heard of it before, and I'm quite certain it's never been sold in this God-forsaken state with its repressive licensing laws and state liquor stores. I don't understand why the State of Washington is in the retail business, selling me booze, and telling me what kinds I'm allowed to have and what days I can buy it on; or why the only place within a mile of where I'm sitting that can sell me ANYTHING stronger than beer or wine closes in FIVE MINUTES. Hmm, perhaps that's a rant for another day.

While poking around the web, though, looking for an online seller (whose deliveries would be illegal but unlikely to be traced or stopped) I did discover this Indian exporter, who praises his "Fantasy" brand Fenny with the words "it has been designed to manulise your string of ecstasy" and "you will find it hard to resist howling in to one now and then." Which is exactly what I like to hear.

"Howling into one" doesn't make any sense, but it's the best description of what happens to me and a bottle of 40-proof I've ever heard.

Tickets to Goa are out of my price range. If this was a perfect world, someone would tell me in the comments where I can order this stuff online. I won't hold my breath.

Doing My Part For Global Warming

2008-03-23T16:45:00.001-07:00

This afternoon I headed out to the store to get tonight's dinner, and while I was out I decided to sneak into Epilogue Books in Ballard on the way. So I pulled over, put 'er in Park, and hopped out. Epilogue Books was closed. Everything is closed; it's Easter Sunday.

On the way back to the car, cursing Christianity, I reached for my keys. Not there. When I got to the car, I saw them dangling from the ignition. I bent down; yes, the engine was still running. That's a photograph of them up there.

My spare key is in my wallet. I patted my ass; no wallet. No cell phone. The only thing in any of my pockets was a single dirty sock, red.

I know you think that the life of Fnarf must be one of unceasing glamor and fascination, but the reality is this: standing on the corner in the pouring rain, locked out of my running car, penniless and brainless; nothing but the suddenly inadequate jacket on my back.

No coathangers happened to be lying around, but I did spy a chunk of brick in the entry of a nearby building. I could break out my own window! But if someone saw me, how would I prove the car was mine without identification? How would I avoid an expensive ticket for driving without a license?

I walked home. It took me about half an hour, up and over the hill. When I got home, I had a brief meltdown when I couldn't find my wallet there either; could I have locked it in the car? My mental fog was so thick I couldn't rule it out. But no, there it was; but of course no key was inside. Do I even have a spare key? How would I know, I don't have enough brainpower to turn my goddamn car off when I park! I couldn't find my cell phone either (still haven't).

Nancy drove me back down there, and sat patiently with me while I phoned Triple-A with her phone, and we waited for over an hour for the guy in the truck to show up. He had it open in less than five seconds.

Colors

2008-02-29T21:00:00.000-08:00

Ochres, at Jumped Up Creek, Northern Territory, Australia (from the book).

Victoria Finlay. Color: A Natural History of the Palette. New York: Random House Trade Paperbacks. 2004 [2002].

I admit the recent trend towards narrow single-topic histories has struck a resounding chord within me. You know what I mean -- books like Mark Kurlansky's Cod: A Biography of the Fish that Changed the World, Salt: A World History, and The Big Oyster: History on the Half Shell. These books are like core samples taken at an oblique angle through our world, revealing angles and facets you would never imagine. Now Victoria Finlay has written one. Well, by "now", I mean I've just found it, but since this blog is all about me, I'm going to pretend it's new.

And it is new to me: I know a little art history, not too much, but I've never thought much about the technology of paint. I knew that some of them had funny names, like "burnt sienna" and "carmine lake", but I never thought about what they meant, or what the connection is between what artists do now and what they have done for millennia. Lately, as I've been thinking about aboriginal Australian art, a modern art but also the oldest art tradition on earth, the question of materials starts to appear, and I found this book fascinating.

One story that's not in here, but has echoes in the slapdash work of eighteenth-century British painter Joshua Reynolds, which is, is that of abstract expressionist Mark Rothko. I'd heard how in the forties and fifties he would dash out and buy the cheapest, nastiest paint at Woolworth's, and that now, many of these paintings had faded into uniform browns that, despite the oohs and ahs of some modern viewers, didn't reflect the color glow that he originally had in mind.

Reynolds did the same sort of thing, as told here: he used megilp, a combination of mastic (an evergreen resin) and linseed oil, to give some of his paintings a golden glow that was supposed to evoke the Old Masters, but which has darkened and degraded to the point where people now mistake it for a presage of the Impressionists.

That's just one of the stories in the "Orange" chapter. The entire spectrum is represented here, and the entire history of art, from the first ochre daubs in Australia up to modernists using acrylics colored with artificial dyes made from coal tar.

Given my recent interest, the Australian chapter, the first in the book, was the most interesting to me. Findlay traveled to the Australian outback, including some normally off-limits areas of Arnhem Land in Northern Territory, to see the traditional styles, which are still practiced. Australian rock painting forms an unbroken tradition up as long as 35,000 years in some places, but many of the sites are not historical; they are palimsests, with new paint applied every year, and on many of them you can trace a clear stylistic history all the way to the present day.

This is the question that's been driving me crazy lately, though it's mostly not in this book: how did Australian aborigines arrive at modern art without knowing anything about modern art, without working through the Western tradition that became modern art? Because aboriginal art is emphatically not primitive art, even when it's in a traditional mode, and it transferred seamlessly into a modernist idiom when acrylic paints arrived.

Traditional Australian art is done on rock with ochre. Ochre isn't a single substance, but a range of brown, red, yellow rocks that crumble easily and have the plasticity and easy drawing stroke needed to paint with directly. You just pick up the rock and rub; or you grind it up, and make a paint, or take it in your mouth and spray over a stencil, such as your hand -- a technique used by the Mayans in Central America as well as the Australians. Ochres are found on every continent, but their most developed use is in Australia. Traditional painting is done on bark as well, and much of this work is modern (though in a traditional vein) -- because barks, and canvases, can be carried away by paying customers.

The process by which the aboriginal peoples were introduced to the possibilities of commercial art, and modern materials, like most dealings between the whites and aborigines, is immensely painful to read. The most horrific story, and an act of cultural and artistic vandalism as brutal as the destruction of the enormous Buddhas at Bamiyan, Afghanistan by the Taliban, is the story of the Honey Ant Dreaming at Papunya, in the central desert west of Alice Springs. There, a white man named Geoffrey Bardon taught the locals how to use acrylics, and how, haltingly at first, to find and express their own voice while still using the language of their tribe and ancestors. It is in cultural collisions like this that the modern world is invented.

The elders of the tribe took this new possibility and offered to paint one of their Dreamings on the concrete wall of the school. This was momentous: never before had the black men used the white tools to tell their story, on an equal footing: for the white man to see, but with equal meaning for the black men. The first version of this painting, the Honey Ant Dreaming, was after its completion deemed by the elders to be too revealing; too many secrets were shown. They painted it again. This time, Geoffrey Bardon said no, it has too much of the whitefella in it. They painted it again.

It was probably the first time that symbols had been deliberately swapped in order to show the "blanket" and yet keep the secretes that lay beneath it. In a way it marked the beginning of these dispossessed people finding a way of representing what was esoteric by something that was exoteric -- something that was hidden by something that could be shown.

It was an amazing act of generosity for these men to paint their Dreaming -- the representation of their layered system of knowledge -- on the walls of a whitefellow building, Bardon said. "But few people really appreciated it. Nobody cared what they were doing." In those days he used to joke that with the industrial-strength glue he had provided to bind the colored poster paint, the Honey Ant Dreaming would last a thousand years. But it didn't, it lasted only until 1974, when a maintenance man, on someone's orders, painted over it with acrylics. If it existed today it would be one of Australia's greatest works of art.

In addition to destroying their masterpiece, the whitefellow overlords started to steal their money, taking the proceeds from sales back in Alice Springs before the artists could get their hands on it.

Not every story in this book breaks your heart. Some of it is just weird, like the manufacture of carmine red from crushed cochineal insects living on a particular Mexican cactus; some of it is exciting, like the discovery of the secret of Chinese celadon in sealed-off caves. Saffron yellow, from the stamens of flowers, was once a mainstay of Spanish agriculture, but is now mostly grown in Iran. Findlay visited the fields there, and she went to Afghanistan, where she saw the Bamiyan Buddhas and visited the lapis lazuli mines, still today the source of almost all of this beautiful blue stone, which is ground into ultramarine pigment. Along the way we meet Antonio Stradivari and Michelangelo, shell-divers in Mexico and Lebanon (for their purple), indigo farmers and the stained glass masters who worked in the great medieval cathedrals of Europe.

I'm a bit obsessed with the Australian chapter, but it's a small part of the book. The entire history of art is in here, in terms of the materials they used. It's beautifully written, and works as art history, cultural history, history of technology, and travelogue. I loved it.

The Sound of Young Huddersfield

2008-02-29T09:33:00.000-08:00

Simon Armitage. All Points North. London: Penguin Books, 1999 [1998].

One can't read pop books all the time. A book I'd bought online after returning from England last fall, but which only arrived in the mail recently (via the slow boat from England), was this little oddball. It's a highlight of the short shelf of (semi) recent books about the North. It's illustrated on the cover by a Martin Parr photograph of an old couple sitting glumly in a cafe, which pretty much sums up my aesthetic worldview. If there were a thousand of these books, I'd read them all. Sadly, there are not.

All Points North (from which this post's title was stolen) is more phlegmatic, more impressionistic than the partisan enthusiasms of John Grundy's Northern Pride: The Very Best of Northern Architecture or Stuart Maconie's seven-eighths-brilliant Pies and Prejudice: In Search of the North. It's about the author's life in insular Yorkshire, starting in Huddersfield and then in a widening ring as he discovers the world. The book thumps with exciting (to me) placenames: Staithes, Emley Moor, Elland, Keighley, Crimble Clough, Ravenscar, Scisset, Penistone, Marsden, Bridlington, eventually across rivers and ranges to places like Rochdale, Manchester, Grimsby, and London.

Armitage is a poet by trade, and has a deep demotic feel for his native region -- which is a bit of a trademark of Northerners; they feel place more acutely than soft southerners, or suburban Americans for that matter. There sure aren't any books like this about my suburbs.

He not only has a good eye for the landscape of trains, motorways, stone walls, terraces, probation offices, and so on, but a keen awareness of the humorous truth of Northern cliche: the grimness, the self-deprecation, the amusing stupidities, the embarrassment, the attitude, the bitter wit. We get amateur theatrics, quail fighting, Alan Bennett, and this: "Inside the building, above the taps, there's a notice saying PLEASE DO NOT WASH FOOTWEAR IN THESE SINKS, signed by the Chief Technical Officer of Ryedale District Council, and above the hand-dryer there's a plaque commemorating the 1989 Loo of the Year Award, presented to Helmsley car park." That's the Britain I love most.

On John Peel:

His comments and quips and mumblings were just as important as the music, as were his technical hitches, which included playing at least two records per night at the wrong speed, and talking at great length about somebody's new single before playing the B-side. Such cock-ups usually ended in Peel apologizing through a burst of laughter as he dragged the needle across the vinyl and flipped the record over, or cranked the turntable up to the right speed. I still can't listen to the twelve-inch version of Atmosphere by Joy Division without anticipating the moment when Ian Curtis changes gear from 33⅓ to 45 r.p.m., about three seconds into the opening line.

At Headingley, watching cricket:

viii) Some bright spark on the Western Terrace shouting, 'I'm Spartacus,' followed by thirty or forty shouts of 'I'm Spartacus' as security guards try to identify the man responsible for throwing a plastic beer bottle on to the field at deep square leg.

ix) The spontaneous chant of, 'Three pounds an hour, you're earning three pounds an hour' to the tune of 'Guantanamera', as security guards move in to eject a man from the Western Terrace for shouting 'Fuck off you Aussie cunt' as Matthew Elliot raised his bat to the sky in celebration of his second Test century.

At a social-services training exercise:

In an exercise designed to put us in touch with our body language, we were all invited to select a sealed envelope that contained a word describing a human emotion. Turning to the colleague on our right we then had to demonstate that emotion usuing facial gestures only. The colleague had to identify the emotion, and then it was his or her turn, and so on.

Finding the word LOVE inside your envelope, you turned to the tall shy man who'd taken the seat next to you, and in the spirit of the occasion, beamed lovingly at him, summoning up all those achingly precious moments of devotion and desire, and shutting out the image of the pale, bespectacled and bewildered man only six inches from your lips. Just at the point where you wondered if you might have to actually kiss him, he nodded his head and asked, 'Is it HATE'?

There was a moment of tense silence, before he further misinterpreted an expression of dumbfoundedness for one of agreement, and went on to announce, 'It is HATE, isn't it? I thought so.'

During a trip to the US:

New York, New York. Internet, the Yorkshire Post. Robert Ancliff of Bradford was left with 'a sour taste in his mouth' when he read the note left by his milkman on his doorstep. The previous day, Mr Ancliff had typed a polite letter of complaint, asking what had happened to the extra pint of milk he had requested. The handwritten reply read: 'I did get your milk delivered. It must have been stolen, so kiss my f****** a***.' The milkman has quit without notice and has not been seen since. A company spokesman has apologized, and Mr Ancliff has been given complimentary milk for his trouble.

This is a very sweet, funny book. I wish there were more like it.

A Bouquet of Barbed Wire?

2008-02-27T21:51:00.001-08:00

The June Brides, NME cover, 1 September 1985

I bought this magazine for Zeke Manyika, who was the drummer in Orange Juice. I didn't know who the June Brides were. I still didn't; I didn't pick up one of their records until the "Every Conversation" 12" on Pink about two years later. I missed out; they were done by then. All the while I was sitting in my stupid apartment thinking that Orange Juice was the end of the world, and no pop records would ever be made again, things were happening. I remember buying the LP version of C86 and a Felt record and, I think, "I Heard You The First Time" by the Razorcuts at the same time, in Berkeley, which is when I found out how wrong I was. I bought a lot of records then, which seemed to always suck; but all of a sudden they didn't. I got a Chesterf!elds record right after, and then a Brilliant Corners one, and then a dopey-looking single on something called Sarah Records, and I was down the rabbit hole.

The June Brides, NME, 1 September 1985

"Bridal Suite" by Mat Snow, New Musical Express, 1 September 1985, p. 14. Photographs by Derek Ridgers.

I wish I'd listened up in 1985. I could have heard a lot more a lot earlier! It seems so bizarre now that the Brides were actually on the cover of a big-time magazine, picked to pop, you could say. Of course they didn't, which is the world's fault, not theirs.

The June Brides played out of tune; that's what everybody said, and it was true, and possibly out of time as well, but they were wonderful too, and all you had to do was cock your head and all the flaws fell into place and the delicacy shone through.

The June Brides, NME, 1 September 1985

The article here makes some oblique references to Josef K, and you can hear a little Paul Haig in Phil Wilson's reedy, uncertain tenor, but where Josef K scratched and jerked, and kept the listener at a distance, the Brides bounced and popped, and pulled the listener in. What really made it work was the trumpet. God love a trumpet in pop.

I don't hear any Smiths in them, and certainly not any James, though I can see why someone might have in 1985.

My favorite quote from the article:

Jon: "We played a gig in Glasgow and we got up early so we could go to Liverpool, where we had a gig, via the Lake District so we could have a picnic by Lake Windermere. We could have stayed in Glasgow and got drunk down Sauciehall Street, but we didn't!

This is the most genuinely shocking on-the-road story I've ever heard.

You'll have to click on the article text pic and view the large size to read the rest. The pics are magnificent as well!

An Amazing Connection

2008-02-26T22:17:00.001-08:00

Camas Prairie High School Girls Basketball
Originally uploaded by Fnarf

A couple of years ago I scanned in an album of my grandfather's photographs, taken in Montana mostly in the 1910s and 20s. The majority of these are from Jordan, a remote town in Garfield County -- the most remote town in the contiguous United States, in fact. I occasionally get comments from Jordan residents or other Jordan genealogical researchers, which is always nice.

But some of the photos are more obscure, like this one. After college, my grandfather taught school in a series of small towns across the northwest, in Montana, Idaho, and Washington. One of these was tiny Camas Prairie, a hamlet on the Flathead Indian Reservation southwest of Glacier National Park.

At Camas Prairie School, in 1924, my grandfather shot the girls high school basketball team, the younger kids playing in the school yard, some young boys displaying their freshly caught fish, the lake they caught them in, and some local Indian children. About all I know of this place is the name and where it is.

Today, out of nowhere, a fellow named Michael Lee Ross found me. It turns out the picture of the girls basketball team features his grandmother, Rose Ross (nee Muster), and her sister!

This is an amazing coincidence, and an amazing find, all the more so if you have ever spent much time looking for your obscure Montana relatives online. I hope Mr. Ross doesn't mind me blogging here my excitement at being found by him.

Edwyn Collins in Smash Hits, 1983.

2008-02-25T21:17:00.000-08:00

"Flesh of My Flesh" was the follow-up to "Rip It Up", the Juice's only top ten hit, released in May 1983. It was supposed to propel them, and our fresh-faced boy Edwyn here, into the stratosphere, right up there with the likes of Paul Young. God, it's hard to even type that name: Paul Young!

The top ten that month was topped by "True" by Spandau Ballet, followed by Heaven 17's "Temptation", "Dancing Tight" by something called Galaxy featuring Phil Fearon, "(Keep Feeling) Fascination" by Human League. Tears for Fears, Wham!, Bowie, the Police, Culture Club, Yazoo, and the immortal Blancmange. But there was no room for "Flesh", which topped out at 41, and it was all downhill. Malcolm Ross and David McClymont split, Polydor was disillusioned, and further records were promoted less and sold less.

Not that I care. The song's great, with a nice faraway jazz in the next room horn part, and a swinging guitar riff over Zeke Manyika's groove. The long version on the back of the 12" reveals shades of dub things to come.

Glory, Glory Tottenham Hotspur

2008-02-24T12:15:00.000-08:00

Congratulations! Tottenham Hotspur defeated Chelsea 2-1 in extra time at Wembley today to win the League Cup (aka the Carling Cup). Nancy and I watched it at the George & Dragon pub in Fremont (Seattle). Bit rough getting out of bed and down to the pub at 7 AM, but a hundred or so people did, about 2/3 Spurs fans by the looks of it. We roared them out of the house when Jonathan Woodgate bumped in the winner, a slow bobbler that came off Petr Cech's and then Woodgate's faces; it bounced once, twice, three times into the net. Spurs' first hardware since the 1999 League Cup.

Now on to the double: the UEFA Cup is next.

Next year we'll win some serious silverware as we return to major-club status. We're too good to sit down at eleventh in the table, and in the lesser cup competitions at home and in Europe.

2008-02-23T14:38:00.000-08:00

small factory at the Middle East Cafe, Cambridge, Mass. 1992; one of a set of 20

I just found these long-forgotten pictures in a drawer. They were taken at the Middle East Cafe in Cambridge. Honestly it's been so long I can't remember, but I think this is downstairs. Or upstairs. Whichever is smaller. I don't think they had an upstairs yet. I imagine the proscenium arch isn't there anymore!

Small Factory were part of a little early-nineties Providence-Washington "Love Rock" axis, along with Honeybunch and Velvet Crush (RI) and Black Tambourine and Velocity Girl (DC). Tsunami and the Simple Machines stuff sort of squeeze into the booth, too. It was an east coast counterpart to Beat Happening and that whole K Records scene; the bridge between the two was Lois Maffeo, the vivacious folk-punk strummer/singer who lived in both Olympia and Washington, DC at various times.

It's funny how at the time it seemed like Boston, where I was living, and New York didn't really seem to have any indiepop to offer; American indiepop has always come mostly from weird, out-of-the-way cities like Providence, Champaign-Urbana, Olympia.... College kids, sure, but Boston's packed with college kids, and in the immediate pre-grunge years none of them was listening to indiepop.

I gather that Seattle was having its little scene explosion around this time, too. The difference is, the music coming out of Providence and Washington wasn't terrible. Take that, grungesters, with your flannel, your chain wallets and your testosterone poisoning!

Quite a few times I took the train down to Providence to see Small Factory or Honeybunch at Club Babyhead or the Church House. This sucked, because there was no way to get home until the morning, so I spent a few late nights hanging out in all-night diners waiting for the trains to start up again at 6 AM or whenever it was.

But occasionally someone would venture up to the Middle East or TT the Bears. Usually that someone was my favorite band, Small Factory.

Alex Kemp played a great big Martin acoustic bass guitar, which gave their music a kind of dry crunchiness underfoot, while Dave Auchenbach strummed and jangled on guitar. The drummer was Phoebe Bluesky Summersquash, a perfectly ridiculous name for a perfectly charming girl, the perky and effervescent life of any party. She was the drill sergeant, too, as Alex frequently needed reminding that his between-song banter needed some songs to go between now and then. Everybody sang, and the harmonies were what you came for; Alex sang most of the sweetly nasal leads but it was when Dave joined in that they started to soar, and when Phoebe made three in the choruses they were zinging. Just pure joy.

By the time I first saw them they had quite a local following in Providence, mostly girls -- always a good sign, boys tend to prefer bands that suck -- who would do a little choreography with hand gestures when they played their big hit "Suggestions". They were FUN, and their songs were bright and cheerful even when they felt like being morose:

Keep your chin up, and I'll watch the highway
While we drive off for someplace cheap and amazing.

It's not so stupid and it's not so dumb
I am only suggesting that we could have more fun
Than we do....
Small Factory - "Suggestions" (mp3)

Small Factory never really came across on records; the "Suggestions" single captures some of the charm, but seems thin, and plods a bit compared to the real thing; and as the other records got better the band was getting worse. Tired, I think; and they tried to rock it up. Alex started playing electric bass, Dave's guitar got louder and fuzzier. It's a funny thing, when bands become better players on their instruments they often drive out the sweetness that drew you to them in the first place. The volume goes up, the drums start to pound, and the next thing you know they're, uh, rocking out, wailing when they used to talk to you. It happened to Small Factory too.

They got an album out, and had a good tour of the UK (with Heavenly) and a crummy one in the US, and they were done, really. There were some good moments, and some good songs, but it was never the same. Another album, another tour, and then Dave split and Alex took over on guitar in the spectacularly dreadful Godrays. The less said.

But man, those early days in Providence were magic.

I'm Sorry, Jane

2008-02-22T10:19:00.001-08:00

steve and jane c1963
Originally uploaded by Fnarf

I would like to publicly apologize for torturing my sweet younger sister Jane when we were children. You can see by the hangdog look on her face that I'm about to inflict some kind of unnecessary roughness on her, compounding the torture that our parents have already put her through with the cowgirl outfit. I don't think she liked it much -- the outfit, or the abuse.

I liked it very much indeed. I can still remember the feel of that tin star between my fingers, and mentally checking just how cheap and inauthentic it was -- cheapness and inauthenticity having no bearing on play value, of course. As for the chaps, well, let's just say it's a good thing it was a safe neighborhood, with no older boy bullies around. Because I would have been dead meat.

That's a phrase I remember hearing a lot as a child -- "you're dead meat", following by the pounding of feet and my heart. I was a dweeb. A dork. A geek.

This is about the time I had to be removed from my second-grade class for having pooed in my pants, out of a pathological sense of embarrassment that prevented me from raising my hand. Despite my best efforts I was unable to prevent a few pellets of shame from falling down my pants leg onto the floor. A teacher -- a woman! -- took me to the bathroom and gave me the most horrible thing in the world: a pair of school pants, with an elastic waist. I wanted to die.

I peed my pants all the time too.

Sweet Jane didn't think I was a dweeb, though; she worshiped me. I repaid this devotion by telling her, right about this time, that there was no Santa Claus. That may explain the face in this picture.

I used to do naughty things, like scatter my dad's tools around, or damage them, or damage furniture with them. My dad would attempt to teach us both a lesson about honesty and forthrightness, and ask us each in turn, "did you do this?" I would solemnly shake my head "no", and Jane would just as solemnly nod her head "yes". Our dad was not a fool, and would punish me, not her -- twice, in fact.

This photograph was taken by dad with a Kodak Retina IIa in 1963 or 64 in Magnolia, Seattle, Washington. I recently found it in a tray of my grandfather's slides.

Pump Up The Volume

2008-02-21T12:51:00.000-08:00

Hey, ladies! This doc wants to inject collagen into your G-spot to make it bigger:

Mind if I watch?

Australian Aboriginal Art in the Sixties

2008-02-19T20:56:00.000-08:00

Unrecorded Melville Island artist, depicting a shark, sea-snakes, fish, shells, and other features encountered on a canoe journey in Snake Bay, Melville Island; ochre on bark, 28 by 19 inches; collected by C.P. Mountford, 1954.

Ronald M. Berndt, ed. Australian Aboriginal Art. With chapters by R. M. Berndt, A. P. Elkin, F. D. McCarthy, C. P. Mountford, T. G. H. Strehlow, J. A. Tuckson. With 73 plates in full color. New York: The Macmillian Company and London: Collier-Macmillan Ltd, 1964.

This book is the earliest general book on Aboriginal art I've been able to find in a Seattle library. (All the pictures in this post are from it). By 1964, the commercial sale of Central Desert paintings in modern media (acrylics on canvas) was starting to get underway, but was still regarded with scorn as a debased product for tourists. There's none of that in this book; this is all traditional artists depicting traditional scenes in traditional media: ochre and other natural pigments applied to bark or wood or stone with traditional implements.

Which is not to say "primitive". Ronald Berndt, who along with his wife Catherine was the most prolific and perceptive anthropologist of the Aboriginal peoples in the 50s and 60s, is careful to point out that, far from being a "primitive survival", as the old-fashioned Herbert Read put it, "the Aboriginal art available to us today is contemporary, or almost so, and no more prehistoric than the people who are responsible for it."

This was a hard idea for people to get their minds around in the 1960s, especially anthropologists; note that they still treat their subject anthropologically, and bury the artists' names deep within the footnotes, if they bother to collect it at all; they are still generalized representatives of an alien primitive culture. And much of the art depicted in the book is not only traditional but traditionally sacred, with ritual and often secretive meaning. It's interpreted in a modern way by modern people, is the conclusion Berndt is striving for, but he's not quite able to make the leap into seeing these artists as people fully involved in the modern world in quite the same way as his fellow researchers back at the University are. But he's getting there.

All the pictures reproduced here are traditional in style; but the root forms of modern styles are visible. Aboriginal art today, almost 50 years later, is a modern art; even if the forms echo the tribal traditions, they are identical to them, and they are market productions. Berndt seems to think, in 1964 at least, that market productions can't be art; he is not yet willing to let these artists be modern (or have names). Such is the state of white thinking in 1950s and 1960s.

I hope to show in some future posts just how wrong he was, and how powerful modern Aboriginal art can be (much more so than the etiolated, often vacuous, culturally starved productions of many civilized modern artists. Much of this art is not sacred, but is mundane and everyday; but it still throbs with power. For just a hint of the electric visual jolt of some of this work, even in the traditional mode, check out this Picasso head, by an artist who had never heard of Picasso; followed by some other favorites:

Joshua Wurungulngul, of the Gunwinggu people in the Oenpelli region of western Arnhem Land; molded ochre head, 6.5 inches tall; collected by R. Berndt, 1950.

Minimini, from Groote Eylandt, barracouta fish; ochre on bark, 36 by 13 inches; collected by F. D. McCarthy, 1948.

Dowdie (b. 1921), Milingimbi, NE Arnhem Land, Julunggul the rock python, protecting her eggs from the Wawalag sisters; ochre on bark, 28.5 by 15 inches; collected by the Methodist Overseas Mission, 1959.

Unknown artist, from Cape Stewart, north-central Arnhem Land, sacred maraiin painting, usually painted on men's bodies during secret rituals; ochre on bark, 20.25 by 11.75 inches; collected by the Welfare Branch of the Northern Territory Administration, 1959?

Sergio! Sergio!

2008-02-18T18:19:00.000-08:00

After my eviction from Jennifer's apartment, I was homeless. I went to work that day with a duffel bag and the newspaper, circling ads for rooms. The appearance of a duffel bag in an office always causes a commotion, and this office was pretty well geared for commotion anyways.

I was working on the Upper East Side, barely; we worked out of an apartment house on E. 62nd Street, just east of 3rd Avenue. Two apartments across the hall from each other, packed with telecommunications gear and eight or nine employees. We ran a calling card business; you know, the cards you buy at the corner store or the tacqueria that allow you to call long distance for cheaps. The business model was to buy minutes from AT&T and sell them on the cards. If we paid AT&T 6-and-a-quarter cents per minute, we made a fortune; if we paid six-and-a-half we lost our shirts. The company was run by two brothers, Victor and Raul, Venezuelans. Victor was the handsome, suave one, Raul the dark, funny, dangerous one. They were from one of Venezuela's richest families, and frequented places like "21", which seemed like something out of a dream.

The whole operation seemed shady; there was a closet full of binders of shell companies, maybe a hundred of them, and little stashes of serious cash in various drawers. I got the impression that the cash was there to tempt me, and if I took so much as a single bill I'd spend the rest of my life in a different time zone than my skin.

There was a third brother, Sergio, who was the black sheep of the family. I think that was his job title; all he did all day was sit with his feet up on his desk smoking furiously and reading the newspaper. We all smoked furiously; Victor the boss smoked cigars.

The office was a fire hazard in other ways too. Our primary lighting came from halogen torchieres with wobbly bases. They would fall over and burn the carpet. Once Victor stored a box of supplies on top of the stove in one of the kitchens (these were outfitted as ordinary apartments), only to fill the room with smoke shortly after as the gas pilot light in the burners ignited the box.

Despite the chaos of the office, Victor and Raul were fun to be around and fantastically loyal. The second they saw my duffel, they had their lawyer on speakerphone, who explained to me how stupid I was for vacating the apartment. Alas, it was done. But Victor said, "no, you can stay here until you find a place". So I moved into the apartment, sleeping on the sofa. The only drawback was that I had to be up and showered and dressed before anyone got there in the morning, about six AM.

The neighborhood was lovely; to the east, Madison, Lexington, Central Park and Midtown; to the west, the charming and leafy Upper East Side. I used the laundromat at the end of the block, and drank in the friendly bar on First. It was a lot closer to Brownies and the other clubs I was frequenting than my old place, too, seeing the Magnetic Fields, Holiday, and the Mad Scene play every other night. 125 blocks closer -- a feasible walk, even, from the East Village, which I did many times, either through the lonely wastelands of First Avenue past the United Nations, or the surprisingly varied neighborhoods up Second or Third, Lex or Park.

One day as the office was closing I was introduced to my new cross-hall roommate for the night: Miss Venezuela. She was the most beautiful creature I've ever seen to this day, achingly gorgeous, like a porcelain doll. She was going to be in one of the apartments, I was in the other. When I saw her in the morning I was suffering from a terrible hangover; she was still perfect. I wonder if I terrified her. She terrified me.

After a month of this kind of living the Alves brothers had a proposition: move in with Sergio. Sergio lived in the company apartment and his roommate was leaving. 14th Street between Second and First. My room was a shoebox -- eight feet wide, twelve feet long. Sergio's room was the living room, stood off from the tiny open kitchen and hall with rows of tall bookcases. His room was three times as big as mine.

Sergio lived there with his Japanese girlfriend Yuko, who came to the US for expensive dentistry and found a chainsmoking Venezuelan instead. Yuko was stereotypically Japanese, covering her mouth with her hand when she talked, laboring endlessly in the apartment, cringing before her master and now her master's new roommate. I was unnerved to come home to her scrubbing the floors and apologizing for not doing it well enough.

Sergio's main form of entertainment was watching war documentaries on his large-screen TV. The volume was always turned up. He also liked to engage in loud sex with Yuko, featuring lots of vigorous spanking and crying. I would cower in my room hearing the rumble and roar of thousands of B-17 bombers with the voiceover describing the destruction of Dresden down below, punctuated by loud slaps and Yuko screaming "Oh, Sergio, Oh, Oh, Sergio!" and Sergio himself demonstrating the kind of command and discipline that was denied him at his job. "You've been very BATT!" Whap. "Oh, Sergio! Sergio!" Whap. Grrrarr, boom, boom-boom, boom. WHAP!

New Yorkers spend most of their spare time going out. Now you know why.

Sergio also smoked pot continuously, and he had a little cocaine problem as well. When he and his friends were high, and after inviting me into his side of the apartment to enjoy the evening, he would get paranoid, and push me up against the wall, alternately threatening and cajoling me, don't tell Victor, don't tell Raul, you're not going to tell anyone are you, I swear to God I'll cut you, man, PLEASE don't tell them, here, you want some?

There was an Irish bar on the corner, an old-fashioned workingman's bar, not fancy at all, and cheap. Three dollars for a pint of Guinness, and in the grand New York tradition the barman buys you every third one. I have no idea if this bar or this tradition has survived the relentless gentrification of the city. I hope so. Where else are the telephone linesmen and delivery drivers going to drink? I sat in there for hours most nights, if nothing was going on, sipping the black stuff and reading at the bar, to avoid the seige of Sergio and his bellicose love life.

This was the apartment which Mrs. Fnarf came to visit again, in summer. We were engaged to be married by then. The discussion about where we would be living afterwards was very short. The 100 square foot room with no furniture except a bed and a bookcase, with Yuko and Sergio and his giant TV on the other side of the wall, did not make up for the excitement of having the East Village on my doorstep. On her first night, we walked down First and Avenue A as far as Houston, and when she realized she had to walk fourteen blocks back as well she threw water on me. New York was not to be.

My New Favorite Car: Citroën Ami 6

2008-02-17T13:50:00.000-08:00

Picture of Citroën Ami 6 by Flickr user davidbally, by permission.

I've had many favorite cars over the years -- the Mini, the Isetta (or even better, the French Velam model), the Smart, or the Hillman Minx that I used to own.

Picture of my old Hillman Minx by Flickr user nancyo23, by permission.

But I have a new contender: the Citroën Ami 6 shown above. Dig that crazy reverse-slanting rear window! And the jaunty way the roof flares over it! And the sexy drape of the hood over the headlights!

It also had a classically weird Citroen suspension: check out this lean! These two pictures are from the great Citroenet page.

They were sold from 1961 to 1970. I want one! I want to drive around in tight pants listening to Serge Gainsbourg, Françoise Hardy, France Gall, and Brigitte Bardot.

PS --
I've given up on ever figuring out Blogger's screwed-up HTML implementation. Their "preview" isn't even close to what you actually get.

English Teams Playing Overseas

2008-02-13T14:17:00.000-08:00

The chief executive of the English Premier League, Richard Scudamore, wants every team in his league to play one game a year overseas, presumably in rich countries that don't have top-level soccer leagues of their own, like the USA, Japan, China, and so on.

Much as I'd like to see Tottenham play here in Seattle where I could see them, I think this is a terrible, terrible idea. It will among other things throw the perfect balance of home and away games into the toilet, with some teams gaining an unfair advantage. And, like all schemes of this type, it's only going to be successful for some teams and not others. Huge crowds will turn out for Manchester United anywhere they go (which means it will always be an away game for their opponent), but are you really going to sell a lot of tickets for Derby v. Bolton in St. Louis?

It's just another way for the top clubs to corner even more of the market than they already have. It does nothing for the smaller clubs, nothing for American soccer, and nothing for English football.

Michel Platini, president of UEFA, and Sepp Blatter of FIFA are resisting this idea. Here's my suggestion:

Tell Scudamore he can play his games anywhere he likes, but if he plays them outside of England, Premier League teams will be barred from the Champions League.

End of argument.

Jennifer, Oh Jenny

2008-02-12T21:54:00.000-08:00

I moved to New York in the fall of 1995, because I wanted excitement. My first taste of the city the previous year, helping to put on the first Tweefest, had really set my mind ablaze. So when the opportunity arose, I took it.

It turned out the opportunity wasn't there, and my friend Keith Testcard had already promised my room in his Hoboken flat to someone else. But things move fast in New York, and at a party in a restaurant for Sally, an old friend from punk-rock days in Seattle, I met a girl who needed a roommate. Her name was Jenny.

The fact that later that night she took a bunch of ketamine in a club in the East Village -- a club which I stumbled out of at four in the morning, still throbbing away inside, might have told me something about her, but I was desperate. A couple of days later I was on the A train to see the apartment.

It was in Washington Heights, on Fort Washington Avenue at 187th Street. There's a picture of the building on the Wikipedia page for the street; the tall dark six-story block to the right. I got off the subway at 181st, terrified at what slum horrors I might find above, only to come out in a tree-lined street in a lovely old Jewish neighborhood. One thing people who don't know New York don't realize is how close the neighborhoods are to each other, and how abruptly they change; just a block away, down a flight of stairs to upper Broadway, it was solidly and vibrantly Dominican.

The apartment was a shambles. Filthy, matted with dog hair, sloping floors, fifty layers of cheap paint on the doors, no cupboards in the kitchen, only slanting bare wood shelves. Two bedrooms, though, and my room was huge by New York standards, with high ceilings. I would have said yes no matter what it looked like, but it had promise.

Jennifer had promise too. Blonde, blue eyes, short but built like a tank, and brim-full of fire and light, she laughed constantly and deep, and never stopped moving. She was intelligent and well-read, with a case full of Peter Handke and other interesting books. This is not a romance I'm telling, but I'd be lying if I said she wasn't attractive. But there was something else there, too: a kind of recklessness that was also attractive, but dangerous.

I got my first taste of this side of her personality the day I moved my belongings in. I had been keeping them in a storage facility in Hoboken near Keith's apartment. Visiting the place to pay my bill was always interesting; I met an amazing fellow there once who got out of a big black Cadillac, wearing a black pinstripe suit, black shirt, mass of gold medallions in the open neck, and slicked-back hair -- straight out of The Sopranos. I didn't ask him what he was keeping in storage.

Anyways, the day of the move, my friend Keith helped me move the boxes from the sidewalk up to the new apartment. Jennifer didn't help much, but at one point she did spend a great deal of time fixing her hair, topless, with the door open. An opportunity that some little bell inside my brain said "don't take". Keith could hear the same bell. I had met her boyfriend, a six-foot-five black man who, while charming, could have broken me like a toothpick. I think she would have liked that, actually, just for the excitement.

Her old roommate had had to leave when her heroin addiction got out of control and she stopped paying rent. That's the story I was told, at any rate. That's apparently what happened to the cupboards; she'd ripped them from the wall in a violent rage sometime. She may have been dead. I don't know; I didn't want to know. More excitement I didn't want to come near.

Jennifer was a bicycle messenger. Every day she got on her bike and rode 187 blocks and then some down to her lower Manhattan messenger office, rode all day delivering packages, and then rode home. When she got home, she usually stripped off her clothes, put her favorite Madonna record on top volume, mounted her track bike on rollers in the hall, and pedalled furiously until the entire apartment filled with steam. This was not an erotic spectacle; it was explosive and insane. She rode for up to an hour this way, laughing and occasionally screaming out loud; then she'd stop, and jump in the shower. I would be cowering in my room.

Jennifer had a dog, a German Shepherd named Hojo. I never did find out if that was after Howard Johnson, the popular (at the time) New York Met, or Cujo, the Stephen King killer dog. I've never read the book, but Hojo did have some Satanic tendencies. The poor creature was mentally ill; imprisoned in a tiny New York flat all day, he was fiercely, insanely protective of Jennifer. One thing he liked to do was bite shoes; if you put on your shoes, he would bite them while making an unearthly high-pitched throat growl. Jennifer would calm him, but if you made a move toward the door, he'd be up and at your feet again, biting them hard enough to mark your shoes and hurt your feet inside.

Another thing he liked to do was bite people, especially children. He only got a piece of me once or twice, but many times lunged at my hands. Only when Jennifer was there. When she walked him, or when I was roped into doing it, he would lunge and snap at people if they were foolish enough to come close enough to try and pet him. Kids were the worst, because the most keen on petting him. One night Jennifer came racing back into the apartment, slamming and bolting the door. "Hojo bit someone" she said, but nothing more. Later that week, groups of kids would come to the door while Jennifer was out demanding money for the doctor that a young girl had needed to see.

Jennifer had a succession of boyfriends. There was her steady boyfriend, the tall black radical in his army coat; but also a series of fellows she met through cycling or work or wherever, ranging from a nebbishy ponytailed accountant to the city's premier graffiti artist, whose name I wish I could recall. Her dates with him would be across rooftops with backpacks full of paint. She would frequently have sex with these men with the door to her room ajar, Hojo the dog wandering in and out, me in my room trying to drown out their sighs and moans with my latest finds from Other Music or Kim's downtown. Sometimes afterwards we'd sit and drink coffee all together in the tiny kitchen.

Jennifer liked to sit around and talk about her plans for the future. This mostly involved the bicycle trip she wanted to take to Italy. With Hojo, trotting along beside her. Pointing out how disastrous an idea this was, that a dog's feet couldn't possibly stand up to a high-speed run down a thousand miles of paved highway, only made her angry.

Some of our visitors were interesting. Rose, from upstairs, had lived in the building since the 1930s, and had grown up in an orphanage. She was in her eighties by then, and would sit telling stories of working in the garment industry downtown.

For all the dramatic happenings at home, the neighborhood was endlessly interesting. In the Jewish part there was an old-fashioned candy store, which in New York means kind of a combination candy store, newstand, and stationers; an old-fashioned deli, the likes of which had even by then nearly disappeared from most parts of what most people mean when they say "Manhattan", which served the best egg salad sandwiches in the world; and the most decrepit supermarket I have ever seen: an ancient A&P, about a quarter the size of an ordinary Seattle supermarket, with cardboard on the floors all winter long (for the rain and snow), and the most random and meagre selection of goods you could imagine. The produce section was simply appalling, sparse and limp and decaying at the edges, and I don't think anyone ever bought produce from them -- you went to the Koreans for that. The selection of Jewish foods was excellent, though.

A block away, and down to 181st Street, the neighborhood was all Dominican, and had everything you could need -- tiny hardware stores, a grand old Woolworth's with a lunch counter, Seinfeld-style restaurants, and all kinds of shops selling Dominican goods. I loved going into Woolworth's, and outfitted most of my apartment from there. I ate a few grilled cheese sandwiches for $1.15 there too; it was in a time warp. Across the street from Woolworth's was another, similar, but even cheaper five-and-dime store. I can't remember the name of it, but it was huge, and I remember on the top floor the ceiling was caving in and the rain pouring onto the linen section, draped with plastic. It seems grotesque but it was a wonderful place to prowl around, like being transported back to the 1950s -- I swear some of the merchandise dated from then. I wonder if it's still there? The Woolworth's isn't, of course.

One day I decided I was sick of the cockroaches and the filth, so I cleaned the kitchen. I took everything off the shelves and sprayed and cleaned, cleaned and scrubbed, scrubbed and sprayed, until the last of ten thousand roaches had emerged from their last hiding places. The sink was a double sink with a metal lid over one side; when I asked Jennifer why it was always covered, she said only "don't look in there". I looked, and it was pretty nasty, but sparing no amount of Ajax and elbow grease I made it presentable again. It took two entire days, but that kitchen was clean, dammit, and those roaches were gone. I killed thousands of them, literally trash bags full of the bastards. I'm a clean person.

Jennifer's family came to visit once, from Erie, Pennsylvania. Her dad was a pleasant enough guy, and worked for the company that made a lot of the cables and connectors I use in my line of work, so we had something to chat about. Her mother was kind of mousey and worried-looking; and her brother was severely disabled with Down Syndrome -- a cheerful fellow but
obviously a great deal of work. It was apparent that the purpose of the visit was to encourage young Jennifer to abandon her bohemian lifestyle in the city and get back to the college she had abandoned.

One day in late spring, after I'd lived there for six or seven months Jennifer asked to borrow my portable cd player, as she was driving up to see her folks. This turned out to be goodbye, as she then announced that she was packing up and moving out. Everything was taken care of, a friend of her boyfriend's was going to take her place in the apartment. I never saw my cd player again.

A couple of days after she left, the landlord came banging on the door. He was demanding many months of back rent, nearly a year. I had been paying my rent directly to Jennifer, in cash, and it turns out none of it was making its way to the landlord. The nicest part of this was that my future wife was with me then, still in the early stages of deciding if I was reliable enough to be a proper boyfriend, and here I was frantically negotiating with a very angry man in a beard, a black fedora and a long black coat. I had never met him before, but I had seen him and a dozen men who looked just like him going in and out of a special room in the basement of the building.

After a bit of one-sided discussion, during which I discovered that not only had Jennifer not been paying the rent, but that the apartment wasn't in her name but in the name of the heroin addict who preceded me, and I heard a great deal of abuse of her as well. This man wanted me the hell out of there and he wanted me out now.

I learned a bit more about New York rental law in the next few weeks, and it turned out I did a very stupid thing: I moved out. If I'd stayed, as Jennifer had stayed, I couldn't have been evicted, especially if I'd started paying rent; he could come and bang on my door, but the sheriff would never come to put me out as long as I had possession. I also didn't understand at the time how valuable it would have been to have the super on my side. But alas, I knew none of this, and so back into storage all my stuff went, or as much of it as I could get packed up in a day or two. The one thing I left behind that I still miss is my Mussolini atlas -- a huge, beautifully drawn and printed world atlas made at the request of Il Duce in the late 30s, as a particular matter of Italian pride, and especially in the face of the world's best atlas, the Times Atlas of the World, printed in London. Mussolini demanded its equal or better, and he got it -- it was gorgeous, but it was too big to fit in any of my boxes. In a landfill somewhere, I suppose.

And that's the story of Jennifer, my crazy roommate in New York. I never saw her again. Several years later, she found me by email, and after breezily asking "I hope you're not still mad at me?" started sending me emails with pornographic pictures in them, or stories of weird sex with German Shepherds. I told her to stop.

Hardest Working Band in Show Business

2008-02-11T19:08:00.000-08:00

Some facts for young bands to dwell upon, taken from Revolution in the Head: The Beatles' Records and the Sixties, by Ian MacDonald, third edition (Chicago Review Press, 2007 [1994, 1997, 2005) -- an A Capella Book.

1960
April: 1 gig.
May: 11 gigs.
June: 11 gigs.
July: 6 gigs.
August 17-October 3: 48 gigs at the Indra Club in Hamburg.
October 4-November 30: 58 gigs at the Kaiserkeller in Hamburg.
December: 3 gigs.

TOTAL FOR 1960: 148 gigs.

1961
January: 19 gigs.
February: 37 gigs (including their first at the Cavern Club).
March: 33 gigs.
April 1-July 1: 92 gigs at the Top Ten Club in Hamburg.
July: 25 gigs.
August: 34 gigs.
September: 31 gigs.
October: 19 gigs (with a 2-week holiday).
November: 34 gigs.
December: 27 gigs.

TOTAL FOR 1961: 351 gigs.
TOTAL FOR TWO YEARS: 499 gigs.

1962
January: 31 gigs.
February: 35 gigs.
March: 37 gigs.
April: 11 gigs, then
April 13-May 31: 48 gigs at the Star-Club in Hamburg.
June: 25 gigs and a radio show.
July: 37 gigs.
August: 34 gigs.
September: 33 gigs.
October: 23 gigs, 2 TV shows, 1 radio show.
November: 17 gigs and 2 radio shows.
December: 20 gigs and 3 TV shows.

TOTAL FOR 1962: 351 gigs, 5 TV shows, 4 radio shows.
TOTAL FOR THREE YEARS: 850 gigs.

1963
January: 24 gigs, 3 TV, 5 radio.
February: 30 gigs, 1 TV, 1 radio.
March: 27 gigs, 1 TV, 4 radio.
April: 20 gigs, 4 TV, 6 radio.
May: 17 gigs, 2 TV, 3 radio.
June: 21 gigs, 2 TV, 5 radio.
July: 10 gigs, 10 radio.
August: 13 gigs (including last of 274 at the Cavern), 3 TV, 2 radio.
September: 8 gigs, 1 TV, 6 radio.
October: 11 gigs, 5 TV, 4 radio.
November: 26 gigs, 11 TV, 3 radio.
December: 21 gigs, 4 TV, 4 radio.

TOTAL FOR 1963: 228 gigs, 37 TV shows, 53 radio shows.
TOTAL FOR FOUR YEARS: 1,078 gigs.

1964
January: 26 gigs, 1 TV, 5 radio.
February: 2 gigs, 6 TV, 3 radio.
March: no gigs (filming), 5 TV, 7 radio.
April: 2 gigs (filming), 7 TV, 2 radio.
May: 1 gig (holiday), 1 radio.
June: 17 gigs, 2 TV, 3 radio.
July: 5 gigs, 8 TV, 4 radio.
August: 14 gigs, 1 TV, 2 radio.
September: 21 gigs, 1 TV.
October: 36 gigs, 5 TV.
November: 18 gigs, 6 TV, 3 radio.
December: 16 gigs, 1 TV.
TOTAL FOR 1964: 158 gigs, 43 TV shows, 30 radio shows.
TOTAL FOR FIVE YEARS: 1,236 gigs.

They played another 100-odd shows in 1965-66, but really they were done by then; the live act in later years was short and sloppy. That's a total, if MacDonalds's figures are correct, of 1,349 live shows in seven years. 200 shows a year is a heavy load, but think about 700 gigs in two years! And in those early days they weren't on and off in 20 minutes, either; they played for hours and hours seven days a week, two shows a day sometimes. Six hours a night in Hamburg.

And they recorded a dozen singles and six albums that you may be familiar with during that period, too. George Harrison wasn't yet 22 years old.

Get Rid of Washington's Caucuses!

2008-02-11T11:14:00.000-08:00

Washington Democrats are in the unusual position of having BOTH precinct caucus meetings AND a primary election. But the state Democratic Party has decided to ignore the primary results entirely, and allocate delegates based on the caucuses only.

This is disenfranchisement. And the system should be scrapped. I advocate going to an ordinary primary election with proportional allocation of delegates.

On the way to my meeting, at Phinney Ridge Neighborhood Center, I stopped into Ken's Market to grab a sandwich and a drink. Five people were working there; they didn't get to caucus. They didn't get heard. Next door, the bookstore and the bakery were open; their employees didn't get to caucus. Across the street from the center, Starbucks and Red Mill Burgers were open. In fact, all the shops were open, all over the neighborhood, the city, the state. That's thousands and thousands of people who don't get to have a say in who the nominee is.

One of those Saturday workers who didn't get to vote is Mrs. Fnarf. She and her cow orkers held a pretend caucus at work. 6-2 Obama.

At my caucus, an elderly woman mentioned her group of friends, none of whom have computers and none of whom knew where to caucus. Our caucus had moved from its 2004 location. They were too frail to come, anyways, and even if they had, the ones in wheelchairs could never have made it up the stairs to the third floor.

When this woman called the party hotline for help, the phone was busy, and the voice mailbox was full. She called many times. She finally got a neighbor to help her find her caucus.

Now unfolding is the scheduling snafu of the party. I'm an alternate delegate, and my little certificate has what turns out to be the wrong date for the County Convention on it: Saturday, April 19th. Unfortunately this conflicts with the Jewish holy day Passover (Erev Pesach). So they moved it to Sunday, April 13th. That's what I was told by my PCO at my caucus, at least. Turns out they moved it again, to Saturday, April 12th, but only in King County.

What we have now is a system where many of the people who want to participate are unable to do so, and many of the people who are able to can't figure out how to do it. Our nominee is going to be chosen by fewer than 10% of the registered Democrats in the state; the numbers participating is embarrassing even by the standards of an off-year school levy vote, and this is, as they continually remind us, the most important election ever.

Now, a lot of the people complaining about the caucuses are Hillary Clinton supporters. Barack Obama has done extremely well in caucuses across the country; they give him a clear advantage. Clinton has done better in primary elections. But I'm not a Clinton supporter; I caucused for Obama. But I would much rather hear from the two million or more of my fellow Washington Democrats than just rack up points for my man. I don't think it's fair.

I don't think it's democratic.

Get rid of the caucuses. Go to a primary election.

Bloggin'

2008-02-10T20:12:00.000-08:00

Yeah, so I'm writing in my blog here. I've never really done that before. I normally require a forum and a conversation; my best stuff, such as it is, whether on the Slog, the indiepop list, or elsewhere, has always been in response to other people. I'm going to try it this way for a while.

Pop Books

2008-02-07T22:44:00.000-08:00

Simon Napier-Bell. You Don't Have To Say You Love Me. London: Ebury Press, 2005 [1983, 1998].
Trevor Dann. Darker Than the Deepest Sea: The Search for Nick Drake. London: Portrait, 2007 [2006].
Joe Boyd. White Bicycles: Making Music in the 1960s. London: Serpent's Tail, 2006.
Ron Jones. The Beatles' Liverpool: The Complete Guide. Liverpool: Ron Jones Associates Limited, 2006 [1991].

I read pop books like candy. Which is certainly the best way to approach Simon Napier-Bell's book, first published in expurgated form in 1983, when he was managing Wham! It's what you call a breezy romp through a quarter-century of pop music in Britain, beginning with his early efforts to play jazz trumpet, through his 60s heyday managing The Yardbirds and writing songs for Dusty Springfield, and dwelling mostly not on the records and stars but on the debauchery. Bisexual (more like omnisexual), hoovering up drugs and glugging Champagne, he partied his way through the Swinging Sixties, pausing only briefly to steal another 20 percent from his stable of artistes.

He's dismissive of the workload of pop management: "It took all of a minute a day, and suddenly there was so much money coming in that I had to take up eating lunch as well as dinner". Napier-Bell was one of the gay mafia that ran the London pop business -- Brian Epstein with The Beatles, Kit Lambert with The Who, Robert Stigwood with a variety of acts culminating in The Bee Gees, Larry Parnes, Lionel Bart. If kinky sex is your thing, there's plenty of orgy and bordello action here; if music is more interesting to you, then you'll be fascinated by the episodes with Burt Bacharach, Marc Bolan, Jimmy Page, and so on.

It's also a good look into the sprightly sleaze of the music business; one enchanting chapter tells how he traveled around all the record companies in America, selling them the rights to dozens of made-up groups that didn't even exist, solely on the basis of his reputation, without so much as a demo tape in hand, and walking out with large checks. Later, he'd find some random group playing in a club somewhere and have them supply the (terrible) music for the worthless record he'd sold.

He was right at home in the early eighties with pop confection Wham! George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley barely appear in the book. This is fluff, but lively fluff, which captures some of the attitude of the Sixties in hangouts like The Scotch of St. James, where the fellow on acid crawling under your table might be John Lennon.

Another fellow who remembers the Sixties is Joe Boyd. Boyd's not the storyteller that Napier-Bell is, but his career has involved a lot more interesting music. Getting his start putting on shows in the folkie revival scene in Harvard Square and later Greenwich Village, he was the mastermind behind the famous Newport Folk Festival where Bob Dylan plugged in and burned the eardrums of the Pete Seegers of this world. Later, he went to London, and ran UFO, the club night at the locus of the British psychedelic scene, where Syd's Pink Floyd came to prominence.

He produced Pink Floyd's first single, "Arnold Layne", but when they went on to bigger things he found himself leading a new folk revival, the one centering around Fairport Convention. He produced their earliest and best records, through the Sandy Denny and Ashley Hutchings period. He also did records for the Incredible String Band and, famously, depressive song genius Nick Drake.

I was most interested in the Fairport and Nick Drake sections, and I wasn't disappointed. The Drake story is well-known by now, and Boyd doesn't add much, except some nice and nuanced personal reminiscences -- and a great photo of Nick sitting in a chair reading the hilarious Richard Thompson liner notes for Fairport's Full House. The Fairport stuff is new to me, and great, particularly the contrast between the rather meek, polite boys in the band and the blowsy, loud, sweary, clumsy, emotional singer he got them to replace the less-gifted Judy Dyble: Sandy Denny, one of the great voices in the history of pop.

He also ties together some threads for me: the British folk guitar greats. I've heard John Martyn's records before, and of course Drake's; but I don't know much about Bert Jansch, or John Renbourn, or Robin Williamson, or the mysterious Davey Graham, who "combined blues and hillbilly techniques, jazz chords and traditional melodies", which sounds pretty interesting.

One of the best sections in the book describes the black blues-jazz-folk tours he led across Europe, starting with the unlikely mix of Muddy Waters, Otis Spann, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, the Reverend Gary Davis, and Brownie Terry and Sonny McGee. Terry and McGee were used to playing in front of white audiences in the folk clubs; Tharpe was America's greatest gospel singer, who also had a long career in the big band milieu, very unlike the Reverend's rough-edged swamp gospel; while Muddy Waters was of course the king of amped-up Chicago blues. Wary at first, if not downright disgusted -- in one scene the sophisticated Miss Tharpe watched in horror as the blind Reverend Davis picked up a fried egg with his fingers and dripped it into his mouth and down his shirt -- they ended up bonding together as musicians, and created some genuinely new synergy in front of gobsmacked Brit audiences. Later tours took jazz icons like Coleman Hawkins, Sweets Edison, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Kenny Clarke around Europe, with picturesque results.

Continuing in the same theme, Boyd's protégé Nick Drake gets an impressionistic look in Darker Than the Deepest Sea. Trevor Dunn can't compete with Patrick Humphries' book in biographical detail, but he's interviewed everyone, with great sensitivity, and tells the story fairly. Drake was not, of course, a one-dimensional emo poet; he was a guitarist of tremendous invention and strength, a lyricist unusually grounded in the English poetic tradition, and a soulful but subtle singer who gets into the listener's heart like few others. He was also a pathologically shy solipsist, an helplessly dependent smoker of marijuana, a petulant egomaniac, and a spoiled toff.

The first thing everybody wants to know, of course, is "did he commit suicide?" It's the nature of us to want to rubberneck tragedy. The answer is, I don't know; I don't think I care. He was obviously, painfully mentally ill; he was taking too many meds; and he'd apparently tried to hang himself sometime before his death. Suicide? Yes, no; that kind is too fuzzy for hard forensic answers. I really don't think that dwelling on the precise details of his last days is conducive to understanding his work, which is what matters; I'm especially creeped out by the tales of his legions of fans, who visited the family home, were invited inside to see his room, given dubs of his home recordings, and so on. It's ghoulish. I don't think the family can be blamed; they didn't understand what was happening for decades afterward.

Joe Boyd mentions in his book how many dreadful demo tapes he's had to listen to that were "inspired by" Drake; few of them have grasped anything beyond sad brainless acoustic guitar strums, and the few that show any kind of musical promise don't have anything like the literary reach. I can see why he doesn't listen to "White People Singing in English" anymore, even if I'm still interested.

Finally, The Beatles' Liverpool is a classic Liverpool production: sloppy, poorly edited, a bit pathetic. The cover is another in the apparently endless parade of terrible, terrible Beatles art that fills the city, which is, typically, only recognizable as them by their haircuts (sometimes you can only tell it's them by the suits, or the boots). But it's a labor of love, or a cash-in -- are they really so different? Roy Jones knows his stuff, and covers it all. As a work of Beatles scholarship, it is slight; but as a way of seeing this tragic light and lovely city, it's got some real personality. If you know Liverpool, it ties it together in a new way, and even if you don't, it's a useful way to see how geography illuminates the Fab's early life.

Not Grim Up North, Part 10: Waterloo and New Brighton

2007-11-16T12:51:00.000-08:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360]

Yes, I'm back with a new installment of "longest and most boring trip report ever"!

Today we visit not Abba's Waterloo, or Napoleon's. The Kinks' "Waterloo Sunset" will not be visible from here.

This Waterloo is Liverpool's first beach town. I don't think it's ever been a proper resort, but it's the closest place to the city with a proper beach, just north of Bootle and Seaforth and the dock system, far enough out into the mouth of the Mersey that it has a sandy strand which appears to go on forever. The shoreline is lined with the sort of pastel Victorian row that is familiar to anyone who has visited an English seaside, though these are lined up a LONG ways from the sea. Inland, Waterloo is a pleasant middle-class village gone slightly to seed.

You get there on Merseyrail, passing under the slums of North Liverpool, past the docks, past the excitement of Bootle with its standard-issue Soviet-style sixties towers in the center.

We came to see the Gormleys. Antony Gormley installed his artwork "Another Place" here in July 2005, and since then the 100 iron figures, each one nearly 1,500 pounds, modeled on the sculptor and looking out to sea, have received over a million visitors, plus dogs. Plans by the local Sefton council to remove them last year were scuppered and the statues apparently will be staying.

They were worth the visit. Spread out over two miles of the broad, hard-packed sand, some up to their chest in the water, with the new turbines of the Burbo Bank Wind Farm in the distance, and the Seaforth Container Terminal to the south, they are beautiful. Evocative of emigration, perhaps, from what was once the Empire's biggest emigration port, and of man's relation to the sea, they
cast long shadows in the setting sun, and have a fantastic patina of rust. People respond to them in a way that modern sculpture rarely achieves. I loved them, and we stayed out here for hours.

I couldn't tell you where "Waterloo Beach" ends and "Crosby Beach" starts, if indeed there is any difference at all, but we're definitely down at the Waterloo end, close enough to see the control tower for the port. There's a popular beach park with miles of paved paths, a couple of lakes and scrub grass between the strand and the road, with dog walkers and joggers, and a slamming wind. The lakes are sporting signs warning that allowing the water within them to come into contact with your skin will cause you to dissolve like the Wicked Witch of the West, or possibly just get an itch. But it's a lovely park.

Heading into the town, we went straight to the Volunteer Canteen, a small traditional pub. Despite the many and various glories of central Liverpool drinking establishments, this is my favorite pub in Merseyside and thus in Britain, and I was glad to see it again. It's nothing special as far as pubs go, which is precisely what makes it special. It's what you might call an "old man's pub", with NO MUSIC, pleasantly old-fashioned decor, and excellent beer. I could sit and read in the saloon bar all night if we didn't have places to go, while the public bar is a more boisterous room for people seeking loud cheery conversation.

We are here in Watlerloo this late for a reason. On the seedy but neighborly shopping street of St Johns Road lies a bit of a surprise for North Liverpool: one of the best Indian restaurants in the world. I don't know, maybe it's the best. The only one I've ever been in that comes close is Vij's, in Vancouver, BC.

Unlike almost all curry shops in Britain, this one is South Indian and Sri Lankan instead of Pakistani or Bangladeshi. That means Hindu, not Muslim, and instead of halal, they serve pork. And not just any pork; I had a Sri Lankan "black pork", which is cooked in spices roasted a dark coffee brown -- one of the best meals I have ever eaten. The lamb and chicken dishes going around our table were outstanding as well -- not just "spicy" as in hot, but delightfully aromatic and electric with bright, fresh flavors, not buried in an ocean of the usual glob (I say that as a great aficianado of glop). I can recommend the dhai bhalla dumplings and masala dosa starters as well; so much more interesting than the usual samosas. The prices are quite modest, too, for Britain. In a country where my US dollars turn a street kebab or curry takeaway into a meal costing more than a moderate sit-down restaurant in Seattle, this place was perhaps twice as much as that kebab, and considerably less than any number of mediocre "fancy" places in the center of Liverpool. It was comparable to most of the other Indian restaurants we visited in price, but the food was just outstanding.

I honestly doubt there's an Indian restaurant in London that can match it -- I KNOW there isn't one in New York. And it's tucked away in such a difficult-to-get-to place, a considerable walk from the rail station. Really, if I lived in England, even far from here, I'd be making special trips just for this, but then, I really love Indian food!

The owner or partner who greeted us, Neil Brown, turned out to have spent a great deal of time in an even harder-to-get-to part of our part of the world, Omak, Washington, in the Okanogan Valley, where he had something to do with something technical that I've forgotten. What a lovely, unexpected place this was! http://www.corianderdining.co.uk/

On the way home we stopped at our friend's house in Seaforth -- a modest terraced house with a sweet garden out back -- and watched enough of the new Liverpool Football Channel on his giant TV to suit me for a lifetime. This was I believe their second day of broadcasting, and to fill the hours between replays of their thrilling 2005 European win they were already resorting to the sort of call-in chat show hosted by a fat fellow who once scored quite an impressive goal back in 1978 or some such thing, which was mostly entertaining for the accents of the callers. I can do a mediocre general Liverpool accent, based at least in half on John and Paul and George and Ringo, but our friend John's accent is softer and drawlier and has almost a Gaelic click to it -- great to listen to. I can't identify the variations but I can hear them. Liverpudlian is lovely speech most of the time.

The next day we went to New Brighton.

New Brighton is Liverpool's Blackpool, the closest place with all the traditional seaside amusements -- arcades, rides, rock, soft ice cream, sandy beaches, overflowing rubbish bins. It's very small, and very declined from its heyday, but to me that just makes it all the more attractive. It's at the very top of the Wirral, the San Francisco-shaped peninsula across the Mersey from the Liverpool mainland. We took the train to Birkenhead first.

We didn't see much of Birkenhead, but we wandered around the center a little bit. The fine Georgian terraces of Hamilton Square -- one of the nicest and most overlooked in the country -- were of less interest to us than the old industrial zone down towards the water, along Shore Road. The outstanding monument there is the huge Art Deco ventilation tower for the Queensway Tunnel under the river, by Herbert Rowse. There are a few nice old warehouse buildings as well. Most of the dock system has been disused so long that even the ghosts of the working port are gone; there's an odd submarine up on plinths, and some informational boards, but not that much to see, really. Maybe we missed the good bits.

Back on the train, we went up through Wallasey Village to New Brighton. On the main shopping street, Victoria Road, leading down the hill to the sea, we ate in a spectacularly grotty but very friendly cafe, with horrible carpet, mismatched furniture, and weeping windows. The sun was burning off the morning fog. I had a sandwich called a "dustbin lid", for its size, which was about as good as it sounds. It was big, I'll give it that credit; big as a dustbin lid, but drier. The street looked like it had seen better days, indeed it looked as though those better days were beyond the living memory of any of the inhabitants.

Down at the sea, though, things brightened up considerably. From what I had been told, I was expecting total dereliction, but the place was jammed with people, mostly families with small ones. There was a great deal of construction going on, as well, which surprised me; I don't know if City of Culture money gets this far out, but someone is paying to fix up the gazebo and the promenade. We walked out the causeway to old Fort Perch Rock, but the fort didn't look worth the admission. The view was great, though, and so was the buttery ice cream back on the prom.

Up from the fort is the amusement center, with all the usual suspects -- a bowling alley, an arcade, a row of seaside shops where I purchased a few packages of "Booze Flavoured Rock" for my more discriminating friends, and a funfair with rides. For all the horror stories and Martin Parr photographs of the place, showing morbidly obese people swimming in floating piles of discarded chips and cigarette butts, I didn't think it was bad at all. On a beautiful sunny day like this, with the shouts of children in my ears and a Cadbury's 99 Flake in my hand, and a rundown row of Art Deco classics to look at, I was as happy as could be. I wasn't much tempted by the water, though.

From New Brighton the Promenade runs several miles all the way down the coast of the Wirral back to the ferry, and that's what we did. By this time in our trip my feet were misbehaving, so my progress was slower than it could have been, which is probably a good thing. You get a miraculous view of the Liverpool skyline across the water, from the brooding presence of Salisbury Dock with its great gates and Stanley Dock behind, all the way to the Pier Head, the shifting angle as you walk down the prom always changing. The coast here is interesting too -- not just boring sand but rocks and pools and sealife.

South of New Brighton along the water, enjoying this tremendous view, the neighborhood quickly moves upscale; this appears to be some of the choicest real estate in Merseyside, with some grand houses along Magazine Promenade. Wallasey Town Hall is the most dramatic building here, but my favorite is, surprise, surprise, the Magazine Hotel -- a charming pub in an even more charming village setting, with white cottages clustered around curving streets, almost like the countryside. It WAS the countryside once, when these houses were first built, some in the 1600s. The pub's not that old, but it's old-fashioned, a warren of little snugs and rooms. The room we were in was marred by a hideous fruit machine the size of an industrial refrigerator, and smelled very faintly of carpet cleaner, but I didn't mind, and we had a fine pint and a view of the sea.

Of course, the pint of beer on a walking tour is always a mistake with me, and within seconds of setting out down the promenade again I had to pee. This is not a new or unusual sensation for me, so I carried on, but by the time we got to the jetty which is all that remains of the old Egremont ferry dock, I was forced to do something which will shock the conscience of all decent persons: I went into a pub and used their toilet without buying anything, while wife and friend waited outside. Fortunately, everyone in the packed house was watching the start of Man Utd v Chelsea, so I don't think anyone noticed.

Further down we went, to the ferry home, at Seacombe. One of the dubious joys of this famous ride, if you take one of the tourist boats like this one on the weekend, rather than the commuter boat during the work week, is that you get some of the same commentary we had before at the end of the Manchester Ship Canal cruise, extolling the wonders of the etc. etc. And at the end you are treated to Gerry and the Pacemakers' hit "Ferry, Cross the Mersey", which is a nice enough tune, but surely must have every ferry employee wanting to strangle Mr. Marsden after hearing it so many times. Or maybe they don't hear it at all anymore.

And that's pretty much it for Liverpool this trip.

NEXT: BELFAST

[Note: I never got around to Belfast and Dublin; this is the end of it.]

Not Grim Up North, Interlude: Liverpool Odds and Ends

2007-10-29T13:08:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360, in reply to comments there.]

Funny you should mention it, Flanner, because we did all of those things, including the Huskisson memorial, which is an absurd monument, as it was designed to hold a statue of him inside, but that statue is now buried somewhere in the warehouse at the National Railway Museum in York, where you can see it on one of the racks. The memorial is now just an empty room you can see faintly through the iron bars meant to keep the scallies out (with mixed success).

You are also right about the cemetery -- it is the Gothest place imaginable. I'm surprised that it's not full of kids in white makeup, black eyeliner, and pineapple hair. It was in the eighties, when the black eyeliner was applied to my darling wife. We were able to recreate some of her gloomy photos in the tunnel (minus the extra-moody snow).

The arch in Chinatown, which is, like every other Chinatown arch I've ever seen, labeled "the largest Chinatown arch in the world", is entirely wrapped in plastic and scaffolding like Christo piece. It's being repaired. But the area is one of my favorite in Liverpool, one of the places that hasn't been restored to death yet.

Stupidly, we did not eat here, but in Lark Lane, a supposedly up-and-coming trendy area well to the south of the city center, near Sefton Park. I have to say that Manchester does "up-and-coming trendy" better than Liverpool if this is anything to go by. One decent pub (the Albert), sadly full of shouters, and a string of restaurants ranging from half-decent to abysmal, does not quite match up to Canal Street or the Northern Quarter. Maybe there aren't enough gays.

Our restaurant choice was, unforgiveably, The Worst Chinese Restaurant In The World, the kind of old-school place where you can get chips with your Chinese instead of rice, and where every plate has a gallon of sauce thick with corn starch. I haven't had a worse Chinese since I actually ordered food at the late, unlamented Jade Pagoda in Seattle, former holder of the WCRITW title.

Back in Chinatown, you definitely should see the huge Banksy graffito on the boarded-up Whitehouse pub on Berry Street. It's giant rat holding a pen (or rather, formerly holding a pen, the pen has been stolen by scallies), looking up in mid-apprehension after having marked a big red line all over the side of the building. Quite witty, and enough of a landmark now to maintain the abandoned building in its falling-down condition for quite some time -- the graffito is worth considerably more than the building is!

This brief interlude is not a proper Liverpool chapter, the next of which will be appearing shortly.

Not Grim Up North, Part 9: Liverpool, continued (Edward Hardman)

2007-10-29T00:16:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360]

Before we get out to the suburbs I have to mention an unheralded attraction in Liverpool. The home and studio of Liverpool photographer Edward Chambre Hardman has been opened by the National Trust, and it is absolutely fascinating.

Liverpool has the best, and best-preserved, Georgian terraces outside of London. The most famous of these streets is Rodney Street, which was laid out in the 1780s and built up between then and 1820. There are over 60 listed buildings in the street, which is known as Liverpool's Harley Street, for the number of doctors who practiced here.

Most of the fine three-story brick buildings have beautiful doors set in columns, with fan lights overhead, reminiscent of the famous Georgian squares of Dublin.

A few doors from the house William Gladstone, Liberal Prime Minister in the latter part of the 19th century, was the house where Edward Hardman and his wife, Margaret, lived for forty years, until his death in 1988. The house is now owned by the National Trust, and is open to guided tours, starting every few hours from the back garden office.

What makes the Hardman house interesting not just to photographers but to anyone interested in British life in this century is the level of preservation. The Hardmans lived and worked here, and they quite literally never threw anything out.

After Margaret died in 1970, Edward declined over a number of years, and social services was on the point of putting him into a home and throwing everything away when another photographer and friend of the Hardmans, who recognized how special the collection was, successfully intervened and saved the contents.

When I say they never threw anything out, I mean NOT ANYTHING. When the house was restored, they were able to exactly match the paint and wall coverings because all of the correspondence and samples from the painters were there. In the kitchen cupboards were wartime-era cans of vegetables and fruits -- one exploded in a conservationist's hands as he removed it! Everything was there -- sauce bottles from before WWII, unopened fifty-year-old beer and liquor bottles, hundreds of empty egg cartons, thousands of magazines, millions of receipts and notes and scraps of junk mail. All of Margaret's clothes and hats and perfumes were there, untouched. The living quarters were filled to the ceiling with the detritus of forty years of living.

The Hardmans lived very simply, despite his position as Liverpool's top society photographer, and their very modest furniture and kitchen fittings today look exactly as they did in 1948 when they moved in. There are almost no concessions to modernity.

When the National Trust came in, every item in the house was photographed, cataloged, and removed so that the house could be cleaned, repaired, repainted and restored, and then it was all put back in, laid out as if the Hardmans had just stepped out. Their bicycles are in the hall, and his glasses are on the sideboard. As a museum of life and its artifacts from the 1950s, it is fantastic to see, even if you don't care about the pictures.

But the pictures are fantastic as well. There are a HUNDRED AND FORTY THOUSAND of them! The cataloging job, which has been going on since his death, is not yet complete, but it is one of the finest archives ever discovered. And to think it was all barely rescued from the landfill!

In addition to his portrait photography, which paid the bills, Hardman and his wife both were outstanding and prolific landscape photographers. Seeing them cycling around Lancashire with a large-format Graflex was a common occurrence, and they also went further afield in their car, to all parts of England, Scotland and Wales. His most famous pictures, though, are of Liverpool: the docks, the harbor, the city streets, showing the power and devastation of war, and then the long, slow decline of his once-great city. Perhaps his most famous image is "The Birth of the Ark Royal", showing a stark white navy ship being built at Cammell Laird shipyards in Birkenhead in the background, as a small boy trundles down the steep hillside of Holt Hill in front. You can see the picture here: http://www.bwpics.co.uk/gallery/arkroyal.html, and a wider selection of his work at http://www.mersey-gateway.org/chambrehardman/ -- the site is difficult to navigate, but click on "Hardman's Work" on the left, and then dig down under "Find out More" on the right. Another famous picture, "Museum Steps" is at http://tinyurl.com/33rxcs .

His entire business and personal operation was contained within the house. The portrait studio is still laid out with his cameras and his lighting setup, mostly homemade and rather dangerous-looking. The work darkroom, where an assistant developed the glass plates in a room next to, dare I say it, the bathtub under the coal scuttle -- yes, they kept their coal in the bath! Another darkroom upstairs was where the developed plates where made into prints, and where Hardman and his wife did their own personal work after hours. They appear to have spent almost their entire waking life pursuing this mixed career and hobby. This latter darkroom is still laid out with Mr. H's personal effects. Another room is the office, still filled to the brim with order books, wrapping paper, cartons of photographic paper and chemicals, and the usual detritus of the not-very-modern office. Anyone who has worked in an office before the computers took over the desks will no doubt gasp hundreds of time in recognition.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about the house is the large and devoted staff. There's a separate person for each room, eight of them in total I think, and they are all (I think) volunteers, and most wear the blue badge of the Guild of Registered Tourist Guides, and on the day of our visit they were without exception impeccably knowledgable and pleasant.

I honestly can't think of any tourist site I've ever enjoyed more, and if you find yourself in Liverpool with a couple of hours to spare, go. Booking ahead is recommended, though we were able to get on a tour -- the only ones -- simply by turning up and booking for the next one starting in 20 minutes. The place is not crowded, but it should be.

Next: Waterloo and New Brighton (this time I promise)

Not Grim Up North, Part 8: Liverpool, continued

2007-10-27T12:45:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360]

This is not really a good guide to Liverpool for first-time visitors, because we had already seen a lot of what the city has to offer in our previous visit. We didn't really see much of the famous dock system, for instance, and didn't go near Albert Dock.

I will briefly mention that the Liverpool dock system is one of the greatest engineering projects in the history of the world. Beginning with Old Dock in 1715 (the world's first enclosed dock, replacing the silted-up tidal "pool" that gave the city its name), Liverpool lined its entire Mersey waterfront with dozens of these stone, brick and iron behemoths, thousands of acres of them. London has nothing comparable to these miles of artificial basins.

Old Dock and many of the other earlier ones have long since been filled in, and few of the ones that are left serve any useful commercial purpose anymore. The site of Old Dock, like seemingly half the central city, is currently buried underneath the rubble of a massive construction project. The docks belong to an era of goods packed in sacks and crates and barrels, and swung off the small ships of the day with simple cranes, moved by men with barrows or strong backs, and hoisted into the massive warehouses at dockside.

Today, all the action is in containers, which are handled in terrific volume but with vastly reduced manpower at Royal Seaforth Dock, the most recent and most northerly in the system (to avoid the treacherous Mersey). There are also large terminals for oil, timber, and grain.

The greatest of the docks, the ones that express not just commercial intent but the explosive wave of Victorian power, were built in the mid-nineteenth century by Jesse Hartley, who belongs in the front rank of the world's engineering superstars. Albert Dock is his greatest achievement -- not merely the big hole with water in it, but the massive, gorgeous warehouses that ring it, with some of the finest columns erected outside of ancient Greece. It's all museums and hotel now, with much of its power buffed out, glassed in and emasculated, but you can still get a feeling of how booming a port this must have been.

Hartley's other work is nearly as good. From 1830 to 1859, he built Clarence Dock, Brunswick Dock, Waterloo Dock, Victoria Dock, Trafalgar Dock, Albert Dock, Canning Half-Tide Dock, Salisbury Dock, Collingwood Dock, Stanley Dock, Nelson Dock, Bramley Moore Dock, Wellington Dock, Wellington Half-Tide Dock, Sandon Dock, Huskisson Dock, and Canada Dock, as well as numerous dock buildings, mostly warehouses. My favorite parts are the incredible bulging seawall stairs that extend out over the Mersey at the Albert River Wall, visible from the ferry; if you look closely you can see how surprisingly graceful the massive stone blocks are.

If filled-in and glossily restored docks don't do it for you, the moody masterpiece that is Stanley Dock, to the north, which connects the Leeds and Liverpool Canal to the Mersey via Collingwood Dock and Salisbury Dock (with its massive gates), might satisfy. The bulk of the Tobacco Warehouse hangs over it, vast and unrestored. It is the largest brick warehouse in the world. When it was built in 1901, tobacco was shipped and stored in heavy barrels, which could not easily be stacked very high, so the ceilings are only two meters high, which makes renovating into apartments difficult. The luxury apartment hunter's loss is the urban archaeologist's gain, as the building is still redolent of its active past, not its sanitized retro future.

Another thing Liverpool is famous for is its great football teams. I'm a Tottenham fan, not a Reds man, but I can respect Liverpool's trophy case and the atmosphere of Anfield, and the famous Kop. Mrs. Fnarf got to know the place back when the terraces were still standing-only; I only know it from rather terrifying video, watching the mass of people swaying back and forth ten feet or more, all the while singing. She's made of tougher stuff than me, I guess.

The terraces are all seating now, thanks to the horror of Hillsborough, when 96 Liverpool fans were crushed to death against the steel fences in Sheffield Wednesday's stadium of that name on April 15, 1989. Few fans of English football will ever forget the sight of the disaster, whether on live TV reports or pictures afterwards, or the memorials covered with notes and flowers and the scarves of hundreds of other football clubs, hated rivals Everton and Manchester United among them. On that day the whole world were Liverpool fans.

I had to see a match in person. Birmingham City were coming to Anfield during our stay. Tickets to Liverpool matches are hard to come by, even for Birmingham (forget Everton or Man U), thanks both to their scarcity and the impossible-to-comprehend (but classically Liverpudlian)
distribution system, involving randomly-awarded phone calls and dead-end internet lotteries. But there is a way. After dozens of comical spy-vs.spy emails of the "the bishop's scorpion has touched down in the park" variety between the head of the United States Liverpool Supporters Club, myself, and a few shady Irish contacts (Liverpool has a large Irish support contingent), arrangements were made. We met our contact in his hotel, handed over our cash, and bought our tickets, face value.

On match day, we were under the mistaken impression that the bus that goes past the stadium, Arriva Bus 26 (the Shield Road Circular) would be a timely option. We were failing to reckon that this is Liverpool, the city where nothing works. We reached a stop with more than two hours to spare, and then sat and watched as hundreds of other buses passed by. Just as we had given up and decided to grab a taxi, the 26 finally arrived. It was slow going, of course, because of the congestion near the stadium, but we wisely got off as soon as we got near and walked the rest of it.

Every pub was packed, with dozens standing outside each one, and hundreds of cans and glasses on the sidewalks. The streets were packed full. The terraces around the stadium are in appalling condition, many of them boarded up and ready for the wrecking ball. I wouldn't want to be here on a dark night with no game crowd -- it looked much grimmer than Toxteth -- but on a home Saturday it was a carnival. We bought a program and found our gate.

English stadiums are not like American ones: there's no free movement from section to section. At Safeco Field, you can walk entirely around the stadium with an excellent view of the field the whole way. Here, if you go in Gate N you stay in Gate N.

Our tickets were on the Anfield Road end, right behind the goal, but "obstructed view", in the very last row, row 35 under the upper deck, with our backs against the metal wall. With the overhang, and the 34 rows of fans in front of us jumping up every time something happened, it was like watching the match through a letter slot. But I was happy; we could stand without blocking anyone's view.

And another difference between American stadiums and English ones, Anfield at least, is that there is no running track; the seating comes right up nearly to the edge of the pitch; I believe that our 35th row was closer to the action than the very FIRST row at, say, Qwest Field, where the American football Seahawks (and sometimes soccer teams) play. If I had thought of anything witty to accuse the Birmingham keeper of, he would have heard me.

Or he would have, if even my foghorn voice could have penetrated the noise. As we took our seats they were singing "You'll Never Walk Alone", and it actually brought a lump to my throat to hear it booming out at such a volume. Later in the match, which was frankly a rather insipid one, it was quiet enough to hear the same song sung with the intended-to-be-cutting lyrics "You'll Never Work Again; Sign on, Si-ign on" (meaning the dole), which has by now lost most of the power it had back in the fearful unemployment days of the 1980s. But still, the
response of the Kop at the other end, and around me, was as tepid as the match.

(A couple of weeks later, after we were home in Seattle, my boys Tottenham visited this place and sang "Anfield is a library" when they were up 2-1, and it was that quiet. The Spurs singers were of course hushed themselves when the Reds equalized in the "Inevitable Spurs Death Zone", i.e. added time; don't get me started).

This game ended 0-0, both sides having one pulled back for offsides. A disappointing result for most of the people here.

But remember I'm not a Liverpool fan. Honestly, if I had to take sides in Liverpool I think I'd pick Everton, just to be ornery. Having said that, I'm sleeping in the storage shed outside tonight! I'm don't give a damn about Birmingham, but a single point for the home side didn't bother me. I was just happy to see the game. For entertainment value I give it a 10 (if I ever get to White Hart Lane before they knock it down I expect it will go to 11).

On the way home we stupidly got back on the bus and then stood stock still in traffic for two hours. When we finally made it back to the center, we had been beaten there by 20,000 walkers. But I did get to see a fellow, standing outside an Anfield pub, who filled my mod-loving heart with joy: a light-skinned black man, slight of build, in impeccable jeans, outstanding shoes, and a canary-yellow Fred Perry polo shirt, with a beautifully coordinated yellow sweater, and a crisp haircut that looked like he had it touched up every two hours. There wasn't a wrinkle or a pulled thread or sweater pill on him, let alone anything so gauche as a stain; he looked like an absolute god. I know, he was probably some sort of nasty bad criminal drug dealer or something, and I am not a gay man, but I appreciate a nice cut of clothes, and this dude was sharp enough to cut through steel.

On the Monday we attempted to take the circular bus the opposite direction. Stupidly, we thought that because the booklet at the bus information center showed a circular route, that that's what it would do. We should have known not to trust the info center, because info is the one thing that they seemed to be most reluctant to give out.

Route map, showing where all the buses go? Oh, no, they don't have anything like that; you have to ask the man at the window. There's a route map in some of the timetable booklets (but not all of them), but if you don't know which bus you want, you have to ask. And God help you if you don't know the precise name of the street you're trying to get to.

And if you want to know the fare, they can't help you; the bus companies are all private, you see, and there are seemingly dozens of them, and, well, we're just the INFO center. Do they make change on the bus? No idea, sorry. Apparently visitors should just carry several pounds' worth of 10p pieces and hope for the best. Or buy a Saveaway card, which is what we did.

The worrisome thing was, especially in light of the supposed influx of thousands of "City of Culture 2008" visitors coming next year, was the fact that the fellow at the desk was completely flummoxed by these arcane requests -- is there a map of where all the buses go, how much does
it cost -- as if he'd never even thought of it before.

Our trial was only beginning. The route map showed the bus going down Dale Street, so we headed to Dale Street. No bus, no bus sign. There were lots of other buses, and lots of other bus signs, but not for the 27. So we carried on down the route, following all the turns on the map, looking for a 27 sign. This quickly became impossible because of the construction. All of the streets in the center have been rerouted; one ways now go the opposite direction, two-ways are now one way, turns are prohibited, many of the streets are blocked off entirely.

Not only could we not find any 27 signs, we couldn't even follow the supposed route, or find our way back to any part of it.

We had picked up another pamphlet, from the thousands of useless ones on offer, most of which had cute pictures of ducks or glass buildings on them, and some very expensive-looking ad copy about how terrific a place to visit the Museum of Scuff Marks will be when it's finished. This pamphlet, entitled "Bus Service Disruptions", informed us that "whatever bus you intend on taking is going to follow mysterious and ever-changing detour routes instead which we have no intention of revealing to you, and will be picking up passengers solely at unmarked spots in the middle of the block and the middle of road, so it sucks being you, doesn't it?" It didn't mention the 27, but we knew it was meant for us.

After being blocked by the umpteenth closed off street, and by now miles from Dale Street, and finally being passed by a 27 which indeed picked up several wide ladies in raincoats and rain-bonnets with bags of shopping in the middle of the road two blocks away, we ended up all the way down at the magical Paradise Street Bus Interchange, where in the midst of dozens of unopening glass doors unattached to anything we finally found a sign saying "27".

And then miraculously, a bus! Which whizzed past us at speed, roared out of view around a corner, and came to a halt. The driver got out and lit a smoke; end of the line, mate, I'm on break; you should be standing over there. So we stood over there, behind another glass door not attached to anything, and marveled at how a major bus transfer point in a major city with hundreds of buses could be so devoid of people in the middle of the day.

There were people about, but they were all a hundred feet off the ground, in the dozens of steel building frames all around us.

But finally our bus came, and all was well again. You haven't been to Liverpool unless you've spend a certain amount of time walking around in circles wondering what the hell is going on. It's just part of life. If you had any sense you'd be in the pub, drinking Mild.

It's a bit like Mexico; if you get irritated at the way things don't move with the same pace and smoothness they do back home, you'll never be happy; you have to adjust to the pace and resignation of the natives. Once you do, you'll start to enjoy yourself. Don't get me wrong: Liverpool is a wonderful, wonderful city. But it's not exactly clockwork.

Next: Waterloo, Crosby and New Brighton

Not Grim Up North, Interlude: Preservation

2007-10-24T12:50:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360 in response to some comments there.]

Most of Toxteth appears to be about to fall under the wrecking ball -- the rows we saw tended to have metal grates on all but a few windows. I can't say what it was like back in the bad old days, but frankly the boarded-up streets are really creepy and dangerous-looking.

I believe firmly that most of this housing, if fixed up (at much less cost than demolishing and building shoddy new stuff) would be attractive and gentrifiable. The new stuff they are building in its place is for the most part horrible.

Not as bad as the grim towers they built in the sixties in places like Everton, which are also coming down, but the new stuff just looks bad. Worse than the new stuff here, which is saying something.

I know I'm not an expert, and the argument rages on between the preservationists and the "modern-standardists", and both sides have their points, but I'm firmly with the former. I've seen what those rows can be made to look like with some TLC. Of course, some are too far gone; the brick is crumbling. And Toxteth has a long way to go before it's a desireable neighborhood in estate-agent terms. But it's really close to the center.

PatrickLondon, I think you will find that I have already mentioned the Preston Bus Station above, and Mrs. Fnarf is probably even sorrier than I am that we weren't able to fit it in. We were talking with a native Prestonian who was rather taken aback that someone from as far away as we were had ever heard of the thing. It's been deeply unloved for most of its lifetime; I hope they recognize its increased appreciation in time.

I hadn't known about that fantastic Roundabouts of Great Britain website, thank you! I think a lovely "Roundabouts of Grimsby" or "Gateshead Car Park" calendar sounds like just the thing for my office cubicle.

Caroline, Scotland is for a future trip. We've been to Glasgow for a minute, and several days on the Cowal peninsula, but haven't really seen the country at all. We will!

Audere (I know it's you), it's no grimmer than parts of East or South London were not that long ago. Really, I think you'd enjoy some of these pubs!

Not Grim Up North, Part 7: Liverpool

2007-10-24T00:15:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360]

The train to Liverpool from York passes through some of the earliest and most dramatic railway works anywhere: the Edge Hill cutting. The cutting has been widened, so the marks on the high sandstone walls are not for the most part the 1830 originals, and much of the way has been covered over and turned into a tunnel under the city, but it's still a glorious entry into the city.

The original terminus, Crown Street, as well as the fantastic Moorish arches of the original Edge Hill station (not the current one of that name) have both been closed for decades (Crown Street was closed to passenger traffic in 1836), and unfortunately little remains, and even less is accessible to the public. For a fascinating look at the history (and what is left) of the original Edge Hill tunnels, see the Subterranean Britannica site at http://www.subbrit.org.uk/sb-sites/sites/l/liverpool_edge_hill_cutting/index.shtml .

Liverpool Lime Street is one of the great train stations in the world. It's not on the way to anything; Liverpool is a terminus, so it's not as visited as some of the main line stations, but its magnificent iron and glass roof, built in 1867, is still breathtaking.

Outside the station, what's breathtaking is the number of construction cranes and torn-up sites. Liverpool is the European Union's "Capital of Culture 2008", and a couple of months prior someone noticed, "hey, we'd better get started on this, here's a billion pounds".

My interest is of course not in the new towers that are going up but in the old ones that are coming down. Among the unstarted plans is a whole new front for Lime Street Station, demolishing what is admittedly one of the ugliest facades west of Omsk (but including one of the few remaining charming old bookshops in Britain, which has been asked to vamoose). Next to it is Concourse Tower, one of the iconic "bad sixties buildings", so hated by the experts today, so badly missed by the experts of twenty years from now. Or so I believe; I love these buildings, with their concrete, their aluminum windows, their colored panels. It's as good as Manchester House in Manchester, just not as well kept up. Not kept up at all, actually; it looks like it's going to fall down at any minute.

As connoisseurs of gridlike sixties buildings, we have chosen to stay in the Holiday Inn, right across the street from the station, in the much-reviled St. Johns Shopping Centre. There's talk of tearing it down, but we wanted to see it. This is Liverpool, so there were the usual problems -- this supposedly fancy hotel had a bathroom door that didn't come close to fitting in its frame, a toilet seat the wrong size and shape for the bowl, and a broken toilet paper roll. Instead of one of those big padded vinyl books detailing all the wonderful services the hotel offers, like you get in most places, they have an impossible-to-navigate menu system from 1981 on the TV.

But you know, I don't care. The room is clean, the hotel is central, the view over the roof of the car park is great, and the view from the bar across Liverpool's great Victorian sweep of monumental buildings is even better. And one of the advantages of a city where nothing works as it should is the occasional double Scotch that never makes it onto the final bill. The free wireless in the bar was nice, too -- shame they don't tell you about it! We had to ask, after seeing another computer user.

This report, as I'm sure you've noticed by now, is not like most. I'm not like most travelers. Those monumental buildings I mentioned are nice, but I really don't care; and those things that don't fit or don't work, well, I don't care about them either. The people in the Holiday Inn were great, and actually seemed to carry over a little of the famous Liverpool joie de vivre into their work life, which in this city is unheard of. We enjoyed it very much.

We've also been here before -- Mrs. Fnarf went to university here in the mid-eighties, and we have the best of local guides: John, who knows everything there is to know about Liverpool's most important institutions, her pubs.

Liverpool has the greatest pubs in the world. I haven't been everywhere, but I can't imagine that this statement is untrue. Possibly the single best pub in the world isn't here, but half of the top 100 are. Nowhere in Britain has the density of educated drinkers as this city. And some of the pubs are magnificent works of art.

The beer's pretty good too.

My personal favorite British ale is Cain's Mild. Mild is a style of beer with more malt and less bitter hop flavor, and lower alcohol content. It's similar to porter or stout, but not as dense; many mild drinkers will drink Guinness if no mild is available. You won't find mild in London or the south, or even in most places outside of Lancashire. Its closest cousin elsewhere is Newcastle Brown Ale (newkie broon), but nothing beats the real stuff from a cask right in the brewery. And the Brewery Tap, in the red-brick castle of the Cain's Brewery, is only the fifteenth-best pub in the center city!

Liverpool is an Irish city, and their Guinness is the best outside of Ireland. We had a fantastic pint in Ma Boyle's Oyster Bar in Tower Gardens by the Pier Head, and another in the Lion Tavern in Moorfields. Thomas Rigby's on Dale Street has great beer and surprisingly excellent food (especially after Blackpool). Even southern beer tastes better in the north; a pint of Shepherds Neame Spitfire, from Kent, is a wonderful thing. So is Old Speckled Hen, from Morland Brewery in Suffolk. Brains in Wales makes a lovely thing called Bread of Heaven. But really, I think the center of the ale universe is Yorkshire; in addition to John Smiths and Samuel Smiths, already mentioned, the Black Sheep bitter is a wonderful drink.

Also on Dale Street is the Ship and Mitre, which though less than charming in decor is possibly the country's top real ale Mecca. The Roscoe Head. The White Star. The Poste House. The adorable Hole in ye Wall. The Grapes, in Mathews Street. The Globe in Cases Street, with its famous sloping floor. Ye Cracke off of Hope Street. The Baltic Fleet, down by the docks. The list goes on and on.

Most famous are the Vines and the Philharmonic, pinnacles of the Victorian beer-palace achievement. Unfortunately the beer doesn't quite live up to the insanely ornate interior, which can only be topped by the Philharmonic, where even the gent's toilets are spectacular. These are probably the two loveliest pub interiors in Britain, and should not be missed. Shame about the piped-in music, and the beer, though.

I could go on at length about these wonderful pubs -- oh wait, I already have. Well, there will be more later.

You will no doubt have noticed that I have not even mentioned Liverpool's most famous product. One thing that my native country doesn't understand anymore is pop music; we've made a lot of it, that's pretty good, but we don't respect it; we think it's shabby and shallow and made for teenage girls. But one of the things I've learned since I was a teenage boy is that the teenage girls were RIGHT. And they were listening to great pop music while I and my fellow hopeless males were rotting our brains with horrible prog nonsense, noodley guitar solos and so on. And one thing Liverpool has always gotten right is pop music. I don't know what it is; most people say it's the Irish influence. But Liverpool has always known how to sing. And of course, the greatest pop music phenomenon of all came from here.

I am referring, of course, to Ian Broudie.

Oh, you thought I was going to say "Rory Storm and the Hurricanes", didn't you! Sadly, most people don't know who Ian Broudie is, but he was great stuff back in the eighties. He produced all kinds of records, including Echo and the Bunnymen and the Icicle Works, and his own band, The Lightning Seeds, had some sweet synthy hits late in that decade. Seriously, check out Cloudcuckooland, it's brilliant. And completely Liverpool, in that it's tough and hard but sounds almost impossibly sweet and lovely, with gorgeous melodies. Remember "There She Goes", by the La's? They were from Liverpool too.

Apparently there were some big groups from Liverpool back in the sixties. The biggest of them all was The Rutles. Gerry and the Pacemakers were pretty big for a while, too, and you can still hear their big hit "Ferry, Cross the Mersey" playing through the loudspeakers on the ferry across the Mersey, which must drive the commuters bonkers. Gerry and the lads also did a stirring version of "You'll Never Walk Alone", about which more later. The best book about Merseyside music, beyond the obvious, is Paul du Noyer's Liverpool, Wondrous Place: Music From Cavern to Cream.

The Cavern is of course a reference to the famous underground (literally) venue in Mathew Street where Brian Epstein first saw the Beatles play. We didn't spend much time following the Beatles' trail this time, but if you go, you really should visit the National Trust tour of Paul's and John's childhood homes. They are incredibly evocative for anyone who grew up to the sound of the songs written in these rooms. Paul's house, while filled with unoriginal furniture and fittings, is of interest even to people who couldn't care less about the Beatles; it's the best example of a 1950s council house in existence.

We did walk down through Toxteth to see Ringo's birthplace, in Madryn Street. The "Welsh streets" are slated for demolition, and Ringo's house -- he was born here, the only Beatle not born in a hospital -- at number 9 is one of only two occupied houses in the entire street. The rest are boarded up, or rather metalled up, with vandal-proof grating and a myriad of warning notices. It's rather sad. Across the street, in Admiral Grove where Ringo grew up, is the Empress, the pub featured on the cover of Ringo's great first solo album, Sentimental Journey, which is all popular songs of the 1940s recorded for his mum. Rather more enjoyable than John and Yoko's Two Virgins, or George's dire Electronic Sound albums of the same time period! Ringo was the coolest Beatle, you know. I will brook no argument on that one.

Toxteth is impoverished and half-demolished, and probably not the safest neighborhood in the world. They famously rioted in 1981. But I enjoyed seeing the long rows of very plain terraces. Toxteth has a rich history and a great texture of life; if you want to see more, visit www.toxteth.net, an exhaustive street-by-street look at then and now, with many beautiful photographs.

For the benefit of more conventional travelers, who wouldn't dream of setting foot in a slum like Toxteth, I'll mention Liverpool's Victorian centerpiece. In the middle is St. George's Hall, next to the train station, which most Liverpudlians seem to erroneously "Great George's Hall" (there is a Great George Street, but not close to here). This is an immense neoclassical pile built in 1854. It was so huge, so grand, so magnificent, that it set off a round of town-hall building across England in all the jealous other cities (Liverpool's own Town Hall is a much earlier, and lovelier, building in Castle Street). St. George's Hall has a spectacular central hall, with an amazing tile floor (unfortunately kept covered while we were there). My wife saw Echo and the Bunnymen play there in 1984, which must have been something. It's one of the greatest buildings in Britain; not to my taste, but even I can recognize that it's something special.

Surrounding St. George's Hall is a curving row of cultural buildings on William Brown Street: the William Brown Museum and Library, the Picton Reading Room, the Walker Art Museum, and the County Sessions House. Together this is the finest row of Victorian institutions in the country; not even London has a grouping to compare. The Walker is probably the best traditional art museum outside London, with old masters and many, many British paintings up to the modern period, including an outstanding collection of the pre-Raphaelites. I'm very partial to modern (not contemporary) British painting, and they have many fine examples, including masterworks by LS Lowry, Lucian Freud, Henry Moore, and David Hockney. To be honest, we were in here just to get out of a diluvian downpour, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Next: Liverpool, Part Deux

Not Grim Up North, Interlude: Drinking Seawater

2007-10-18T11:45:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360, in answer to a question there.]

Yes, they really did drink the seawater.

My chronology is a bit off; it's closer to 400 years, since 1626, when a Mrs. Farrow started advertising her mineral spring on the beach to the fashionable set. It was a bit later that a Dr. Whittie from Hull got the idea to advertise the SEA water as well as the spa water. For drinking. As a cleansing tonic to, uh, empty out the system.

He also advertised sea swimming, probably the first time where members of the public did this in an organized fashion, not monks mortifying their flesh. People used to think that getting wet was the worst thing that could happen to you.

By the end of the 1600s Scarborough was a full-fledged resort. According to John Grundy in Northern Pride, "for the first 100 years or so, through the 18th century, it seems to have gone on in the nude".

Not Grim Up North, Part 6: Scarborough

2007-10-17T23:47:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360]

I was crestfallen to find no parsley, no sage, no rosemary or thyme in this
seaside town, on the opposite side of England from Blackpool (in more ways than
one).

However, I picked my crest up and soldiered on. This was just a day trip; I
know we didn't do York justice, or Scarborough, but I'm a ramblin' man. Actually
I think it was Nancy's idea to come here; I was plumping for Whitby, but it was
too far on the train.

Scarborough has a perfectly pleasant market street running down the center, as
do so many English cities. Is Scarborough a city? The word doesn't have any
official meaning in the United States, but here it does. Town, city, it doesn't
matter; they still have a High Street, with a Debenhams and a Bhs and a M & S
(who mysteriously seem to have dropped the arks and the pencer from their name),
instead of the huge gaping maw of Wal-Mart in 100,000 square feet out on the
highway.

I stopped in a quite good bookstore in the pedestrian center and loaded up my
day bag with heavy books. It's important to get this done early in the day, in
preparation for a long day trudging up and down cliffs. I was able to pick up
several interesting volumes of photographs of the coal mines of Yorkshire, which
will help with my wife's chronic insomnia.

We then headed towards the sea. The center of Scarborough is at the top of a
high cliff over the sea. The prospect at the top is stunning: the broad ocean,
the curving beach, the boats bobbing in the adorable inner harbor, the pretty
buildings along the promenade, the beautiful manicured gardens leading down the
face of the cliff, and the looming, preposterous hulk of the Grand Hotel,
perhaps the Victorian era's most impressive decorated cake, sitting at the top.

There's some sort of tram running down that the guidebook recommends, but we
walked down through the gardens, at each step getting closer to the seaside
action, which just got prettier as we went. What a chocolate box! Scarborough is
Great Britain's oldest seaside resort. 250 years ago, the gentry came here not
to swim in the water but to drink it. Supposed to be good for the digestion or
something. I've swallowed enough mouthfuls by accident in other oceans to know I
didn't want to here, but the beach was very tempting.

The tourist shops and restaurants along the front aren't necessarily better
quality than Blackpool's; it must be the people. We didn't see the trackies or
the "ten pounds of potatoes in a five pound sack" that you get on the other
coast. Don't get me wrong; I loved Blackpool. But Scarborough is just nicer.

We went straight to the chrome and formica glory that is Alonzi's Harbour Bar.
It was closed. They have an unfortunate newish sign that might have been
designed with a computer, but inside it's the original 1950s apotheosis of the
milk bar. We couldn't sit inside, but we were happy to discover that the
streetside window was open.

I had a vanilla cone. I'm not ashamed to admit it; I love vanilla ice cream. Someday if you are very unlucky you will get to hear my drunken rant on the way computer and telephony people (and sex radicals) use the word "vanilla" to mean "plain", "boring", "featureless". Vanilla isn't plain; it's a flavor, the best and most penetrating flavor (aside from chili peppers, which you probably don't want in your ice cream).

But I have to say this: your soft ice cream (as opposed to the hard stuff) in England is different. It's much less sweet. It tastes like, um, how can I put this without giving offense? It tastes like our whipped cream. A bit...buttery.
I'm sure there are lots of English people who have traveled in the US and had the reciprocal shock at our version. It's not bad; I grew to like it. It's just different.

We ate fish and chips (before the ice cream; we're not total philistines) upstairs at The Fish Pan. I can't verify whether it was fried in drippings in the traditional Yorkshire way, but it was delicious. And the view was spectacular. Apparently The Fish Pan is former Top of the Pops presenter Jimmy Savile's favorite --

Hang on. Jimmy Savile is a KNIGHT? Not just an OBE -- JIMMY SAVILE is a KNIGHT?

I will never fully understand the British.

Scarborough's harbor is so picturesque, and out in front is that British icon, the cluster of pensioners frowning in various attitudes in their nylon jackets on the concrete benches, reading the paper, going nowhere in particular. Don't think I'm making fun; I just like seeing them there, like pigeons, enjoying the last of the summer sun.

We walked around the headland to the North Bay. Scarborough is a funny kind of peninsula, carved out between two bays, with little besides a narrow road and a promenade between the castle ruins atop the knob in the middle and the sea. The views to the north are spectacular.

At North Bay we found a road leading up the cliffside, and walked up it past that other British icon, the pensioners sitting reading the paper in their car, parked on the side of the road by the sea. Brits sure like their newspapers; I might too, if mine featured the same pulchritudinous photography.

At the top of the hill, we walked a few of Scarborough's back streets, full of peeling Victorian terrace houses in various states of repair. Gentrification hasn't struck here yet, but there are enough building vans and ladders around to suggest that it's about to.

We passed by St. Mary's Church, site of Anne Brontë's grave. Anne, writing under the name "Acton Bell", was the prettiest but least-celebrated of the Brontë sisters. Not being a Romantic, I was not moved to slash at my wrists and perish under the light of the full moon; but if you were a Goth you couldn't find a better place for it, with the leaning tombstones and the sweeping view down to the harbor.

At Scarborough Castle we decided to spend the money and be tourists for a change. First stop, the gift shop, where I loaded up on toy catapults and cartoon Viking figurines for the cow-orkers back home. Just as I was settling in for a good two or three hour souvenir hunt, Nancy dragged me away and towards the ruins.

If you're considering a visit to Scarborough Castle, your best bet is to consult a guidebook, not me. I can say that they are very old, very ruined, and very beautifully situated up on the high bluff. The ancient stones and acres of green grass seem to disappear into the sea at the edge. The original castle keep is perhaps a bit too well preserved -- the spotlessly clean stones seem to have been stripped of their story, transferred to the readerboards. The wall is quite interesting, and the well is very, very deep -- I admit it, I dropped a coin, and heard it ruffle some vegetation a couple of seconds later, and plonk in water a couple of seconds after that. I hope that offense doesn't interfere with my visa next time I visit. We also enjoyed the tea shop.

While we were finishing our tea, the wind was rising and the sun was getting low. We had a train to catch. We hustled through the town, past the old deco theater and some rough-looking pubs, and made it, barely, and rode back to York.

[The first draft of this was better, dang it! Bizarrely, while it doesn't show up when viewing the thread, a brief portion of it does when you click "reply to this thread".]

Next: Liverpool

Not Grim Up North, Interlude: Closing Time

2007-10-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360.]

Chris, you are right on one thing: shops shutting at the dot of five-thirty, with a dozen people inside and six more headed their way with a fistful of ten pound notes, is extremely perplexing. And annoying. As is the experience, on a balmy summer's evening, of standing in a major shopping precinct in broad daylight still, and seeing nothing but metal shutters where the shops you were hoping to spend money in were just moments before.

Ah, well, at least the pubs are open.

Not Grim Up North, Part 5: York

2007-10-13T17:02:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360]

We said goodbye to Blackpool North Station, a charming edifice described by Stuart Maconie as looking "less like a railway station than a decontamination plant" or like "a disused naval base in the Bering Straits", in the usual way: queuing with drunks.

The shaven-headed boy in line ahead of me at the newsagents, where I was buying my usual armload of newspapers and he was buying two more cans of Carling Super to supplement the two that were bulging out of his trackie pockets and the two that were already inside his belly (at ten AM), turned to me and asked "nyaaah girt burn aragh tomma chimma daht nyahh wyet geh lee gah an? (hic)" Sorry? I have to say, Liverpudlian is a piece of cake, Mancunian is rough but understandable, Yorkshire is easy, just really really broad, but Lancashire is completely unintelligible to me. I had him repeat it three times and finally had to beg off with "I'm sorry, I'm an American, I don't understand". He finally just pointed at the line and said "the train". I don't know if that meant "that's a train over there" or "what time does it leave?" or "if you get on that train I'm going to disembowel you and fry your gizzards in a pan" or "doesn't that queue seem awfully long for a Sunday, old bean?" "Yes" I replied.

The woman at the counter was just as difficult to understand, but I did make out both a "love" and a "pet", and the amount I owed was displayed on a screen, so I knew I could handle the situation.

One of my newspapers was the heretofore unseen "Non League Football", which I was very excited to read, but somehow lost in the cramped quarters on board and never saw again. It's a shame, because I was getting tired of reading about Chelsea and Manchester United every day and looking forward to some news from Bedlington Terriers and Shepshed Dynamo for a change. Not to be.

The train was packed to the windows. My wife and I both got a seat, but far from each other, and the entire length of the aisle was packed full. Two carriages home from a holiday site on a summer Sunday? Oh dear. I was on the window, and miraculously didn't have to get up to pee once on the way to York.

Out the window of a train was Lancashire: the mostly hidden flats of the Fylde, followed by backdoor views of Preston and Blackburn. The excitement built within me as we approached the Pennines; if you want an idea of just how sad and dweeby an anorak I am, I was hugely sorry I could not stop and take in the majesty of the Preston Bus Station, a concrete neo-brutalist landmark from 1969 threatened with demolition. Blackburn is lovelier, with glimpses of some fine mills and terraces. I did not see any of the famous holes. Someday I hope to return and make this journey more slowly, along the Leeds and Liverpool Canal.

After Blackburn the charming town of Accrington, and more fine industrial glimpses, the landscape is changing. Burney is our last stop in Lancashire, and Hebden Bridge our first in Yorkshire. The stone-walled fields climbing up the convoluted hills of the Pennines are beautiful. Really, whipping through this country on a train is unfair to it, but we've booked a city trip this time. Unfortunately Leeds did not make the final cut, and the brief flashes we catch from the train window tell us nothing about this great city. We will return, hopefully by the time Leeds United return to the Premiership!

York Station is one of the prettiest in the world. When it was built in 1877 it was the world's largest, somewhat out of proportion to the importance of York as a city these days. From the outside, it's nice enough, somewhat confusing, and rather typical station architecture; but inside, on the platform where you arrive, you see one of the most remarkable curved platform train sheds in the world. This building is not like a cathedral; it is a cathedral of industrial might and the majesty of motive power.

York is very different than Blackpool, that's for sure! Our cabbie clued us in, with his wrinkled-nose incomprehension at our having come from there. You could see the difference immediately: no garbage in the streets! No boarded-up buildings! No half-naked drunks falling into the road! Just neat streets and well-kept, reserved Georgian fronts.

Our hotel was in the Bootham area, a mixed Georgian and Victorian area just north of Bootham Bar. Our hotel was lovely, and our room was enormous, and featured the longest bathtub I have ever seen -- a six-footer could lie at full length. I'm a hand short of six feet, so I was able to indulge my second-favorite pastime (after wine-drinking; OK, make that third-favorite), and soak with both my head and my knees submerged simultaneously for once. The hotel was called Alhambra Court, on a quiet cul-de-sac leading into the Museum Gardens, and I recommend it not only for the location and the rooms but for the utterly delightful Yorkshire brogue of the woman on the desk. I'm no connoisseur, so I can't tell you exactly which square foot of which Riding she was from, but to an American those long, long a's and e's sound like they're never going to end. I wanted to hand her a book and have her read me a few chapters, just for the sound of it, but my wife saved me the embarrassment and dragged me up the slowest elevator in the world.

I don't have a lot to say about York itself. It's very old. It's very beautiful. If you want details on which ancient half-timbered buildings are how old, exactly, or what ghosts supposedly live on in which pubs (actually, all talk of ghosts makes my blood boil and fists clench, but it's all in good cheesy commercial fun, then, isn't it?) It's a fascinating place, but not what this report is about.

We did spend five hours in the National Railway Museum, my suffering wife's greatest indulgence. Even she was impressed with the open warehouse facility, where the Museum has opened up some of its vast storehouse of items, from the spectacular to the mundane, for somewhat chaotic viewing. Old station doorknobs, railway signs from every company and every station, marble busts of Huskisson and Brunel, thousands and thousands of models in every scale imaginable, including some unique to that individual modeler; the conference table of the Great Western Railway next to a 1980s cash register and a 1940s ticket printer; hundreds of doors, light fixtures, signal bars, brass steam levers, sections of rail; models of proposed new stations built and unbuilt; racks and racks of paintings and prints; drawers full of 170 years' worth of ticket stubs, pamphlets, conductors' cap badges, keys; really anything you can imagine and more, all tagged and racked and cataloged in binders you can paw through.

In the Great Hall, where the working turntable is still used to move the collection, are the locomotives. There are two replicas of the Rocket, which won the Rainhill Trials for George Stephenson, on his Liverpool and Manchester Railway, the world's first, and there's a Shinkansen bullet train you can walk through and sit on the seats of. There's Mallard, the streamlined beauty Pacific class express engine that set the still-standing steam speed record of 126 mph, set in 1938 (though probably surpassed many times, illegally, by American trains who wished to avoid the publicity of a record).

There's at least a hundred other locomotives on the premises, mostly steam, including the Flying Scotsman, a work in progress in the restoration shed. Seeing the workshop with its tools and locomotive parts spread out is almost more interesting than the restored machines in the Great Hall, as this is where the continuing tradition of steam engineering is kept alive.

There's a ton of other good stuff to see at the museum, including some working stationary engines. Sadly these are not working in steam, but are powered "backwards" from electric rollers turning their great flywheels and working the pistons. We didn't get to see anything actually in steam. Fifteen years ago I watched the great Watt engine in the Kew Bridge Steam Museum in London; nothing that exciting happened here. But I have no complaints. Five hours could very easily have been fifteen, or five hundred. I think it's better than the Louvre, or the British Museum, or the Met.

But then, I would.

We also visited York Minster, one of the the great cathedrals of Europe, easily in a class with Chartres or Notre Dame or Canterbury. It was built primarily in the 13th through the 16th centuries, in Early English, Perpendicular Gothic, and Decorated Gothic style. The best features are the many gorgeous windows, nearly as impressive a display of stained glass as Ste. Chappelle in Paris. The East Window is the largest medieval window in the world, but for me the real glory is the "Heart of Yorkshire", the 14th-century Great West Window with its delicate stone tracery around the upper part of the glass. It was fascinating to see the restoration work in progress, with several of the original window sections in glass cases at ground level so you could see the construction, the painting, leading, and restoration work, itself quite old in places. There's some technical reason the green pieces have largely been replaced that I didn't get; my copy of the Minster guidebook is in a box somewhere in the North Atlantic, alas.

As always, I found the evidences of the Minster as a living church as interesting as the old historical junk. I am not a believer, but I'm fascinated by memorials from the two World Wars and more recent decorative works, and the way this ancient building is still used by regular families with their names on the pews. The Minster is not a relic; it is a modern building too.

In the undercroft there's loads of old silver we barely glanced at and some fascinating Roman and Norman building remains. Every foot of this ground not only has a past but three or four pasts, and the multiple buildings that have stood on this site were all oriented differently and used for different purposes. There has been an important church here for almost 1400 years, though, and bits of stone from hundreds of years before that are visible.

In the central city I bought some books and some silly animal figurines made of Yorkshire coal, the sad last remnants of that once-great industry which powered the industrial might of Britain and blackened her walls and lungs. Now the blackened lungs are all in China, and the last British coal is carved into badgers.

We ate a surprisingly excellent meal in 50s throwback and tourist magnet Betty's Cafe Tea Rooms, behind a beautiful round picture window in the heart of St. Helens Square. A lot of English people have seemingly forgotten how to make a decent cup of tea, but not in Betty's. The food here is, uh, "Yorkshire-Swiss", and my rösti was outstanding. I was not expecting much, but I got it. Their chocolate, at least the 70% single-estate bar, is, according to the very picky expert I married, ace as well.

The gardens, the walls, the narrow streets, the shops, the cobblestones, the half-timbering: it's all good. It made for an extreme contrast with Blackpool, in almost every way imaginable; York has no neon, no animatronic amusements, no strip clubs with barkers outside, no rides, no garbage or distasteful displays of any kind. well, we didn't go in the Yorvik Centre; maybe all that stuff is in there.

By this time in our trip my feet were starting to bark pretty severely, but fortunately York has lots and lots of great pubs, where one can enjoy more of the spectacular Yorkshire drawl. Really, this makes Texans and Mississippians sound tight and clipped in comparison! We watched Liverpool stumble again to a lucky draw against Porto in the rather uncharismatic but very friendly Bootham Tavern just outside the Bar.

And the beer was excellent. "Get yourself a mate called Smith", they used to say, and I recommend that you do -- John (the one with the slogan) is great, Samuel's even better. Both have been brewed for centuries in Tadcaster, about halfway between Leeds and York. Partisans of American craft ales will disagree, but I don't think there's any American microbrew that comes within a mile of even middling English cask ale, and Yorkshire ales are among the very best.

The nice thing about Samuel Smiths is that all of their tied houses are music-free, which means no Amy Winehouse groaning at top volume out of the jukebox. Maybe there's a TV, but mostly you just hear yourself and your neighbors talking. Which is the way it should be. No other British institution is more desperately needed in America than the real public house, not as a place to get wasted in and vomit outside the door of, but as a quiet neighborhood place to enjoy a glass or two, some conversation, and a sit. We have fake varieties here, but the beer is terrible and the jukebox loud and smelly dogs are peeing on your shoe and fraternity boys are shouting and punching each other on the arm -- not the same thing at all. You don't see nice looking older people sitting and reading the paper of an evening in Seattle bars; bars here are exclusively for the young or the chronically alcoholic.

My favorite pubs are in Liverpool, as we shall see, but you could do worse than to spend an evening in the York Arms, a Samuel Smith house, with tiny rooms, comfortable furniture, and fantastic, cheap beer -- the bitter was I think £1.30, the cheapest I saw on our trip. They don't do mild much in Yorkshire, I guess, but I'll settle for this stuff any day.

Next: Scarborough

Not Grim Up North, Interlude: Fish and Chips

2007-10-12T13:17:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted on http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=2&tid=35079360, answering many outstanding comments regarding fish and chips by other posters there.]

I know I will instantly lose all credibility here, but I'm pretty indifferent to mushy peas, and the best ones I've ever had were in, uh, Australia, piled on top of a pie, with mashed potatoes, at Harry's Cafe de Wheels in Wooloomooloo.

I had some peas with my fish and chips here, and was, well, a bit bored. I had whole peas, too, in the Tower Cafe in Blackpool, which were completely awful. I ate every single one.

The best fish and chips we ate, in order: Lobster Pot, Liverpool (takeaway, eaten leaning on traffic cones in a construction site); The Fish Pan, Scarborough (upstairs, fabulous view); Coral Island, Blackpool (greasy and delicious); Leo Burdock's Dublin (disappointing -- lots of bones in -- but admittedly we were at the one on O'Connell Street, not the original).

I rate haddock as my favorite. We can get really good fish and chips here in Seattle (and some pretty crappy stuff too), but I don't think anyone uses drippings. If they do, they'd do everything in their power to hide that fact from the Food Nazis.

York coming up next. Big change of pace!