Empty Chair - Prologue
I was ten years old when I first set foot on that little
islet in Union Bay. It was about 150
yards northwest of the northern tip of Foster Island at the eastern end of the
Lake Washington Ship Canal. Channel traffic was crowded between the islet and Fox Point creating an obstacle for watercraft
bound to-and-from Lake Washington. Even
to a 4th grader it seemed oddly placed.
My sister, Ginger, and her friend Chris had gotten our mothers
to write notes giving the University of Washington permission to rent us a
canoe. My “chaperones” were just three
years older than me, so it was definitely a different time from a legal
standpoint. As I recall the rental fee
was $1.25 / hour. A totally reasonable cost
when split three ways. Chris had learned
a bit about canoeing from her father who was a member of the Seattle
Mountaineers and active in the outdoors.
Conversely, Ginger and I had never been in a canoe and we flailed about, as
though as though both of us were paddling with a different intent. Without Chris’s scant expertise it is
doubtful we would have made it the 200 yards across the ship canal and back
before exceeding our rental budget.
Eventually Chris got us close to Foster Island and guided
the canoe out to the islet. After some
discussion we decided to try to land so she drove the bow of the boat up onto
the marshy mass of cattails and scrub willows. Stepping out we found that the
island wouldn’t support our weight as it was just a blob of floating
vegetation. There were some boards,
though, that distributed our weight enough that we could stand without sinking. They seemed to have been placed in
some sort of pattern. Cattails and weeds
were growing up between them, but we found an area measuring about 10’ by 10’
that was covered by boards and mostly clear.
In the middle of the clearing sat an old dilapidated wooden chair. It was surrounded by weeds and bore the scars
of being marooned for, who knew how long?
I sat down gingerly on it fearing that it would fail as its loose joints
crackled and shifted under my slight weight.
I wondered how long it had been there.
A year or two. Maybe three?
The islet and the chair were the impetus for a whole series
of misadventures that stretched over the next several years and I continued to
think about them long after the mid-1960’s when the Corps of Army Engineers scraped
them off the bottom of Union Bay to be added to the bulk of nearby Marsh
Island. I would have never guessed that the
chair had been on the islet for a quarter of a century or how it got there. If someone had been able to tell me I would
never have believed them.
Then, four years ago, a friend showed me a newspaper article
from the February 25, 1934 edition of the Seattle Post Intelligencer about an
81 year old Norwegian Immigrant who was living on the islet. I was fascinated and determined to learn what
I could about him. His name was Martin Olsen Moen and this is his story.
Chapter One - Tufsingdal Norway
On December 17th 1850, thirty-two-year-old Ole Johnsen Moen wed
Kirsti Mikkelsdatter Bakken at the Moen Farm in the Tufsingdalen Valley located
in Innlandet County, Norway. Kirsti was 21
and the Girl-Next-Door from the adjacent Bakken Farm where her family had been tenants
since the late 1790’s. Ole’s family had
been tenants on the Moen Farm since the 1740’s so the they were well acquainted.
As was tradition Kirsti took the first name of her grandmother
and the middle name from her father, Mikkel Jonsen, becoming Kirsti
Mikkelsdatter (Mikkel’s daughter) and her surname from the farm where she was
from. Her name proclaimed that she was Mikkel’s
daughter Kirsti from the Bakken Farm. Ole’s first name did not come from an
ancestor, but his middle name was derived from his father, John Ingebretsen,
and so he became John’s son Ole from the Moen Farm.
There were then, as today, about a dozen farms hosted by the
River Tufsinga as it traces a serpentine path the length of the valley. The verdant bottomlands were bordered by
Spruce and Birch forests that climbed the gently ascending rocky ridges. The glacial action that formed the ridges had
ground them to bedrock leaving the ridgetops rounded and without soil to
nurture more than scrub. The main farms were broken into parcels and inhabited
by tenants and cotters.
1893 -
Tufsingdalen Farmers
Tenants had no claim of ownership, but Ole’s parents were lease
holders on a 19 acre parcel of the 27 acre Moen farm while Kirsti’s family
leased 36 acres of the 119 acre Bakken complex.
In a time when many tenants were struggling to feed their families and working
plots as small as 2/10 of an acre neither family starved. It was common for a tenant (leilendinger) family
to retain the use of their parcel through generations with the lease being
inherited by the eldest son. Since the
daughters stood little chance of inheriting a lease their preferred option was
to pair with the eldest son of a local farmer.
Daughters hoped for marriage while the younger sons might eventually
leave to find work on larger farms, the forests, seas or cities.
To facilitate potential pairing and ensure marital
compatibility the tradition of “Night Courting” was established that allowed
young folks to get to know one another.
In some families that meant allowing them to spend the night together,
unsupervised, in a barn or an outbuilding.
Other families might require “bundling” which found the potential groom
in bed with the hopeful bride-to-be but bundled securely in a large sack. In some cases, a bundling board would be
placed between them to further limit intimacy.
Kirsti had known Ole for all her life and knew that one of
his two older brothers would inherit the lease.
That meant that he was not a great prospect for marriage but worked hard
and was respected in the valley so he was welcomed into her bed. As a younger son he simply didn’t have that much
status in any meaningful way but Ole’s brother, John, allowed them to stay in
the small corners of his leasehold. One such
sliver was called Strømsvold for the whirlpools
that developed in the river’s bend, and another was called Rævplads after the
local fox population. While John grew
oats, grass, root crops and had a horse, an ox, 2 dozen cows and 2 dozen goats,
Ole and Kirsti “owned” a single cow with a shed, a small house and a small
stabbur where their food and meager valuables were stored. They scratched out a living on the small 2
1/2 acre margins of the Moen Farm.
2023 – Google
Earth - Strømsvold Their union produced seven children. The four boys and three girls were named John
Olsen, Mikkel Olsen, Ane Lucie Olsdatter, Martin Olsen, Ingeborg Kristine (Emma)
Olsdatter, Johanne Marie Olsdatter, and little Ole Olsen. Their 3rd son, Martin was born
February 14th 1863 and fell squarely in the middle of the brood. That was an unfortunate place to be in the
order of a Leilanding family as he had no chance of inheritance and would have
experienced the classic middle-child syndrome.
As a member of a landless family, he would be on his own as there was less
than nothing for any of the seven children to inherit.
2023 – Google
Earth - Rævplads
Chapter Two - Martin
Children of all farm families started working very early in
life and Martin was no exception. By his
twelfth birthday he could manage any farm task required. The family home was over-stuffed with 9
individuals, though, which encouraged Martin to sleep in the shed or stabbur. Neither space had a means of heating, but he
didn’t have to share a bed with siblings and their single cow provided a heat
source and didn’t mind the company.
2023 – Google
Earth – Rævplads Stabbur
In 1875 Kirsti’s brother, John Mikkelsen, was the sole lease
holder for Bakken Vestre. He was the
only remaining male in a house full of sister’s and daughters with too much work
for them all to accomplish. Martin was a
serious drain on the Olsen family’s meager resources so when his Uncle John suggested
that he come work and live on the Bakken farm it was a win/win for all
involved. Martin went from a small house
with nine people to a medium-sized house with only six and plenty to eat.
2023 – Bakken
Farmhouse
In spite of being strong and handsome he wasn’t viewed as a
desirable choice for a husband. The
local farm girls admired his good looks but the practical aspects of survival
in 19th century Norway left little room for physical attraction to
account for much. Consequently, none of
the local farmers welcomed Martin’s night courting advances. As with other aspects of his life options
were limited in the Tufsingdalen Valley and by his 17th birthday he
had left for good.
Chapter Three - Making His Way
Poor paying farm work could be found for a strong lad which
he took when all else failed but, in his travels, he had learned to log, sail
and fish. Those were lines of work that
he preferred over farming. In those
occupations he found himself among a rougher population and was exposed to
alcohol which became a regular part of his life.
C1865 – Life in
Norway – Bergen Waterfront
During his late teen years, he traveled from job to job and
spent a great deal of time crewing on ocean vessels and fishing along Norway’s
west coast. Bergen was one of the
largest population centers in Norway and it was the place for mariners and
fishers to find work. By his 22nd
year he had wrapped up a fishing job and ended up sixty-five miles from the
ocean at the head of Nordfjord in the beautiful village of Loen. Surrounded by spectacular glaciated ridges,
long deep lakes and scattered farms that clung to the steep mountain sides, he
found a magnificent world that he was unprepared for. He fell in love with the country and wanted
to find a way to settle, but unfortunately, the only work available was in farming.
1905 – Wikimedia -
Loen Lake
He became friends with a ne’er-do-well from Bergen by the
name of Ole Torvaldsen. During the day
they would work when they could find it and drink if they could afford to. They both liked Loen but not the lifestyle
that it supported. When Ole came up with
an alcohol influenced plan to augment their income that involved stealing
valuables from local stabburs Martin thought it seemed like a good idea.
1905 - Loen
A stabbur is an outbuilding integral to Scandinavian farms used
for storing and protecting food and valuables.
Typically, they were built on posts that elevated the floor reducing
humidity and foiling rodents. Some were
quite ornate while others were simply utilitarian. They were all purpose-built for keeping pests
out of the food and their valuables safe and dry. The stabbur usually had the only door on a
farm with a lock. The key was kept by
the mistress of the farm, a solemn mark of her responsibility to the welfare of
the family and confirmation of her status.
In Viking times, a farmer was legally permitted to kill anyone he caught
stealing from his stabbur. Culturally, Ole’s
plan was reckless and very dangerous.
Digital Museum –
Stabbur
Over the next two years they broke into a few stabburs and
stole what they wanted. Martin was eventually
caught and charged with thefts that would amount to $3600 in USD today. He was sentenced to 8 months and 10 days in
prison. Ole had disappeared. Had he gotten away or had he become a victim
of Viking Justice?
Chapter Four - Botsfengslet
Botsfengslet
Prison – Oslo Museum – Wilse
In 1851 Norway began modeling their prisons after the United
States’ Philadelphia System. Developed
by Quakers it sought to rehabilitate rather than simply applying corporal
punishment. To enforce behavioral change
the system was based on isolation with the belief that time spent alone with a
bible would be humane and effective in rehabilitating wrongdoers. To that end Botsfengslet in Kristiana (Oslo)
was built to house long-term prisoners and was where Martin Moen spent the
better part of 1887.
Oslo Museum –
Wilse – Prisoner in Cell
Isolation at Botsfengslet was the over-riding theme. It was believed that if a criminal couldn’t
associate with other criminals their rehabilitation was assured. The small cells and Holy Bibles forced focus
on what were believed to be the keys to change.
Each prisoner spent 23 hours in their cell and one hour isolated outside
in a very small walled sliver of a space that offered no contact with
others.
1887 - 2710235
There was no conversation or eye contact allowed. When a prisoner was moved outside of their
cell they wore a hood so that they couldn’t see others. When they went to church they were
individually ushered to the chapel where their hood wasn’t removed until they
were standing in their three-sided isolation booth with only the minister and
pulpit visible before them.
Oslo Museum –
Botsfengslet Church
Eventually a bit of occupational rehabilitation was offered,
and Martin spent time in the carpenter shop cell developing woodworking skills
that would serve him when he was released.
He still wore a hood while being escorted between his cell and anywhere
else on the grounds and when in the presence of a prison official his silence
was enforced, and his eyes were to be averted.
Oslo Museum – Wood
Working Cell
In December of 1887 after spending the majority of his 24th
year in isolation Martin was released.
He was banned from setting foot in Loen but turned loose with a bit of
financial assistance, which was critical.
At that time a secondary layer of dealing with undesirables was “The Workhouse”. It was set up to allow the detention of
individuals who might be drunk, lazy, a vagrant, homeless, without work, a petty
criminal or seeking the services of a prostitute. That system was to provide motivation for ex-cons
to work hard, be self-sufficient and an asset to society. Unfortunately, police could detain anyone
they didn’t like and commit them to forced labor for months at a time. Once known by police as an “undesirable” they
were under constant surveillance and could be grabbed up at any time with or
without cause. For many it was a
revolving door.
1887 –
Botsfengslet Prisoner Photos
Martin’s oldest brother, John Olsen, and younger sister,
Ingeborg Kjerstina Olsdatter (Emma) had emigrated to the US and were living in
Minnesota. Both understood the
challenges that Martin faced in Norway and encouraged him to come to America for
a fresh start.
On September 20, 1889 Martin boarded the ship Angelo
and sailed from Kristiana to New York City.
The Angelo
Chapter Five - The Midwest
Martin found Minnesota to his liking and somewhat similar to
his native Tufsingdal Valley.
Scandinavian immigrants were plentiful, the land was green and job
choices were many. Only his family knew
of his criminal past, and they didn’t talk about it so America gave him a new
life.
C1910 - Prairie
Farm, WI – Looking North on River Street
Sister Ingeborg (Emma) found love and married Ole Peter
Hanson. They moved from Minnesota to a
farm outside of Prairie Farm, WI. Older
brother, John Olsen, had a farm near Minneapolis where he and his wife stayed
busy raising crops and children. Eventually
he bought a new and larger farm near New Effington, SD where he spent the rest
of his life. It seemed an impossible
dream that a landless Tufsingdalen lad, like John, could afford to own such
land. If his parents hadn’t been landless,
he would have stood to inherit the Moen lease but his future in Norway presented
limited opportunities so he left his native country to build his legacy in
America.
C1910 - Prairie
Farms, WI – Looking South on River Street
Martin had plenty of farming opportunities with his family
and surrounding farms plus Barron County wasn’t far from the Great Lakes where
fishing and other marine work was abundant.
He could also apply his logging experience in the forests and there was demand
for his prison-acquired carpentry skills in the fast-growing city of
Minneapolis.
c1900 – Barron
Logging Camp
It was while working as a logger and a mariner that he felt
the most at home and winter logging was the most lucrative. He was in his 30’s, handsome and fit. Life was good.
c1900 - Milwaukee
Public Library - Barron Logging Bunkhouse
It was while working on Emma and Ole’s farm that he met
Inger Hansdatter, daughter of Hans Andersen and Margit Karlsdatter. After years of missteps and casting about his
life finally seemed to be nearly complete.
In 1902 he appeared in Barron County Courthouse where he filed his
Declaration of Intent to become a citizen of the United States by renouncing
forever all allegiance to Oscar 2nd King of Norway.
1902 - Family
Search - Declaration of Intention
While no record has been found of Martin and Inger ever marrying,
they were going to have a baby, however, Inger’s pregnancy ended in
miscarriage. Further, the miscarriage
had severe medical consequences that Inger did not survive. In a matter of several years Martin had lost
both of his parents, two of his three sisters, two of his three brothers, his partner
and stillborn infant. As the story goes,
he was devastated, lonely and depressed when he boarded a train and headed west.
What he did and where he spent the next fifteen years isn’t
known. It is likely that he stayed in
touch with sister Emma but any letters that they might have shared have not
surfaced and are lost to time. With
logging and sawmill work available from Wisconsin to the Pacific Ocean, it can
be assumed that he was always able to find work in the forest. Many of the sawmills of the day were portable
and pulled on skids by oxen from one forested glen to the next. Old school operations using oxen, mules and
draft horses were still employed and Martin had experience with all.
Logging was primarily performed during the winter months, but
the snow packed slopes of the Rockies was a harsh environment for that
activity. Martin missed the sea and continued
moving west until he bumped into the salt water of Puget Sound. Here he could log in the cold months and go
to sea during warmer weather.
In 1920 he was living in a cheap tenement house in Everett
WA with a single woman named Mrs. J. Boles.
This seems to be where he started to forget some things and misremember others.
Chapter Six - Everett
n.d. - Labovitch –
2920 Norton Street
On the rainy afternoon in January 1920 an Everett Washington
census taker knocked at an apartment door of the tenement building located at
2920 Norton Street. Mrs. Boles came to
the door and listed herself as a 58-year-old widow who worked on the streets
selling newspapers. At that time
“selling newspapers on the streets” was a euphemistic term used for sex
workers. Martin wasn’t at home, but she told
the census worker that her roommate was a 61 year old divorcé who worked as a
laborer in logging camps. Martin was in
fact 56 years old. Since no official record
of a wedding with Inger exists we don’t know if she really died or if he just left
her. Maybe she was a figment of his
imagination. He had led Mrs. Boles to believe
that he was divorced.
See Line 49
While the Volstead Act of 1920 prohibited the manufacture,
transport and sale of alcoholic beverages nationally, the State of Washington
had already put its own ban in place four years prior. Moonshine manufacturing had become a cottage
industry and it’s said that many areas, like the forests around Granite Falls, supported
more active stills than Black Bear and Deer.
I suspect that prior to 1920 Martin spent much of his time in the
logging camps rather than town as access to spirits was less encumbered by law
enforcement.
Outstripping Granite Falls for moonshine bragging rights was
Hat Island, just four miles offshore from the Everett waterfront. The 442 acre island was mostly forested and
very lightly populated. It served as a
production center for liquor as well as a distribution point for rum
runners. It was a favorite stop for both
private and commercial marine traffic. Production
was in full swing until 1923 when a raid by local law enforcement shut it down,
resulting in the largest moonshine bust in Pacific Northwest history. The four stills that were seized had been
producing 75 gallons per day.
Hat Island
Chapter Seven - Seattle
In 1921 Martin left Mrs. Boles and moved to Seattle where he
was living in the Seaman’s Institute at 1901 Western Avenue. The trapezoidal shaped building with its
turret was reminiscent of a lighthouse and conveniently located just across
the street and below the open-air stands at the Pike Place Market. From there he could walk down the back
stairs, across a parking lot and down a dirt pathway to the docks on Alaskan
Way or cross Western and climb the stairs to the foot of Pike Street.
MOHAI -
1983.10.1659.4
Seattle was the largest city Martin had experienced since
landing, thirty years earlier, in New York City. During his time in Minneapolis, he had found
the ~200,000 population similar in size to Oslo and more to his liking. Mostly, though, he had kept to small farming
communities, fishing towns and the forests.
Everett was a mill town and about one tenth the size of Minneapolis or
Seattle and rough around the edges.
Seattle was more cosmopolitan with an expansive waterfront, a large
fishing fleet and a well-established Scandinavian population. It could also be rough but felt like the kind
of home that he was ready for.
C1920 – WASTATE -
3515
Shortly after arriving in Seattle, he was working aboard the
fishing boat “Volunteer” that had traveled north to Hat Island to set their
nets and do some “shopping”. They were
followed back south by Federal Agents and boarded off Bainbridge Island at
Jefferson Point. During that stop three
quarts of liquor were found in Martin’s personal gear. Alcohol had created a problem for him once again.
1921 – Seattle
Star
By this time Emma and Ole had moved their family from the Barron
County Wisconsin farm to Ontario, CA. They
were living in a nice house on West 8th St just off Euclid Avenue but
the move west had taken a toll on Ole’s health and he was no longer able to work. Their two children provided the families income by packing fruit for Sunkist in neighboring Claremont and assembling electric irons at the Hotpoint factory. About a year after their arrival in Southern California Ole passed away and was laid to rest in Bellevue Memorial Park.
45 West 8th
Street – Ontario CA
In 1923 Martin moved from the Seaman’s Institute into a two-story
boarding house at 923 Boren Ave. between Stewart and Virginia. It was a mile from the waterfront and not far
from his front door to where he could catch the transit to Ballard or anywhere
else in town. Rent cost him about $20 /
month.
1923 Boren Street
As a room for men, it had a single metal frame bed, a dresser,
an armoire, small table with a single chair and a sink in the corner mounted
low on the wall so that it could double as a urinal. There was a shared bathroom on each floor for
the tenants to use.
Martin lived on Boren Ave. for three years. Since he was often working on a fishing boat
or other commercial vessel he usually slept aboard and took his meals at
sea. Otherwise, there were several
places in the heart of the city that specialized in cheap meals. When he was short on money there were
churches and other organizations within a few blocks that catered to the needs
of the growing Scandinavian community.
He went to work for San Juan Fishing and Packing on the East
Waterway at Stacy Street which increased the distance and complexity of his commute
significantly. Consequently, in 1928 he had
moved into the Scandinavian Seaman’s Home and Mission at 88 Marion Street where
a single street car ride of just two miles dropped him off within a couple of
blocks from the job. He worked his way
up to being a foreman on a packing crew and at age 65 that would be his last
regular job.
c1922 – MOHAI – Scandinavian
Seaman’s Home and Mission - 5114
Chapter Eight - The Great Depression
On October 29, 1929 everything changed. The Great Depression took hold of the country
and, overnight, 4 million Americans were out of work. Within a year 2 million more would be added
to the rolls of the unemployed. The
forests and mills shut down. Fishing
offered a bit of stability, but those jobs went to the younger, more fit
men. Martin was 66 and experiencing the
wear and tear of his hard life. He was still
drinking and having trouble keeping things straight in his head. Physically, he couldn’t compete and lost his
job.
His last letter from sister, Emma, had arrived when he was
arrested for smuggling alcohol more than ten years prior. She and Ole Hansen had moved from Barron
County to Ontario CA several years before that.
Now Martin was confused and out of work and sought the company of his
family. Traveling south he was somehow
convinced that he would find them in Dunsmuir CA. Emma and Ole couldn’t be found in Dunsmuir
because they had never lived there. In
fact, Ole had been dead for ten years and Emma had passed away two years before
Martin’s quest in 1929. Both were buried
at Bellevue Memorial Park less than two miles from their tidy house on West 8th
Street in Ontario.
The journey back to Seattle was long and complicated. He picked up meals where he could and led a
hobo’s life. When he got to the Portland
he heard about the Multnomah Poor Farm and availed himself of their
resources. His registration information
states that his sister Emma and her husband lived in Dunsmuir, that he was a 78
year old painter and a widower who was suffering from old age. He was actually 68 years old.
C1912 - Wikimedia
Residents at the farm were referred to as inmates which, for
a man familiar with prison life, must have been a bit uncomfortable. Martin became Inmate #10101 and shared the
facility with nearly 600 other inmates, up to a third of whom were bedridden
with chronic illness and unable to work.
Troutdale
Historical Society – Poor Farm Accommodations
The facility was on a 345 acre plot with most of it
dedicated to raising crops, poultry and livestock. If an inmate was capable of labor, they
worked the farm to provide food. All
inmates were given three meals a day.
Those who worked got meat at all three meals. Those who couldn’t work received meat at only
one meal. To further segregate those who
worked from those who didn’t the workers were seated at “meat and mush”
tables.
In Spring of 1932 Martin Olsen Moen sat at the “meat and
mush” table for the last time and then checked out of the Multnomah County Poor
Farm. Upon entering the Poor Farm he had
misremembered the year of his birth, telling them that he was born in 1853
instead of 1863. He thought that he was
79 instead of 69.
Chapter Nine - Hooverville and Life Afloat
He made his way back to Seattle where employment options for
a “69” year old man were scarce to non-existent. Local charities were trying to provide relief
for citizens in need and maintained a central registry for single, homeless
individuals. Once registered Martin
received a chit that he could use for one meal a day at a soup kitchen and a bare
floor space to sleep on. Most of the
registrants used cardboard and newspaper for mattress and blanket.
The conditions for registrants were grim and it didn’t take
Martin long to pursue other options. He
found a sense of community and organization in Hooverville south of downtown
where he moved into a burnt out structure that was being stripped for building
materials used by others. He cleaned it
up and made some improvements but was never able to get rid of the smoky
smell.
WSDA -
AR-07809001-ph001226-001
By November the constant smell of burnt materials caught in
his throat and created upper respiratory discomfort. He contracted a chronic cough and was
constantly clearing his throat. When
another homeless man showed up in a 16-foot dory looking for shelter Martin
traded him the shack for the boat and left Hooverville behind.
With the dory, he was able to move under the waterfront
piers and avoid the smoke and the rain. He
remained on the registry in order to have at least one guaranteed meal a day and
with the boat he was able to get out onto Puget Sound where the fish were
plentiful.
He spent the Winter of 1932 – 33 living under the docks on
Elliot Bay, Salmon Bay and Lake Union where temperatures were near normal with
22 days at or below 32 degrees. The
number of days of rain were near average but those rainy days produced unusually
heavy amounts of precipitation. He found
all of the good docks to sleep under where the wind was blocked and he could
stay dry. Occasionally he would pick up
a bit of work but mostly he relied upon handouts and eating fish that he
caught. The Summer and Fall on the water
was glorious and he made lots of friends who lived along the shoreline and
would help him out when they could.
The last two months of 1933 were unseasonably warm and
featured biblical amounts of rain. With
nearly twice the average number of rainy days producing four times the average
rainfall the waterways were beaten into submission and the lake level was high. Seldom venturing out he hunkered under Lake
Union docks and trestles, and for the first time detected the faint swirl of a
current flowing west through the Ship Canal.
In January 1934 he left Lake Union and rowed east through
the canal. He had seen no other water
traffic until clearing the Montlake Cut into Union Bay when he was passed by
three long and narrow wooden racing shells. Turning to watch them he noticed a small islet
about ¼ mile ahead.
Chapter Ten - The Islet
1936 – Ron Edge
The islet sat about 150 yards off the point of Foster Island. It looked to be about 30 feet across. As he drew closer, he could see that it was
covered with cattails and scraggly willows and was one of several such islets
that were scattered around the bay to the north. Out of curiosity he nudged the bow of his
dory into the islet for a closer look and was surprised by the way it yielded
to the boat. Looking closer it appeared
to be a floating mass of roots imbedded in peat. The center looked solid, so he stepped over
the bow and found that it, though firmer, still sank under his weight.
The southwest wind blowing over the marsh that lined the bay
carried with it the unmistakable scent of garbage. In his recent years he had learned that
decent nourishment could be found in the food discarded by others and that usable
materials of all types could be scavenged.
He saw narrow openings in the cattails leading back into the marsh so he
rowed and then poled his boat as far back as he could go. Stepping out of the dory into the cattails he
found that the dormant, brown shoots presented little resistance and if he
moved quickly he could avoid getting his feet wet. Soon he saw the edge of the dump rising up
above the marsh topped with boards, bedsprings, broken glass, rusty barrels and
piles of pallets. It was a goldmine! With the help of the Miller Street Dump he
would build a cabin on the islet.
1935 – SMA – 30546
– Miller Street Dump Looking North
He started by dragging boards from the dump down into the
marsh and laying them end-to-end to make a trail back to his dory. If he was going to carry the necessary
materials through the marsh, he needed good footing that would support his
weight. Over the next few days he
transported boards out to his Union Bay islet and laid a supporting base that
distributed his weight over the floating mass.
It measured about 10’ by 10’. With
more planks he made a path from the square base to the edge of the islet where
he tied his boat to the willows.
On one of his trips he found a large canvas tarp that measured
about 20’ x 20’ and would form the roof and partial walls of the cabin. With more scavenged materials he built the
corner posts, support columns, braces and ridge beam. The tarp was placed over the ridge beam and
secured to the supports. The remainder
of the walls were made of whatever material he could find and attach to the frame. Inside, he made a low bed from a couple of
pallets covered with wood and moved the tiny stove that he had carried from
Hooverville into the cabin. His final
touch was a chair that he had found at the dump.
1934 – Seattle PI
– Martin’s Islet Looking SE
The waning days of Winter were mostly mild but even on cold
and windy nights his shack was pretty comfortable. Anchored at the edge of the shipping channel
he had a great view of the comings and goings of everything from the University
of Washington crew to the powered pleasure craft of the rich and famous. From students in canoes to tugboats towing
oceangoing vessels. Spring and Summer
was a glorious time to live on a private island in Union Bay. When he needed water he rowed over to the UW
Crew House where he was allowed to fill his water jug. When he was hungry he used his handline to
catch Crappie, Bluegill, Catfish, Bass and an occasional Trout. As the water warmed in the summer sun Carp
came into the reeds and shallows of his tiny island and he speared these with a
weapon he had made of scrouged trash.
With enough digging at the dump, he could usually find whatever he
needed and with the warm weather came abundant crops of Himalayan Blackberries from
Foster Island. A balanced diet wasn’t
too hard to manage.
1934 – Seattle PI
– Vintage Photos - Martin Olsen Moen
On February 25th he had a visitor. A reporter from the Seattle Times had gotten
wind that an old man was living in a shack on a tiny islet in Union Bay and,
needing a story, rowed out to interview him.
1934 – Seattle PI
- Vintage Photos – Seattle PI
Chapter Eleven - The Storm
The morning of October 21st was overcast with light
rain and light variable winds. Martin
rowed across to his trail through the cattails that were now lush with tall,
green shoots. After tying up his dory he
walked the familiar boards to the dump to “shop” for breakfast. There was something odd and heavy feeling
about the day. When the south wind
started to pick up from 5 mph to 20 mph in less than an hour it seemed strange
but when it built from 20 mph to 50 mph in the next 30 minutes it was
frightening. Garbage was blowing through
the air forcing Martin to flee for cover.
Looking north towards Union Bay he could see the spray of wind-blown
water above the edge of the marsh and thought about his boat. Racing across the boardwalk he found his boat
buffeted by the wind and in danger of being torn from the cattails. He held onto his dory for the next six hours
while Seattle experienced one of the strongest windstorms in the state’s
history. Winds to 60 mph roared over his
head as he sheltered in the lee of the Miller Steet Dump and held tight to his boat. By 4:30 the winds had dropped to 40 mph.
It was dark by the time the wind finally dropped below 20
mph and he rowed back to his island. It
was barely recognizable that night and the cabin seemed to be gone. Bits and pieces were scattered about but the
tarp and most of the wooden components seemed to be missing. He rowed to Foster Island and found shelter
for the night amid downed trees.
At sun up, he rowed out to his island to assess the damage. It was worse in the light of day than it had
looked at night. The frame of the shack
was completely gone. The tarp was
nowhere in sight. All that remained was
the 10’ x 10’ platform along with the pallets, a wooden box and the chair that
had blown over and gotten its rungs caught up in the willows. Thankfully, he located his tiny stove partially
submerged in the shallows. He pulled the
stove out of the water, set the chair upright, got in his dory and rowed west
towards the Montlake Cut, never to return to his urban paradise island.
Chapter Twelve - Life on Dearborn Street
After leaving his islet on Union Bay Martin simply
disappeared. For the next three years
his whereabouts are unknown. Where he
lived, what he ate and what he did for work is a mystery as he left no
footprint in public records. His work
history had provided him with saleable labor skills, and he had never been too
picky about what he did to make a living so it’s assumed that he picked up
whatever work he could find that paid with cash, food or shelter.
He was a senior citizen competing for jobs with men who were
mostly younger and fitter. In 1938 he
turned 75 but, in his age-addled mind, he thought he was 85 and that was what
his most recent records indicated. The
minimum wage law had just gone into effect at $0.25/hr. but out-of-pocket labor,
which a man like Martin could compete for, paid much less and he didn’t
complain.
1936 - SMA - 10956
In 1939 he was renting a room at the Hotel Palmer located at
721 Dearborn Street and just across from the Hotel Norway. The Palmer wasn’t the Ritz and Dearborn Street
wasn’t Park Avenue. Dearborn hosted blue
collar residential homes, unpainted apartments and cheap rooming houses all
mixed in with low end commercial buildings.
His rent for the furnished room was $8.00 / month. About 32 hours of work at minimum wage but he
was taking jobs for $.10 to $.15 / hour.
That meant that he was having to work over 50 hours to pay for his
shabby room. Newspaper stories that
mention the Palmer tell accounts of breaking and entering, larceny, muggings
and multiple suicides where men turned on the gas and stuck their heads in the
oven. It wasn’t the worst place to live
and was relatively “safe” for an individual like Martin who possessed nothing
of value and who wasn’t overly depressed by his lot in life. The streetcar ran up and down Dearborn Street
so he could get to wherever work was available.
He lived at the Palmer for at least two years.
Chapter Thirteen - The Pantages
Alexander Pantages lived an interesting life that has been
the subject of books and numerous articles.
By running away from his father in Cairo at age nine, spending two years
working aboard ships, digging the Panama Canal at age eleven and creating his
first small fortune in Alaska by providing vaudeville shows for lonely Dawson sourdoughs
he brought the concept to Seattle in 1902.
Opening the Crystal Theatre at 1206 2nd Avenue he began a nationwide
legacy of Pantages owned or controlled theatres that would grow to number
84.
1905 – UWSC –
SEA0414
In 1906 he had his first home built at 803 East Denny Way on
Seattle’s Capitol Hill. He spent only a
couple years there, though, as he had larger things in mind. In 1910 he moved to his new and true mansion
at 1117 36th Ave East in Madison Park, just across from the south
gate of Broadmoor.
803 E Denny Way -
Wikimedia
With his departure from the Denny Way home, he advertised it
for rent and included additional furnished housekeeping rooms. Eventually it would become home to Alexander’s
brothers and extended families who continued to rent out those rooms, in some
cases, in exchange for domestic services.
In 1944 Martin was renting one of them and offsetting the rent doing
maintenance work. It isn’t known when he
moved in or where he had called home for the previous four years.
Chapter Fourteen - The Passing
Martin had never completely gotten over the throat
irritation and cough from his time living in the burned-out shack in
Hooverville. He could go months at a
time without being bothered but it would always return and now it was back. His energy began to lag as his general health
declined but he figured that the weakness, shortness of breath and
lightheadedness were just a hangover from his Hooverville cough or maybe
typical for someone his (mistaken) age.
In the Summer of 1944, he started to notice swelling of his ankles and
feet. He was fatigued by the slightest exertion,
and was coughing more often, particularly at night. Towards the end of August, he experienced severe
discomfort at dinner so his landlady, Francis Pantages, contacted her physician. The doctor told him that he needed to rest
and that his condition would likely worsen.
He told Francis that Martin wasn’t long for the world.
Seattle Now and
Then - The Hospital on the Hill
By mid-October his condition had worsened to the point that
Francis began lining up potential new tenants for his room. A month later he was hospitalized at King
County Hospital (Harborview) on the hill overlooking downtown Seattle. His condition was dire, and he would never
return to his room at 803 E Denny Way which was advertised for rent when he
entered the hospital. At 4:45 AM on
December 6th 1944 Martin passed away of heart failure.
His death certificate listed his marital status as “widower”
and his date of birth as February 14, 1853.
Other records have listed his status as “divorced” but who can say for
sure? His date of birth, most certainly,
was February 14, 1863. He wasn’t 91
years old as he thought and as most recent records reflect. He was 81 years old. Unknown to him, his sister Emma, listed as
next-of-kin, had been dead for 15 years and her husband, Ole, for longer
still. He had never known their children
or where they lived. With all his family
gone there was no next-of-kin to be found.
Martin Olsen Moen died alone.
Chapter Fifteen - Home Undertaking
Home Undertaking was established in an 1890’s era mansion at
the five-way corner of 9th Avenue, Hubbell Place and Union
Street. In the late 1920’s the owners
remodeled the home from the classic Old Seattle-style Victorian to a stucco
Mission-style building. Home Undertaking
was the largest mortuary in Puget Sound with a fleet of shiny custom Packard hearses,
limousines and an ambulance service.
Courtesy of Emmick
Family Funeral Services
It was the first local mortuary to have an onsite
crematorium and columbarium. Home
represented the peak of funerary arts in Western Washington. As they were conveniently located just ½ mile
north from King County Hospital they held the contract for providing services
for the indigent population when the need arose, and they were notified of Martin’s
death. On December 21st two weeks had
passed and neither King County nor Home Undertaking had been able to find a
next of kin so Martin’s body was removed from the cooler, cremated and his
ashes placed into storage.
The contract with the county covered pick up, cremation and the
forwarding of the cremains to next of kin.
It did not cover interment. When notification
of next-of-kin was unsuccessful cremains would remain in storage for at least
two years and then, in some cases, were disposed of. Funeral homes were never quick to dispose of
cremains and most were held in storage indefinitely in hopes that someday a new
clue of next-of-kin would arise, or someone would come asking. Home Undertaking had become exceedingly
conservative due to a previous lawsuit that arose from their disposition of a
deceased individual years earlier. They
did not push that two-year requirement.
Unclaimed Cremains
As Martin had no family it is assumed that the container
holding his cremains remained in a box, on a shelf in the storage room of Home
Undertaking Company until the early 1960’s when the mortuary was razed making
way for a wide swath of Interstate 5 highway construction that cut through the
downtown corridor. It’s been reported
that in preparation of closing the mortuary all unclaimed cremains were placed
in a storage locker near SeaTac for safe keeping. Martin’s final resting place remains a
mystery today.
The End (for now)
Martin Olsen Moen
2/14/1863 – 12/6/1944
