Tuesday, July 18, 2023

Sounds of Summer

Most kids have secret places where they go to disappear and practice being themselves.  Comfortable places shared with a close friend or two but sometimes places to just be alone and take in the night air. 

During the late ‘50’s - early ‘60’s one of my places was the roof of Montlake Elementary School.  The 1924 school design was a typical Floyd Naramore (think NBBJ) design and consisted of a two story main building that housed classrooms, office, nurse’s station, etc., and a long single story western section that housed the Boy’s and Girl’s athletic courts and a large boiler room with coal bunkers.  

Floyd recognized that kids would be kids and that the southern exposure of that roof was low and a no-brainer point of assault for any curious youth.  He also acknowledged that those seriously overbuilt 2” steel pipe downspouts around the western section could be climbed by any halfway adventurous youngster so his design incorporated measures to thwart such assaults.  His drawings called for “Climbing Guards” to be mounted to protect all weak points. 

 

His Climbing Guard design consisted of 5/8” diameter downward angled spikes still visible over the Girl’s Gym.  They are daunting looking but flawed.  The scary-looking spikes were spaced to impale an adult-sized leg but a skinny athletic kid’s leg fit nicely between them.  It seemed easy and I guess that I have Floyd to thank for that or maybe the General Contractor who supplied the part. 


I don’t recall the first time that I defied Floyd’s design but I had probably gone up to retrieve a baseball that had been hit up onto the roof and the south side was the obvious way up.  By that time I had been on top of all of the portables and the lunchroom so I found it was easy and it opened up a new world to me.  In no time that roof became my sanctuary.  

After dinner I would go up to the school grounds to shoot baskets and if none of my buddies were there, I would look around to see if anyone was watching.  If the coast was clear I would throw my basketball up onto the roof creating a need to retrieve it.  Once on the roof I would look into the lower windows and if Bill (the night janitor with the eyepatch) was visible, I would climb back down as though my intent was only to get my basketball.  If the rooms and hallways were clear, I would go to the corner formed by the chimney and the west wall and sit down on my basketball.  I was invisible there and if an adjacent homeowner had seen me climb up and called the police there were a number of unfortified downspouts that allowed me to escape. 

So many Summer evenings were spent up on that warm roof sitting on my basketball, leaning against the warm brick of the chimney and listening to the sounds of the neighborhood.  That west facing wall acted as a collector and amplifier so that I could hear what was going on around me.  I could hear Bobby and Catherine Bidstrip laughing or arguing as they washed the dinner dishes.  Howard Mosler’s voice, croaking though the hormones of puberty while he shot baskets in the darkening alley behind his house.  The sounds of late baseball practices from Montlake Playfield.  The bat striking a ball, the smack of the ball into a mitt and the voices of happy kids playing kick-the-can in the streets before bedtime.  My favorite was the sound of the Night Hawks made as they ate dinner.    

Soon, the sound of another basketball being dribbled up Calhoun Street was heard followed by the rattling of the chain that blocked the alleyway between the school and the lunchroom.  That announced the approach of my friend who shared this rooftop sanctuary with me.  A couple of shots banged against the backboard of the 8 foot rim nearest the boy’s play court and then a Spalding basketball with “Melvin” written on it bounced onto the roof and rolled across stopping between my feet.  The accuracy of that blind shot was typical of his endeavors. 

Bob overcame the Naramore deterrents with the same ease and disdain as I and soon sauntered up around the chimney.  Pleased to see his basketball between my feet he said “Are we playing HORSE or do I win?”  He pulled a pack of Winstons and a Zippo from his pocket and offered me one.  We leaned back against the wall and smoked.  

As we sat there the sound of another bouncing ball approached the playground.  We tried to guess by the sounds who it would be.  The dribbling was awkward and unpracticed, so it wasn’t Ray.  The footwork sounded like nothing produced by basketball shoes so that eliminated most of the usual suspects.  Nobody was creating the cheering sounds of an enthusiastic crowd so it wasn’t Mickey.  Many shots were missing the backboard and being chased to the portables but there was no muttering or speaking in strange voices which meant it wasn’t Danny.  Then I heard the tell.  It was sound that Crutch made clearing his voice and I never saw him wear sneakers.  I told Bob as much so he walked over to where he could see past the edge of the roof and came back smiling.  “You’re right.  It’s Crutch”. 

Soon it became quiet as Crutch left, Howard settled down, Cathy and Bobbie had chilled and it was too dark to field grounders.  We were left sitting on our basketballs and leaning back against the warm brick.  The glow of the sunset provided an orange backdrop behind Capitol Hill and accentuated the outline of Seattle Prep.  The warm brick, tar roof and asphalt playground surrendered their heat and created a thermal glass-off that lifted flying insects up to the waiting Night Hawks who circled overhead crying “Preet!  Preet!  Preet!”  Spotting a juicy winged bug they dove and created a booming sound of air rushing through their feathers as they pulled up sharply from their feeding dive.  If they were low enough we could see the white spots on their wings as they circled back up for another bite.

Sound of the Night Hawk

The drone of the motors on the Goodyear Blimp became audible and long before it came into view.  Finally it was passing slowly overhead its lights flashed “GOODYEAR” and “TIRES”.

Sound of the Goodyear Blimp

To the northwest the running reader board lights on the top of the Safeco Insurance Building announced “SAFECO……….AUTO………INSURANCE………..8:55 PM”.

 

I said, “I gotta get home, Bob.  It’s close to curfew”.

Bob replied “We have time for one more cigarette”. 

The spring hinge on his lighter clanged open as he lit up two and handed one to me, then snapped shut with that signature Zippo sound.  

Zippo Sound

He took a long draw on the Winston and said: “And besides it is so nice up here tonight”. 

And it always was.  Especially on warm summer nights.

Monday, June 19, 2023

Crime, Punishment & Vocabulary

 

I attended Montlake Elementary School in Seattle from 1957 - 1961.  It is a classic mid-1920’s Floyd Narramore design that, back then, served the children from the middle-class neighborhood. 

Third and fourth grade at Montlake were years marked by good classroom behavior on my part.  Being new to the neighborhood and the school I was focused on fitting in and my classmates helped me with that.  My third grade teacher, Mrs. Parsons, doted on me so I was very comfortable and really well behaved in class.  My report cards testified to that fact with notes such as: “Jon is a good citizen in class”.

Fourth grade introduced me to Miss Hoover who was former WAC or some other branch of the military and she didn’t suffer fools gladly.  “Fear” would best describe my memories of her. She was severe and when someone acted up in class the whole classroom would have to go out on the playground and march military-style.  Girls learned to “dress-right-dress” along with the boys and nobody wanted to be the one whose horsing around caused the whole class to march in the rain. I behaved and while I never fit in to Scouting, I could sure look sharp standing at attention and marching on orders.

Monday, May 8, 2023

Duncan Comes to the Paper Shack

 


As a kid in Wichita it was a treat when the impeccably-dressed Duncan Top guy came to school to announce an upcoming contest and show us his tricks.  There was a concrete pad next to the school that faced out onto the dirt playground and this was where we all gathered to throw our tops.  He would just show up at recess and go through his tricks which were so far beyond what any of us could do.  Whoever could do the neatest trick would get his name engraved on the crown of his top.  The Duncan Guy would pull out his pocketknife and quickly carve the owner’s name in some exotic script.  He would tell us where to meet for the contest after school and it was always either outside of Tompkin’s Drug Store or Yost’s Grocery.  For the last trick he always did a version of “Walk the Tightrope” where the finale was flipping the top high into the air, opening one side of his coat and catching it in his inside pocket.  Sound familiar?   

As my top skills fell somewhere below the middle of the pack, I never got beyond doing more than three tricks without bleeding so I always attended the contests as a spectator.  The winners would get new tops that retailed for $0.25, the runners-up got their names engraved on the crowns of their theirs and Tompkins or Yost’s would make a few bucks selling new units, strings and 5 cent Marshmallow Root-beers.  Tops were available in any drug or grocery store in Wichita.  Nobody sold Yo-yo’s.  I had heard of them but had never seen one in my life.

Friday, May 5, 2023

The Job Interview

 


 

Say what you will about Chris………and if it is outrageous it’s probably true.  When she was hired from outside the company to fill the position of Action Sports Manager folks were wondering WTAF?  What has she got and what is she going to be like to work for?  That was some fairly scary shit right there. 

 

Maybe it was because she was so carefully watched that we picked up some behaviors that were way outside of REI norms.  Even back then there was a modicum of REI-nice that she didn’t get the memo on, but it was clear that she knew her hardgoods and was a promotor, the likes of which, REI had never seen before.  Her mind and mouth moved faster than any internal filters that she may have possessed so they had no shot at moderating her message.  Mind to mouth at the speed of light was how things went and she always spoke at least 25 decibels louder than everyone else so things that she said often raised some eyebrows.  She bent and broke rules, too, but they were always the rules that had stifling, unintended and negative consequences on our Co-op and Member’s wellbeing so everyone learned to go along whenever possible.  She always acted in her team’s best interests which must have pissed off a few people above her pay grade.  Life around Chris was always an adventure.

 

Thursday, April 6, 2023

Folly of Youth

 


Sometimes, it’s hard to explain my choices.  Especially some of the bad ones I made when I was young.  I suppose that I can write them off as the folly of youth but I have to wonder why it was important to me to commit such folly in the first place. 

For instance, once when I was in junior high school, I chose to walk through the Battery Street Tunnel.  The same tunnel, relatively new at the time, that was constructed to serve all of the north-south highway traffic through Seattle and it offered no provision for foot traffic.  For some reason it seemed like a good thing to do. 

At the time I sat third-chair French Horn for the semi-talented All City Orchestra which was mostly composed of young nerds who were accepting of their social limitations and resulting societal roles.  Homey didn’t play that, though, and I struggled to ignore my own limitations and chafed against the norms assigned by my relationship with that Horn in F.  I wanted to be cool and be identified as such so I rationalize that some of my poor choices were the result of trying to set myself apart from reality in the eyes of my very critical peers.

Wednesday, February 22, 2023

Memories From The Mint

 

1968 - Seattle Municipal Archives - 191827

It’s possible that “The Corner Market” building at 1st Ave and Pike Street has been photographed more than most Seattle landmarks and while it is a respectable place now that wasn’t always the case.  Built in 1912 it featured open storefronts along the 1st floor perimeter while the interior featured other food specialty businesses including the Pacific Poultry Company on the 2nd floor.  At that time it was an altogether decent place to conduct business, do your shopping and to see and be seen.  

The Corner Market went into a steep decline during the ‘60’s just as I was coming into the labor market with only 20% of the space was being utilized.  Heck, all of 1st Ave was pretty seedy and quite sporty then and I chose the Corner Market for my first job that didn’t involve newspapers or lawnmowers.  The open storefronts along 1st Ave had been closed in to house the “Modern Barber College” (nationally accredited), “The Taco House” (specializing in fish and chips) and “The Mint Restaurant and Dollar Room” where I first started my long climb to retirement

Sunday, January 22, 2023

Robert Lewis Stevenson ~ Nazi Wolfpacks & the Montlake Cut

 

1934 - SMA - 9239 

On October 17, 1934 an Engineering Department photographer captured this image of the Puget Sound tug boat Equator towing the oil tanker Geo. H. Jones through the Montlake Cut and into Lake Washington.   At 429 feet in length and 59 feet wide the G.H. Jones filled The Cut on its way to the Lake Washington Shipyards for repairs and refitting.  The bustling shipyards at Houghton ensured that large oceangoing ships were not an uncommon sight in the Montlake neighborhood.  Both the Equator and the Geo. H. Jones had interesting histories and met, equally, interesting ends.  Not present that day in The Cut but part of the story was the Nazi submarine U-455 that would put one of them on the bottom of the ocean.