Montlake - The Real Birthplace of REI

Most of us know something about REI.  Some of us may know a bit of the history, or think that we do.  Some of us have heard about how it all started with an ice axe, etc. 

Some of us have been members for years, can recite our membership number (203xxx), bought our first backpack and hiking boots from Jim Whittaker above the Green Apple Pie and delight in regaling the cashiers who ring us up about our long association with the Co-op.  Some of us have been employees (#14xx).  Some of us may complain about the changes over the years or high prices, or Yuppie-gear, blah, blah, blah.  This post isn’t about any of that so no need to go there. 

It is about a critical bit of REI history that I bet you don’t know.  It’s about how the Co-op almost never came to be.  It’s about how 85 years ago a Montlake business deal-gone-bad set everything in motion so that today, in spite of Covid-19, REI is serving 5.5 million active members and how those members and guests open the doors to the stores by grasping handles made of ice axes.    

That’s right.  It all started with an ice axe in Montlake.

Symbolic Door Handles

What is well-known and undisputed is that Lloyd Anderson and his wife, Mary, were members of “The Climbers Group”, an offshoot of the “Mountaineers”.  In 1938 they founded Recreational Equipment Cooperative using the Rochdale Principles.  The purpose of the co-op was to provide a source of quality outdoor gear for their friends and fellow climbers.   

Mary and Lloyd Anderson 

Celebrating My Big 0-7

 Me and My Crew at My 7th Birthday

Well, mostly crew.  I’ll let you figure out which two didn’t qualify as “Crew” but who my Mom made me invite.  If you haven’t figured it out, I’ll just say that they are the only guys in the photo who were shorter than me and I’m the guy in the middle doing the Gangster Lean.  I bet that right now they are still wearing the same outfits while playing Bingo in a Florida retirement community, but I digress.

Little did I know at the time that a health crisis was unfolding in one of their homes and that my birthday party was providing a much-needed respite from worry.  You see, the non-crew attendee’s older brother was suffering from an affliction and the ultimate outcome was in the balance. 

A Lotta Milk for $0.03

  It began as a typical lunch period at Montlake Elementary School.  We filed into the lunchroom and lined up to buy milk from the Milk Lady at her little table situated at the north end of the building in the aisle that ran the length of the room and separated the girls from the boys.  Rows of long tables extended out from both walls.  An 8 ounce carton of milk cost $.03.  I sat down with the rest of the guys on the west side of the room.  Dave Sadick was across the table from me.  He was eating his usual salami with mustard sandwich.  Pip Meyerson and Lester Rosenthal sat next to us. 

I think it started when a little pudding accidentally flipped from someone’s cup and landed on their neighbor’s sleeve.  A witness commented and a minor form of retaliation was enacted.  Laughter!  I took a sip of milk. 

Marcel Speaks

 

On my second day of skiing I participated in a series of bad decisions that nearly cost me and my friends our lives.  Being in high school at the time when bad ideas and bad decisions were a way of life the only thing that is surprising is that we survived.  Without belaboring details let me just say that we had gotten lost and were suffering from hypothermia.  We were rescued by three remarkable men, two of whom told me years later that when they found us, we had maybe 2 hours to live.  Two of those men were very kind but the third was a beast. 

 

The beast was a German expat named Marcel Schuster who had served on the Russian Front in WWII as a Nazi Mountain Trooper.  He was captured and spent three years in a POW camp which didn’t make him a nicer person.  He was entirely unpleasant and totally unsympathetic to our situation.  During our rescue the only six words he uttered to us were “You Stoopid Boyzzz” and “Learn or Die” followed by another “You Stoopid Boyzzz”.  After eight years I was reunited with the three men who I owed my life to and Marcel didn’t smile and wouldn’t shake my hand.  All he said while looking at me with a cold and bitter stare was “You Stoopid Boyzzz”. 

 

I’m going to get to the kayaking part in a minute but before I do I want to mention what a strong influence Marcel’s message has had on my life choices.  Though I have met no one who knew him who would describe him as a nice guy he spoke to me in a way that got my attention and that I understood. 

 

I think that many of us choose our activities, boating or otherwise, where we accommodate objective risks and plan for what subjective risk / rewards we may or may not be willing to consider.  Since that cold Winter night in my 17^th year when I had 2 hours to live but was snatched from death by two nice men and one acerbic ex-Nazi with a short temper and no tolerance for the dumb-assery of youth I have heard Marcel speak to me a number of times.  When he speaks I listen. 

 

 

I was 2 days into a 2 week solo kayaking trip on the BC coast when my weather radio told me that an intense ridge was setting up over Haida Gwaii and that it would bring 40 kt winds to the area.  That made my intended route and my current location untenable.  I had two days to seek a sheltered route, which was doable, but I didn’t want to go where the easy and safe routes would take me.  There was a 6 mile stretch of coastline on Athlone Island that I wanted to see and if I hurried, I could paddle it and get into the lee of the Bardswell Group before the winds arrived, but just barely.  Once sheltered by the Bardswells I could scurry from here to there like a mouse evading a hungry cat, safe as long as I didn’t get caught in the open.  So, for 2 days I monitored weather and hustled towards safety. 

 

On my last “safe” day I left Dallas Island around 8:30 AM.  I knew I that I was cutting things pretty tight and that I really should have gotten out of camp an hour earlier but I wanted a second cup of coffee.  My bad.  Conditions were smooth until I reached Blair Inlet near Ivory Island and things started to change.  The wind had increased to W @ 10 kt countering the building ebb at Blair.  Friendly swell became more evident as I started across Seaforth Channel.  Textured patches began to show the effects of mixing currents and from mid-channel to Cape Swaine the ebb was on with swell being bent and disturbed, gaining height as windwaves were tickled to attention by interaction with the opposing current.  I ducked into the gap behind the island that terminates Cape Swaine for a brief rest.  Looking at conditions to the south they appeared to be somewhat sporting and it was clear that there would be no place to take another break until I made the cover of Wurtele Island so I took the opportunity to fuel on a ProBar, checked my chart and tried to interpret the sea bottom profile that my GPS displayed on its magnificent 1.5” x 2.25” big-screen.  Maybe I could have seen it better if I had covered one eye and taken out my contacts.

 

Those 3 miles to Wurtele Island presented intensifying conditions that were ragged and snotty but still manageable.  Achieving Rage Reef at the north end of the island I sheltered in the lee of the boomers to reassess conditions.   Looking south and then scanning back north the way I had come the thin layer of haze clinging to the water told of frothy wave tops torn from breaking waves.  I really wanted that next 3 miles.  The outside of the island would be rough and probably getting more so but it would only be another hour to Cape Mark.  I can do that. 

Moderate Seas

Image by April Benzce

And then Marcel spoke to me as loudly and as clearly as he ever has since that cold night in the snow and he said “You stoopid boyz!

 

That was all it took and I ducked behind Wertele island without further discussion.

Dishmaster M48

 

Now before you get caught up in my home-made shirt with defunct railroad logos, my striped socks and two-toned shoes or my belt with the pearl-handled revolver I want you to take a look around this kitchen for a minute.  There are some classic examples of 1950’s Americana on display. 

Let’s start in the upper-left corner with the metal wall-hung match dispenser.  Designed to hold a whole box of wooden matches its front tray allowed easy access to one match at a time while a side slot exposed the striking emery of the matchbox.  That kitchen accessory was critical in order for you to light the oven or stove-top burners.  Yep, when it came time to thaw and heat up that scrumptious frozen asparagus you had to be able to light the stove.  

Directly below that you can see the wall-mounted Swing Away can opener that came onto the market in 1938.  The Swing Away and its imitators were the height of kitchen convenience plus the sign of a discerning and thoroughly modern cook.  As I recall there was a Swing Away in every house my parents lived in.  In spite of the fact that the Swing Away had been on the market for 17 years my Dad must have felt that they were not to be trusted as his belt-and-suspenders approach to life required that a time-tested manual “butterfly style” hang beneath it in reserve.  Time-tested indeed as that butterfly is the basis of most can openers today and is my go-to whenever access to the contents of a can is needed at my house.

Observe the set of shiny metal kitchen canisters nestled in the corner.  White cannisters with a tasteful daisy design topped with yellow lids.  Very attractive in 1955 and pretty embarrassing for me to admit that I still have one of those in my garage that is used to store wire connectors.  My God!  That thing has followed me for at least 65 years. 

Above the sink is a lovely round mirror with a tasteful design around the outside edge.  I’m not sure if the design is a poor attempt at Maple leaves or English Ivy.  English Ivy is an invasive species throughout North America, though, so let’s go for Maple leaves as that wouldn’t depict us as such environmental rubes.  Either way it is a pretty ugly mirror and is mounted in an odd place. 

The cheese grater confuses me.  I mean, I have one of those things in a kitchen drawer that still gets used.  What confuses me is that we never ate any cheese other than Velveeta back then and do you even grate Velveeta of just carve a slab off and melt it?  Since it is made of whey protein concentrate, milk protein concentrate, fat and preservatives the FDA forced Kraft to change its label from “cheese spread” to “cheese product”.  Yuck!

The real piece de resistance is the Mansville Dishmaster Model M48 faucet set with brush.  Dishmaster is still selling a similar.  Those faucets were sold door-to-door and that one went for $49.50 in the early 1950’s.  An exorbitant amount of money at the time and heavily marketed as the perfect Mother’s Day or Christmas gift for the busy housewife.  My Mother must have felt like a queen washing dishes with that. 

OK.  Now about my belt.  I wore that belt all the time and I don’t recall ever needing it to hold my pants up.  The shiny pearl handled revolver buckle made me feel pretty special and every morning that I woke up and buckled that belt was a gift.  It was a sad day when I outgrew it.  Interesting that I still have that damned thing.  It ain’t shiny anymore and the pearl handle is gone.

I sure wish I had a pair of those two-toned shoes that fit me.  Imagine the figure I would cut today grocery shopping while wearing those shoes and socks, shorts, my “Old Guys Rule” t-shirt and a surgical mask.  I’m pretty sure that Jean would have the locks changed while I was gone. 

 

Crow Chronicles

  1– Death of a Friend

Five years ago one of my Crow friends died.

He was a large bird and the Alpha of the local family that I had befriended a few years earlier.  While the smaller family members would dash in and out hoping for favor, he would confidently walk up within a few feet and stare at me with the knowledge that I would find something for him to eat.  I had named him “The Other”.

I hadn’t seen him for a while but on this day as I was working in the yard he appeared out of nowhere and walked up very close to me.  Closer than normal.  None of the other family members were around, which was odd.  I went into the garage to get the piece of bread I had been saving for him and when I did, I had to step over him as he didn’t move.  Very odd.  I sat on the porch and he walked up and stood between my feet. That was much closer than ever before.  As I dropped pieces of bread it was clear that he was locating them by smell and sound.  My friend had lost his sight. 

My neighbor and long-time friend, Daniel, came over to chat and was surprised to see the crow at my feet.  “What’s up with that?” he asked.  I told him what I thought was going on but hoped I was wrong.

The Other stayed close to me as I continued to work and followed me around the yard.  I guess he felt safe.  Then he went about five feet into the garage, which I had never seen him do before, and sat facing out.  His entire family suddenly showed up and watched from the fence that abuts the garage,   One by one they flew down to sit with him one last time and when done each bird flew across the street and sat silently on the power line.  When the last bird’s visit was over, they all took flight and flew north.  No calling, just the sound of their wings and they were gone.  He walked out of the garage and awkwardly hopped up onto the porch, something else I had never seen him do before, and sat very close beside me. 

Eventually he hopped down and walked over to the lilac bush and sat in the grass.  I took him some water and a few small treats which he picked at. 

He’s gone now.  Going to miss him.

Didn't Date Much

 

I suppose that before Seniors got to write their own yearbook quotes, they were provided by other students and faculty.  Folks on the yearbook committee maybe?  The school newspaper?  I never knew how that worked.  Like who came up with “Most Likely to Succeed” or ”Will Cure Cancer” or “Best Sense of Humor” or “A Natural Leader”?

 

Like, did they pull that stuff out of the “Book of 1000 Memorable Yearbook Quotes” or something?  And some students ARE pretty remarkable and it’s easy to sum up their high school careers in 3 or 4 powerful, complimentary words.  But what about the rest of us?  How did they pick quotes for us?  What 3 or 4 words did we get?  I mean, were students asked to provide their own or did the committee just start reaching into a fishbowl of quotes and you got what you got?

 

Lucky for me, I guess, that I graduated before the “Committee for Inspiring Character Quotes” came into being because the sum of my high school days was obvious to all and would have been summed up in 3 words that wouldn’t have been “Totally awesome, Dude!”

 

I’m pretty sure my three words would have been “Didn’t Date Much”.

 

James A. Garfield High School – Class of 1967

Package Grab

  

On the eve of my birthday I thought I would share a photo with you of me celebrating my 3rd trip around the sun in the public housing authority projects of Planeview, Kansas where I openly wore my “gun outside my pants; for all the honest world to feel” while perfecting the “package grab” that I would eventually teach to Marshawn Lynch to use on his signature end zone dives with the Seattle Seahawks.

 

That’s right.  I taught him that.  Oh yeah, I’m bad.  Uh huh!  Uh huh!