The Chanslor & Lyon Building: The Golden House of Auto Row.

Chanslor & Lyon Building at 12th & Madison, Dec. 15, 1920. Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives.

Popular Mechanics, 1915

Before 1912, your gas-powered Ford lit the often-precarious road ahead with nothing but acetylene gas headlamps and required a hand crank to start the engine.  However, that year, everything changed when Charles Kettering and Henry Leland designed and built the first electric starter and lighting system. 

If you lived in Seattle and wanted the upgrade, chances are you would purchase the Gray & Davis model from what was then claimed to be the largest automotive equipment retailers and distributors in the world: the Chanslor & Lyon Company (C&L).  

Waller Chanslor and Phil Lyon circa 1916. LA Times

Founded in 1904 in Los Angeles by Waller G. Chanslor and Phillip H. Lyon, it opened a branch in Seattle in 1908 that steadily expanded and outgrew the 20,000 square feet of floor space in its second location at 10th Avenue and Pike Street -- the building now occupied by Comet Tavern and Lost Lake Café. 

Most impressed by this growth, Chanslor visited in May 1919 to plot out the next phase of expansion in the Pacific Northwest: a custom designed state-of-the-art facility to fit his company’s needs. 

Henry Bittman 1950.

Within a few weeks, C&L purchased a tract of land from H. M Schweppe, Harry Krutz and the estate of David Keith (deceased) for roughly $25,000.  Thereafter, they hired local engineer Henry Bittman to design the new facility, which is now the southwest wing of Trace Lofts.   

Four years later, Bittman would become a registered architect and go on to design many prominent downtown buildings including the Terminal Sales Building, Eagles Temple and the final addition to the King County Courthouse. (His Wallingford home recently went up for auction.)

Bittman's drawing, 1919. Seattle Times

Bittman’s design called for a three-story, semi-triangular structure of yellow brick to fit the irregular intersection of 12^th, Madison and Union.  Both the roof and the sill below the second-story windows would be lined with terra-cotta; the first floor ceiling would reach 19 feet.  All told it cost $150,000 and provided more than double the amount of floor space. 

Noyes, 1923.

C&L vice president Charles F. Noyes was the first man to oversee business within the walls designed by Bittman.  Noyes, born on April 13, 1869 in Boston Massachusetts, moved out to San Francisco with his family in 1880.  In 1896, he co-founded the Boswell & Noyes Drug Company with his brother-in-law Frank Boswell, his sister Nellie, and his wife Nettie before joining C&L in 1916. 

The most significant characteristic of the building Noyes would come to manage was its size.  It was C&L’s largest facility and they claimed it was the largest devoted to automotive equipment in America. 

A substantial claim indeed and, while quite possibly true, one cannot deny the sense of urgency it carries.  It suggests that the automotive market was very competitive and growing astronomically — particularly in Seattle and if you didn’t act quickly and boldly, you’d be left behind. 

Beckett Brothers' University Garage, 1919. Seattle Times.

And that’s precisely what all the big players were trying to avoid for only seven months prior to C&L’s opening day on 12^th Avenue; a different company opened a similarly sized facility at 45^th & Brooklyn (most likely what is now Hotel Deca), boasting that it was the largest in the Pacific Northwest.  Clearly C&L had just one-upped them. 

This competitive nature found expression in recreational activities as well.  By 1924, there probably wasn’t a single automobile business in Seattle (including C&L) who didn’t have a bowling and/or baseball team or whose members didn’t play golf. 

In fact, Noyes himself hit the golf links religiously and the C&L baseball team went on to clinch the Auto Row division championship in 1926. 

John Kennedy

Company logo, 1926.

Less conventional competitions also took place. In the summer of 1923 John A. Kennedy, founder of Ken Tools, had been touring the U.S. in his 1917 D-45 Buick, parading his title as the “champion tire changer” using his company’s recently developed “Pacific Rim Tool.” When he came to Seattle, he naturally visited C&L to display his handiwork.  Apparently unimpressed with Kennedy’s showy self-assuredness, a C&L employee, William Dickson, took Kennedy’s “world record” by changing six tires in just under four minutes in a competition held at Pantages Theatre a few weeks later.  Most of which was probably an extensive publicity stunt.
 
The timing was also perfect and perhaps even planned.  Only two months prior Noyes had announced that C&L would begin manufacturing its own line of tires.  He claimed that the West Coast’s climate and direct access to rubber and cotton imports made it the most logical choice.

However, just when it seemed there wasn’t a new height C&L couldn’t reach, trouble lay within its own walls. Seattle branch janitor Ulysses Campbell, was arrested on Aug. 6, 1923 for slowly stealing $10,000 worth of merchandise.  He plead guilty on Nov. 3 after returning 90 percent of it and claiming he’d been refused a raise so he determined to steal it.  He was sentenced to two to 12 years in prison.   

The very next day, Noyes, undoubtedly distraught, announced his retirement and moved back to California soon thereafter.  At 54 and ailing in health, he was clearly ready to call it a day.  He died seven years later.  As for Campbell, he was ironically killed when a car hit him at the corner of 23^rd and Thomas 17 years later. He was 61 years old. 

Despite the setbacks, business continued steadily in Seattle.  At a 1926 employee convention, C&L planned to nearly double its 1925 sales quota and it likely succeed because two years later the increasingly popular Pennzoil made C&L its official distributor in the Pacific Northwest. 

But unfortunately, this success was short lived.  Only four months later, C&L lost that title after suddenly closing its Portland branch and the closures didn’t stop there.  The following January, C&L sold its remaining holdings in the Pacific Northwest. 

Apparently, C&L had gone public in 1928 in order to finance an “aggressive expansion program” in California by buying out smaller businesses there.  To this end, it deemed it necessary to exit the Pacific Northwest market.  Thus ending its tenure at the golden house. 

Bekins Moving and Storage, 1937. WA State Archives.

However, the building would remain an attractive facility. The Nagelvoort-Stearns Cadillac Dealership across the street expanded there before eventually passing that torch on to Bekins Moving & Storage in 1935.  Ownership and use of the building would continue to change hands over the next 70 years as the building slowly decayed.  

 In 2008, developer Ted Schroth brought the building new life upon reopening it as Trace Lofts making it the home of 42 condos and multiple businesses including Tavern Law: a 1920s themed establishment with an upstairs speakeasy paying homage to building’s glory days.  In it, a working replica of a 1920s mechanical television my friends and I built sits on display.

Trace Lofts, June, 2015.  Photo by Tom Heuser

The Flemington Apartments: Best When Viewed Askew

The Flemington Apartments circa 1937.  Courtesy WA State Archives.

There’s a technique well-known to astronomers called “Averted vision” by which distant nebulae are often more easily observed when viewed in our peripheral vision. I’m quite familiar with it myself, both as an occasional stargazer and because of a party I threw for The Flemington, which unexpectedly turned into an extensive historical research project: the sort of thing I’ve always been interested in doing. And the initially mysterious “J. Fleming” “pioneer businessman” who had The Flemington built in his name, applied this technique in his own life.

Seattle Times February 11, 1924

On his building’s opening day, Feb. 11, 1924, he revealed to the Seattle Times that it was “the result of several years of careful planning… and the product of [his] dreams.” Yet for much of his adult life he wasn’t even in the real-estate business, but rather in the grocery business and a successful one at that.

Fleming owned and operated several grocery stores on Capitol Hill with his brothers and his business partner, Robert Moore, during those “several years” leading up to The Flemington (now “The Capitol Building,” 906 E John St.). Then, when he generated enough profit, he invested it into real-estate. Proof that when people place what they desire in the periphery it can sometimes become even more tangible. Yet, there’s more to the story.

The early years
Joseph Fleming was born on June 18, 1880 to James and Anne Fleming and baptized in the Reformed Presbyterian Church in the quaint and remote village of Ballymoney, Ireland where they raised race horses during a time of widespread agitation for home rule (before the creation of Northern Ireland circa 1921) and land reform following the Long Depression.

Fleming, by then, was the youngest of four and, as Protestants living in north Ireland, chances are they weren’t invested in local politics. Thus they had little incentive to stay. So gradually they began moving to the U.S.; Fleming himself hopped on a ship bound for New York City in 1901.

126 N Broadway circa 1937. Courtesy WA State Archives.

Joseph Fleming circa 1900? Courtesy Moore Family

His first stop stateside was Baltimore where he took up an apprenticeship in tailoring and raced horses before making his way to Seattle by 1910, when he was living at a boarding house at 126 N. Broadway (where the light rail station will be). His occupation: “grocery salesman.” In the intervening years, his older brother John had already been running his own grocery business in Philadelphia since the 1890s. So it’s very possible Joseph passed through spending a few years there, working hard, learning the business, and saving some money so he could start his own business here in Seattle. And that he did.


Pioneer grocer

100-104 N Broadway circa 1937. Courtesy WA State Archives.

In 1911, Fleming rented a home at 104 N Broadway and the adjacent storefront (on the NE corner at Denny) from the owners Captain John Taylor, a civil war veteran and city councilman, and his wife, Clara, who both ran a business as pension attorneys.

Fleming invited several of his siblings to join him and opened his first store: the Fleming Cash Grocery. And business flourished. By October of 1915, he operated four stores alongside one of his most trusted and hard-working clerks turned business partner and brother-in-law, Robert Moore. Their competitive edge was to offer lower prices by eliminating delivery service from all but their flagship store at 100 N Broadway.

Prosperity, piety and patriotism
Business at the renamed Fleming & Moore grocery stores prospered into the 1920s, so much so, that Fleming became rather generous with his money, which offers a rare and fascinating glimpse at his values. He was devoutly Presbyterian. He was known to frequently donate large sums to his local church and shortly after Armistice Day (Nov 11, 1918), he donated $50 (worth $685 today) to the Thanksgiving Day Victory Fund – an effort lead by his church to christianize the U.S. Constitution following WWI in order to, it was believed, reduce the likelihood of future war. And when he wasn’t giving away money, he always had an extra bible on hand to give to those whom he believed would benefit from it.

And he was similarly patriotic; he was an official sponsor of the Conference Committee on National Preparedness, an effort to “bring to justice those who plot against the nation.” Being so absorbed in the growth of his business and supporting his church and adopted country, who would suspect that he was dreaming of anything else?

Real-estate upstart

Riley's drawing. Courtesy Dept. of Planning and Dev.

However, on June 26, 1922, he made a business proposition to the widowed Margaret Albiez for the purchase of her property at the corner of Broadway and John for a lump sum of $18,550, equivalent to over $261,000 today. In cash. In the following months, he hired architect Howard Riley to draw up the plans. Contractor Andrew Mowat handled construction. Together, they broke earth in April of 1923 on the apartment building that remains today.

When complete, The Flemington Apartments would reach five stories tall and dominate the Broadway roofline for nearly a century thereafter. Every unit included marble and hardwood floors and a radio, and there even used to be a rooftop garden, community library and ample basement storage. It was one of the most opulent installments the city had ever seen.

Legal troubles and nostalgia
On that glorious day in April of 1923, Fleming must have undoubtedly felt a rush of confidence and exuberance as he footed his shovel into the soil at 200 N Broadway. Surely a sign that nothing could spoil his moment of grace — not even legal trouble.
Dairy Delivery Inc. (DDI) took him to court in March over an unpaid debt of $785.97. Fleming refused to pay and filed a counter-complaint accusing DDI of breaching a contract and fixing prices, making them responsible for lost profits and additional damages.

If there ever was a contract it must have been verbal because the jury ruled in favor of DDI in October for lack of evidence. Fleming and Moore attempted to dispute the verdict, but eventually gave in and paid the debt in January. Most likely, it wasn’t worth fighting given that The Flemington was due to open the following month. And it opened without a hitch despite the legal setback. It was a grand production with a full page in The Seattle Times devoted to promoting all of its features. One of its first and most known tenants would be Manning’s Coffee shop.

Perhaps the recent court ruling had left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth because business operations shifted dramatically hereafter. Fleming and Moore split the business and began operating independently. Fleming then entrusted his own share to his brother William and focused on his new venture.

 128 N Broadway circa 1937. Courtesy WA State Archives

This may also have been a time of reflection for Fleming because while he was busy fulfilling his dream and fighting anyone who would stand in his way, he quietly took out a mortgage on a home at 126 N Broadway, his former boarding house, curiously enough. Perhaps, he was growing a bit nostalgic. Gradually, he and his brothers moved in.

Fleming seemed to grow even more nostalgic when he soon discovered that property management wasn’t his cup of tea. So he hired someone else to manage The Flemington Apartments and returned to the grocery business with his family in 1928. A business they’d continue to run well into the 1940s at 128 N. Broadway.

Crime wave and passing the torch
From the late 1920s into the 1930s, the Manning’s chain became a popular target citywide for criminals looking to line their pockets with some extra cash. Manning’s Coffee at The Flemington, was no exception.

From October of 1934 to August 1936, there were at least six robberies, often with the same clerk at the store. In fact, it almost comically became a matter of routine, when the store’s manager Paula Rede reported that she wasn’t frightened at having a pistol pointed at her for the third time, such that one might wonder if it were a conspiracy.

In any case, Fleming eventually sold The Flemington to White & Bollard Inc. on Dec. 12, 1945, who would rename it the Winters Building. It remained so until its sale in 1991 to its current owner Franklin Tseng who renamed it the Capitol Building.

The later years

After the sale of The Flemington, Fleming still had exclusive access to one of the corner apartments overlooking Broadway.  He stayed there frequently, undoubtedly to look out over Broadway as he pondered one of his many subsequent business ventures, the details of which remain vague. However, one thing was for certain, according to his grandnephew Gordon, wherever he saw a dollar, there was likely ten more beneath it and so he was never in want.

Except when it came to travelling. By the early 1960s, Pan Am had only recently began flying its 707 jets, so Fleming purchased an open ticket, which apparently was big news because a Seattle newspaper wanted to know what a man in his 80s was doing traveling the world.  So they drove down to Tacoma where he’d been living with his grandnephew to interview him, but they were too late.

Fleming in Tacoma, Wa. Age 91. From MOHAI

He was already in Australia. From there he went to India, then to the Middle East to visit the holy sites and on to much of Europe where he concluded his trip with his regular visit to Ireland. That paper was the Seattle PI and they didn't catch up to him until 1971. Five years later, he died “a beloved uncle” on October 29, 1976. He was 96 years old.

So what was it? Was the fulfillment of his dream not all he built it up to be? Was he yearning to relive his glory days as a pioneer grocer? Or maybe erecting a lasting monument to his legacy was all he needed and he eventually thought it best to return it where it had originally been and had served him best: to the periphery.

*Special thanks to Gordon Fleming who passed away two days after I interviewed him for this article.  May he rest in peace.*