The Bluff Building: A Lesson In Escapism.

The Bluff Building. Oct. 2015. Photo by Tom Heuser.

On May 29, 1889 the graduating class of MIT in Boston gathered in Huntington Hall to hear the commencement speech of the renowned reverend Phillips Brooks. Towering over them at 6’3” and 300 pounds he thundered “the water of the river is at first distinct and separate from the sea, but with time… is embodied into one vast whole; and so… will your course in life pass away until nothing but the knowledge that something of new good and of new strength has been added to the world will remain.” A straightforward metaphor for life, death, and the contributions one leaves behind, but who was to say one couldn’t take their existing course, cast it into the void, and anonymously reemerge on a distinctly new one all in a single lifetime?

Reverend Phillips Brooks circa 1891

Huntington Hall, MIT.  Early 20th Century.  Image: MIT

One of the graduates that day, named Charles Dodge, eventually believed exactly that and it led him to Seattle where he ran off with his mistress 13 years later. Together they established a considerable real-estate empire that included the land on which the Bluff Building stood at the northwest corner of 10^th & Pike: currently the home of The Comet Tavern since the early 1950s. Even here, Dodge’s ethos of escapism has endured in one form or another through its well documented history as a popular dive bar and music venue where many have gathered to escape everyday life through loud music, alcohol, and often illegal drugs. But long before Nirvana performed there in 1988, the whole building was a hub for many who shared Dodge’s outlook on life.

The Red Arrow points to the estimated location of the New
England Real Estate Agency. Circa 1906. Image: Shorpy.

A life that began in Skowhegan, Maine where Charles Benjamin Dodge was born on July 13, 1867 to Benjamin Franklin Dodge, a harness maker turned banker, and his wife Jane Philbrick. After earning his degree in the since discontinued “general course” at MIT, Charles joined the ranks of Boston real-estate brokers working for the New England Real Estate Agency at 258 Washington St. Here he amassed considerable wealth over the next decade during which he met and married the highly-cultured and progressive Willietta Johnson in 1893 who was an active suffragette and world traveler. They reared two daughters, Dorothy and Katherine, and lived together on a 30 acre farm in Concord where the Revolutionary War began. A seemingly happy life from an outsider’s perspective, which it very likely may have been.

However, by 1901 that all changed after Charles had fallen in love with another woman named Annie MacConnell who positively dazzled him with her compassion, ideals, and youthful beauty (she was 10 years younger) and so much so that they ran away together later that year and reappeared in Seattle in early 1902. No lengthy divorce or custody battle, nothing. So what happened?

One can speculate that Charles must have been deeply conflicted, ashamed, and fearful of the consequences. He really did have a lot going for him, but perhaps there was just an element of banality and resignation to it all. For one can imagine that his career and Concord estate were effectively handed to him by his parents–and perhaps his wife, while certainly dazzling in her own right, was a bit too strong and intimidating for him, such that he feared she’d destroy him in a divorce. So what did he do?

Before running off to Seattle, he took a 3-week hunting trip in Maine with “the Misses McConnell” according to the The Boston Herald in October of 1901, so it definitely couldn’t have been a secret. And it was probably during this trip that Charles, Annie, and perhaps her widowed mother (who joined them in Seattle), planned their escape because it was the last time most anyone would hear of them. In fact, by the 1910 census, Willietta went so far as to claim she was widowed either assuming or perhaps pretending he was dead, but the truth was far from it.

Starting A New Life.

In February 1902, Charles and Annie began buying large tracts of land in and around the neighborhood of Columbia City all in Annie’s name while Charles only offered brokerage services. Then after Charles incorporated the “C.B. Dodge Company” on December 31, 1902, Annie began transferring most of the aforesaid properties over to it most likely in an effort to protect whatever wealth he brought to Seattle in case his wife should ever find him and file for divorce, but alas, thus far, she had not. The Boston Herald announced the sale of their Concord estate in August of 1903 without saying who sold it.  But assuming Willietta sold it, and Charles caught the news, it was his first sign that he’d started a new course in life and so on January 20, 1904 he and Annie got married and they had their first child Florence nine months later.

Routes to Malmo’s Nursery. October, 1903. Seattle Times.

Dodge Enters Capitol Hill

After getting set up in Columbia City, the pike/pine corridor near Broadway  caught Charles’ eye, but erring on the side of caution, he slowly worked his way in. This made him a perfect match for the folks who owned the land on both sides of Pike street between Broadway and Tenth and had casually been looking for buyers, but weren’t in any hurry to leave. All that stood here then was a single home surrounded by green houses, sheds, and a nursery operated by Charles Malmo florist and proprietor of decorative and fruit baring trees.

On July 2, 1906 Malmo sold a section of this land (the Northwest corner of East Pike and 10^th) to Charles for $12000 to be paid over the course of two years while Malmo gradually moved his business to the corner of Rainier and Mount Baker Boulevard: right in the heart of Charles’ Columbia City enclave interesting enough.

Charles Malmo, circa 1907. Image: Seattle Times.

But even though Malmo departed ahead of schedule (in April 1908) Charles had to wait over a year while he and other nearby property owners could fight for a compromise on the pending twelfth avenue regrade proposal before beginning construction. Apparently, city engineer R.H. Thompson and his blowhard trumpet C.C. Closson, a real-estate broker, wanted to raise Twelfth Avenue nearly 20 feet.  After Charles and other local property owners succeeded in taming what they called Thompson’s “pet hot-air scheme” a general contractor named Clyde Morris offered to improve Charles’ Pike Street lot.

image: Bagley’s History of King County

Enter Clyde Morris

Born in 1876 in Pomeroy, WA and educated in San Francisco, Clyde found success in Nome, Alaska from 1900-1905. After failing to strike gold there, he started a shipping and ditch building operation for the bigger mining companies and grew it into a $300,000 business with a workforce of 500 men. He then set up a general contracting office in Seattle shortly after his marriage to Marion Atkinson in May of 1906. They had a daughter Clydene in 1907 after which their marriage started falling apart. According to Marion, Clyde had begun provoking her to divorce him. So one can imagine how high strung Clyde was when he approached Charles, perhaps even confiding in him, in early 1909. Charles being no stranger to marital woes would have certainly commiserated and it might explain why they drew up such a peculiar business contract.

The Bluff Building before the 12th ave regrade.
Circa 1909. Image: Tacoma Library.

They set up a ground lease wherein Charles kept the land, but Clyde would own the building and pay Charles rent and filed it with King County on February, 6 1909, but that wasn’t peculiar. The peculiar part is when Clyde, on that very same day, incorporated “The Bluff Building Company” to perform the construction and own the building thereafter instead of using his already well-established general contracting business. Now while it is common for general contractors to start a new company to own a building after building it, it is apparently unheard of for them to start a new company beforehand and only to construct one building and yet it doesn’t appear that the Bluff Building Company built anything else. Two explanations come to mind.

As a road and ditch builder, he may have just wanted to protect his tried and true business from this new venture in the event of litigation arising from accidents during or after construction. However, it may also have been a financial fallback designed to protect some of his wealth from his wife in the event she actually did file for divorce. Time would tell, but in any case, construction moved forward and The Bluff Building opened for business on August 25, 1909 offering apartments on its two upper floors and six commercial units at ground level.

Bill Avery circa 1900. Image: Seattle Times.

Opening for business

The first business to open its doors was the quickly growing auto supply concern, the Chanslor & Lyon Company of Los Angeles, who had just moved from Belltown to the 916 East Pike unit in The Bluff and its manager was the all-around affable and hardworking Bill Avery. William A. Avery was born in San Francisco on March 21, 1864. At the tender age of 13 he ran away from home, first to Arizona and eventually to Seattle in 1886 where much of his  successes burned away in the great fire of 1889. After covering his losses, he returned to California in 1893.   In Los Angeles, he rebuilt his wealth through novel innovations in the paper industry. Selling his interests there, he purchased a share in the Chanslor & Lyon Company who sought a manager to open a Seattle branch in 1908. Bill’s business acumen and prior experience in Seattle made him a good fit and being married a second time like Dodge made him good fit for The Bluff Building too.

The Golden Age of Auto Row.

With the new shop set up, Avery, and his competitors, couldn’t exactly sit and wait for customers to stroll in. They had to create a market. For perspective, in 1905 the Automobile Club of Seattle reported only 85 cars and 25 miles of paved roads in the city and while there was certainly more by 1909, more work needed to be done. So in partnership with the Automobile Club and the Good Roads Association, both of which the aforesaid Clyde Morris was a prominent member as a road builder, Avery along wth other industry leaders organized trade shows, recreational tours, races, and other competitions. In one such competition, Avery claimed a silver trophy in April 1911 for signing up the most members to the Automobile club. So before long, business boomed and the automotive industry became all the rage in Seattle. In response, Chanslor & Lyon quickly annexed the adjacent storefronts at 914 and 918 E Pike and the two others on the 10^th Ave side and people like Bill and his sales team became local celebrities. Rarely did a week pass between 1909-1916 without their activities, business or pleasure, being highlighted in the Seattle Times. Then, the unthinkable happened.

Automobile Show. February 10, 1914. Image: Seattle Times.

Sales A.M. Peterson demonstrating puncture proof tire.
June 21, 1914. Image: Seattle Times.

The End of An Era. 

Shortly after returning from a business trip to the east coast, Bill died in his sleep of  heart failure on February 5, 1917 at the home of his boss, Phil Lyon, in Los Angeles. He left behind his beloved wife Ida, three children, and scores of friends. His death and the year preceding it, marked an end of an era for the industry and for The Bluff Building itself. Chanslor & Lyon (and other similar companies) had gone exclusively wholesale such that they would ultimately outgrow the Bluff Building and build a new facility at 12^th & Madison a few years later. Also during this time, statewide alcohol prohibition had taken effect at which point Dodge’s ethos of escape took on more of a criminal element at the Bluff Building.

Robert Calley circa 1907. Image: Seattle Times.

Fenlon in Knights Templar
uniform. Circa 1933.

Crime at The Bluff Building and ties to Prohibition.

In 1913 Robert Calley, a pharmacist from California, opened up shop at the 922 E Pike storefront at The Bluff and called it Auto Drug. A fitting name and it was his fourth incarnation since his arrival to Seattle in 1902. And like most pharmacists back then, he prescribed liquor to his customers and when statewide prohibition hit in 1916, he took advantage of the increased demand. On the eve of October 14, 1916, the city’s “dry squad” seized a barrel of whiskey at the Grand Trunk Pier permitted to one drug store, but suspiciously marked for shipment to Auto Drug. In the end, he nearly lost his drug store license, but got off with a $100 fine instead. Whether he got a permit to prescribe thereafter is unknown, but he did continue to distribute liquor because on the morning of August 17, 1918 one of his clerks discovered that a staggering 148 bottles of whiskey and 144 bottles of gin had been looted from the store. Little else is known of his activities thereafter, but he died two years later at the age of 66. A former employee of his, a pharmacist named Edwin Fenlon, eventually took over a few years later. In 1925, the police busted him for operating a cash-awarding slot machine at the store. Certainly not proof that he was also distributing booze, but where there’s gambling there’s likely to be alcohol. And it would certainly substantiate the rumors of secret tunnels under The Comet.

Back to Clyde

After the Bluff Building opened, he went on to cope with his failing marriage by becoming a workaholic. He served as president for both the Arctic Club and the Automobile Club and as a director of the National Bank of Commerce and traveled on business frequently. And as expected, his wife Marion finally filed for divorce and a restraining order on July 6, 1915 after a dramatic physical altercation at their home the day before. During the divorce, she asked the court to compel him to reveal all his business records including those of supposed real estate holdings and “subsidiary corporations” she believed he was hiding. The court denied her request, but still granted her a substantial settlement. So The Bluff Building may actually have been a secret fallback as theorized. In any case, Clyde bought the land beneath the Bluff Building from Charles five years later and held it until his death in 1938 after which his heirs sold it in 1944.

Collage of reported incidents from 1943 to 1967 from Seattle Times. Click to read.

Thereafter, the Bluff Building went into gradual decline and became a tougher place to live and work. Incidents ranging from burglaries to stabbings to suicides were relatively commonplace until at some point in the 1980s the apartments were finally vacated and sealed off. Eerily, a variation on Clyde’s name is painted across the upper edge of the building today. 

Bluff Building, Oct. 2015 Photo by Tom Heuser.

Seattle Children’s Home. From the blog of Paul Dorpat.

But what about Dodge?

Charles and his wife Annie went on to live increasingly public lives ranging from an unsuccessful bid for city council to elaborate dances and costume parties to philanthropy. Annie was a longtime volunteer at the Seattle Children’s Home until she died in 1933 sitting on both its advisory committee and board of trustees. Charles joined her in death 10 years later and was active in real estate until then. No official divorce records from his first marriage could be found so does that mean his escape was a success? Maybe so, but consider the fact that casual passersby rarely, if ever, notice that there was once a doorway immediately west of the Comet’s entrance leading them to assume there never were any apartments above, but if they look closer they’ll notice its merely boarded over and painted to blend in with the surrounding wall. Similarly, one might assume Charles had succeeded, but a closer look reveals that his Alma Mater betrayed his whereabouts on the alumni listing within its annual catalog for 1902-1903.  So maybe he didn’t succeed after all and it might explain why Willieta finally declared herself divorced in the 1920 census.

Boarded up entrance to the Bluff Apartments. Oct, 2015. Photo By Tom Heuser.

 

The Roycroft: A quest for independence at the confluence of speculation, regulation, and panic.

The Roycroft.  August, 2015.

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Seattle circa 1899. Roy & Roy Mill circled in Red.

In 1899 the quickest route to West Seattle was by train over a wooden trestle that ran along the northern edge of the Duwamish Bay tide flats crossing what would later become Harbor Island. That May, Edward Roy, his older brother Charles, and father Lucien would have taken this train out to the trestle’s midpoint to tour the lumber mill they would purchase later that month.

Peering out the train’s window to his left while his brother and father talked business, Edward would likely have been distracted by the countless array of shifting channels and tide pools glistening over hundreds of acres of mud. It was here that he saw one of many opportunities to reinvent himself instead of living in his brother’s and father’s shadow.

It was here, and elsewhere throughout the city, that Seattle would experience one of the greatest real estate booms in its history granting Edward both the independence from his family he so dearly desired and a refuge from the coming collapse of the lumber market. This is the story of Edward Roy and The Roycroft Apartments on Harvard Ave E.

Prologue

Imlay City, Michigan. Early 20th Century.

 Edward Bentley Roy was born in 1870 to farmers Lucien and Euphemia Roy and lived in the small town of Imlay City, Michigan, a stop on what was then the Port Huron and Lake Michigan Railroad. As teenagers, he and his older brother Charles would have heard stories of adventure and good pay out west as the trains passed through town carrying freshly milled lumber to eastern markets.

Charles, evidently, couldn’t pass up the opportunity, because the 1915 edition of The Mississippi Valley Lumberman (a trade magazine) reveals that he co-founded the “Roy & Neiharge” lumber company in 1888. Yet it seems unlikely that a 20-year-old farmer, would have suddenly become president of his own lumber company. So he must have joined a logging camp or lumber mill circa 1885 and worked his way up meeting Neiharge along the way.

After six years though, Nieharge retired so Charles convinced his father Lucien to leave Michigan and take his place.  The company was promptly renamed “Roy & Roy” and the family business was born.

Enter Edward Roy

Imlay City train depot, late 19th century.

By 1892, Edward had moved out of his childhood home, taken a job as a rail depot agent in town and married a Miss Jennie Wills that October with whom he lived in a house near the corner of 3rd and Caulkins. But sadly, after only a few years of married life, both Jennie and their infant daughter passed away.

Undoubtedly devastated, Edward probably spent some time thereafter gripped in depression—possibly feeling a little resentful and jealous of his family’s distant success. Thus he lingered in an effort to prove he could remain independent from his family.

But it seems he eventually swallowed his pride and reunited with them to escape the pain (possibly after attempting to prospect for gold in the Klondike in 1897) because he finally reemerged in 1898 when the Seattle City Directory listed his occupation as bookkeeper for Roy & Roy and his residence at 802 3^rd Ave—a block away from his family. Clearly he still needed some space. But despite his hesitation, he proved himself useful to the family business because when Roy & Roy became a corporation in August of 1899, he became its secretary and treasurer.

 Edward Roy the Lumberman

Roy & Roy logo circa 1900. “Clears” are shingles without knots.

Edward wasted no time filling his new role and went out taking the punches to defend his family’s business. A common practice among associated lumber mills in the region was to shut down for the winter when demand was low and wait for higher prices in spring when demand returned. Roy & Roy refused to play ball by keeping its mills open and lowering prices. When accused of being a scalping concern, Edward retorted in a Seattle PI press release that the association’s theory was “nonsense” and demonstrated that a profit could still be made.

Their stubborn independence paid off. At the time of the dispute, Roy & Roy operated their tide flats mill and had an interest in 18 others. By 1904 they were operating 6 mills with an interest in 40 others and had even purchased a staggering 35,000 acres of timberland near Colima, Mexico with plans to build several mills and a branch railroad to deliver their product.

Roy & Roy’s tide flats mill circa 1905. Courtesy Seattle Times.

 It was during this time that Edward started settling into his new life in Seattle. He joined a variety of clubs and began rubbing elbows with all manner of Seattle’s leading businessmen and civic leaders. He even bought himself a nice home in 1905 at 528 16^th Ave N right in the heart of Capitol Hill marking the beginning of his foray into real-estate.

Edward Roy the Real-Estate Upstart

With all the recent leveling, filling, and platting of land occurring throughout Seattle, real-estate entrepreneurs had begun feverishly speculating on land value. They bought and sold property so rapidly and at record profits that the newspapers could hardly keep up. Edward eagerly entered the fray.

Between 1905 and 1907 Edward bought and sold property all over Seattle on a weekly basis, but he wasn’t speculating solely for short-term profit.   He wanted to develop for the long term, particularly someplace where the family mill couldn’t cast a shadow. That place was Capitol Hill. So when he came across the home of Mrs. Clara Webb Vinnedge at the corner of Harvard and Thomas on June 4th 1906, he purchased it for $10,000. He then hired architect Henderson Ryan to design the new building that would take its place.

Drawing of The Roycroft circa 1906.

 Ryan’s design is described as a hybrid combining the Richardsonian Romanesque style with its high foundation, rusticated arch over the front door, and corner turrets and Spanish Mission revival style with its decorative wrought iron, Spanish tile roofs, and scalloped parapets. Original amenities included wall beds, a garbage elevator, telephones, refrigerators, gas range ovens, electric bells, speaking tubes, and two central light courts.

Henderson Ryan, LEJ Photo Collection

The design choice is as unusual as it is fascinating. One can view The Roycroft’s divisive styles as a physical manifestation of Edward’s lifelong desire to escape the gravity of his familial foundation perhaps only at best to rise above it and rest firmly upon it.

In a similar way for Ryan, this project along with a few others that year also marked a clear division from his early career designing single family homes. He later designed the building that now houses The Canterbury in a style very similar to The Roycroft.

Edward then hired contractor N.P. Douglas to build the Roycroft starting in August or September 1906. The timing was perfect because it appears Edward may have shipped off to Chicago shortly thereafter to attend a hearing of the interstate commerce commission in what was one of the most sensational legal battles happening between the lumber and railroad interests at that time.

Run For The Hill: The Panic of 1907

Seattle Times news articles from 1906 and 1907.

Throughout 1906, floods along with shortages of train cars and engines and the skilled labor needed
to build them, left the railroads dangerously ill-equipped to keep up with the vast quantity of goods waiting to be shipped east. By January 1907, the situation was so dire that the Northern Pacific railroad placed an indefinite embargo on lumber products just so they could focus on shipping perishable goods. Infuriated and desperate for survival, the lumber mills had united and taken their grievances to the interstate commerce commission. Both sides exchanged heavy blows, but neither came out a clear victor. Then by October of 1907, economic panic struck resulting in a series of bank runs in New York and other major eastern cities effectively destroying the demand for western lumber for the near future.

This time around, Roy & Roy had no choice but to shut down their mills and join the battle. And while Edward was in Chicago doing his part, he certainly couldn’t have had any illusions about it. Through experience and a unique perspective of emotional distance, he probably saw it coming, because he clearly had an exit strategy and his family followed suit. By the time the panic struck, everyone in the family was living comfortably with their own home on Capitol Hill. So one can imagine the smug sense of self-satisfaction and confidence Edward would have had at this point.

And he brought this confidence with him to Chicago where he met his second wife Clara—also a widower—taking up temporary residence there until their marriage in Vancouver B.C. on November 11, 1907. When he returned to Seattle, he (and his brother Charles) retired from the family business, leaving it to their father and younger brother Clyde.

“If you think you’d like to be a Roycrofter” — Early Residents of The Roycroft

Circa 1900. Courtesy Seattle Times.

The earliest known residents were George Lamping and his wife Edith Denny who took an apartment there in June 1907. George was a veteran of the Spanish-American War and member of the Washington National Guard. He later became King County auditor and a Washington State senator. Edith had studied at Wellesley College in Massachusetts and traveled extensively in Europe. The Seattle Times notes that Edith threw a bridge party for 16 people at their apartment in September 1907.

Circa 1910. Courtesy Seattle Times

Ernest Everett, also a veteran of the Spanish-American War and a former Minnesota National Guard member, was a talented and renowned tailor who lived there with his wife Pauline and their infant son from 1909-1910. Their residence ended abruptly when Everett skipped town after Pauline had apparently blackened his eyes and horsewhipped a client of his (Jessie Vanderwerker) with whom she believed Everett was having an affair. Even though he denied it all in the divorce proceedings, Everett ended up becoming Jessie’s third husband in October of 1910. A biography of Everett in Bagley’s History of Seattle, suspiciously excludes the sensationalized affair.

Gamage circa 1917. Image, Seattle Times.

Finally, in 1917 a man known only as J.A. Gamage, a fiddle player, also lived at The Roycroft. He had owned his fiddle since 1867 and said he “wouldn’t part with it for anything.” Apparently, the “barn floor” pieces were always his favorites to perform. No other record of him could be found.
However, Seattle City Directory records the residence of an Orlando Gamage on 3rd Ave employed as a violin maker from 1906 to 1911. They were very likely related.

Edward Roy: Landlord and Real-Estate Developer

After 1907, Roy continued to develop property on and off Capitol Hill and lived in affluence and leisure. The Roycroft alone grossed him $1000 per month and he passed much of his time watching baseball. He ritually attended games and took the sports writers out on the town afterward. His wife Clara was also very social; she hosted several bridge parties at the Sorrento Hotel and in her own home complete with violin solos to entertain her guests.

Edward Roy Circa 1910.  Image: Seattle Times.

Unfortunately this was not a happy time in their lives because on March 13, 1914 Clara finally filed for divorce and a restraining order. She accused Edward of being frequently intoxicated, verbally abusive, and of beating her on one occasion in August of 1913. Edward denied all of the charges and succeeded in having the restraining order lifted so he could gather his personal possessions and move out. In the end, Clara won the house, their electric car, and $75 per month in alimony. Soon thereafter she sold the house and moved to New York where she remarried years later.
  
Whether and to what extent her accusations were true can never be known. Might she have exaggerated circumstances or outright fabricated them to maximize her alimony as Edward would want us to believe? Maybe, but given Edward’s troubled past, his reported alcoholism and violent behavior seem fairly plausible as well.

In any case, faced with personal defeat he did exactly as he had done after the tragic loss of his first wife, he escaped into the family business. While his marriage was failing he quietly returned to Roy & Roy as assistant manager and less than a year after his divorce, he married Lucy Bucklin, 17 years his junior and wealthy heiress of the Bucklin Lumber Company. Their first and only son, Edward Jr. was born on June 12, 1916 the same year the E.B. Roy Lumber Company opened for business.

His hands now full, he hired a woman named Jane Buchanan to manage the Roycroft until 1922 when he sold it to Samuel Weinstein, a sheisty San Francisco real-estate broker, and retired for good. Edward died 7 years later at his summer home in Alderwood Manor.  He was only 59 years old.

So it would seem that no matter how much Edward wished it so, he could never fully escape his roots.  Lumber was in his blood until the day he died and while he managed go about it his own way, he could never deny that fact just as The Roycroft predicted.

Epilogue: Roycroft Post Roy

Circa 1935.  Image: Seattle Times

Weinstein, wasn’t too invested in the Roycroft and resold it two months later to the even sheistier real-estate broker named August Mehlhorn Jr. head of the big real-estate firm Osner & Mehlhorn. Both men eventually saw their day in court. Weinstein was later fined $55,000 in a San Francisco court for a fraudulent trade he made in 1925. In 1935 after five years a fugitive in San Jose, CA, Mehlhorn was sentenced 30 years in prison for tax shortages, one charge of embezzlement, and 7 counts of grand larceny owing over a million dollars to hundreds of creditors. All of his assets were seized and auctioned off including the Roycroft.

The Roycroft, 1937.  Courtesy WA State Archives.

Since those days, the Roycroft itself has changed a great deal. Its outer brick façade is nearly sealed over in paint, the decorative parapets and conical turret tops have been removed, and the central light courts have been sealed. The current owner, Tom Graham, purchased the building in 1976 and despite being the one to install its sprinkler systems, he was tragically the first owner to suffer not one, but two fires within its walls during its near 110-year history.

The Shriners 41st Annual Session of The Imperial Council: July 12 - 17, 1915

While in between my feature articles, I decided to take a brief tangent to see what was happening in Capitol Hill this week one hundred years ago.  It turns out the Shriners, an international fraternity founded in 1870 and associated with Freemasonry, were having their 41st annual Imperial Council in Seattle.  

A whole slew of visiting Shriners were reportedly convinced that the Seattle Shriners had outdone all others in their effort to host the the greatest annual session to date.  Most, if not all, local hotels were booked solid--many shriners stayed in parked trains.  Meanwhile many local businesses were selling all kinds of outfits and souvenirs.  The festivities featured numerous performances, dances, parades, and exotic animals.

Volunteer Park circa 1915.  Seattle Public Library

In Capitol Hill, The Seattle Times reports that Volunteer Park was the site of "one of the most noteworthy open air receptions ever tendered in the west" including live music, singing, and a "number of difficult drill sessions" performed by the women of the shrine.

(Original article and additional images below)

Two articles from The Seattle Times juxtaposed from left to right, July 14 and 11, 1905.

Seattle Times June 6, 1915 Anticipated need for additional accommodations.

Seattle Times July 9, 1915 Cheasty's Shriners ad

Seattle Times June 11, 1915 Frederick & Nelson Ad

Shriners 2nd Ave Parade July 13, 1915 UW Special Collections

Postcard of Shriners 2nd Ave Parade July 13, 1915. via the flickr stream of

Brett Sandström