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Grade school at J.J. McGilvra in Madison Park brought together a tapestry of diverse backgrounds and lifestyles. Some kids wore the latest fashions and arrived in shiny cars with chauffeurs who graciously opened the doors, while many others sported carefully mended hand-me-downs with patches and walked several blocks each day.
The playground resonated with the laughter and chatter of children. Our differences brought us together as we recognized that World War II had impacted us all. During recess, lunchtime, and even after school, the boys played marbles around the large trees behind the school, with many of the faculty cheering us on. The girls delighted in playing with their “Storybook Dolls.” Eventually, we all participated in baseball and dodgeball.
At Edmund Meany Jr. High School, there were students from all cultures who played football, basketball, and baseball while cheerleaders refined their skills. These activities led to the formation of cliques, including jocks, geeks, musicians, brains, stoners, popular kids, loners, rich kids, snobs, smokers, and others.
As we entered adulthood, many of us embraced parties and various social gatherings that involved alcohol. During those years, we developed a passion for cars: hot rods, custom vehicles, and even hand-me-down classic Ramblers (like the one my wife, Karen, drove). We chopped and channeled ‘32 Ford and Chevy Coupes, all fitted with fenders. In the early ‘50s, Shucks Auto opened numerous stores in the area selling dual carbs, Smitty Mufflers, and fender skirts – everything to make your ride stand out. But who needs fenders when you’ve got dual pipes? The real question was where to showcase these beauties after hours of hard work. Any drive-in restaurant would do just fine.
Many of us from Madison Park gathered at the High Sea Drive-In on 19th and Madison, at Johnny’s Prime Burgers on Olive and 10th (which disappeared due to the freeway expansion), and at the Triplex on Rainier in Bellevue and Renton. The police sipped coffee in the front rows while we lined up in the back to enjoy beer, whiskey, and coffee. Johnny’s was the hub for those too young to enter taverns and a popular spot for car enthusiasts. Whether it was custom hot rods or our parents’ cars, it didn’t matter. Johnny’s was where we reunited with the rest of the gang after a movie. Stylish carhops on roller skates served food and drinks – what more could you ask for?
For pure excitement, we sped through the I-90 tunnel with a lookout clearing the way, racing to hear our engines roar; parking and speeding tickets hung from the dashboard mirror like badges of honor.
We cruised through downtown, and there were no one-way streets back then. The streets were so wide that you could easily stop to chat with people from your car, leaving plenty of room for others to pass by.
The Army was definitely a clique, but it lacked the glamour that $110 a month would allow. In 1957, I was drafted to Fort Ord, California, (combat engineering) for ten weeks of basic training, during which rumors circulated about a potential deployment to Vietnam or Korea. After that, I completed several more weeks of training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Delighted to return to the milder weather, I was assigned to communications at Fort Ord, a role intended for enlisted personnel, not draftees or infantry.
Word spread that I had drawing skills, and suddenly, I was designing training areas and art projects for officers. I even had the chance to learn photography. My sarcasm and humor appeared in a comic strip for the Fort Ord Panorama newspaper called Aces Corner.
Next, was the stress of the work environment creating a need for a group to relieve it. In comes Rosellini’s Four-10 to save the day. It featured a popular happy hour on Friday nights, where the staff at Victor Rosellini ‘s greeted everyone by name, making them feel like royalty. Other Madison Park residents could often be found here and other late-night spots.
When local venues closed, after-hours clubs attracted those high on life. There were hotspots stretching from Pike to Boren to First, where one could enjoy delicious food, drinks, dancing, and even a fistfight – all for under $5. Crowds flocked to Chinatown, where many clubs stayed open until 5 a.m. We had Waimei, Bob Kiva’s 610, the Black and Tan, Silver Dragon, China Pheasant, Textile and Apparel Club, and Ebony, which remained open until 7 a.m.
One of the guys in my group would say, “The R.O., Friday at 10:15 pm!” No matter where you were – at the Four-10 or any other hotspot – you’d do a low crawl to the exit at 9:40 to get to the Red Onion, always keeping it to yourself and pretending you had other plans. It was crucial to protect our large singles neighborhood from outsiders. The Red Onion and the Attic taverns were well-kept secrets from both the office crowd and the downtown socialites, yet they attracted packed crowds most Friday nights. Back then, single women included flight attendants, secretaries, students, and office workers. The men in our group held professional positions, and some worked blue-collar jobs.
Here come the groups of the 1970s: hippies, yippies, yuppies, disco dancers, protesters, and more. Pike Place Market, particularly Place Pigalle and the Mexican restaurant below Matt’s in the Market, owned by a woman named Krugerrand, were popular hangouts for the hippie crowd, much like the Blue Moon in the university district. Anti-hippie types preferred the Deluxe Tavern on Capitol Hill, while disco thrived at places like Parkers, Shelly’s Leg, and Pier 70, the Zoo.
On Saturday mornings, large groups of friends would gather at the market to plan dinner, split items for a feast (including drinks along the way), return to my house to cook with plenty of good wine, and finally dine on the front lawn, sitting cross-legged around a large walnut coffee table we brought in from the living room. Karen and I met during this time and cherish those days as some of the best in our 45 years of marriage.