Vito's: An Institution That's Always Been A Hands-On Effort

Vito Santoro doesn't look like an institution, doesn't feel like an institution, doesn't even want to be one; but that's what he is.

Vito is into the 40th year in his place at Ninth and Madison.

"Yeah," he was saying, "I was bartending at the Rendezvous in the Regrade. My brother Jimmy was bartending at Victor's old 610 on Pine. So I went over to see Jimmy and I said: `I'm going to open a restaurant. You like that idea?'

"Jimmy nodded, so I said, `You're in.' "

Vito's restaurant opened May 8, 1953. This probably makes it the oldest restaurant in Seattle at the same location. (Anticipating mail from a statement like that, I'm willing to back off and say "one of the oldest.")

Anyway, Vito and Jimmy (who passed away in 1971) worked Sundays, mostly, putting the place together.

"We did everything with our own hands. We did the floors, the walls, the kitchen, the toilets - all of it. We opened on nothing.

"For the first six months I only took money out of it for gas in my car. I was paying $34 a month for an apartment at Second and Eagle."

Vito credits the late Mike Donohoe, a sports writer on the old P-I, for helping him get started. Donohoe used his friendship with Harvey Cassill, the UW athletic director, to buy big bunches of football tickets. Vito sold the tickets and ran buses out to the stadium.

"In those days, in the 50s," Vito said, "You couldn't always sell the tickets. So you had to eat 'em. Believe me, you had to drink the right wine to go with 'em. They didn't taste so good.

"Once I was stuck with a bunch of tickets and I got picked up outside the stadium. They charged me with selling cut-rate tickets."

From the beginning, there was Jimmy and his wife, Eleanor. And there was Vito and his wife, Mollie. Eleanor is still there and so is Mollie. Neither couple had children.

But their brother Dan had five sons. Vito said, "All of my nephews were raised out of this place. They all got educated. I'm the only dumb one."

One of Vito's nephews is now director of the Huntington Library in Pasadena. The others are into various other professions.

Vito's restaurant wasn't an instant hit, but it did catch on. Part of this, to be sure, was that Vito served a drink that would cause a mule to walk backward. Part of it had to do with the atmosphere.

It became a hangout for businessmen, politicians, athletes, Jesuit priests, lawyers, musicians.

The late Al Pomeroy, then Seattle's mayor, was a regular at Vito's. So was Gov. Al Rosellini. The celebrated criminal attorney, Tony Savage, was a Vito standby.

Another Seattle attorney (to name only one) was Al Bianchi. To this day, Bianchi comes to Vito's and collects leftover food and takes it to Mount Virgin Church, which feeds the needy.

The so-called "Pitty-Pat Club," an informal group of city bureaucrats, used to meet at Vito's and decide city policies. Such nationally known entertainers as Frankie Laine and Phil Harris ate at Vito's when they came to town.

Another Vito regular was Johnny Reddin, a Seattle Times feature writer and columnist whose stature as a trencherman inspired awe among lesser mortals.

Doctors were always putting Reddin on a diet. Which caused the press agent, Mel Anderson, to remark over dinner with Reddin one night at Vito's:

"Reddin," Mel said, "goes on a diet and the next day he throws himself a victory dinner."

Vito and Jimmy were from Tarrington, Conn. Vito's father and Vito himself worked in an iron foundry. Both Vito and Jimmy fought in World War II with the Marines in the South Pacific.

"After that foundry," Vito said, "the Marines were easy."

Vito remembers how broke he was when he came to Seattle after World War II. "I was on the train, and through Montana, Idaho and Washington, I didn't eat a thing. I landed at the King Street Station without a dime in my pocket."

Vito's, indeed, has become an enduring Seattle institution. The food? Critics pay little attention to it, but the place is usually jammed. It is famous for a number of things, but mostly its canelloni - which isn't listed on the menu, but the regulars know about.

Donna Workman, a waitress, has been with Vito's for 26 years. Kay Baumgartner, another waitress, has worked there for 27 years. Eleanor, Jimmy's widow, has been there for all of Vito's 40 years.

You could always get a bet down with a seatmate in Vito's on a sporting event, or an election, or whether Wednesday will follow Tuesday.

Not much has changed over the years; not the characters, not the help, not the atmosphere - and very little else.

Thank God.

Emmett Watson's column appears Sunday and Thursday in the Northwest section of The Times.