Hotel For All Seasons -- Behind The Olympic's Five Stars: Pampered Guests And A Perfectionist Staff

IN LATE AFTERNOON at the Four Seasons Olympic motor entrance, tiny white lights sparkle in the maple trees, a small fountain splashes, limos and Mercedes circle a brick drive and liveried attendants reach to open doors. Guests are about to enter a pampered world.

A bellman discreetly glances at luggage tags. The jet-lagged traveler from Indonesia will need a gentler welcome than the revved-up greeting for a weekend partyer for a Husky game.

Approaching the entrance, brass gleams everywhere. Two black panthers, heads polished from patting, flank the heavy brass and glass doors that swing open in perfect, smooth silence. An escalator carries guests to the elegant lobby above.

There, a uniformed concierge is chartering a seaplane for golfers who want to tee off the next morning in the San Juan Islands. Another is recommending not just a restaurant, but something from its menu, the Dungeness Crab Napoleon presented in layers of filo dough.

In the hotel's bustling kitchen, executive chef Kerry Sear is dicing black French truffles into a $250, fist-size mound for the mashed potatoes to be served at a black-tie wedding dinner in the Spanish ballroom.

And upstairs, an attendant has quietly turned down a room: heavy drapes drawn to within a hand's width of being closed, lamps on for a soft glow, radio tuned to an easy-listening station, ice bucket filled, bedspread folded away to leave a down comforter nestled between two ironed white sheets and four plump feather pillows.

It really doesn't get much better than this - anywhere in the world.

This year the Four Seasons Olympic became the first and only Washington State hotel to receive the Mobil Travel Guide's five-star award, one of the highest honors in the hospitality industry.

It joined an elite group of 23 such hotels in North America, the only one in the Northwest.

The rating is a tribute largely to an extraordinary standard of personal service, something discovered each year by thousands of guests from around the world: entertainment and sports celebrities, heads of state, corporate CEOs, tourists and business executives.

Those charms have captivated locals for a long, long time. Some of the most memorable events in their lives have been celebrated here: charity balls, weddings, business deals, Christmas dinners, milestone birthdays, honeymoon nights.

"The hotel means so much to Washingtonians. They don't perceive the hotel as a hotel. They see it as where their grandmother went to the debutante ball," said Peter G. Martin, Four Seasons regional vice president and general manager.

That's why he doesn't think of his job as managing a hotel.

"I think of it as managing a trust."

HOW DID A BELOVED downtown landmark become an international superstar?

To be sure, the truffles have something to do with it, and the down comforters and the good cigars. Young guests might mention the plate holding one large cookie with their name scrolled in chocolate on the rim.

But the real credit goes to a tireless staff knocking itself out.

"Ironing the sheets, putting the soap and amenities in the right place. Those are black and white issues. Those are the easy things," says George Cordon, hotel manager.

"The challenge is how do we greet the guests when we change the sheets. The attitude. The people skills."

To merit a five-star rating, a hotel must fulfill a lofty standard of homemaking that includes meticulously groomed and distinctively landscaped grounds; fine amenities such as soaps, robes and large thick towels; excellent turn-down service and fine dining.

Evaluators, who stay at hotels anonymously, test the service and accommodations just like picky guests. They look for dings on furniture and for old phone books under beds. They order food that's not on the menu and ask that it be specially prepared. One evaluator plants lipstick kisses on pillow cases to make sure they get changed every day; another drops cherry pits in the corner of the elevator to see how often a vacuum comes by.

The evaluator who inspected the Four Seasons scattered pretzels around the wastebasket in her room. In the bar she ordered grapes, not on the menu. The waiter looked high and low, then served them to her free. During one breakfast, her order was customized without fuss or extra charge.

Before arriving she asked the concierge to make a dinner reservation at The Herbfarm in Fall City, a 30-seat restaurant which serves at only one seating, primarily on weekends, and pre-books 75 percent of its capacity on only two days of the year. Last-minute seating often is available, but based on luck.

The staff tried, and called the evaluator more than once with updates on their progress. In the end they couldn't get a reservation. But they did make several informed alternative suggestions.

The evaluator's impression was that every need would be taken care of and that a guest should not hesitate to make a difficult request.

Said the evaluator's editor, Karen Cure: "Not only was the Four Seasons practically perfect, it was also really special."

It seemed to be beloved, with a special warmth that "set it apart from your garden variety expensive hotel," said Cure.

THE HOTEL'S PEDIGREE is authentic.

It was built in the 1920s as The Olympic. From the start, it was a community project backed by thousands of individual Seattle investors at a final cost of $5.5 million. The building occupied part of 10-acre site originally donated to the Territory of Washington by Arthur and Mary Denny.

The University of Washington's first campus was established in 1861 on the land before it moved to its present site in northeast Seattle in 1895.

Today, the building belongs to the people of the state of Washington, to be used only for university purposes. The University of Washington has the responsibility of developing and managing the property through the year 2040, but does not own it. The building is on the National Register of Historical Places.

In 1979, through a bidding process and amid great public concern, UW regents leased the building to a joint-venture limited partnership that included the Four Seasons Hotels Limited of Toronto and JMB Realty in Chicago.

The partnership spent $60 million restoring the building's modified Italian Renaissance architecture to its original splendor, adding a 42-foot indoor swimming pool and the carriage-drive entrance.

It is a medium-size hotel with 450 rooms, four restaurants - The Georgian, Georgian Terrace Bar, Garden Court and Shuckers - a health club and 14 upscale shops.

Nothing gives a better sense of its grand yet intimate ambience than the oak-paneled lobby embellished with intricately carved oak and cast plaster moldings and filled with overstuffed sofas and chairs. Opulent chandeliers hang from a 30-foot ceiling. Grand staircases sweep up to the Spanish ballroom at one end and the Georgian Restaurant at the other.

One senses that Jay Gatsby might stroll down one of the staircases at any minute with Daisy on his arm.

Civility so polished doesn't come cheap. The Four Seasons is the most expensive hotel in town: $280 for a standard deluxe room with a king-size bed; $225 for corporate customers. There are some special lower rates or complimentary discounts.

The Four Seasons has thrived thanks to a healthy hotel market in Seattle and a boom in the luxury travel business. The hotel projects this will be its best-ever year financially.

The average 12-month occupancy rate is slightly under 80 percent, about 4 percent above industry averages in the state. (The average daily room rate - more than $195 - is nearly 70 percent above the comparable state average.)

Guests who travel to upscale hotels don't mind paying high rates, Cordon says. But they want a few things in return.

THE FOUR SEASONS PROMISES a most excellent experience: an elegant, quiet room, quick and efficient check-in, high-quality personal services, fine food and . . . discretion.

A guest's privacy is sacrosanct, and photographs are discouraged in the lobby and other public areas.

"People come to hotels with people they're not supposed to be with," a staff member half-whispers.

On the front lines here are the concierges, the people guests call when they need - well, just about anything. The job requires expert juggling of details, organizational skills, meticulous follow-through and a high stress threshold.

Regena Falling manages to answer three phones, work two computer screens, give change for a $20 and look up and smile every time a new guest approaches the desk.

No task is impossible: Walk the dog, make restaurant reservations, find a map, pick up a prescription, mail a package, store bags, find last-minute tickets to the Bulls-Sonics playoff game.

When Four Seasons Olympic concierges are asked to recommend a good restaurant, they'll not only describe what's on the menu, but how it's prepared. (This is why the best restaurants in town invite the concierges to dinner.)

They keep a small book documenting the more unusual requests.

"Can you deliver a teddy bear to a little girl who is sick in bed?" (The little girl turned out to be a 26-year-old.)

"Find me the following three things: a yellow slicker hat, wrist brace for RollerBlading, a poster of a small boy peeing."

"I am the best man in a wedding. Can you recommend a good toast?"

"I need to find a ready-made package of shepherd pie."

In July, a guest wrote this note: "Please visit cat three times. (1) Turn on cold water for drink from sink. 2) Pet the cat. (3x) 10 minutes each time. Cat's name is `Catasaurus.' Scratch his stomach."

Three different concierges initialed the appointed times to verify the belly got scratched.

"Nothing makes us blink here," says concierge David Harney, whose professional demeanor includes a slightly formal vocabulary and manner of speaking.

"I like to maintain a little bit of professional distance. You don't want to be too casual in your approach. It breaks down the nature of the desk here," he says.

At the same time, the concierges are not stuffy. In fact, they go out of their way to be friendly to Seattleites who may wander in off the street - say, from shopping - to use the restroom. The locals often seem intimidated by the style of the hotel.

"We're always really friendly," says Brad Hoekendorf. "I figure this hotel is really a landmark building to the city. I don't want people to feel like they can't enjoy it."

The hotel also keeps a history of guests in the computer.

"Once you're in Room 702, we've got you," says Doug Housley, director of food and beverage.

In that history are likes (the chocolate truffles) or dislikes (bus noise, down pillows) that will turn up on the next visit.

Of course, not everybody gets the truffles - only the VIPS like the CEO of one of the country's major airlines or Michael Jordan of the Bulls. They also get hotel stationery imprinted with their names.

KEEPING GUESTS HAPPY MEANS finding the right employees and keeping them happy, too. Guests will remember a hotel's stewards and valets long after they've forgotten the fancy upholstery.

Consequently, extraordinary care is taken with hiring. Each prospect, from room attendant to concierge to sous chef, is interviewed several times, including a final personal interview with hotel manager Cordon and, when possible, regional vice president Martin.

"I see an attitude. I see a smile. I see an easiness. I see a willingness to be of service," Cordon says.

He tells new hires that work will be a little tougher at the Four Seasons than at other hotels.

"Demanding guests come to the Four Seasons. They know they're paying a premium and they don't mind that. But their expectations are higher and you will sense that. We have to act and behave at a higher level."

Then he sums it up.

"It's those guests that have those demands who make it possible for us to get our paychecks every two weeks."

The majority of the hotel's 600 employees are referred word of mouth. They are an eclectic, diverse crew from around the United States and the world.

"The diversity of our workers brings a certain energy and synergy," says Debbie Brown, Four Seasons field director of human resources.

At least 15 languages are spoken among staff members, who often are called upon to translate for guests.

Training is detailed, attentive and prolonged.

New room attendants work under a trainer for two months. They do not use a cart, but hand-carry cleaning supplies and linens from a hall closet so as not to disturb guests. Every item in the room has its exact place, which must be memorized.

Exactly.

In the bathroom, a tray sits on the right-hand side of the counter. In the center of the tray is a lidded porcelain bowl. In the bowl are cotton balls and on top of the cotton balls are Q-Tips, exactly six Q-Tips, three criss-crossed over the three others. Miniature bottles of shampoo, conditioner, bath gel and body lotion must fit tightly into their specific corner on the tray, labels facing forward.

At the other end of the counter, two glasses must be exactly a hand's width from a basket that holds washcloths, shower cap and shoe mitt. The little picture of the Four Seasons tree on the coasters under the glasses must be facing up.

Toilet paper rolls must be folded to a peak. The bath mat must be aligned exactly with the edge of the counter.

By graduation, a room attendant will be able to clean 13 rooms in eight hours and trusted to declare each one fit for a guest.

Once their training is complete, employees are given the authority to make personal decisions and express individuality on the jobs.

At other hotels, for example, a guest may ask for room service at a certain time. The hotel employee will respond: "Yes, Mr. So and So. It will be our pleasure."

The guest elsewhere might hear "Yes, it will be our pleasure" 15 more times from different employees, says Cordon. That kind of rehearsed text doesn't happen at the Four Seasons Olympic, an operation which prides itself on being personal and unique right down to the British-bobby whistle used to hail cabs.

"It a little bit like the theater. Once you stick 'em onstage, it's up to them to perform," says Brown of human resources. "And they do. Day in and day out. Seven days a week. It's intense. There's no break."

SEVERAL TIMES A DAY, Cordon walks the hotel, talking to employees and guests, inspecting public areas and randomly visiting rooms.

Aesthetics are critical: "Burned-out light bulbs drive me crazy."

By day's end Cordon's elegant suit pockets are full of the threads and lint he's picked up from the carpets and "fix it" notes - such as fix the blackened branch on the tree in the Garden Court restaurant.

Back at the office, he empties his pockets and then starts calling different departments with things that need to be done.

The housekeeping and food-and-beverage staffs meet every morning to talk about what's going to occur in the hotel that day. The food-and-beverage manager personally tastes the food and walks around "checking and checking and checking" to make sure the dessert tray looks right, enough servers are on duty, the uniforms are clean and fit.

Food must be presented correctly, so there are seven different plate patterns for The Georgian Room alone. A salmon dish with apple looks best on a Villeroy and Boch plate with apples and vines around the rim. A caviar appetizer is served on a minimalistic Chicago Blue plate. Stew is ladled onto grandma plates with a busy floral pattern.

The management team also asks itself constantly: "How can we make it better and deliver it faster with less interruption to the guest?"

BETTER AND FASTER was the order of the day in the main kitchen one Saturday. About 18 people on the evening shift hustled back and forth in the steaming, humid room preparing food for two of the three restaurants, for room service - and for three weddings, including that sit-down dinner for 300.

Much of the banquet food was pre-seared, refrigerated, then fired in the oven at the last minute. But one of the eight ovens broke, ratcheting up the intensity.

The kitchen staff timed their preparation and delivery via walkie-talkies with the banquet managers on the floors above. Unexpectedly, all three wedding parties wanted dinner served at the same time.

"If you're not organized, you die," said executive chef Sear.

For Sear, who has developed and prepared menus for world leaders, working for the Four Seasons is "kind of like playing for the Bulls."

"There's an element that you're a pioneer to develop standards of the trade. People in the industry look to what I'm doing."

For example, the Four Seasons was the first hotel to serve a healthy-alternative cuisine, now pretty well a standard of the industry.

In the high-brow Georgian Room, special requests are the norm.

"I don't want this tonight. Can you do something special?" a guest will ask.

"The best way to put it," observed a new server who's worked his way up to The Georgian from other hotels, "is it's their world and we're just living in it. We're here to make it happen.That's what service is."

SOMETIMES IT DOESN'T HAPPEN, though. Sometimes, a guest's experience is less than perfect. Room service is slow. The food too seasoned. The pool temperature uncomfortable.

Even when they "err," staff members pride themselves on getting out of the hole better than most.

Complaints are opportunities in Cordon's view. What matters isn't what went wrong, but how you fix it. A difficult guest is never a problem, only "a challenge."

"At the level of excellence we are paid to produce, you don't allow someone to just walk out of the hotel unhappy," he says.

And if you can turn things around with a solution, that translates very strongly into guest loyalty.

Guest- comment cards are placed in every room, receive an answer within 24 hours and are circulated to key managers.

A Mrs. Cohen from Miami did not find that the Four Seasons Olympic "is the most gorgeous hotel or has the prettiest rooms or anything like that."

It simply was "extremely comfortable." The bed was fabulous, the comforter and pillows were terrific, laundry-room service "excellent, the concierge very friendly and helpful."

After all, she stays in 30 or 40 hotels a year and her husband is an 11-million-miler on one airline alone.

"I live in a gorgeous house, so why would I want to go someplace and live in a lousy room?" she asks.

She doesn't know about anybody else's expectations, but she wants the room made up within an hour and it had better be immaculate. Laundry service is critical because she travels with only one bag.

Room service should be timely. What's supposed to be hot should be hot. What's supposed to be cold should be cold.

"You pay a lot for room services. A cover charge. Extra this and that. You want it to be as wonderful as if you went downstairs to eat," she said.

As for a hotel's staff, she expects people to be pleasant and intelligent.

"When I say cater to me, I don't mean kiss my rear end . . . If they can't help me, find someone who can."

So what did the demanding Mrs. Cohen write on her Olympic Four Seasons comment card?

"Best in the U.S.A. and Europe."

Marsha King is a Seattle Times staff reporter. Gary Settle is Pacific Magazine's staff photographer.