City Takes Bite Out Of Sandwich Boards

ESPRESSO, DRY CLEANING, parking and consignment clothes. Sandwich-boards signs shout their deals throughout Seattle's streets. Harmless? The city thinks not. -----------------------------------------------------------------

In the catacombs of a downtown city-government building, Jerry Davenport rummages through a mound of 50 sandwich boards interned here.

Davenport, an inspector for Seattle's Department of Engineering, spends half his workweek patrolling the city's neighborhoods in a pickup truck, confiscating the offending signs, which advertise everything from $5 parking to lunch specials to used clothing. With very few exceptions, these colorful pieces of plywood - the oldest and cheapest form of advertising for many small businesses - are against the law.

For years, an ordinance prohibiting sandwich boards has been part of the Seattle Municipal Code. But not all business owners know about the rule, and others deliberately flout it in exchange for drawing a little extra attention to their storefronts.

No one knows how many of the subversive sandwich boards there are in Seattle, although the Department of Engineering estimates between 1,000 and 5,000.

The issue is one of liability. Visually impaired pedestrians and joggers are often the ones who call to report the sandwich boards, complaining that they make narrow sidewalks dangerous. The threat of a lawsuit looms when people trip over a sign that was blown over, said Kirk Jones, manager of the Engineering Department's street-use division.

As he follows up on complaints, Davenport delivers initial warnings to businesses, explaining the rule. Being the sole sandwich-board-rule emissary is not a job for the thin-skinned. "Some people feel it's their right to put them out there," he said. "I've had people yell at me."

After issuing the warning, he comes back a day later, and if the sign is still there, he'll take it. If it's chained to a tree, he'll cut the chain. But usually, the store owner just springs the sandwich board by paying the $35 impounding fee, and puts it out on the street again.

To some businesses, the crackdown seems both random and unnecessary.

Kelly Morken, owner of Cecil's Consignment in upper Queen Anne, had her 3-foot-tall sign made less than a year ago, for $300. Cecil's is about half a block from the busiest retail intersection on Queen Anne, so she would place her sign on the corner of Queen Anne Avenue North and West Boston Street. It's been confiscated twice.

"There are six other signs within eyeshot of where I have it," she said. "If they enforce it, they've got to enforce it for everyone."

For Morken and other merchants, the signs are a thrifty form of advertising. Morken said hundreds of people have seen her sign, which has brought in up to $2,000 in sales on a Saturday.

Some small-business owners, including Morken, say they would like to work with the city to develop a permit process for the signs.

But there is also the question of enforcement, Jones said. Even if a business group such as a local chamber of commerce paid for liability insurance, it would not have the power to enforce sandwich-board regulations.

Signs in some areas of the city, such as the Pike Place Market,

Pioneer Square and the Broadway business district, are exempted from the city rule. Business owners in those districts belong to designated business-improvement areas authorized by the City Council. They apply for street-use permits for sandwich boards, make the rules for their use, buy liability insurance, and have the authority to deal with any problems linked to the signs. Temporary signs for real estate are also exempted.