City's Colorful Past Fades In Shiny, New Downtown

The last time I was in a Nordstrom store with any intent to inflict damage on my cash flow was in early October 1988, when Nordy's opened its huge, elegant San Francisco store on Market Street.

I was sitting in one of the store's restaurants with the late Jim Nordstrom. Jim was a big, warm, wry-humored guy, and on that day he had wowed the San Francisco business crowd at a luncheon that Nordy's put on to celebrate.

The store had just "officially" opened. It was a smasher.

Suddenly, Jim said, "C'mon, I'll buy you a pair of shoes."

I said, "No, I'll buy my own. A lot of Nordstroms fitted my shoes when I was a kid. I'd like to sort of honor the store."

Well, last Friday I joined the crowd at the new Nordy's, the old Frederick's building, across from Pacific Place. First came the "Sorry, garage full" sign, and then came a long line to even get on an escalator. Welcome to the big time.

Civic cheerleaders are calling the old Frederick's building "a jewel in the crown" of the Nordy chain. Well . . . maybe. Nice as it is, the Nordstrom "hometown store" is a dandy retail outlet, but it doesn't compare with the Nordy's in San Francisco for bold architecture and dazzling interior.

But then, Baghdad-by-the-Bay always did have more flair than Seattle (Herb Caen, you did not chronicle in vain).

To honor this occasion, I bought a shirt I didn't need, but somehow it seemed the civic-minded thing to do. Then I went outside to bask in all the gentrification that has come to this part of downtown.

Fair warning: nostalgia coming on.

The whole area, as you know, will be stunningly upscale. Upscale and "in," as with Nike, Planet Hollywood, the new addition to the convention center, flossy restaurants, valet parking, gorgeous beauty salons, a soon-to-be Cartier, new hotels, multiscreen movie theaters and enough charge-card cash flow to bail out Botswana.

Across from Nordstrom is the old Shafer Building (now called the Sixth and Pine Building), where the city's leading abortionist had her headquarters. Nobody bothered her, nobody at all. Not cops or pols or puritans. You bet they didn't, because she performed socially urgent work for the errant siblings of Seattle's finest families.

The backside of Pacific Place is across from the US West headquarters, a monument to high tech where once the Cabby's Club stood, where you walked up a long flight to get a weak drink after hours. We all loved the Cabby's Club. After midnight it was the only game in town.

Gone, too - to make way for the convention center - will be the old Waldorf Hotel, once among the city's finest, later a hookers' haven, and most recently, thanks to Carole and Conrad Tovar, the city's finest retirement home.

A block away - Union Street. The once-vibrant stretch of Union Street between Sixth and Seventh avenues is now a parking lot next to the Sheraton hotel. There it all was: the elegant Italian Club, Bob's Chili Parlor, the Magic Inn, a dandy pool room and, so help me, a netted golf driving range.

We drank oceans of good booze at the old Italian Club, where Johnny Scali and Louie Rispoli put slot machines along the walls, where Mercedes was the chanteuse, and the likes of Casey Stengel, Bill Lawrence, Lefty O'Doul, Jo-Jo White, the Teamsters' Frank Brewster and football coaches Johnny Cherberg and Jim Phelan held forth with stories and winking wisdom far into the night.

George Chemeres and Jack Hurley, the canny fight managers, sold thousands of dollars in boxing tickets out of Bob's Chili Parlor. There was Vic Naon's Magic Inn, whose hostess, Dottie Venable, knew everybody worth knowing in Seattle nightlife, and the Magic Inn was where top-drawer entertainers came to play.

The old Union Street thrived on its come-hither raffishness, and just down the street, not far from today's Nike store, "Jew Mike" Rothstein bet thousands of dollars on the turn of a single card.

Rothstein, who tipped waitresses $5 to light his hand-rolled cigarettes, was proud of his nickname. He would send money to charities and sign his name, J. Mike.

Gone now, all gone. Everyone I've named, except Chemeres, the Tovars and Dottie Venable, have checked through the pearly gates. All this action is now a parking lot. Doesn't seem right, somehow.

I guess gentrification is good for us, but gentrification is a pushy kind of thing. What comes now is better, perhaps. Or maybe what happened yesterday was only us being happy - too young to realize that it could not last forever.

Emmett Watson's column appears Tuesdays in the Local section of The Seattle Times.