1969 slaying of Edwin Pratt remains mystery after 35 years

On a winter night in 1969, civil-rights leader Edwin T. Pratt was shot in the face as he peered outside the front door of his Shoreline home.

He was known for being a forceful, yet inclusive, advocate for racial equality — one who didn't alienate the leaders of a predominantly white metropolitan area.

More than three decades after he was gunned down at age 38, his slaying remains unsolved.

Today marks the 35th anniversary of his death, and some in the black community have lost hope that his killer will ever be found and brought to justice.

"The longer it takes, the less likely it is it will be solved," said King County Councilman Larry Gossett, who in the late 1960s was president of the University of Washington's Black Student Union.

Pratt, who had a master's degree in social work from Atlanta University, served as director of the Seattle Urban League from 1961 until his death. During that time he worked to desegregate Seattle schools and led an initiative to develop equal-housing opportunities.

Some considered him to be one of the group's most prominent national leaders.

Those who knew him believe that had he lived he likely would have advanced among the organization's leadership.

Retired King County Superior Court Judge Charles V. Johnson said he wouldn't have been surprised if Pratt had become president of the Urban League nationally.

"His potential was unlimited, said Johnson, a close friend of Pratt's who was a national board member for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People at the time of Pratt's death.

Born Dec. 6, 1930, in Miami, Pratt came to the Seattle Urban League in 1956 after serving with chapters in Cleveland and Kansas City.

He quickly gained a reputation as an influential strategist and negotiator and in 1961 became the group's executive director.

His aggressive but nonthreatening manner helped attract members of the business community. Companies like Boeing and Bethlehem Steel — which had not cooperated with more militant groups — soon were drawn to the negotiating table.

"He had doors open that other civil-rights groups didn't," Johnson said. Johnson said Pratt even had white members of the business community serving on the league's board — a boon for the organization.

"That brought their power to what he was trying to do," he said. "It in turn also brought money and jobs."

"Ed was a voice of calm and reason, although intense, in his push for the kinds of opportunities that were then denied his fellow citizens," said former Gov. Dan Evans, who was among more than 1,000 people who attended Pratt's funeral service at St. Mark's Episcopal Cathedral in Seattle. "He wasn't too flashy and his voice may not have been as loud, but his deeds sure were."

Pratt's leadership came at a time when the nation was torn by social upheaval. The 1968 assassinations of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy were still achingly fresh. Opposition to the war in Vietnam was intensifying.

While Seattle was removed from much of the racial conflict, it had its share of unrest, including a Central Area riot after King's assassination.

Pratt's slaying on Jan. 26, 1969, further undercut the area's illusion of racial harmony.

"This was so un-Seattle-like," said University of Washington historian Quintard Taylor, who has written a book on the civil-rights movement in the city. "Seattle is not a place known for political assassinations."

Local newspapers at the time speculated Pratt may have been targeted because he was pushing for inclusion of minority workers at construction sites.

Another theory was that he was killed for his involvement in trying to stem the flow of drugs making their way into Seattle's Central Area.

After 35 years, the same theories are tossed around by those familiar with the case.

And what investigators may or may not know has been a closely guarded secret.

Pratt and his wife, Bettye, reportedly heard what sounded like a snowball hitting the house, went to a bedroom window to peer out and Pratt opened the front door.

She later recalled seeing two men crouched behind the couple's cars parked in the carport. Seeing what appeared to be a shotgun, she shouted a warning to her husband.

"It was like fire coming from sticks," is how the couple's daughter, Miriam Pratt-Glover, remembers her mother describing what happened next.

"She called his name but it was too late," Pratt-Glover said during an interview from her home in Longview, Texas.

In the foyer, a favorite black-and-white portrait of her father hangs on a wall, a faded ink inscription reads: "To Bettye, my wonderful lovable wife. Edwin."

President Nixon penned a letter of condolence to Bettye Pratt, who later moved with her daughter to Los Angeles "because she couldn't stand the memories of Seattle anymore," Pratt-Glover said. "I don't think she ever really got over the trauma of my father's death."

Bettye Pratt died of skin cancer in 1978.

Just 5 years old at the time of her father's death, Pratt-Glover remembers seeing his body lying in the doorway as a neighbor girl — her baby-sitter — rushed her from the home.

"You have a lot of fear because you don't quite understand somebody killing your father ... and you're afraid they may come after you," she said.

The FBI was brought in to assist in the investigation and a reward of $10,500 was offered for information leading to an arrest.

No promising clues developed and the case soon stalled.

"I have never known (law enforcement) to even have a person of interest in this case," said Johnson. "That is highly unusual in a murder case."

Sgt. Mark Toner, supervisor of the King County Sheriff's major-crimes unit, declined to comment on the case.

With so many unanswered questions, members of the Urban League are content that the case remains an open investigation.

"The fact that the case remains open, we're hopeful," said James Kelly, the current president of the Urban League in Seattle.