Ship ahoy

My new year started with the flu, which came over me somewhere between the Christmas celebrations and my dear friend's birthday/New Year's party.  Then, in that same interval, my grandmother died, as unexpectedly as one can die when one is 86 years old.  I flew home to Kentucky on a couple of days' notice, with a confabulation of the normal aggravations and misunderstandings of a hastily booked cross-country trip, to spend one of the coldest weeks in recent memory at that sad family reunion.  I returned to Oregon sooner than I wanted, lost the more stable of my two jobs within a couple of weeks, and started a new one a week after that in an office in one of the buildings in this photograph.

It's been a rough start.  It's too easy to say that, like the winter weather, my year so far has been full of unpredictable storms and treacherous conditions.

One of the things the new job affords me is a lunch break walk along the waterfront, if I so choose.  So here's this shot, early afternoon, with that peculiar kind of polarized clear light that settles in just after a storm, while the clouds are still dark and low and you can taste the rain in the air if not feel it drizzling on your skin.  The oldest building in Portland, of course, is there on the left, shackled in one or more of its mid-century remodels, and clumsy in its somewhat modern shell.  And that mast, almost like a land-bound lighthouse standing against the heavy sky.

Even the casual passerby knows it's the mast of the USS Oregon.  That's easy enough with a quick look at the signage, and it makes sense that we would have the mast of a ship with such a name in a public park in Portland.  The spiffy paint almost makes it look new, or at least no older than many of the ships sailing even now under the US flag.  This mast, however, dates back to when the Oregon was built by a San Francisco company in the early 1890s, and was launched in 1893, with Daisy Ainsworth of the Portland Ainsworth clan as its sponsor (interesting side note: as the daughter of a steamboat magnate, Miss Ainsworth had a riverboat that was named after her as well).  The two accompanying stacks are in storage elsewhere in town.

The ship's story gets interesting almost from the moment she left the dry docks.  She spent a little time at first in the Pacific, but the Spanish-American War was calling almost even before she felt the water on her hull, and within two years of her commission the infamous explosion of the Maine occurred in the Havana harbor.  The Oregon was needed, but she was needed on the other side of the continent.

http://www.history.navy.mil/photos/images/h79000/h79900k.jpg

The shortest route, even just 100 years ago, was around the tip of South America and through the Straits of Magellan.  And if you learned anything about the Straits of Magellan in your history classes, you probably learned just how treacherous a route that is.  It was no different for the Oregon.  Witness a small excerpt from the diary of G. W. Robinson, a fireman aboard the ship:

Apr 8th; Still bucking head seas that come clear over the turrets. I never saw a ship take such seas before, if she was any thing else but a battle ship a sea like some of these would crush her like an egg.  Came near losing two of our men today, the Carpenter and Blacksmith, as it was they were washed into the Scuppers and badly injured. All boats have been thoroughly secured long ago, and man who falls overboard now is gone beyond all hope. A life boat couldn’t live in the weather we have had any way.
Have had fire in the bunkers nearly all the way. Its just Purgatory.

In fact, at one point, the needs of the ship were so dire that the boilers were given the only fresh water remaining on the ship, and the crew was asked to drink the warm processed water that was left over.  The crew consented, and pushed on.

A slightly less romanticized image, from the day she left for the Atlantic. http://www.history.navy.mil/photos/images/h79000/h79900k.jpg 

The Oregon gained some fame for making the trip from California to Florida in just 66 days, a good bit shorter than the average tour route tracing the tip of Argentina, which, not too many years before, was considered speedy if it was twice as long.  14,000 miles.  It's nothing to sneeze at in the world before airplanes, before interstate highways, before the diesel engine, and even before most gasoline-powered engines.  Heck; it's nothing to sneeze at now.

The Oregon became symbolic in the war-driven public mind of the possible successes of modern industry because of this journey.  Simultaneously, she also became a reminder that even our best, even our best which far exceeded our expectations, wasn't good enough.   It was the realization that even two months of sea time was too long to wait when assembling a navy which helped gain some of the last much-needed support for the completion of the Panama Canal, which shortened the coast-to-coast travel demands to less than a third of the distance it had been before, and perhaps a quarter of the time.

Think about this for a second: how many of us have gone jetting across the country on a day's notice, for personal reasons?  How many times has there been a situation outside of our immediate reach which demanded our presence, not next month, not next week, but as soon as possible?  Sure, the cost may hurt those of us without an excess of savings.  The flights may be delayed, the car rentals canceled, the accommodations uncertain.  But the point is, it's possible.  It's within our grasp.  The USS Oregon is remembered by this monument not just because of its name, but because of the role it played in making such trips even thinkable...before they were possible.

Flashback

Ugh.  One post in the past year.  It's not that I don't think about this blog; it's just that I'm...well, out of practice in many senses of the words.

So, here's something to break the mundanity of the gray weather we've been having here this winter so far: the sunny front of KBOO headquarters on SE 8th, complete with last spring's lovely blossoms.

Named after a kind of pot associated with Berkley, California, in the mid 60s (and how appropriate is that?), KBOO has adhered to its mission for over 40 years now.  That's a lot of rabble rousing and community activating.  How many other organizations have given up, given in, or dramatically shifted their mission in the same amount of time?  But the KBOO charter calls for providing "programming to diverse communities and unserved groups" and " a forum for unpopular, controversial, or neglected perspectives on important local, national, and international issues, reflecting KBOO's calues of peace, justice, democracy, human rights, muticulturalism, environmentalism, freedom of expression, and social change."  Indeed, if you were to look at their schedule for the day I'm writing this, you'd see an array of programs from "Astral Traveling" to "Islamic Point of View," and with focal points ranging from Conjunto music to Italian music from the 60s.

Sure, they have their controversies, and the to-be-expected accusations of hypocrisy.  You can't be a political-commercial endeavor that exists for this long and please everyone.  But there's something so very Portland about this station, with its open-armed policy of social equality.  If nothing else, no matter what our politics,  we should give props to the KBOO community for the constant commitment to both the various peoples of Portland and to their original vision.

Maybe it's best to think about KBOO in a larger perspective--perhaps balance an hour of it with a certain amount of time given over to conservative talk radio.  At the very least, you'll be hearing voices in your head for days.

It's a colorful life.

It's an Up thing

It's a funny thing: I come back from a winter hiatus, I take a few walks, get a few good pictures, and, of all things, my research skills fail me.  I'm trying to pull some things together, bit by little bit.

This photo wasn't even taken on a walk, but out out my car window.  With my phone camera.  While sitting at a red light.  The colors at dusk were so striking that I really couldn't resist the temptation (I've often said that if  I die in a car crash it will be because I'm saying "tree pretty").  In fact, for whatever reason, a couple of months ago I was driving the Burnside-Couch couplet regularly at this time of day, and did indeed say no to the shot several times.  I'm glad I finally succumbed to that yummy blue sky.

It's the Portland Bottling Company/7Up Bottling Company building on NE Couch, of course.  That 7Up sign glowing moon-bright in the sky is as iconic in this town as they come, especially on the East side.  Its coverings and unveilings have made the news several times in the last decade, and there have been repeated speculations about the amount of time that's passed since the sign last spun (20 years?  after the Columbus Day storm?  some recent time after they replaced the ball bearings as mentioned in the KATU article linked above?).

The Portland Bottling Company itself has been in Portland for just shy of a century, though it's had its ups and downs according to the economy just like everyone else in the manufacturing industry--thus the attempt at harnessing the market on a trendy new health/energy drink which caused the most recent changes in the sign's appearance, before 7Up regained top billing.  I have to admit, though, even if it's the sign which first catches my attention, it's the building itself which always turns my head so dangerously in traffic.  I know I'm not the only sucker in this town for the sinewy beauty of an art deco line.  As Bart King puts it, "the aerodynamic building gleams with the prospect of a brighter future through bottling soft drinks in fashionable digs." If the company has had fluctuating success, the building itself seems to hold tightly to a sense of optimism--that concern for public elegance and style which almost always only comes when more dramatic pressures are not at hand.  In fact, this was the last building erected in Portland before WWII austerity demanded a temporary moratorium on such construction. Even the folks whom you can thank for the recently opened Burnside-Couch couplet realize the significance of the building, calling it a landmark and making its restoration and redevelopment a part of their development plans for the area.

A fun bit of trivia for us children of the 80s: according to the Inside Portland page linked above, Portland Bottling Company was also responsible for the production of later versions of Teddy Ruxpin.  I have no idea how to fit this in smoothly with the discussion of this building, but it must be noted.

"A goodly place to 'bide a wee' "

What is it with me, downtown Portland, and historic hotels?

This time, it's the Sovereign on SW Madison and Broadway.  It was another late afternoon of being entranced by the light moving across building facades while I was out for a walk.  I mean, look at this, the lowering sun reflected off the more modern surrounding glass towers:

It's just stunning.  I could sense the undulating warmth of the bricks from a block and a half away.  I must have stood there agog for a bit too long, because I had not one but two people ask me what I was looking at.  When I pointed out the side of the hotel, they each looked up, smiled a bit , and walked away.  Of of them shook his head a little and muttered something more or less friendly about an artistic eye.

I'm going to ignore for a moment that the Oregon Historical Society has long had an affiliation with this building, as well as the stunning Richard Haas trompe l'oeil murals on the south side (admittedly, this is mostly because I was so caught up in the light that afternoon that I didn't think to try to photograph them), and follow my own rabbit trails through the wilds of the internet.  Because, really, they're fun and sometimes charming.

The earliest documentation I can find on the building is in, of all things, what appears to be a plumber's trade journal, Valve World.  Apparently the pipes and ceramics in this for this Carl Linde structure were something to behold in 1923, the year the building was erected.  The writeup given the hotel in the journal is interesting for its photos of the exterior (including a shot of the rooftop sign long gone these days) and its glimpses into the apartments therein.   Calling the hotel a "goodly place to 'bide a wee'," the writers of the piece focus on, understandably, the fixtures which the tidy little rooms offered: "Seventy-four five-foot Crane "Modus" one-piece enameled iron recessed bath tubs, fitted with concealed combination compression top bell supply and waste fixtures with indexed all-china handles and china escutcheons, built-in china soap holders with drains and grab rods, concealed showers with Crane temperature regulating valves, special pressure control stops, curtain rods, and white duck curtains", etc.

Whew.  I've heard of food porn, but bath fixture porn?  These descriptions go on for page after loving page. The rooms, by the way, were turned into apartments a little over a decade after the hotel was built, so someone must have liked these fixtures enough to stay a while.

The application to have the Sovereign added to the National Register of Historic Places was submitted in 1980, when the building was under the ownership of Bruce Kegg, who apparently later gained a bit of national fame for renovating a fire station in NW and having the resulting home featured on HGTV.  The application notes that the only significant exterior changes between 1923 and 1980 were the addition of an entry on Madison and the removal of both the aforementioned rooftop sign and a glass canopy over the Broadway entrance (which can also be seen in The Valve).  It also gives a good amount of attention to the fact that one of the original tenants of the ground floor was a restaurant called Henry Theile's, which seems to have been quite a mid-century landmark after it moved northwest a few blocks to Burnside and 23rd.  Theile seems to have come to the Sovereign after being a chef at the Benson, but the later iteration of his restaurant was decidedly family-friendly.  In fact, Henry Theile's on Burnside was so popular that many folks taken with nostalgia (and, it seems, memories of time spent with their grandparents) seek out the recipe for its trademark dish, the German pancake.

Maybe I'll end this on a quasi-gastronomical note as well, since I'm circling the topic.  Linde, the architect, worked with Whidden & Lewis and A.C. Doyle while in Portland, but had a background that was curiously prescient of the city we would become: he began his career designing breweries in Wisconsin.  I'm not sure just how in demand that niche would have been in the 1920s, but just imagine the cache he would have here today.

Plenty of room at the Hotel Cornelius

I can't help it.  When I see a place like this, my curiosity gets going.  I was taking a walk through downtown the other night and trying out a few blocks on Park along which I very rarely travel.  That's when I saw this wall in its state of curious half-repair (or half-disrepair).  I know some people would recognize it immediately, but I'm still learning the ins and outs of this town, and that's enough lack of knowledge to keep me running to research the things that grab my attention.


So, what you're looking at is the northeast corner of the old Hotel Cornelius, on the corner of Alder and Park.  I actually first noticed it because of the gorgeous copper Mansard roof, and the quirky graffiti just above the Southwest corner of it.  The graffiti didn't keep my attention for long, though.  As I continued up Park, this palimpsest of a wall called me to stop and try for several pictures, fighting against the waning light.  The seven story building had obviously not been used for a while; many of the upper windows show signs of dereliction.  However, as you can see below in a photo taken a day later and in better light, it's really only the street level of the building which seems to be strongly affected by the incomplete renovation.  Looking up, you can see many clear signs of an older elegance.  Maybe this is because the P:ear Gallery moved out of the ground floor a few years back, or maybe it was an unfinished project of the folks at TMT Development who until fairly recently were planning to renovate the building to use as another downtown boutique hotel.

The proposed Alder Park hotel was to be a modern interpretation of this historical structure rather than a true restoration, because, as reported in the Daily Journal of Commerce in 2008, there wasn't a whole lot of data on the original appearance of the hotel other than a few pretty postcards. And, by all accounts, the passing decades had not been kind to the interior.  Alas, last year our favorite recession got the better of the plans, and TMT backed out of the project, putting the building up for sale.

What were these postcards, though, which provided the inspiration?  You can see reproductions about midway down this page on pdxhistory.com.  In the article linked above, it said that the coffered ceilings in the lobby were the only major original feature which could be salvaged.  Certainly, the postcard makes them look worth saving.  Today, though, they're hidden from public view.  The original entryway has been covered, and today's main entrance is topped by those ubiquitous dropped ceilings of 20th century renovations.  This is what the area currently looks like--please forgive the glare, as I took the photo with my iPhone though the plate glass of the door.

Still, though, it's lovely to think about the early history of the structure.  Built in 1908, the Cornelius was part of a string of hotels erected to address the growing demands of the entertainment district.  The architect was John Bennes, known locally for his rococo Hollywood Theatre.  The hotel was marketed by its proprietor, W. C. Culbertson, as "The House of Welcome," and its sister hotel, the Hotel Seward, was  "The House of Cheer."  According to the Official Hotel Red Book, rooms were $1.25 a day (or $2.00 with a bath), and a major selling point was the hotel's proximity to the trolley lines and the new Elks Temple.  The 2004 Portland Midtown Blocks Historic Assessment notes that the structure was one of the earliest skyscrapers in the area, and exemplifies many of the new building technologies (fire-resistant concrete!  terra cotta!) of the early 20th century..

Speaking of baths, European or otherwise, one thing a lot of long-timers around here like to note is that in the 70s and 80s, the building's basement was the site of Continental Baths, the gay bathouse mentioned in the Tribune article linked above.  According to the 1999 Gay Portland Walking Tour, the Continental Baths featured "erotic black-light drawings on the walls, an orgy room, jacuzzi, and a number of individual rooms for private assignations."  An ad reproduced on the same site promises that there was "always a hot time" to be had.

Oh, and that black covering and tantalizing peek of brick which originally got my attention?  According to the DJC article linked above, it turns out that, when moving the original entrance, someone covered the east-facing wall with stucco, damaging the brick underneath to the point where it all needed to be replaced.  Minor mystery solved.  I'd like to think that, someday, someone will finish the repairs.

Following up on an older post

Remember the unicycling bagpiper from a while back?  Well, here the legend is revealed: http://www.koinlocal6.com/news/local/story/Meet-the-Unipiper-Life-at-Large-Tim-Becker/QohjHoeqmkqkYIpQ7XqrNA.cspx

Shining a light on the Myler Building

Lately I've been taken by the quality of the light shining on this block, the SE corner of SW 9th and Oak, as I walk from work to the bus mall in the late afternoon (thus this photo). There's something about the light at transitional times of day in the PNW, especially at this time of year--it's at the same time more translucent and more substantial than in any other place I've ever lived.

 So, of course, when I determined to write a blog post here, I though of this photo and did a little sleuthing on the internet. I figured there's a lot of attention given to The Benson Hotel, looming nearby to the east, the former Federal Reserve building to the south with its gun turret, and maybe even the AT&T building to the north. Maybe there will even be future blog posts about these. But the homely little building in the middle of the shot here is mostly overshadowed, literally and figuratively, by those structures, and being the sympathizer of the underdog that I am, my attention was drawn to the slightly odd two story building stuck right in the middle of these other drama kings and queens.

 Interestingly, the original aspirations for the building far exceeded today's presentation. According to the city's 2004 Midtown Blocks Historic Assessment, the proposal was for a five story office building, to be constructed in stages. In fact, even though the majority of the building was left unfinished, the extant structure contains the foundations and engineering necessary by 1921 standards to support those final three stories. Sweetly, the "Myler" in Myler Building (the historically correct name)seems to be the maiden name of the mother of the cannery magnate for whom it was built. Here is a photo which appears to have been taken while the building was still quite young.


You can't quite make out the name in the newer photo, but the building is currently occupied by New Directions for Youth, a non-profit program for supporting homeless youth in Portland. As best as I can gather, its chosen location is at least in part due to the structure's proximity to O'Bryant Square, which has in recent history been linked to homeless culture in the area. I might be revealing my PDX vintage here with my relative ignorance of the park's tenure as Paranoid Park, but thus sayeth the internet, and as we all know, if it's on Wikipedia it MUST be true. Besides, there are plenty of you out there (among the seven generous faithful readers I apparently have!)who can say yay or nay to this assessment.

Years before that, however, the building apparently housed another socailly progressive organization, the Federal Writers' Project, part of the WPA in the Great Depression (oh, would the Great Recession also choose to have a Writers' Project, but I digress...). Amongst other things, the Oregon chapter of the FWP produced educational pamphlets such as this (on Oregon place names and their origins) and this (on "freak laws," but which contains an especially revealing survey of the changing laws regarding women's rights).