"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).

Balconies from which Susan could wave, kindly, if not regally

I have a good friend, Susan, who has a secret passion: identifying balconies on which it would be fun to stand and wave regally at random groups of people who might be passing by. Out of my love for Susan, and because of the fact that I am in the middle of grading finals and ridiculously pressed for time but still feel like posting something here today, I give you the following photos of balconies, fire escapes, and the like. Now, I don't usually take photos of private homes because of the privacy issues involved, so everything here is more or less public--but I just like to think of it as offering maximum exposure. I've noted the locations when I can remember them, though some are definitely approximate at best.

This first one is the third story of Waldo Block on the corner of SW Second and Washington. The recessed balcony was a modification of the original plan, implemented when the building was at the heart of turn-of-the-century Chinatown.



















Candidate #2, the New Market Annex, is also on Second, but a few blocks north on Ash. The delicate swirls of cast iron always stand out for me against the Romanesque heft of the building.


















Believe Art and Antiques (NW Flanders between 8th & 9th) has a questionable but somehow charming fire escape, though I don't know that I could in good conscience encourage a friend to climb up there.

















The Flanders Street Lofts on NW 8th & Flanders offer a sleeker, more modern approach--but with a nice classical nod or two.

















On NW 5th and Flanders is this filigree beauty. However, as of 3/9, a 750 square foot one bedroom there was going for $1795/mo, so Susan and I may want to make our visit quick before it gets pro-rated.



















The West Hills humbly offer the understated stairwell of Pittock Mansion...

















For the days when she's feeling hip and happening, SE Burnside is always a good choice.












Or, on the whimsical days, there's this treehouse near Laurelhurst park.



















I'm thinking my friend will be able to find one place or another to grace her loyal followers.

Busted?

From The Federal Reporter, vol 162, pg 621-622, which discusses a legal case concerning both homesteading obligations and perjury:



and



So... if I'm to understand correctly, Charles Watson, the man whose fulfillment of his legal homesteading claim obligations were in question, was given an alibi of someone seeing him at the Merchant's Hotel in Portland. Now, the Merchant Hotel block today might seem all lovely and respectable, what with its housing of the Nikkei Center, the Grassy Knoll Gallery, Old Town Pizza, etc., but back at the turn of the 20th century? Let's just say that the same things that are said about most all of the public establishments in what we now call Old Town are said about the Merchant Hotel: it was a villainous hive of iniquity and vice. A cat house. A cozy little hostel for ladies of the night.

Now, I know that Portland was a rollicking place a hundred years ago or so. But what I wonder is: was this kind of going on the record as far as one's presence at a whorehouse considered a public shaming, or was it just a matter of course? Maybe I have the timeline a little wrong here. The dates on these things tend to be a little fuzzy without some extensive time spent in the stacks (read: not while sitting on my couch exercising all the powers given to me by Google).

What I really wonder is whether someone has done a guidebook for all the houses of ill repute. I'm aware of the vice map of 1913, which can be accessed here (Score another thousand points to Vintage Portland!). I can only hope that someone runs with it.

Because, really, what self-respecting Portlander wouldn't pay good money to go on THAT tour?

Brief Interlude (a.k.a. Holy Biplanes, Batman!)

Because it's time to write a post, and because I don't have time to write a real post right now, and because this image has been on my mind all day, I now happily direct your eyes towards one of my favorite local blogs, Vintage Portland.

Cornices and capitals, dentils and dormers, pilasters and pediments

This is the second of two blogs, the second of two posts in a week. Maybe I really am going to get back into the discipline of posting. Let's just say it was an eight month sabbatical.

Yes, that's it. A sabbatical.

In any case, here are the photos I took at the end of last May with every intention of creating this post then. These first few shots were all taken while looking out in various directions from the top level of the parking garage on Yamhill and 10th. In my mind and history, this will always be the Finnegan's Toy Store garage (ah...she's seventeen this week. Sigh...), even though they have apparently moved to a new location on Washington without consulting me even once. I am clearly more loyal than they, however, so let's start with the building next to the one Finnegan's used to occupy. And if that logic convinced you, I have some cheap property in Manhattan you might be interested in...

In all seriousness, though, this is the Pythian Building:


Built in 1907, this building apparently used to be a Masonic lodge (hmmm...anyone ever notice how many of those there seem to be around here?). These days, aside from the nifty art supply store housed on the street level corner of 9th and Yamhill, there are also not one but TWO ballrooms, one housed on the second floor (the Adrianna Hill Grand Ballroom, stunning commercial photos of which can be seen here) and one on the fifth (the Crown Ballroom, also gorgeous if the websites are to be believed) as well the studios of organizations like the Conduit Dance Company. Bart King, author of An Architectural Guidebook to Portland, notes a comment that this building has some of the "most dramatic brickwork in this city." Maybe so, but it sounds like there's a lot going on inside the walls as well.


A bit to the west rise the familiar finishings of the Multnomah County Central Library.


Sooner or later, I'll dedicate an entire post to this building, mostly because it still entrances the imagination of this girl from small-town Kentucky as a shining example of what a "real" library should be. It's enough for now to say that it's an A.C. Doyle design (which may itself be enough to make me predisposed to love the building). Also, I find it curious that, with all of the lovely smaller Carnegie libraries scattered around the outer reaches of Portland, the city refused assistance from the Carnegies for this building, apparently feeling too much civic pride to look anywhere other than its own coffers for such an undertaking (again I attribute this bit to King). This was, of course, after significant public debate over whether a public source of free access to books would cause said public to value said books less.

And then, to the north, there is the Gov'ner (if only you could hear the bad, bad Cockney accent coming through your screen right now):

The Governor Hotel was known as the Seward Hotel for the first twenty-five years or so of its existence. Several sources describe the style as art-nouveau-meets-native-American, and this is probably fairly accurate when considering the cornice shot I offer here. Really, the gargoyles (the official website calls them that, so I guess I will, too)have always made me think of a strand of dangling robots (and the extended history tells me I'm not alone in that). That is, a strand of elegant and refined dangling robots, of course.

Last in my rooftop tour of the Yamhill Smart Park is a building which has always caught my eye (as well as, I'm certain, the eyes of thousands of others): the Oregon Journal building, aka Jackson Tower. Really, I'm not sure there is a prettier building in downtown Portland, at this time of year (the winter holidays, not May when the photo was taken) in particular, when the "wedding-cake" top and festive nighttime lighting seem quite appropriate.

What's really interesting is that the very thing which draws our eyes to the tower was part of the original design: the architects incorporated 1800 bulbs right into the facade--they wanted this clock to be SEEN. King (again) also notes that fear of nightime raids caused the lights to be turned off during WWII, and relit only after 30 years had passed. I'm glad we got over that phobia. Wikipedia tells me the clock stopped working last summer, but I'm having a little trouble telling if this is still true. Too bad I didn't know to check the time when I was in Pioneer Square today.

For the fun of it, I'm going to end with a 1915 photo taken at the base of the Jackson Tower (copied and pasted from the historical photo archive) . I mean, who doesn't love a man on a Harley?