Seattle, Washington – September 2000

“The bluest skies you’ve ever seen are in SEA-AT-TLE…”

I may be the only BootsnAll reader who remembers that song. A hit for Perry Como, of all people, in 1969. It was the theme song of a TV show called “Here Come the Brides” (see sidebar). Set in 19th-century Seattle, the show told the story of a shipload of women sent from Massachusetts to the Washington territory as mail-order brides for the loggers. Filmed on a Hollywood back lot, the set consisted of western town facades surrounded by fake fir trees.

I remember the song, and the show, because I lived in Seattle at the time. Though just a tyke, I remember the mutterings that all this attention (a song and a TV show about the city) would bring hoards of “Californians” up to muddy our pure rainwaters. It was always the “Californians” we feared (I was, in fact, one of them, but since I’d moved to Seattle before my sixth birthday I considered myself a native). When houses were demolished for new highways, or woods clear-cut for new houses, we all blamed the Californians.

A local curmudgeonly columnist named Emmett Watson was the champion and founder of something called “The Lesser Seattle Movement”. Their only action, besides old Emmett’s published rants, was to print up bumper stickers proclaiming “Seattle’s rainy season – September to July.”

I left the city – and the country – in 1985, and after living abroad have settled in New York. I’ve spent the last eight years there and have grown accustomed to the everything at my toe-tips, no-car lifestyle. Admittedly New York City has its drawbacks, but I now understand that the cost of living is not one of them.

Except for coffee, beer and movie tickets, everything is more expensive in Seattle – that’s right, more expensive than New York! By everything I mean restaurants, groceries, gas and museums. The much-touted “Experience Music Project” charges $20 admission. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, even for those who don’t know the meaning of “suggested donation,” is a bargain at $10. Are Hendrix’s guitars worth $10 more than Picassos, Monets and the great art stolen from the former colonies? I spent more on mediocre restaurant food in Seattle than I do on fine haute cuisine in New York (true, I don’t frequent Nobu or Bouley, but neither did I go to the most expensive Seattle restaurants). Even the garage sale prices were higher.

I suffered an acute case of sticker shock. But the bigger shock was the inundation of SOFTHEADS. They’re everywhere. Yapping into cellphones to their brokers, clogging up the highways in their SUVs, tearing down wilderness to build their oversized homes. But what’s really sick is that they walk around town wearing their corporate badges – in public!

There oughta be a law. But there won’t be in Seattle – not as long as the Softheads ply the pols with their play money. The traffic problems so irritated the residents that they voted to build a light-rail system. But the City Council hasn’t allotted enough cash to get the thing built. There was enough, however, to build a new sports stadium. Hey, as long as the Softheads keep buying us sports teams! What’s next, polo grounds? (Don’t laugh…)

Yes, Seattle still has its charms, such as Lake Washington (when you can reach it), the mountains (when they’re visible), and the rain (when it does). But all of my old stomping grounds have turned into tourist traps. The Pike Place Market is a nightmare of gawking Midwesterners and Eastcoasterners. The waterfront is no better. There’s no parking in Fremont – I was only able to get there by bicycle – and the old junk shops have turned into pricey “vintage” boutiques.

Broadway hasn’t changed too much, except that the junkies and winos who used to beg for change have been displaced by the children of Softheads begging for change, and the iconic Ernie Steele’s has turned into the trendy Ileen’s, where even 40-year-olds aren’t admitted without ID. (Ernie was an old UW football star who used to man the bar, calling out at a quarter to two: “I’m gonna SING!” to clear the room for closing).

Belltown is Softhead Central, where the funky bars and gay dance clubs have been replaced by pricey Asian fusion lounges. Ballard seemed to have not changed much – but I wasn’t house hunting. Bellevue…ahhh, who cares about Bellevue? – except that it’s expanded into an amorphous East Side blob, obliterating every square inch of land in its multi-directional path.

Do I sound bitter? I am.

And why should I care if Western Washington turns into one endless mauve and aqua stripmall? It’s just such a shame. I grew up in a beautiful place, where the wilderness was a short drive away, lakes, bays and sounds part of the cityscape, where there was even some history – even if the 100 brides were fictional. Now there’s LA-scale traffic, pollution, overcrowding, income disparity, and just plain ugliness.

Sigh. It was a lousy song anyway.

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