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Step back in time with us as we dive into the history of the Columbia Branch Library. In June 1909, the Seattle Public Library established a modest branch within the main room of the old Columbia City town hall on Rainier Boulevard (later Rainier Avenue South) at Hudson Street, rent-free. The accommodations were humble, with patrons needing to venture to a nearby furniture store for restroom facilities, crossing the unpaved street and railroad tracks! By 1911, philanthropist Andrew Carnegie's generous donation heralded a new chapter in library development. By 1912, a suitable site for the Columbia Branch was selected and purchased, funded by $2,500 from community contributions and $2,000 from the city. A snapshot from the summer of 1915 captures the library's construction, with the Columbia Branch officially opening its doors on Dec. 30, 1915. Be sure to peruse the newspaper clipping from the grand opening and explore images of the original reading room. A significant renovation in 1931 revitalized the Columbia branch, just prior to budget cuts prompted by the Great Depression. Fast forward to 1998, when Seattle voters endorsed a substantial upgrade through the "Libraries for All" bonds, allocating $196.4 million for improvements. This initiative led to an impressive expansion and renovation project, culminating in its completion in 2004. Take a glimpse into the library's reopening through the photo and excerpt from the RVHS 2004 Summer newsletter. Today, the library remains a vital cornerstone of the Columbia City community, offering a diverse array of events and activities. Share your cherished memories of the library in the comments below! 📖💭 Photo 1: Columbia Library under construction, 1915. RVHS Photo (1996.73.01) Photo 2: Snippet from Columbia Branch Library opening. RVHS Photo: (1993.1.506) Photo 3: Columbia Branch Library, 1927. Courtesy of MOHAI (1983.10.745) Photo 4: Reading room, Columbia Branch, 1915. Courtesy UW Special Collections (1983.10.9205) Photos 5 & 6: Photo and article taken for RVHS Summer 2004 Newsletter Documenting the grand opening of the expanded library. Photo 7: Photo of the library provided by SSF Engineers from their collaboration with Cardwell Architects on the 2004 renovation project.

The one room Lakewood Grade School located at 48th Ave S and Snoqualmie Street taught only 1st and 2nd graders from 1916 to 1927. RVHS Photo Catalog # 01.057.001, Seattle Public Schools Archives The existence of a Lakewood School came to light by a chance remark in a conversation I was having with Charles “Bud” Creevey. That conversation was the last I had with him as he passed away about a year later in February of 2000. Bud was a retired Seattle Firefighter and had worked as part time delivery truck driver for my dad, Art Anderson, who had the Grayson & Brown Hardware and Furniture Co. in Columbia City. He worked there in the early forties during the war. I was in high school during those years and also worked at the store after school and on Saturdays. One of my jobs at the store was to help Bud with the two man deliveries. I got to know him very well and whenever we ran into each other over the years we enjoyed reminiscing about our mutual delivery experiences. During that last conversation I had with Bud, when he mentioned the existence of the Lakewood School, we talked about two specific delivery experiences that we would have liked to forget. We were delivering a bedroom set that had a dresser with a large plate glass mirror. Rather than stand it on edge and tie it like we should have, as we only had a short distance to go, we laid it flat on the bed of the truck. That was a big mistake as there was a chuckhole in the road and the mirror went flying and shattered. We learned a good lesson and were in the dog house with my dad. On another occasion we were delivering a sofa sleeper out in the north end on Aurora Ave. The house was on the other side of the street from us and rather than go around the block, we parked and proceeded to carry it across the arterial street when there was a break in the traffic. We learned something else. Always tie down the spring unit on a sofa-sleeper before moving it. In the middle of Aurora Avenue it sprang open and the cushions and mattress went flying. Bud had told me he had attended the Lakewood school about 1921 as a second grader. I didn’t even know that it existed until Bud asked me if I knew about the school.  He said it was close to 48th Ave. and Snoqualmie St and was a one room school. He also said it was for just the early grades and other students that attended with him were Bill McGinnis. Burke Howard and Bob Kimball. Burke, until recently lived just around the corner from my home which is about two blocks from Snoqualmie Street where the Lakewood school was located. Burke’s wife Mary had worked in the office at Grayson & Brown. Bob Kimball was a nephew of “Beans” Kimball, as he was called, and he owned and operated a small company that produced “Kimball’s Baked Beans” in the early days. They produced the baked beans in a part of their home, as I remember it, and it was located on the west side of Renton Avenue just south of where it joined Empire Way, now Martin Luther King Jr. Way. The cross street just to the north was Waldon. I don’t remember if their baked Beans were just distributed locally or shipped to other areas but they were very popular here in the Valley and they were very tasty. I made frequent deliveries to their home and business. Getting back to the Lakewood School, I tried to find more information about the school without success. I was talking on the phone to Elenor Toews, director of the Seattle School Archives, and I mentioned the possible existence of a Lakewood school to her and she had no knowledge or records of it. After a few weeks went by she called me back and said she had a photo of a one room school and no information as to the name or the location. She suspected it was an annex for a grade school and could it be the Lakewood School that I had asked her about? Could it have been an annex for the nearby Hawthorne grade School? She sent me a copy of the photo and she also mentioned that she was putting the finishing touches on a revised book on the history of the Seattle Schools and she would like to find the name and location of that photo to include in the book. I sent a copy of the photo to Louise Creevey as she had indicated she would show it to Burke and Bob Kimball for possible identification. Her husband , Bud, had passed away. Sure enough, both Burke and Bob said that was the one room school they had attended, and gave the exact location, about two blocks north of my home. As you go west on Snoqualmie street, it crosses 48th Avenue and continues just half a block where it dead ends at a steep bank that drops down to 47th. The school was on the south side at the end of Snoqualmie Street with the entrance facing east. Not only that but they remembered the name of the school’s teacher, Miss Bow. Their classmate McGinnis added some more information. His brother, Daniel McGinnis, was the janitor for the school and they lived next to the school. He would come over every day and do the janitor work. The school was for 1st and 2nd grades only and existed from 1916 to 1927 and it was an annex to Hawthorne. Needless to say, Eleanor was delighted to be able to put a caption on the photo and include it, along with the information, in her new book which should be available soon. The Lakewood School was about on the dividing line between Hawthorne and Whitworth grade schools. Burke went on to Whitworth, Bob to Hawthorne and then both to Franklin High. Bill McGinnis was in the Franklin Class of 1929. Days Gone By - South District Journal 3/13/2003 By Buzz Anderson

Presenting: "The Real Boys in the Boat" - A Daughter Remembers Join us and Judy Rantz Willman, daughter of University of Washington crew member Joe Rantz, in presenting the genesis of the book, “The Boys in The Boat.” Judy discusses each crew member including Rainier Beach’s Johnny White and coach Al Ulbrickson, both Franklin High School grads. See footage of the 1936 Olympic Games of the UW crew team winning the Gold in Berlin! When: Saturday, May 11th, 2024 10:00 am - Annual Meeting with presentation to follow Where: Rainier Beach Community Club 6038 S Pilgrim St, Seattle, WA 98118 5 5 S Alaska St, Seattle, WA 98118 3515 3515 S Alaska St, Seattle, WA 9811

"We decided to make a quilt. It’s cool. It shows all kind of things that happened in history in this neighborhood. We learned to work together. We learned to share and work on each other’s squares and captions. Park and Mikala helped us. We made our sewing skills better. Thank you for letting us display our quilt in the library! "- Sydney, Aden, Jahlil, and Sam, presenting their Rainier Beach History Quilt to the librarian at the Rainier Beach Library. In the spring of 2005, the RVHS presented a slide show of Rainier Beach History to three classes of 2nd graders at the New School, as part of their study of the neighborhood. Out of that study, a number of community projects emerged, including the Rainier Beach History Quilt. The Quilt was designed and made by four 2nd-grade boys. They selected 16 significant moments in Rainier Beach history and drew pictures depicting each one. They transferred the pictures to cloth and sewed borders around the pictures to create colorful panels for the quilt, which was assembled by parent volunteers. The students presented the Quilt to the Rainier Beach Library, where it was displayed for 6 months. It has since been on display at History House in Fremont, at the Rainier Valley Cultural Center, and at the New School. Guide to Rainier Beach History Quilt

This project was completed in 2011 and was founded by a special project grant from King County 4Culture. One day in the fall of 1988 bulldozers arrived at the corner of 45th and Dawson, just west of the new Whitworth school building., and began raising seven houses in order to expand the school’s playfield to the west. The old Whitworth building had just been replaced and the school’s footprint had shifted to the west, all but eliminating the already cramped playground. The neighbors had known this was coming for months; indeed, some of them had been fighting it for years. Still, the demolition was shocking. “you know how you have to jump through all these hoops to get a permit for a ‘permanent structures’ on your property?” one neighbor said. “It took them half a day to raze those homes. Nothing is permanent.” The original Whitworth School opened in 1907. The land to the west of the school was empty at that time, though the area—close to burgeoning Columba City and Hillman city- was developing rapidly. Whitworth’s first principal, Emma Hart, was respected and beloved by parents and students alike. On a least one occasion, however, she drew the ire of her bosses: in April 1913, according to School Board Minutes, “the Principal of the Whitworth School closed said school for two days on account of diphtheria, without authority from the office.”[The Board considered docking Miss Hart’s pay as punishment, but in the end they voted “to allow the full salary for the month., the Superintendent to caution against the closing of any schools without proper authority.”] Miss Hart survived her little quarrel with the district and went on to serve another 25 years as principal of Whitworth. By the time she retired in 1938, the lots to the west of the school had houses sitting on them, and the children in them headed into Whitworth School every morning, just like all the other kids in the neighborhood. The principals who followed Miss Hart kept order, supervised teachers, and oversaw the steady growth of the school. One of them also wrote poetry: Frank Henderson’s verses reveal a gentle man with an eye for the long view. The general sentiment seems to be: “Nothing is permanent, and we’ll all be dead in the end, so the best we can do is live each day.” Which is probably the kind of attitude you have to have if you are a school principal—especially if you are a school principal on the eve of a world war. Rivers to the Sea   I’m floating down a river that will take me to the sea; A swift and winding river that will not wait for me. Its banks are steep and rugged, its course beset with woe; I’m launched upon its waters and with them I must go.   You’re launched upon a river that hurries to the sea, The great expansive ocean that will hide both you and me. ‘It’s the home of the forgotten and the home of those to be; So live and drink the sunshine as you travel to the sea. -- Frank Henderson, Whitworth Principal, 1940 The war years were full of tragedy and sacrifice, of course. Whitworth students practiced for air raids, worried about uncles and brothers fighting overseas, and are more than their fill of Victory Garden kale. But the expansion of Seattle’s defense industries during and after the war also brought thousands of jobs—and thousands of people—to the city. South End schools soon overflowed with the children of these new arrivals. The district moved Whithworth’s 7th and 8th graders to Sharples Junior High when it opened in 1952, and in 1957 it opened Graham Hill Elementary in portables a mile south. Still, Whitworth’s enrollment continued to climb, peaking at 853 in 1958. A new wing was added that year, with six classrooms and a gym. In the 1970s the enrollment trend reversed as the “Boeing Bust” plunged the area into a deep recession. White middle-class families moved away, and more African American families moved into the neighborhood. Whitworth’s population went from 89% white to and 1% black in 1964 to 39% white and 45% black in 1975. (Asian enrollment also increased during this period, but only slightly.) Still, Whitworth retained enough white students that it was not included in the district’s desegregation plan in 1978. Any school whose “minority” population exceeded the district’s average by 20% was paired with a mostly white school in the north end for mandatory bussing. This was a fairly straightforward standard in the mostly black Central Area, but in the South End where racial balance hovered closer to the qualifying line, the policy pitted schools against each other in an effort to keep their white populations high enough to avoid bussing. Parents at neighboring schools complained that Whitworth parent used their gifted program to “poach” white kids away from their schools and as a result the “minority” percentage at schools like Graham Hill edged just over the trigger point for bussing. Whether this perception was true or not, the district was quite clear that it was using gifted magnet programs as a tool to attract white kids to “minority” schools: the cynical assumptions behind this desegregation strategy were not lost on the parents of gifted children of color who lived in the Whitworth neighborhood, but were told they would be bussed to magnet programs at schools in the North End where their presence would improve “racial balance.” The principal at Whitworth during this period was Al Cohen, reportedly an idealistic, charismatic leader who led his staff in committing to “go the extra mile and support each other” in improving the school. The desegregation plan allowed parents from all over the city to choose Whitworth, and as Cohen’s vision came to fruition, they did, in droves. By the mid-‘80s, Al Cohen was long gone but the school received an award for excellence from the federal government. It was the first urban school in the nation to receive this honor. There were issues, of course. The PTA had to work to bridge the (real and imagined) socioeconomic gap between the gifted program and the neighborhood families –figuring out, for instance, how to distribute holiday food baskets donated by wealthier parents to the school’s needier families, without causing embarrassment on either side. More general concerns about overcrowding and understaffing surfaced again and again. At the time the district gave all elementary schools the same allotment of administrative staff regardless of the school’s size. Whitworth parents and teachers argued, reasonably enough, that with 647 students, many of whom had intense emotional and social needs, their school should get more support staff than an elementary school with 250 children. Even basic playground supervision was a challenge: at a School Board hearing student Costa Singer testified that, due to budget cuts, “there no longer [were[ teacher aids on the playground to prevent fighting and injuries. When he broke his arm on the playground there was no adult to walk him to the office.” Whitworth parents also worried about the safety of their aging building. In July of 1984, the PI reported that “Whitworth’s overcrowding is exacerbated by its old, outdated building… classrooms are tiny, children must troop downstairs to use the bathroom, and the plumbing and wiring systems are on the kids.” A district study had noted that the building’s masonry would not withstand a major earthquake. “The main building is on the critical list of potentially unsafe structures to be remodeled or replaced if the Sept 18 bond issue is approved,” The PI article continued. This was good news—but many parents balked at the idea of sending their kids to school in an unsafe building every day for another three years, crossing their fingers that the Big One wouldn’t strike before the reconstruction could take place. The 1984 seismic safety report pushed Whitworth parents from frustrated advocacy to focused action, and that summer they threatened a boycott of the school in September, if the district failed to meet with PTSA member Monica Wooten called “non-negotiable demands”: More staff, seismic retrofitting of the existing building, and emergency supplies for every classroom. Parent volunteers polled Whitworth families and found “overwhelming support for taking this action to et the things we felt we needed, to make Whitworth safe this year.” The PTA worked with staff to present a unified front of the district and make new principal John Morefield support their efforts. “Look,’ I said to my boss, ‘I’ve got to side with them, it's my first year here. Besides, you know the district is wrong anyway. There are 700 kids in that building!’” (Morefield, like Emma Hart, knew when to put the needs of his students above his duty to the authorities downtown.) Other parents coordinated a letter writing campaign, provided legal advice, organized pickets, and planned for daycare should the threatened boycott become a reality. School Board hearings were packed with Whitworth staff, parents, and students testifying passionately about the needs of their school. Sixth grader B.J. Santos told the Board that Whitworth students “had presented a talent show which had grossed over $135. That money was used to repaint the boys' lavatories. He said they could not take care of all such problems without help from the School Board.” In August the district proposed a compromise: Whitworth would get a counselor, an additional part-time teacher, and two aides. Money would be allocated to reinforce the building’s masonry, and to provide emergency supplies. The PI reported that the district’s offer was unanimously accepted by an auditorium full of many of the same parents who earlier this summer had vowed to keep their youngsters away from classes.” In September Whitworth teachers and families returned to school in triumph. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the staff additions that were a direct result of our negotiations with the district over the summer,” crowed PTSA presidents Kay Godefroy & Eileen Berlin in the first school newsletter of the ear. “This is the way staffing standards should be. I hope we can convince the School District and the School Board to concentrate more money on teachers and support personnel in the future.: “What a difference a non-boycott can make,” commented principal John Morefield, who masterfully channeled all this energy and excitement into support of the school’s academic and community-building programs. Monica Wooten chided the school board for its failure to respond to ears of polite requests and encouraged the district to adopt a more inclusive process so disruptive confrontations could be avoided in the future. Alas, it was not to be. Whitworth’s active PTA continued to work on facilities concerns after their triumphant non-boycott in the summer of 1984. The school newsletter from the 1984-1985 school year documents the activities of an Overcrowding Committee, a School Size Committee, and an ed Spec Committee, charged with developing a list of criteria for the new school building. The result of all this committee work—“hours and hours and hours and hours of meetings,” according to Kay Godefroy—was a determination by the district that Whitworth needed more space, and a larger playground in particular. A number of options were presented for expanding the site; the district eventually decided to annex land to the west. The plan required the acquisition and demolition of twelve homes. Now, in the case of the threatened boycott, advocacy by Whitworth parents had been fueled by the certain knowledge that they were standing up for what was right—their kids needed a safe building, and adequate adult supervision and support. They must have been aware at some level that the extra resources Whitworth got that year had to come out of some other part of the district’s budget, but they didn’t have to confront the effects of those cuts directly. When it came to the expansion of the school site, however, the people who stood to lose were right there on the other side of the fence, and they were not happy about the sacrifice they were being forced to make. Some of the people living in those houses had attended Whitworth when there were 850 kids there, and they couldn’t see the need to tear down their homes in order to give a mere 650 kids more room to run around. They didn’t trust the district’s public process, which one neighbor referred to as a “dog and pony show” designed to disguise the decision that had already been made. They banded together as CAWSE (Citizens Affected by the Whitworth Site Expansion) and came up with an alternative plan for a new school that did not require the district to tear down their homes. In April of 1986, the organizing group SESCO (South End Seattle Community Organization) held a community forum at Whitworth, where parents and neighbors agreed to a “statement of unity,” challenging the School Board to “forward a plan for a new building that meets educational specifications and city codes, on the existing site.” They urged the district to consider the CAWSE proposal as a starting point. By June this fragile unity ad evaporated. Whitworth parents and staff were not unanimous regarding the need for a larger site, but those advocating for the expansion spoke loudly and eloquently. “Whitworth has been outmoded, outdated, seismically unsafe, too small and generally unacceptable for 25-30 years.” Wrote Kay Godefroy in a letter to the district’s facilities department. “We cannot continue in the present facility.” Godefroy also cautioned against any plan that extended the construction period for longer than 12 months, because an extended sojourn at the temporary school in distant Ballard would “seriously jeopardize the Whitworth program as we know it. Staff, students and parents will not stick it out.” Meanwhile the neighbors were equally articulate in expressing their side. Josephine Baldwin, a 30 year resident of the neighborhood whose house was slated for demolition wrote: “I truly feel like a tree being uprooted and wondering where I am going to put my roots where I can feel just as safe there as I do there.” SESCO member Oscar Hearde lived across the street from the threatened homes; he described the plan as “the most cruel and devastating act any government agency could ever impose on a community of some of the most disadvantaged people of the city of Seattle.” Hearde, the Baldwins, and others were tireless in their efforts to push the School Board to reconsider its decision—which it declined to do. CAWSE finally sued the district to stop the plan from going through. In the end the neighbors suceeded in saving five of the twelve homes under threat, including Josephine Baldwin’s. Seven homes were demolished and replaced with a grass playfield. We Face the Unknown   Today, tomorrow and always we face the unknown; In spite of seers, prophets, and the wise we met it alone; With joy, sadness, jewels, or gold, our lot is the same; We bring nothing and leave nothing, but a shriveling name.   Monuments erected, tombs carved crumble and fall;  Nature loans for our building, and then takes all. The scars we make on earth’s grey and mottled face, The waves of time, undaunted , soon will erase. --Frank Henderson, Whitworth Principal 1940 So Whitworth got its larger site. But the ugly struggle over land acquisition sapped energy and time from the design of the new building. Whether due to budget or space constraints or because angry neighbors had been so outraged by what they perceived as “luxuries” on the Ed Spec Committee’s wish list, the architects stripped the new building of many of the features the school community had requested, such as a PTA meeting room and other common spaces. All available square footage was devoted to classrooms, with hallways and entry areas minimized. The resulting building was so barren and forbidding, some neighbors suspected that the district was trying to punish them by putting the ugliest possible structure in their midst. Others, still furious with the district and its “PTA lackeys” described the structure as “poetic justice.” Even today, a common myth about the building is that it was designed by prison architects (It is true that WMFL Architects did some prison work, by they had also successfully designed schools, libraries, and other public buildings.) Whitworth’s new building opened in 1989 with only 450 kids. This drop in enrollment was probably the result of two years at Monroe School in Ballard; as Kay Godefroy had predicted, it was difficult to maintain the school’s high level of parental involvement with the school so far away. Even after Whitworth returned to its neighborhood, it was difficult to rebuild the community. Many people felt that the new building’s forbidding appearance, along with the awkward entryways, constricted hallways, and death of common space, undermined the school’s tradition of parental participation. Kay Godefroy and Monica Wooten both lamented that “the school never recovered its spirit” after this disruptive period. At least one student who attended Whitworth when the new building first opened reports that it was still a great school then, but acknowledges that by the time her younger brother went there eight years later, things had changed. Many of the talented, committed teachers who had served under Al Cohen and John Morefield moved on in the early ‘90s. Whitworth, like many South End schools, lost nearly all of its white kids in the wake of the district's 1995 “Choice” assignment plan, which essentially ended the proactive desegregation policy. By 2001 the school had 370 students, and only 5% were white. (the presence of white kids is not necessarily an indicator of a school’s success or failure, of course. But in this instance it shows that the neighborhood, which was 50% white in 2000, had largely abandoned the school.) Changes in the gifted program, attractive options at nearby schools, and the evolution of the neighborhood itself also played a role in Whitworth’s decline. The school was closed in 2007, and the building has since become home to Orca K-8, an alternative school. Note: In 2010, a group of Orca middle school students researched the history of the seven hours that were torn down in 1988, and resurrected them on the playfield for an evening. For more information about the “No Place Like Home” project, winner of the 2011 Heritage Education Award from the Association of King County Heritage Organizations, visit. www.sevenhouses.blogspt.com.

The Rainier Valley’s Italian community has long been a focus of interest and curiosity. In 1915 sociology graduate student Nellie Roe made Garlic Gulch a focus of her master’s thesis “The Italian Immigrant in Seattle.” Her approach was clearly that of the anthropologist studying an arcane culture. The UW Social Sciences student describes the Italian families she visited as “like children in their simplicity, ignorance, and optimism.” A product of the Progressive Era, Ms. Roe can’t help but wish these families would accept help and instruction from charitable agencies, such as the Charity Organization Society, in order to assimilate into the dominant culture. Notably, Ms. Roe did not use the term “Garlic Gulch,” although she did remark negatively on the smell of garlic and cabbage pervading the homes. Nearly a century later, another UW student, Richard Gilbert made the community the focus of his 2004 master’s thesis “Garlic Gulch: Interpreting the History of Seattle’s Rainier/Atlantic Neighborhood, 1903-2003. An urban planning student, Gilbert honed in on the negative transforming effects of highway planning on the community. Along the way, he picked up some revealing anecdotes from residents past and present, such as this possible explanation for the name Garlic Gulch from Al Bianchi. "In the 30s, there was a big gully that started a little south of Jackson Street, and went all the way to Atlantic Street. Now by big gully, I means that was about two blocks wide and I’d say, over 100 feet deep. I think that’s where we derived the name Garlic Gulch, I’m not sure….But the city decided to make a dump out of that area. And that really disturbed the people. But we were told, ‘You’re standing in the way of progress; we have to have a dump somewhere, and we’ve chosen this spot.’ But you can’t believe how that was. The smell, the rats, the seagulls….The rats were as big as cats.” Meanwhile, Eric Scigliano wrote “Italian Seattle: Good-by, Garlic Gulch,” an in-depth, illustrated account of the rise and fall of the community which was published in the Weekly in 1987. And Wenda Reed offered a series of articles in the Beacon Hill News/South District Journal in 1980 entitled “The Italians,” based largely on interviews with diehard Italian businessmen such as Art Oberto, Tony LaSalle, John Patricelli, and Nick Paolella, Jr. The City of Seattle explored the influence of this community in its 2004 North Rainier Context Statement and, more recently, in the Southeast Seattle Community History Project, a series of web-based articles and resources, including an in-depth piece on Garlic Gulch by historian Mikala Woodward. So what more is there to say? We know now that Garlic Gulch as a cohesive community is not coming back. Yet there are remnants still. And there is still a generation or two of folks who grew up in or near the community. Our own project, Remembering Garlic Gulch, is an effort to collect the memories and images of Garlic Gulch for the use of current and future researchers. And, perhaps, along the way we will uncover new insights into the role the community played in the Rainier Valley and the city.

Join retired Head Gardener Don Brooks as he gives us a virtual tour of Kubota Garden. This was recorded for our 2020 Annual Meeting.

" On the afternoon of July 26, 1970, Jimi Hendrix (1942-1970) headlines a concert at Seattle's venerable outdoor ballpark, Sicks' Stadium. The all-day festival is billed as a "Concert on the Ground," but the ground itself is muddy because of rain, a Seattle hazard even in late July. Writes The Seattle Times the next day, "The outfield grass was a soggy mat and the infield dirt a giant mud pie. Yet a fair-sized crowd braved Seattle's fickle precipitation and huddled on the field and in the puddled stands to watch Jim Hendrix perform" ("Wet Crowd Catches ..."). Hendrix died less than two months later. " - Peter Blecha (HistoryLink.org Essay 21126)

South Seattle has many schools with interesting histories. Our children attend newer, rebuilt schools, such as Muir and Whitworth, or older schools like Columbia (Orca). Once a building is rebuilt much of its history can be lost. The Rainier Valley Historical Society seeks to keep memories of our “goldenrule days” alive. A recent acquisition of the society includes a photo album from Brighton School. The volume includes pictures of championship softball teams from the 1940s and graduation classes, with names, from 1927 through 1945. These priceless photos were protected by a sturdy wooden cover, which prevented their destruction in the fire at Brighton in 1946. Historical society volunteers were able to separate the photographs, make copies of them and add them to our collection. The photograph above is of the Brighton School, built on land donated by Judge Everett Smith, opened on the southeast corner of 51st Avenue and Graham Street on January 1, 1901. It must have been an exciting day when Miss Pearl Groat opened the doors on that winter morn. Students came from all over to attend first through third grades at the new school, while the older children completed their elementary years at Columbia. By 1904-1905 school year it was necessary for the third and fourth graders to attend school in the basement of the Brighton Presbyterian Church, at the corner of Rainier and Brighton. Evidently, over the next few years the population grew, and by the time the area was annexed to the Seattle School District, in 1907, students also attended Dunlap, Van Asselt and Rainier Beach schools. Older students traveled to Broadway High School, known then as Washington High. The number of students necessitated the use of the Franklin grade school for the Rainier Valley students in 1907. This annex site at 18th and Main was used until 1912 when the current Franklin High School was built. Given this set of circumstances a child attend first and second grades at Brighton, third and fourth at the church, finish elementary school at Columbia, attend Washington for two years and finally complete highs school at Franklin. Whew! And we thought life was easier back then! Even if a child stayed at Brighton he or she would have moved around a bit. The first Brighton closed in 1905 when the new school opened at 4425 Holly Street. The post-World War I years saw pupils again fill the old school, affectionately called “Little Brighton,” with first and second-grade classes for a time. The old building was finally sold and moved in 1943, which proved to be unfortunate since the “New” building, now 40 years old, was partially destroyed by fire on Sept. 22, 1946. Nearly 300 students were in need of a classroom that fall. Portables and neighborhood schools absorbed these kids until the school could be rebuilt. At least by the 1940s transportation through Rainier Valley was relatively easy. Parents undoubtedly told their children tales of the “good old days,” trudging through muck and snow to get to school – and their stories probably were stretched only slightly. Prior to 1891 early settlers reached the area by traveling on a corduroy road, a wagon-train trail, which traversed Beacon Hill on its way to the city of Seattle. A trip across the hill would have taken one to two hours to complete. Horses would have been left at the Montana Stables on Washington Street while residents shopped for provisions and socialized with the folks in town. Much of a day would be spent by the time they returned from their excursion. Eager for progress, some of the settlers were happy to see Mr. Edmiston and others invest in a company that platted the Columbia area and sold lots for $10 down and $1 a week for 300 weeks, no interest. But a streetcar line had to be built to get the potential buyers out there.  The line started at the waterfront, up Washington St. by cable car and then out to Columbia City in 1890. The next year to Rainier Beach and then on the Renton. The inaugural run was made on Jan. 1, 1891. The line ran from Seattle to Rainier Beach along what is now Rainier Avenue. The fare was a nickel to travel from downtown to Dunlap’s addition. Turn-of-the-century students at Brighton, and other neighborhood schools, would cross pasture-land and woods on their way to school each day. Wooden fences were constructed around the school, to keep the cows out as much as to keep the children in. Mothers in the community united in a campaign to get the land cleared for a playfield at Brighton. They must have had a time of it, cleaning their children’s clothes and shoes after they had traveled to school and back across the fields, streams, cow pastures and woods. Think of that as you pick your children up in your car after they have been at school! But that is a topic for another story. Days Gone By South District Journal 12/2/1998 By Mary Ann Balch

Charlie Fletcher was the last surviving motorman from the Rainier Valley Street car line. Before he passed away in October of 1994 at the age of 93, he wrote of his experiences as a motorman during the years of the early development of the Valley. He presented his story, printed below, to his fellow members of the Pioneers of Columbia City, our predecessor organization, on the occasion of their annual April meeting. The script was then added to the Pioneer's historical archives. The photo below shows car # 106 of the Seattle, Renton and Southern, Rainier Valley Lines, taking time-out on a curve somewhere along Rainier Avenue, waiting for the photographer to capture the moment. This particular car was one of nine cars placed into service in 1910 and was built here in Seattle at the Moran Shipyards. Charlie Fletcher was one of the motormen running those cars back and forth between Renton and downtown Seattle over the route that at one time was considered the longest interurban line in the country. The Seattle City Council ordered the line to cease operations at the end of 1936. Car # 106 was the last car to operate on the line, and it clattered across the switches at the Hudson Street Car-Barns at 1:45 AM, January 1, 1937, to end 45 years of street car service to Rainier Valley and Renton. "Memories of a Rainier Valley Street Car Operator", the talk given by Charlie Fletcher, is printed here. For those of you who knew him, you will remember him for his great sense of humor and the smile that was forever on his face. "Friends, Valleyites and Columbians -- lend me your ears! I come to reminisce a bit, not to bore you. I hope I may be able to bring the past to life for us, just for a little while. First, let me tell you of a family moving here to Rainier Valley in 1915, from a very little town in Southwestern Washington. I was one of that family, and if ever there was a 'hick', I was it, but I didn't know it. My parents had both been school teachers and they taught us to read and write before reaching school age. But I had another advantage. I had memorized the textbooks that my older sisters and brother used so when I entered school, they kept me just one day in the first grade and only four days in the second grade. I'm afraid I was a real smarty-pants on reaching the third grade so easily, but that seemed to pave the way straight to my teacher's heart. Miss Collins adopted our class and stayed with us through the eighth grade. I was to finish my schooling just before my 14th birthday. Thanks to her faith in me, I was allowed to attend high school classes in Math, Latin and English, while I was in seventh grade. We moved to Seattle in 1915 and rented a house at 51st and Lucille St. My brother-in-law was a good friend of the superintendent and got me a job on the S.R.S. Lines, sweeping cars. At seventeen I became night foreman, a position I held until 1927 when I moved to operator. Now let's imagine you are all on my car at 4th and Stewart, about to head to Renton, and let me share some of my memories with you. Ready now - We must wait until the exact second to start. Schedule was all important on the S.R.S. No fudging. Our watches had to be checked daily with the dispatcher's clock. Our first stop is Pine Street, where a group of passengers get on the car. One gentleman asks me, 'Do you stop at Oscar Street?' Taken aback, I ask him, 'Do you mean Orcas Street?' 'No, Oscar Street, taking an envelope out of his pocket and showing me. It was clearly Orcas, but he was still calling me dumb when he left the car. We move on to Jackson Street. Here a lady, accompanied by a Red-Cap, placed a dozen pieces of luggage on the car, then called to me, 'What streets do you cross?' I guess I was a little dumbfounded and asked what street she wanted? She said she would know when she heard it. I told her I always call out the names so she decided to get on board. She got off, luggage and all, when she heard 'Oregon'.Further along we are at Atlantic Street. A well-dressed little Italian man asks me, 'what is you name?' When I tell him, he says his wife wants to name their baby after me because I was so careful when she rode in my car in her delicate condition. Gee Whiz! I never did find out who she was. Now we arrive at Columbia. Passing the car-barn we see 'old 300', the freight locomotive. I will share a quick remembrance of when I still worked in the shop. One evening the boss went with the crew to deliver a load of lumber to Dugdale Park. When the delivery was completed they checked in and went home. Later I gave it my usual inspection and to my surprise I found a very, very frightened and a very warm young lady locked in the control chamber where the temperature was over 100 degrees. I took her home and all was well. This is the first time I have revealed this incident and I'm not mentioning names. Continuing our trip, we come to Rainier Beach, Taylor's Mill and the city limits, where I must collect an additional fare. Then we ride along the lake shore to Bryn :Mawr. Here in 1917, one of the cars ran over a cougar. My crew had to clean up the trucks, and believe me it was a mess. Buffalo station is next. Earlington and we make a sharp turn east and head into Renton, the end of the line. At the end of the line is where a lady got on my car and went quickly to the back seat. Before I could send for a doctor, we had an extra passenger, a bouncing baby boy. As we head back to Seattle we have one more story. We had a wild, stormy Sunday in 1934. The wind was recorded at 66 mph. At the 51st Avenue stop, two lovely sisters are waiting for my car. Aghast, I ask, 'where are you girls going in this storm?' 'Oh, just to see what's happening downtown'. What they saw downtown in just a few minutes was enough and they returned with me on the way back.Now, one of the girls is here today and last week she and I celebrated our 53rd wedding anniversary" Charlie ended his talk with this message: "Now if there is going to be a life hereafter and, faith, I know there's going to be, I will ask my God to let me make my heaven In that dear land in Rainier Valley." Days Gone By South District Journal 2/10/1999 By Buzz Anderson

A hundred years ago, women's roles in the public sphere often grew out of their experience as wives and mothers at home: women worked as leaders in the temperance movement, advocated international peace, and raised money to help the needy. Even in their paid work women were limited to "feminine" jobs like nursing and teaching- though they generally had to forgo marriage and motherhood if they wanted to keep these jobs. Unable to pursue careers, mothers often contributed their energy, skills, and leadership through volunteer work. But without the vote, their efforts to affect public policy were easily thwarted. The women of Columbia City made this discovery in 1905 when 83 of them petitioned the all-male City Council to close the local pool hall on Sundays, and at 11 pm the rest of the week. Their petition was followed immediately by another one, signed by 90 men, requesting that the Council ignore " a certain petition presented at your last meeting." The pool hall remained open on Sunday. The women could berate their husbands over this incident-- and surely some of them did-- but as they could not vote for City Council, their voices did not carry beyond the dining room table. Their kind of experience showed many women that they would never have the power to address the issues they cared about until they got the right to vote. This exhibit was created in 2009 in conjunction with the Washington State History Society's Exhibit, "Women's Votes, Women's Voices". Rainier Valley Historical Society celebrates Rainier Valley's many women leaders and their varied avenues of public life and commitment to improving their communities and beyond. Explore other articles in this exhibit: Beyond the Laundry: Women Changing the World Mothers Club Leads the Way Marion Southard West

When Marion Southard married Phillip Weiss in 1926, she gave up her career as a social worker in order to raise her children. Back then, there wasn't much of a choice. But Mrs. Weiss used her professional knowledge in her volunteer activities throughout her marriage, serving with the Council on Aging, Health and Welfare, Planned Parenthood, the League of Women Voters, and the Seattle Housing Authority and many others. In 1964 society columnist Dorothy Brant Braizer described Mrs. Weiss's work in the public sector as an extension of her traditional homemaking role: at the lovely Weiss home near Lake Washington she says, "No wonder, with such pleasant surroundings, Mrs. Weiss is particularly interested in comfortable adequate housing for others." But Marion Weiss's service to her community clearly grew out of her professional role as well. Seattle was lucky that this accomplished, compassionate woman found a place to use her talents, education, and experience in public service. She died in 1971 after a four-year fight with cancer. This exhibit was created in 2009 in conjunction with Washington State History Society's Exhibit, "Women's Votes, Women's Voices". Rainier Valley Historical Society celebrates Rainier Valley's many women leaders and their varied avenues of public life and commitment to improving their communities and beyond. Explore other articles in this exhibit: Beyond Laundry: Women Changing the World Working for Change without the Vote Mothers Club Leads the Way