The Crystal Pool and Beyond: 95 Years at 2nd & Lenora

When I first moved into the neighborhood many years ago, I had no idea that the church up the street with the strange, aging facade had such a long and storied history to it. But I gradually heard random things about how it had once been a large saltwater swimming pool, a boxing venue and one of Seattle's favorite gathering spots. Most accounts agree that it was begun in 1914, subsequently finished in 1915, and constructed in the ornate Italian Renaissance style by architect B. Marcus Priteca, who went on to design the Coliseum Theater and the grandstand at Longacres Racetrack, among many other things. As Seattle's largest saltwater pool, it enjoyed immediate success. Here's a shot of the interior:

Although officially dubbed the Crystal Pool, it also billed itself as a "natatorium," which is, according to my sources, basically just a fancier name for swimming pool. Apparently, its water was pumped directly from Elliott Bay, filtered, heated and chlorinated. Well, chlorinated saltwater sounds a little rough on the hair, but hey, it was a different time. People valued their hair in a different way back then, I guess.

In 1917, after just a few years in operation, the Crystal Pool began hosting boxing cards. The staff found that if they drained and covered the pool and brought in additional seating, they had room for a crowd of at least 2,000, making it one of Seattle's larger sports venues. In addition to boxing and swimming, it became a popular place to roller skate. Outside of sports and recreation, it also hosted larger gatherings, such as conventions. There is not much photographic evidence of such assemblies, but the most infamous still survives:

Yep, that's exactly what you think it is: a 1923 Klan meeting right here in easygoing, liberal Seattle. My only guess as to the formidable KKK presence here would be that they were strongly opposed to Asian immigration. Wherever the situation called for hatred and ignorance, the Klan was there.

The Crystal Pool remained one of Seattle's most prominent venues for over 20 years. It survived the darkest days of the Great Depression only to close in the late thirties. For several years, it stood vacant before becoming the Bethel Temple, a Pentecostal Church in 1943-44. The pool was filled in, covered over with flooring and pews were brought in to seat the congregation. The only image I've been able to find of those early days is this postcard:

There's almost no difference in appearance between the pool and the church. And yes, that does look like the Star of David out front.

The Bethel Temple remained in the neighborhood for nearly 60 years. In the eighties and nineties, it increased its community outreach toward the homeless and otherwise behaved like a very good neighbor. But strangely enough, although it was fairly involved in solving Belltown's more pressing problems, it never really seemed like it was part of the neighborhood. It was like everything else had evolved past it.

By the late nineties, there were all kinds of contradictory rumors about the church being sold to condo developers or that the Bethel was filing for historic building status to protect itself from those same developers. At the time, Belltown real estate was very hot and condos were going up everywhere. Well, the developers were finally able to entice the Bethel Temple to sell. Perhaps the most important factor in the sale was the promise to preserve the building's original terracotta facades. The only problem was that by the time construction began in 2003, the real estate market had cooled quite a bit. The developers, Murray Franklyn, had to scale back their ambitious plans for the new building; the proposed seven-level underground parking garage was limited to two levels (with several levels added above-ground), the proposed 220 units were cut to 188 (later revised to 191) and a proposed 60,000 sq. feet of office space was completely nixed.

I never took a single picture of the Bethel Temple while it was operating. There never seemed any reason for it. It was a non-descript building that didn't seem to be standing up too well to the drumbeat of time. When I moved into the neighborhood in 1990, the signature dome in front of the building was gone. The exterior had also suffered quite a bit of damage. I can find absolutely no online photographs of the Bethel from any of its nearly 60 years of operation, but I was able to find one taken during its demolition:

That's how I remember it - minus all the destruction, of course. Some days, I walk over to 2nd & Lenora and I'm still shocked at what's happened over there.

The Cristalla was begun in 2003 and finished by 2005. I watched it go up, hoping that the new structure would give a nod to the ghosts of the past. I'm afraid that hasn't happened. The new tower has three different parts: the original, street-level exterior, restored and enhanced:

Then there's a transitional area that was supposed to be the office space; together those first two parts look like this:

They seem to blend very well, but the traditional and the postmodern clash in everything that happens above those two lower levels. Here's what it ends up looking like:

What we have is a building at odds with itself. The lower and upper levels simply don't go with each other. Although I can see what architects Weber + Thompson were trying to get at (tradition blending harmoniously with postmodernism, raising the eye upward, etc.), the results are dubious. We're stuck with this eyesore for the duration. I understand that the building's lobbby and interiors are quite elegant, but a lot of good that does us shlubs who never get to cross the threshold.

And speaking of eyesores, let's talk about a side of the Cristalla that they'd rather not have you see - their south wall. You'd think that a place asking hundreds of thousands of dollars per unit would inspire someone around there to spruce up their southern exposure. But no. This is what it looks like:

It's just a gray cinder block wall, partially scrawled with the world's worst graffiti at the bottom. So far that graffiti has been there for at least a month. Wouldn't this be an ideal place for a mural - or anything besides this? And if you take a close look at the corner of the facade, you'll see this:

This is where the Cristalla was once joined with the run-down old Commodore Hotel. The Commodore was demolished in 2006; that's three years this shabbiness has been there. You'd think that somebody from the multi-million dollar condo building could apply $20 worth of plaster to improve things. The old Bethel Temple's exterior had its own problems as it aged, but nothing that was so pronounced. And they had a good excuse for not attending to those problems - they were broke. What's the Cristalla's excuse?

I've never been opposed to development. Recent projects like the YWCA, the Simons Senior Apartments and the Mosler Lofts are welcome additions to the neighborhood. The Cristalla clashes with the buildings around it and with itself. It might be a cool, pricey place to live, but it does nothing for Belltown.

Oh, and if you've got a spare $1.8 million, you can buy the steel-framed pergola on the corner:

It pays tribute to the pool's original dome. Think about it! Unless you buy it, it'll just stay empty and never live up to its potential as an unsuccessful restaurant.

Read more of Hideous Belltown!

Then and Now

Today, we look at the corner of 1st & Bell. It's nice spot, not nearly as dodgy as 3rd & Bell and not even close to the WAR ZONE that is 2nd & Bell. Even back in 1946, it was a fine location for a quality business. In this case, it was a record store:

Who do you want to listen to, Stan Kenton, Ella Mae Morse, a young Nat King Cole? They were all on Capitol Records. You could get them at this store. But if you were looking for Bob Wills or Count Basie or Frank Sinatra, you were definitely out of luck. I'm not sure how long this store lasted. All I know is that the business model is a little parochial: you can only buy artists on the Capitol label. I'm guessing that it probably closed down in the fifties. When I arrived in Belltown, this space was being used for offices. Then, about ten years ago, a restaurant opened up. Observe:

It's called Flying Fish and by reputation, it's one of Belltown's finest restaurants. I say "by reputation" because I've actually never eaten there. But those who have, rave about it. I'll get there one day, but for now, I'll just believe that everybody loves it. And just ignore the ghosts of dead audiophiles left over from its phase as a record store.

Then and Now

Right at the very edge of Belltown where the streets turn weird, there's little salient known as Tilikum Place. There stands a statue of Chief Sealth in his very own crappy fountain. It's been like that forever. However, things were very different in the twenties:

Back then, Tilikum Place was just a traffic circle and the Chief and his crappy fountain seemed to be merely an obstacle for the jalopies of the day to avoid. Here's what it looks like in this gentler era:

The statue's the same; it's just that everything else has changed. There are really big trees, no more ads for Chesterfield cigarettes and all the old cars are gone. In addition, Tilikum Place has been made into something of an extended sidewalk - it wouldn't be fair to call it a park. At least traffic doesn't swirl around the Chief any more. So this is one part of Seattle that has changed pretty dramatically over the last 80 years.

Then and Now

Today's visit with the past touches on the fire station at 4th & Battery. Like many things in Belltown, it's tough to tell how old it is. I always guessed post-WWII, but I was way off. Have a gander:

This was taken around 1922, so let's just say that it was built sometime in the teens. So yes, it's old. How much has it changed over the years?

Gosh, not much at all! Of course, they've gotten new fire trucks and hoses and such in the meantime, but the building hasn't changed a bit. They're renovating it right now, but that just means that the firemen are gonna get jet packs. The building won't change.

I'll tell you something, now that I think of it, I haven't heard a fire truck barrel down 2nd Avenue in the longest time. It's just been cops and ambulances. And even those have been few and far between. Is it because the economy doesn't allow for people to get arrested or injured? I don't know, but for some reason, Belltown has been very quiet this summer.

Then and Now

It's been a while since our last installment. This time around, the comparison verges on the surreal. It features something that no longer exists in Seattle: Denny Hill. The city fathers did not like this hill; they thought it was a hindrance to the development of a full-sized downtown. They decided to kill it just after the turn of the century. This took decades to finish. The methods of getting rid of Denny Hill were quite primitive. A lot of it was removed by horse carts, but the majority of it was simply washed away with pressure hoses. By the time most of it was done, the Great Depression was here and nobody was building anything. It took about 50 years for the so-called Denny Regrade to catch up with the rest of downtown. In some ways, it still lags behind.

Let's look at a view of your 2nd Avenue circa 1909 from the vicinity of Bell Street:

The two buildings in the distance are the Moore Theater and the Josephinium. They're still in that exact same spot. Nobody's moved them. But the weird thing about this photo is the prominent hill that starts on the east side of the street. Is it still there? Let's take a look:

OK, so the vantage point is a little different, but as you can see, the Moore and the Josephinium are up the street on the left and the hill is gone. Carted away. Formerly there. I imagine looking out my window across the street and seeing houses with rickety staircases rising up in the distance and seeing this grand old hotel at the top:

That's the Denny Hotel. Everything you see in the photo is no longer there. Isn't that just weird?

Anyhow, that's what Seattle's all about: hill removal.

Then and Now

The William Tell at 2nd & Battery is quite a sight. It's the only example of mission-style architecture in all of Belltown. If you were to uproot it and put it in the middle of the Stanford University campus, nobody would even notice. Let's have a look:

Like the rest of the buildings in this "Then and Now" series, the Tell had something to do with the film industry. Not only was it a distribution house, but it serve as a hotel for theater owners and various other film types. After the film distribution business left town, the Tell's transition to an apartment building was an easy one. And so it stayed for decades. Its tenants were generally older men who were also slightly bummy or slightly crazy. They all kind of resembled each other. That all changed in 2008, when the whole place abruptly closed and up went a "for sale" sign. Last year about this time came word that the place was going to be a youth hostel. Honestly, that's about the best idea anybody's had in the last ten years. Belltown is prime territory for a youth hostel. And I welcome it. Germans and Brazilians can talk about how much they love the metric system. British and Chinese can talk about the joys of colonialism. And Australians can get drunk (or stay drunk) at Buckley's right next door. This is what the Tell is looking like these days:

What the hell? Yeah, that's just another reason why I hate those stupid cedar trees - always blocking the view. I got a little closer and took some more shots:





So this is what the William Tell looks like now, except that's not entirely true. A few days after I took these pictures, they removed the plywood from the lower story's windows and repainted the front. I would have used pictures of the newest incarnation, but it's seriously about a million degrees out. My boiling point is like 57 degrees. Today is going to be 97. Tomorrow promises to be hotter. When it cools down a little, I'll take some pictures, OK?

Until then, remember the snow:

This is what 2nd & Blanchard looked like in late December.

Then and Now

Today we turn the yesteryear lens on a nondescript one-story building at 2nd & Wall. It's right across the street from the McGuire and the McGuire's lovely scaffold, so naturally one's attention is drawn to that eyesore, which increases this little building's demure status. But enough about the present, let's take a look at the past:

You'll notice that Wall Street is running in the opposite direction and 2nd Avenue is two-way. Ooh, freaky! OK, so this place used to distribute films. That and car repair were Belltown's major industries back in the thirties. What's it up to these days?

It's a real estate office. Oh...uh, great. Well, at least it didn't suffer the same fate as its across-the-street neighbor by getting torn down and replaced by defective apartments/condos. It just shelters real estate people from the elements. That's OK. If it wasn't there, it would be somewhere else, maybe in a building I like more than this one. I say let them stay there!

Then and Now

Today we turn our time travel lens to 2nd & Battery. Let's take a look at what went on there:

When I moved into the neighborhood, this building was still standing. Apparently, it was the last film distributorship to go under; it lasted until 1980. Between that time and when I moved into Belltown, it became an army surplus store. Its claim to fame was a large, old missile bolted to the corner. That was the real draw. People would come from near and far to have their pictures taken in front of the missile. The store only took up a portion of the block, but the building itself covered the entire block, from Battery to Wall and 1st to 2nd. All the space not occupied by the famous missile surplus store was abandoned and boarded up. The store went the way of everything else in 1991. It languished for a time. This is what it looks like today:

Sorry folks, no happy endings here. The building was torn down around 1993 and was replaced by the Belltown Court. If you've been in the neighborhood for any amount of time, you'll recall that they had some scaffolding issues of their own. In fact, I'm pretty sure that their scaffold was up for about two years and that the building spent a significant amount of time wrapped in plastic. I'm sure that wasn't pleasant for Belltown Court tenants. Although I'm dismissive about the place, I will admit that it does have some stellar restaurants. Just in that one building alone, there's Lampreia, Macrina Bakery, Belltown Pizza, Branzino, La Vita E Bella and Shiro's Sushi. Hell, they've even got a Subway and a murder mart. But they don't have a missile.

So no, the former film distributor hasn't been repurposed. It's long gone. Is the new place better? I'll give it a conditional "yes." As architecture, it sucks. But as a component of the neighborhood, the place is vital - even if it doesn't have a missile.

Then and Now

Once again, we delve into Belltown's storied past to show how much/little things have changed. Today's trip back in time features another splendid artifact from the "film row" days. The MGM/Loew's Buildling at 2nd & Battery was completed in 1936 and began dishing out heapin' helpins of film immediately after that. It may well be one of the best examples of one-story, faux-castle art deco in this whole crummy town. Observe:

This shot was taken back in 1938 when the world was new and always smelled like springtime. But times changed. The film distribution business eventually died out (though it was present in the neighborhood for nearly 60 years) and the corresponding buildings were repurposed. The MGM/Loew's became an insurance agency and was later known as the McGraw-Kittenger-Case Building. When I moved into the neighborhood, the insurance guys were gone and space had been split into two parts, one occupied by the original Cafe Septieme (it's now up on Capitol Hill) and the other would soon be filled by a stationery/gift store, Blu Canary. In a few years, Septieme was gone and over time, there have been several restaurants in that space (in no particular order): Good Chow, Lush Life and Marjorie - am I missing any others? Meanwhile, the Blu Canary chugged along for 17 years. Here's what the place looked like in 2007:

Last year, Blu Canary decided to pack it in (*sniff* That place always had the perfect card for every occasion!) and the building's owners ended Marjorie's lease in favor of a unification of spaces. And along came Buckley's. It's a sports bar of sorts that serves up some nice-smelling chow. Here's what it looks like today:

I haven't been to Buckley's yet, but that's not because I'm opposed to sports bars. In fact, I'm all for them. Belltown is home two and a half (Spitfire Grill and the Whisky (that's how they spell it) Bar is the half; they only get into football - and who can blame them?) sports bars. I just don't go to them, because I can't exactly afford to go out drinking these days. Anyhow, Buckley's building has been proudly rechristened as the MGM/Loew's Building and long may it stay that way.

Then and Now

I generally try to document the goings-on of this neighborhood in terms of what's going on now and what has gone on in recent memory (i.e. since I moved in 19 years ago) but I recently came across a cache of photos that was too interesting to pass up. They depict certain neighborhood buildings as being part of what was known as "film row." My understanding of this is that these were screening houses where movie theater operators would come to view coming attractions and choose which ones they wanted to show. If that's wrong, then please correct me. Apparently there were quite a few of these in the neighborhood. We'll start with the building at 1st & Battery.

Then:

Now:

Golly, how times have changed! And it only took 71 years. As you can see, the photo was taken in 1938. For about the first 15 of my 19 years here, this place was the Catholic Seaman's Club on both floors. Now it's the Del Rey (not to be confused with the El Rey; my God, please do not confuse those two things!) below and Catholic sailors on top. Gosh, that sounded pretty gay! Anyhow, it's not my part to judge which is best, but if I was, I'd say that the 1938 version of the place was much cooler. To tell you the truth, I've never been to the Del Rey. There's never been any compelling reason for me to go. But knowing its history does make it somewhat more appealing.

You know, I was looking at a book of historical photographs of Seattle and I began to notice that downtown seems to experience a transformation about every 20 years. I kept seeing all these photos of 2nd Avenue during the twenties with all kinds of grand, dark, heavy-looking buildings going all the way down to Pioneer Square. Then 20 years later and everything would be completely different. What the hell happened in the meantime? I guess progress meant tearing stuff down as fast as it was built. It kept your average worker from having impure thoughts, I guess.

I think the same can be said of Belltown. The Belltown of 2000 bore little resemblance to the Belltown of 1980 in so many ways, physically and demographically. Likewise, in another 11 years we'll probably see a dramatic change from the 2000 Belltown. However it changes, though, I still expect it to be very ugly.