Remembering Seattle’s Lost Characters and Free Spirits

As I bid the old year farewell, I couldn’t help lamenting that Seattle continues to lose one-of-a-kind characters that would not have soared in more conventional cities. Fond memories remain of many such originals (some known by a single name alone). Here are but a few (listed alphabetically) of the many free spirits who have given this city its eccentric reputation.

Charlie Chong, a West Seattle activist, who became known for his feisty speech-making. He once told the city council, “We speak, you DON’T listen, then tell us lies.” He joined that same council in 1995 and served briefly kicking up a firestorm with his proposal to buy some used snow plows. When the council voted to step back and “study the issue,” Bellevue quickly snapped up the deal.

Chong twice ran for mayor, losing out to Paul Schell in the 1997 general election and then to Greg Nickels in the 2001 primary. Chong once testified on behalf of HB-5795, a bill that if it succeeded would have made possible a West Seattle succession. Nick Licata who followed Chong’s tenure on the council credited him with speaking up and “inspiring us to ask the tough questions.”

J.J. (Tiny) Freeman, a larger-than-life character, was an early D.J. at KRAB who proclaimed himself “mayor of Pioneer Square.” The oversized music man (self-described as 5 feet 18 inches tall) crowned his caveman looks with an unkempt beard and a black pork-pie hat. In 1972, Tiny filed for Congress as a Republican to run against 7^th District Democrat Brock Adams. Tiny ran his campaign out of the front desk at Seattle’s Central Tavern. During the election, Tiny somehow managed to amass 20,000 votes.

Ivar Haglund, irrepressible Seattle entertainer and folk singer, established a waterfront aquarium on pier 54 in 1938. He charged visitors a nickel to view his sea life collection. When he discovered that many came with an appetite, he started selling clam chowder, origin of his Ivar’s Acres of Clams Restaurants.

He became known for zany stunts like the time a rail car spilled 1,000 gallons of syrup on the rail tracks in front of his restaurant. Ivar waded in with a stack of pancakes lest all that syrup go to waste.  He would later buy the landmark Smith Tower and fly his salmon banner from the roof top. Ivar died in 1985, leaving his many millions to help students attending the University of Washington and Washington State University business schools.

Ruby Montana is the former owner of the Pinto Pony, a downtown collectibles shop that specialized in kitschy artifacts. Ruby has since departed Seattle for Palm Springs where she owns and operates the Coral Sands Inn. But she’s still missed, both by her former Rosevelt High students and by those who value one-of-a-kind treasures (lava lamps, Space Needle ashtrays, and Mrs. Potato Head).

Ruby is best known for her popular Spam Carving contests, conducted during Mardi Gras and attracting contestants who paid $5 apiece to spend 15 minutes carving two cans of Spam. After Ruby’s departure, I had to field inquiries from The New York Times, San Francisco Chronicle, People magazine and international publications wanting to know the date of the next Spam carving. Over its 10-year run, the contest, judged by celebs like Tom Robbins, raised funds for Northwest Harvest. Featured were such objets d’arte as “Jurassic Pork,” “Spam Descending a Staircase,” “Spamhenge,” and “Spamya Harding Meets Spamy Bobbitt.”  After two days displayed at Spam Museum, the carvings were a feast for Woodland Park Zoo critters.

J.P. Patches and Gertrude were adored kids’ show characters played by Chris Wedes and Bob Newman. At the close of their show’s 23-year KIRO-TV run in 1981, the two remained enormously popular with their “Patches’ Pals” and much in demand for public appearances.  J.P. and Gertrude’s enduring charm developed from their treatment of children as people, never talking down, never pandering. For some youngsters, the duo served as surrogate parents.

At the same time, the clowns’ improvised chatter kept grown-ups entertained with winks and double entendres. J.P and his “girlfriend” have been immortalized in a space at the North Transfer Station (politesse for “city dump”) and in “Late for the Interurban,” a high-stepping statue in Fremont.

David Stern, a genius adman with an incurable zest for life, passed away earlier this year in Arizona. He had forged a large presence in Seattle, where he inherited a taste for politics as a third-generation Seattle native. He liked to tell how his mom, King County Councilmember Bernice Stern, would send him door-to-door campaigning at night in pouring rain.

Stern himself ran for mayor in 1989 and 1993, but was better at getting others elected. It was he who helped Slade Gorton unseat legendary Sen. Warren Magnuson in 1980. A staunch backer of Seattle school levies, Planned Parenthood, and other liberal causes, Stern claimed credit for having created the ubiquitous yellow Funny Face. “Best thing I ever did,” he’d say. “Worst thing was not patenting it.”