This is the final part of a three-part series examining the shooting of John T. Williams, how it might change Seattle, its police force and a look at the life at the center of it all. Visit www.queenannenews.com to read the previous stories.
Before the alcohol began to consume him, and before the well-publicized confrontation that would mark the end of his life, John T. Williams was considered a kind man whose totem carvings were sometimes worth thousands of dollars.
The fourth-generation wood carver and a member of the Nuu-Chah-Nulth First Nations in British Columbia, had been taught to carve by his father, Ray, who was taught by his father. John's brother, Rick, is also a carver, living in Seattle.
Williams used a regular pocket knife or sometimes a more specific carving knife to make his art. His totems often depicted interwoven chiefs, killer whales, thunderbirds, eagles, wasco sea monsters, frogs and bears. The knot of characters seemed to breathe with life.
"I remember one totem he did, he spent about two years working on," said Matthew Steinbrueck. "His girlfriend made him work on it."
Steinbrueck and his wife, Elizabeth, are the co-owners of The Raven's Nest Treasure store inside the Pike Place Market. The pair also owns Steinbrueck Native Art Gallery at 2030 Western Ave., across the street from the park that bears his father's name, Victor Steinbrueck.
'Wonderful pieces'
In 1990, Steinbrueck bought the Raven's Nest, formerly Queen Anne Antiques, from Marjorie Randal. Randal had been buying Williams' work for some time and when she sold the company, Williams' introduced himself to Steinbrueck.
"He made some wonderful pieces," Steinbrueck said. He walked over to a back room of the Raven's Nest, where Williams' pieces are stored. He doesn't want people rushing out and capitalizing on Williams' death.
He brought back a piece of yellow cedar Williams had carved smooth and cut into it the shape of an eagle standing atop a killer whale leaping over a bird mask that is clutching a frog in its beak. The mask is flanked by sea monsters. The elaborate piece is worth at least $2,000 and shows what Williams could do when he wanted to.
Another piece, about as big as a Barbie doll, is of a raven with the sun, its outstretched wings fitting into the body of the totem. The sun's rays are separate units that fit into the perimeter of the sun like dowels.
Williams sold his work to dealers such as Steinbrueck, but he also gave it away to friends. He gave hope to friends, too.
Feanette Blackbear, a Lakota from the Sioux Nation out of South Dakota, met Williams in 1995 when she came to Seattle in search of housing. She was told by a local government agency that a place of residence wouldn't be ready for another six months. Blackbear had nowhere else to go. But Williams, whom she'd seen at the Chief Seattle Club, gave her something to cling to.
"He gave me a lot of encouragement even though at the time he was homeless and he had an alcohol problem," she said from the lobby outside Seattle City Hall, where she had been listening to Seattle police Chief John Diaz introduce department-wide changes shortly after Williams was shot.
"He was an honest, humble man who was carving at the time of his death," Blackbear added.
"It was a piece of pine about a foot long and Williams was carving an eagle into it," Blackbear said. Friends reportedly returned the unfinished totem to family members in Vancouver, B.C.
'A cool little guy'
Minutes before Seattle police officer Ian Birk shot Williams, the carving artist had been drinking with his friend, Leprechaun. Short in stature and wearing a thick, white beard, Leprechaun remembers Williams as a giving man who liked to drink.
On Aug. 30, as on several other days, the pair was drinking Busch beer in the afternoon sun at the corner of Howell Street and Boren Avenue. Williams got up and crossed the street, according to Leprechaun.
Officer Birk pulled up in a squad car when he saw Williams walking, holding a three-inch carving knife. Birk confronted Williams, who ignored Birk's three commands to drop the knife, according to a police report.
Birk then shot Williams four times. Leprechaun witnessed the moment unfold from across the street.
Two weeks after Williams' death, Leprechaun continued to think about Williams, was not sleeping well and was consumed with sorrow.
"He was a cool little guy, short like me," Leprechaun said. "He was going to make me a wooden necklace of an eagle."
He then opened up his jacket, reached down into his white undershirt and pulled out an emerald-shaded bisection of agate hanging from a thread necklace. "He gave this to me and I'm keeping it. It's a precious thing and I ain't giving it to nobody."
In his later years the drink would consume Williams, and his artwork suffered for it. He was homeless at times, though he found temporary shelter at the Downtown Emergency Services Center at 1811 Eastlake Ave., which houses 75 homeless men and women with chronic alcohol addiction.
Williams also spent a lot of time at the Chief Seattle Club in Pioneer Square. Always friendly, he amassed drinking buddies and street friends, all of whom said he was harmless and pretty much kept to himself.
Steinbrueck was a friend too. He sometimes bought Williams food and continued buying his art. He said when they did business together he would look Williams in the eye as a sign of respect. But as Williams continued to drink, Steinbrueck stopped buying pieces.
"I've seen him through a lot of difficulties and I tried to talk to him about it, but it was almost a moot point," Steinbrueck said. "He had crossed the point of no return some while ago."
Williams' attitude worsened and when Steinbrueck told him he wasn't going to buy anymore of his work, a frustrated Williams yelled, "I made you."
Williams' roommate at 1811, noticed Williams had begun to talk to himself while carving. He also had a felony conviction for indecent exposure in Seattle in May 2009. At 1811, he had demanded beer then exposed himself to an employee, threatening to urinate on her and her grave.
Williams once told Steinbrueck that the T in his middle name stood for Trouble, a name given to him by his father, who got the inspiration while watching the John Wayne movie "Rio Bravo."
In the days following his death, leaders from Native American nations assembled. Chief Jack Thompson of the Ditidhat First Nation of Vancouver, where Williams' family is based, spoke of Williams outside the Chief Seattle Club.
Williams remembered
A remembrance was also held at the United Indians of All Tribes Foundation/Daybreak Star Indian Cultural Center. The 1811 had its own moment of silence. Simultaneously, just a few blocks west, at the site of the shooting, street friends, neighbors and relatives came together. They renounced what they regarded as an unjustified shooting, and marched in the streets demanding change.
The Seattle Police Department has made departmental changes in the hopes of closing the disconnect between it and the citizenry. An initial police investigation of the shooting was just completed and the Firearms Review Board (FRB) on Monday convened at the site of the shooting to launch a confidential inquiry into the shooting.
King County Prosecutor Dan Satterberg will likely begin a formal inquest when the FRB reaches its conclusions. Meanwhile, Timothy K. Ford, a 30-year law veteran for Seattle-based civil rights firm MacDonald Hoague and Bayless, is representing the Williams' estate in a wrongful death lawsuit.
Williams is buried under the shade of a cedar tree at the Mount Pleasant Cemetery atop Queen Anne hill, a final resting place for soldiers of six wars, school teachers, a Filipino poet, Jewish leaders, and other iconic figures of Seattle history.
His death may or may not elicit real change in Seattle, but it has inspired Steinbrueck to start a non-violence day. He wants to invite speakers before a non-violence march on Oct. 15. The location isn't set yet but he is hoping that the day will bring police and citizens together. Steinbrueck said, "There isn't a national non-violence day yet, but you never know."[[In-content Ad]]
