There was a time when many thought Seattle had reached its growth potential. Many new structures in the city center had been built, there was talk of building a mall in the Northgate area and new construction of a second bridge across Lake Washington was a possibility, but no other plans were on the horizon.
There were resources galore for living and thriving in the early '50s. Rentals in Madison Park were plentiful and cheap. The Kirkland ferry had made its last crossing. Cut off from the Eastside and any sort of commerce from that area promised a more laid-back life.
Living on the edge
One night at a neighborhood barbecue, a friend told a group of us he had been to an area that really impressed him. It was the southeast side of Lake Union, where there were row upon row of funky, little houseboats. Needless to say, that intrigued us enough to venture over.
We walked the docks between the houseboats and noticed they were small but nicely maintained, and everyone was friendly.
We figured it would improve our lives immensely for the four of us to move to this interesting neighborhood, so we scouted around to the far-west end of the pier and found a four-bedroom rental that included utilities, with a one-year lease.
Everything I owned filled the trunk of my car. We had everything except furniture, but a few trips to Goodwill took care of that. One roommate worked at Frederick & Nelson in the bedding department and was able to score four beds on consignment.
All that I ever read or heard about houseboat life on Lake Union was true. It consisted mostly of bohemians, artists, writers and musicians.
Two elderly ladies lived next door in the only two-story houseboat on the lake. They owned a steakhouse on the corner of Fuhrman and Eastlake avenues. It was the very first restaurant that offered the phrase, "When you go through the salad line, we'll put your steak on," and it became very popular.
Signs of lake life
My mother and her parents lived in a houseboat in the early '20s. Mom told stories of bootleggers, bathtub gin and the harbor police looking for illegal activities.
She also told me about fast boats that came from Canada in the middle of the night. Everyone helped load crates of unknown items onto trucks that sped away.
It took some time before cleverly hidden stashes were discovered tied to ropes that hung under the houseboats. One could presume there are remnants somewhere on the lake bottom today.
One night, a neighbor on the pier heard a sound on the underside of his kitchen. He looked outside to find a bottle in an old, wooden box floating on the surface. He pulled it out of the water and checked it over. The label had worn away, but some obscured name remained.
The group of us decided the proper thing to do was to drink it and unhappily discovered it truly was moonshine. The stuff tasted like rocket fuel.
Going under?
The nights on the lake were pleasant.
The air was clean and picked up the aroma of lake bottom and flowers blooming from nearby planters. The shipyards north of our place closed around 5 o'clock, so it became extremely quiet. Some nights you could hear conversations clear across the lake.
On the west side of the lake there was a group of houseboats where four sisters lived with other students attending the University of Washington. The sisters were at one time or another part of the Seafair activities, and two even won beauty contests, which were celebrated en masse in their section of the lake.
The four of us borrowed a rowboat from a neighbor and rowed across the lake to the festivities. At the end of the evening, we aimed our very small craft home on water that had picked up a bit of chop.
As we rowed we heard sounds of water splashing inside the stern, but we couldn't tell because it was pitch-black dark.
Silence befell as we realized that water was coming over the stern and was seriously seeping into our boat.
We looked at each other and did what anyone would do after an evening of too much free champagne and cocktails - we started laughing.
"Come on now, be serious," someone said.
We continued to row slowly and in the silence, I yelled, "Dive! Dive!"
The rowing stopped, and once again in the dead silence, for no reason, we laughed out of control.
In the dark, we finally found the pier, but it was the wrong one. All of us had soaked feet, but after taking on even more water, we finally made it back.
Time moves on
We moved back to Madison Park when winter set in. It was nice to be home, but we occasionally returned to the various houseboat communities to join in their parties.
About the time the military draft caught up with us, we started paying attention to the changes around Seattle. Notably, the Northgate Mall became a shopping reality. People came from miles around to see its massiveness.
Traffic was definitely not a problem in those days, but there were rumors floating around that a freeway would cut right through residential neighborhoods, including Madison Park.
The new I-5 freeway was becoming a reality, and we all wondered what possible service it could provide.
Plans for a new bridge (eventually state Route 520) were coming to fruition, and in its initial design they even considered adding additional lanes. Imagine that.
Thankfully, there never was a bypass through the Madison Valley and Park areas, Joe Diamond was not able to build his parking garage as some feared and the Safeway store thought better of expanding, as well.
We are lucky to live in a neighborhood that stays serene and content to remain status quo.
Richard Carl Lehman is a Madison Park resident. Send e-mail to him at mptimes@nwlink.com.
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