This column is about meeting neighbors. By definition, “neighbor” means someone who lives in close proximity.
Betty Warner doesn’t: She’s now part of Magnolia’s history.
Born in Panama, she married an American soldier, Francis Warner, on April 10, 1942, and moved to New York City. One miserable winter day, someone told Francis about Seattle: the mild winters, the long summers. Well, that’s why they settled at 2563 34th Ave. W., sometime in the early ‘50s.
About 1960, The Hickory Hut Café opened its doors on 33rd Avenue West, where the Swedish Physicians’ office is now located. Betty was cashier but also waited tables at the café.
“I used to go there for breakfast,” remembered Mike Smith, owner of Leroux’s Fien Apparel. “One egg, hash browns, toast and coffee for $1.50.”
Did he know Betty? “Of course, she was always there. Very nice, friendly but not chummy,” he said.
James Goodman of Windemere Real Estate saw another side of the Hickory Hut. “I loved it. Grandpa took me there for grilled cheese sandwiches. In the mid-‘70s, when I was in junior high, we used to sneak over to the Hut for French fries smothered in gravy,” he said.
Did he know Betty? Of course. Betty was a fixture: six days a week; not one day sick. How I wish she’d kept a journal. I only know one of her stories, about a germ-phobic, old woman who took her teeth out, spraying them with Lysol before replacing them to eat.
Betty retired when the Hickory Hut closed ,about 1980. Its opening and closing left little imprint on Magnolia. Still, in the ‘60s and ‘70s, the Hut was the major hub for the village.
So why this fuss about a place that has ceased to exist and a woman people liked but never really knew? Because this is really the story of a few unnamed Magnolia neighbors who banded together to protect one of their own.
Getting to know you
Over time, Betty became one of those old, white-haired ladies whom you’d walk past many times and barely notice. Her husband died in 1993, but she remained on 34th. She’d often visit the Village or cross the busy street, skirt Blaine school and the community center, only to return carrying her groceries.
Then, in 1999, she started having problems. A faithful Lady of Fatima parishioner, she fell on the way to church and refused to ever return. She became notional and solitary, and that is dangerous.
Haven’t we all known or heard of someone alone, too broke, too proud or too mentally challenged to reach out for help?
Once again, it comes down to the word “neighbor”: living in close proximity, nothing more. So how did the word “neighborly,” synonymous with kind and friendly, originate?
I think we now have two connotations of the word “neighbor”: “Those people next door whom I avoid as I’m too busy taking care of ME. ” and “That grouchy buzzard across the street, who probably hasn’t had a hot meal in several weeks — I’d better take a plate over and say hello.”
Luckily, Betty had at least four such neighbors of the latter kind. As time progressed, one elderly gentleman got her groceries, another helped her with her checkbook and a retired nurse started taking her to doctor appointments, then finally put her foot in the door, until she could see inside the house.
It had not been vacuumed or dusted in five years. It took that wonderful woman six hours a day for five weeks to clean up the mess. The plastic shower curtain had dissolved from dry rot.
Betty obvious no longer bathed. Although strong of limb, she was slipping into dementia. Personable by nature, she became manipulative and angry.
Taking action — to care
When the nurse realized there were multiple burned pots and damaged electrical equipment still in use, she called another woman, busily acting as power of attorney, and they began to plot how to get Betty into assisted living.
They took her to visit numerous homes and her preference was Ida Culver House at Ravenna, but Betty insisted, “I’m not ready for that.”
Finally, as a group, they filled a private room with her favorite furniture and drove her to Ida Culver House, but Betty would have none of it. She threw the keys at the desk clerk, walked outside and took a bus home, with the police standing by in consternation.
Most people would feel guiltlessly justified in saying, “We did our best. It’s no longer our concern,” but not these neighbors. They tried to get her 24-hour home care, only to realize it would cost $12,000 a month, and she would end up on Supplemental Security Income.
In desperation, they called her niece in Panama City and told her the circumstances.
Could she go home? The niece, backed by extended family, was happy to have Betty return to Panama. That was nine months ago.
One of the neighbors recently visited Betty, now six months shy of 100. They had lunch on the terrace, and the niece said that, some nights, Betty looked out at Panama City and said, “Aren’t the Seattle lights beautiful?”
D.J. DOEPKEN is a longtime Magnolia resident. To comment on this column, write to QAMagNews@nwlink.com.