Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Rose City of the World

At the library the other day, I stumbled across "The Rose City of the World", a curious little 1947 book about Portland by one Ruby Fay Purdy. The book gives a, uh, rosy portrait of the city aimed at potential newcomers, in particular recent WWII vets. Ms. Purdy's dedication reads:

I dedicate this book to the veterans of World War II who were fortunate enough to visit the "Rose City of the World," Portland, Oregon, with hopes that many of them will decide to find their future happiness and homes in our city, which has an air-conditioned climate, and where it is possible to enjoy outdoor recreation every day in the year.


When even the dedication reads like an ad, you know you're really in for the hard sell. The book has its sights set rather high, too: In the foreword, we're told there's room for another two or three million people here in the Willamette Valley & Columbia Basin.

The book is interesting for a number of reasons. First, it's a snapshot of what life was like here 60 years ago. Conventional wisdom holds that nothing of importance happened here until hippies started moving here in the 70's, and everything before that is basically a prehistoric blur. The people of 1947 tended not to agree with that sentiment, understandably.

Second, the book gives an idea of how we saw ourselves back then, and what we thought potential newcomers might be interested in. We can't divine society-wide attitudes from just this one book, of course. It's an idiosyncratic and scatterbrained little book, and isn't written all that well. The author notes that she was a government clerk of some sort during the depression, and it's obvious she wasn't a professional author. But as I've said before, I have a (rather boring) theory that "bad" writing, "bad" art, and "bad" movies provide more of a window into the society that gave rise to them than high-quality examples of those genres would. That's my theory, anyway. The second-rate author is a creature of society's current biases, and you can learn a lot by what he or she chooses to include or exclude, since the choices were made unconsciously.

There's also a third, somewhat more personal reason, in that my parents' families both moved to the Northwest in the 1940s, and I've always wondered what drew them to the place.

Consider what a 2007 guide to Portland typically looks like, and compare the subject matter to what's given here. These days you'll get a bit about the Rose Garden up in Washington Park, and a list of trendy neighborhoods and boutiques, and daytrip destinations from town, and a restaurant guide, and maybe a calendar of the next year's upcoming festivals and events.

That's not how it was back in 1947. Here's a somewhat abridged version of the book's table of contents. Each heading's clickable; I tried to say a few words about each section of the book, although some are more (or less) interesting than others.




Stories

The book spends a lot of time on local history, considering that Portland wasn't yet 100 years old at the time. Now you'd get the usual anecdote about the name being decided by a coin flip, and not too much beyond that. Now you'll see lots of things described as "historic", but you won't learn much about the history behind them. The book gives a pretty decent account of the city up to 1947, stuff you'll be hard-pressed to find in contemporary books. In recent years there's been some coverage of Portland's swanky mobster era back in the 1950's, but you won't see any mention of that in the book.

WWII gets surprisingly little coverage in the history segment, I suppose because it was pretty much still a current event. It talks about how proud everyone was about maximizing production and getting lots of ships out to see. Ms. Purdy asserts that the Depression was more fun than WWII, since the war was just work, work, work all the time, which is an interesting counterpoint to all the WWII nostalgia you see these days. As you might imagine, there's not a single word to be found here about the internment of Japanese-Americans during the war. Not a single word.

It also goes without saying that history begins with Lewis & Clark. The book says "The Indians were hostile when the white men entered their domain and it is not difficult to reason why, as they didn't want any intrusion into the 'Paradise' they had." But that's about all you hear about Indians.


Portland, A Great City

A fact-dump of all sorts of trivia about the city as it was in 1947. Chinook salmon up to seventy pounds! Limitless virgin timber for the taking! The Sandy River full of smelt, such that it looked like a stream of silver! Just dip an old birdcage in the river, and it'll fill up with tasty fish!

I really don't mean to make fun of 1947 Portland and its attitudes. I honestly don't. When you see people calling a resource limitless, you can be sure it's a tragedy in progress, and yet nobody learns. For example, today we're in the midst of overfishing the oceans on a scale the people of 1947 could never have contemplated. So who's the bigger fool here, eh?

Some other trivia, while we're in this section. 7690 building permits issued in 1946, 173 new industries started, and 65 steamship lines and 1147 steamships called here, etc., etc.


Bridges

The Fremont, Marquam, and current Morrison bridges didn't exist yet. The book mentions that four bridges were built by the county in the early 20th century, but says nary a word about the juicy scandal that got them built. If you read nothing but this book we were a city entirely without scandal or crime of any kind, at least not any worth mentioning.


City Government

A brief description of the commission form of government, which we still use -- and which we decided to keep using by a wide margin just last month. Also bios of the current mayor and council. Two council members, Fred L. Peterson and Dorothy McCullough Lee, later advanced to the mayor's office.


Fire Dept

A history of the fire department, with a mention of the David Campbell Memorial, now Portland Firefighters' Park. We learn that in 1947, our fair city sported 1161 fire alarm boxes, and 6500 hydrants.


Police Dept.

All about policing here, dating back to when the job fell to US Marshals. Seems that the department was reorganized again and again. It doesn't explain why, but I gather from other sources that the reorgs were about fighting corruption, not crime. There's a mysterious paragraph that reads:

The Women's Protective Division of the Police Department has an important place in the work of the Deparment. It has a protective duty, more than one of enforcement.

I suppose people in 1947 might have understood what this meant, but I don't. Is this about domestic violence? Was this the euphemistic name for the vice squad? There's nothing more opaque than an obsolete euphemism.

There's also a long section about the city harbor patrol, which was tasked with various maritime duties, including "to see that rat guards are placed on mooring lines, proper gangways are out and life nets placed under them, and also to see that they are lighted at night". Shipping was so much more colorful before those damn efficient container ships changed everything. No matter how bad of a cop you are these days, it's highly unlikely you'll get stuck on rat patrol anymore.

At the time of writing, the city had just gotten a new police chief, Leon V. Jenkins. Harry Niles, the previous chief, had passed away the previous year. The book mentions that Chief Niles had moved up through the ranks, and had been chief records clerk before becoming police chief. That's a rather unusual career trajectory, but the book goes on to mention that he created a records system that was widely adopted nationwide. Little sign of this fleeting fame these days; here's a story about his efforts to curb the spread of venereal diseases during WWII. Not an easy task in the sleazy old Portland of those days. The book mentions none of that, of course.


Water Bureau

Mentions the original reservoir on Carruthers Creek, a small remnant of which still exists. One interesting bit is that city water started out as a private business, and only later became a government function. If you're one of those ideologues out there who want to privatize everything, you might want to look at why the city took over the job in the first place. Hint: It wasn't rampant liberal socialism, since nobody here had heard of that idea yet.


Lumber Industry

A rather long discourse about the bright future of lumber, the industry we later called "timber", and then "forest products", and now nothing at all if we can help it. Your 2007 guidebook won't breathe a word about the dirty business of chopping down trees, but things were different 60 years ago. There's a lot of talk about new products involving resins and polymers, like that newfangled "plywood" stuff, but plywood was just the beginning, and the sky was the limit. The book says "A new plant to manufacture ethyl alcohol (potable 190 proof) is being erected for the Willamette Valley Wood Chemical Company, near Portland to cost $2,500,000". Not long ago, I saw an article asserting that using timber waste to produce ethanol was a real bleeding-edge technology to watch in the future. Well, it's not quite so new, as it turns out.


Port of Portland

The history of the government agency responsible for ports, both sea and air. It's a weird combo of duties but made sense at one time, since both were located at Swan Island. The airport later moved to the Columbia River location in the mid 1950's.

1947 was just before container ships appeared on the scene. Containers revolutionized the shipping industry, and I suspect they'll eventually come to be seen as one of the key innovations of the 20th century. But they also sucked all the danger, romance, and mystique out of the business.

Not that the book spends a lot of time on the mystique angle. We get a count of steamship lines serving the city, and the number of port calls in the last year, but nothing at all about Shanghaiing, for example. Now there's nothing we love better than to get a giggle out of our disreputable past, even if chunks of that past were flat-out fabricated. Back then, not so much.

As you might expect, the book doesn't breathe a word about the big Waterfront Strike of 1934 which shut the port down for close to three months until the shipping companies finally caved in and recognized the longshoremen's union. A fair number of the captains of industry and pillars of the community who are praised in the book played rather ugly roles in the strike, on behalf of the Establishment side of things. If you want to learn anything at all about that, you'll have to go elsewhere.


Portland Traction Co.

The privately-operated streetcar company in town back then. The whole tangled history of streetcars here is too complex to try to recount, as I barely understand it myself. But the quick summary version is that the streetcars evolved into TriMet, and the lines that powered them evolved into PGE. Portland Traction itself still exists too, now as a short-line cargo railroad in SE Portland.


Railroads

Not a lot to say here, except that carrying passengers used to be the job of individual railroads, and there was no such thing as Amtrak. The book gives quite an extensive history of the railroads that serve(d) the city. If you don't care about railroads, you can skip this part, and if you're a rail buff, you probably already know it all by heart.


Utilities

Who our utilities are, and how they got that way. Unlike most of the businesses covered by the book, these haven't changed substantially. "Portland Gas & Coke Co." is now "Northwest Natural", and "Northwestern Electric" is now "Pacific Power", the only utility that isn't locally owned anymore.


Civic Organizations

The book names a few of these: The chamber of commerce, the Jaycees, the library, and an east side business grouping. Oh, and the library, which is where I checked out the book, which is kind of weird.


Roses

The books goes on about roses and the Rose Festival for several sections. I could elaborate, but this is the one bit of local history that gets dusted off every year, for anyone who's paying attention. One section describes the "Mystic Order of the Rose", which is apparently a sort of honorary society into which various dignitaries are inducted. I probably would've heard of it if I cared more about that sort of thing. I gather it's sort of like being a Kentucky Colonel, but much more obscure. We do learn the origin of the official slogan of the city, or the festival (I forget which), which is the first line of a painful bit of doggerel attributed to one Bertha Slater Smith:

FOR YOU A ROSE

For you a rose in Portland grows;
They're blooming everywhere.
Our homes they grace; they're every place,
Their perfume fills the air.
There's joy, there's fun for everyone,
Who comes from far and near --
For you a rose in Portland grows.
Rose Festival every year.


Ack! Phbbt!


Banks

All of the banks listed either no longer exist, or are based elsewhere. The section on Equitable Savings & Loan mentions their brand new, ultra-modern building on 6th & Washington, downtown. The building's still there, a nice modernist steel & glass building by Pietro Belluschi. Recall that this was 1947, so the building was one of the first modernist skyscrapers anywhere in the country, and it's still one of the more attractive ones that I'm aware of. These days it's called the Commonwealth Building, and there's a historical marker outside it.


Churches

A rundown of all the mainline denominations close to downtown. In 2007 you wouldn't get this list at all, and even in 1947 the list was incomplete. You just got the churches thought to be pillars of the community. No mention at all of black churches in NE Portland. Basically no mention of any minorities at all, anywhere in the book, come to think of it.


Fraternal

Again, you wouldn't see this in 2007. It just wouldn't occur to anyone. I know it wouldn't occur to me if I was writing a move-to-Portland book right now. Not a lot of young "creative class" types joining the Elks these days, after all. But it really was a big deal back then. While these days we think of them as places for old people to get drunk and wear silly hats, they tried to give back to society a bit as well. The book devotes a section to Louis E. Starr, a local man who'd been elected head of the national Veterans of Foreign Wars. In 1947, the country was in that brief, forgotten period between the end of WWII and when the Cold War ramped up in earnest, resulting in tidbits like this:

Commander Starr was one of the V.F.W's who was consultant for the United States at the United Nations Conference by the invitation of Secretary Stettinius. Commander Starr suggested the preamble of the United Nations Charter and it was adopted: "We, the peoples of the United Nations." Next he asked for the insertion of "human rights and fundamental freedoms for all without distinction as to race, language, religion, or sex." This was a thrust at the intolerance which has caused so much misery throughout the world. This inclusion was approved. Commander Starr was one of the main sponsors of the United Veterans Conference, a V.F.W. event which brought together war veterans of all countries which had fought against Nazi Germany and Japan. "The men who endured the hardships of war will be in a mood to end war for all time," Commander Starr pointed out.


Ahh, if only.


Hotels

Only two are mentioned here. The Imperial (now the Vintage Plaza & the Lucia), and the Portland Hotel. The latter was an extravagant Victorian pile that stood where Pioneer Courthouse Square is now. Of the former, the book notes "In the early days experienced colored waiters from the South served you in the dining room." The place specialized in clams ("Oregon little necks") then, but we're told it's being remodelled into something modern, "a downtown restaurant where you can take your friends, wife, and children and enjoy in a delightful atmosphere the best productions known to the cullinary art.". Pazzo Ristorante is located there now. I was there earlier today actually, and I can recommend the happy hour menu without reservation.


Industries

This is perhaps the saddest part of the book. It's not just that the listed companies don't exist anymore (or at least left town). Entire industries have vanished. The book mentions aluminum, steel, shipbuilding, furniture manufacturing, fishing, textiles, lumber products, forklifts, steel mill equipment, meatpacking, and aviation. Nearly all of these are gone now. We still have a small steel industry, but everything else is pretty much gone. The aluminum industry shut down en masse just a few short years ago, and by that time nobody cared. Industrial work didn't mesh with our idea of what the Northwest was all about, so nobody seemed to care except the people who lost their jobs.

If I'm not mistaken, exactly one of the listed businesses still exists. A florist.

The book's publisher -- also a local firm -- appears to have vanished as well, come to think of it.


Newspapers

A brief history of the Oregonian, and another for the Oregon Journal, the afternoon paper that eventually went under in the early 80's. Back when it was assumed that newspapers weren't impartial, and every city had both a Democrat and a Republican paper, the Journal was the Democratic one. C.S. Jackson, the founder, described the paper thusly:
"This newspaper is pledged to the cause of those who do the work, not to the cause of the idlers, men or women, rich or poor; is pledged to the masses not to privileged classes, particularly to those who prey upon others and don't even know it, those who get something for nothing and don't give it back. It shall live to work for the workers of all kinds of conditions, of all faiths, who place their trust in it and work for a square deal".

The Jackson Tower, the well known building with the clock next to Pioneer Courthouse Square, was an old HQ of theirs. They later moved to the old Public Market building on the waterfront, until it was torn out for the short-lived Harbor Drive freeway.

This was also around the time the Oregonian moved to its current Belluschi-designed digs further south on Broadway. One plate in the book includes drawings of the planned building.


Parks

A short list of some featured city parks, along with streetcar-centric instructions on how to get there. For example, to get to Alberta Park from downtown, one would: "Take Williams Avenue trolley coach northbound on Third Avenue to N.E. Union Avenue and Killingsworth Street, transfer to Killingsworth bus to the park; or drive across the Broadway Bridge, left to N.E. Union to Killingsworth and right on Killingsworth to the park."

Not a lot has changed in the parks section since 1947. The zoo moved to its present location from an older spot in Washington Park sometime in the 50's. I was going to remark about the absence of both Mill Ends and Forest parks, but as it turns out neither was created until 1948, so their absence is understandable.

The bit on statuary is similar, but mentions one object that's definitely not there anymore:

CENTENNIAL MARKER Plaque on an eight-ton boulder at SW Front Avenue & Alder St. honors the memory of Asa L. Lovejoy and Francis W. Pettygrove who survived, platted, and named Portland in 1845.


I suspect it went away when they built the new Morrison bridge. If it was just a plaque on a rock, it's probalby not a huge loss to the community.

There's also an item under local businesses that fits more under parks. Lambert Gardens was a privately run botanical garden located north of Westmoreland Park, and it seems to have played a central role in the city's Rose Festival festivities at the time. The owner decided to get out of the business in 1967 and offered to sell the place to the city, but the city declined and apartments went in instead. This all happened well before my time, but every now and then you still hear people speak wistfully of the place.


Radio

The book mentions three radio stations: KGW, KOIN, and KWJJ, all founded in the 1920s. You may recognize the first two as TV stations, but they started out on the AM dial, and KGW was still there through the 1980s. (The 620AM slot now belongs to KPOJ, the local Air America outlet.) The book notes that KGW was an NBC affiliate way back when NBC was a radio network. Of KOIN, the book says
The policy was never to use music recordings, but always "live" talent; no patent medicine advertising; no alcoholic or other objectionable advertisements; instead they concentrated on educational and national interests and activities, and tried to give the public the kind of programs they wanted. Today the walls of the studio are covered with prizes for educational activities.

The book fails to specify just what sort of programs the public wanted back in those days, so I don't know if they were catering to the market segment that now belongs to NPR, or what exactly. In any case, you really get the sense that radio was far more interesting than it is today. Like anyone didn't know that already.

And of KWJJ:
This station has always specialized in sports broadcasts, except Sundays. It is noted for its numerous religious programs; they draw no line on race, creed, or color, and no religious program has ever been turned down. Many evangelists have been on this station.
.

Sounds like present-day AM to me. KWJJ itself is now a country station on the FM dial. The call letters are the initials of the founder, one Wilbur J. Jerman.


Sports & Recreation

Since it was 1947, baseball naturally gets top billing. The Beavers played in the old Pacific Coast League then, which was a bigger deal than it is now; the major leagues didn't stretch to the west coast, so there were PCL franchises in LA and San Francisco, so that's what people mostly payed attention to here, rather than the east coast action. The book just talks about "Portland's Baseball Park", which is a reference to the long-gone Vaughn Street Stadium, located around where the big ESCO steel mill is now, where the ritzy part of NW Portland segues into the heavy industrial part. Civic Stadium still belonged to the MAC club, and hosted a wide range of events, from dog races to summer symphony concerts. Seems the notion of a summer concert series arose during the depression, as a way to provide year-round employment for symphony musicians. Incidentally, this is the only mention of the symphony in the book. It spends very little time on cultural institutions in general, I suppose assuming that newly returned GIs wouldn't be interested in a trip to the art museum. No mention of an art museum, or opera, or ballet, or live theater, or even anything about the city's grand (and now vanished) movie palaces downtown. And nothing about OMSI, which didn't exist yet.

As far as recreation goes, the book mentions boating briefly, and lists all the city's public golf courses. I'm no golf expert, but I think most of the listed courses still exist, except for one that now lies under Lloyd Center, and another out on Mt. Scott that was turned into housing just a couple of years ago. The book raves on and on about Timberline Lodge, which is understandable. Apparently Timberline hosted the US Olympic tryouts in 1940. It takes a moment or two to recall that those Olympics were cancelled due to the war.

There's also a bit about the old Jantzen Beach amusement park, which later fell into disrepair and was replaced by a mall in 1970 or so. Again, this was before my time, but several people have told me how much they miss the old Giant Dipper roller coaster.

Oh, and there's the Pacific International Livestock Expo, a big livestock show they used to hold up at the Expo Center (hence the name). This was usually known as the P-I, and they only stopped holding it some time in the 1990s if I'm not mistaken. I think about the time Multnomah County was in a budget crunch and stopped funding activities like this and the county fair.

So think about all the stuff that falls under recreation in 2007. Very little of it appears in the book. It occurs to me that many of what we consider local attractions and activities involve daytrips out of the city: The Columbia Gorge, the coast, the mountains, the desert, etc. all involve hopping in a car. Not everyone had a car back then, and people who did may not have been as inclined to make these trips as we are now. I think gas rationing was no longer in effect in 1947, but people would've been conditioned by that, and by the depression before that, to be frugal and not burn gas on "long" excursions like these. If you decided to splurge and go skiing, you were probably going to stay overnight up at Timberline. The gorge and the coast do get a very brief mention early in the book, in the "Portland, A Great City" section. Nothing about the desert, though. Deserts were still hostile and alien places, fit only to be conquered, irrigated, and put under the plow.

Imagine trying to describe the city's recreational options to someone and make it sound appealing, without mentioning anything beyond the range of public transportation. It's kind of tough, even today. Now try doing that without mentioning Forest Park, which didn't exist yet. And don't mention birdwatching at wetlands around town, since wetlands were still swamps, and swamps were for draining in those days. And looking at historic buildings and such? 1947 was a forward-looking era, not a backward-looking one. Old buildings don't do anything but stand in the way of Progress and Modernity. Once we leave the history section, there's nothing about, say, 1890's cast iron architecture (which the city was busy ripping out). And you also can't mention anything about interesting ethnic neighborhoods, even though we had a lot more of those in 1947 than we do now. We soon rid ourselves of most of those in the name of urban renewal.


Schools

Right away you'll note what isn't there: Neither Portland State University nor Portland Community College existed yet. PSU was founded around this time as the Vanport Extension Center, but if it existed yet, the book didn't think it worth mentioning. There's a bit about Hill Military Academy, which I mentioned in my post about Rocky Butte. Portland's public school system, meanwhile, had 58,000 students at 76 schools around the city. Today we have [???]

Another private school, St. Helen's Hall, sat where I-405 runs now, and the school itself merged with OES around that time.


Stores

Where a 2007 guide to the city would mention all the trendy boutiques and shopping districts around town, and list the region's malls and perhaps outlet centers, in 1947 it was all about downtown department stores. Lipman, Wolfe, & Co.; Meier & Frank; Olds & King's, and Roberts Brothers, along with the Powers Furniture Store. Meier & Frank you've undoubtedly heard of if you've lived here any length of time, since the name only disappeared in favor of Macy's just last year. Lipman, Wolfe later became part of Frederick & Nelson, which ceased operations during the 1980s. The downtown location is now the Hotel Monaco (until recently the Fifth Avenue Suites). Olds & King's is now the Galleria, home to the local cullinary school. Powers Marine Park on the Willamette is named after Ira F. Powers, the furniture store's founder. Or so says Isaac Laquedem, and he tends to be right about these things.

After describing Roberts Brothers, the book ends, simply and abruptly. There's no afterword or summation or anything like that. The fact dump has been completed, end of story.



The book has few photos, and the choices are odd. Maybe this was driven by printing technology and where the glossy photo pages would have to go in the book. I'm not sure. In any case, the book doesn't contain a map of the city anywhere (!), and there's no picture of the downtown skyline. You'd think both would be guidebook staples, and I wish they'd been included, but no dice. Instead, the first photo page comes after page 24, where we get several pics of Rose Festival floats, and on the other side, a group of grim-looking Rosarians carrying flags in a parade. After page 56, a panorama of the aforementioned Lambert Gardens, and on the back, services at the Grotto. After page 104, a shot of the Oregon Journal's new building, the old Public Market, and on the other side a sketch of the Oregonian's new HQ, not yet constructed. After 136, a sketch of the Equitable building, again not yet completed, with a pic of Jantzen Knitting Mills headquarters on the back. That building still exists, out at NE 20th & Sandy. The piece on Jantzen mentions they had a factory there too. A real, live factory, making clothes, right here in Portland. 1947 really was a different era. Big business hadn't yet discovered the financial advantages of cheap child labor in China.

The last pair of photos is the oddest, after page 168. On one side, we see a machine captioned "Resinprest Maker", a device for making plywood. Plywood was a really big deal back in those days, I gather. On the other side, a lumberyard with a couple of Hyster units operating, a forklift and something called a "straddle truck". In the background, one of those wigwam burners you used to see at lumber mills across the northwest, but which have mostly vanished from the landscape these days.

Monday, June 04, 2007

sky+flowers

bachelor's button, pearl district

Another batch of photos, half of them flowers, the other half not, for once. These were taken around the Pearl District & NW Portland, if I recall correctly.

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I probably ought to be saying something useful and relevant right now rather than posting photos of flowers and such, but I don't really feel like it today. If you're looking for something meatier (and just about anything would be), check out this Bojack post about the latest Saturday Market shenanigans. The city still thinks moving the market is a done deal, even though their condo tower plans have fallen through (at least for the moment). I honestly don't understand what it is they have against Saturday Market. I really don't. The last time I covered the ongoing situation, I was cautiously optimistic. Now, not so much. What is it with the city these days, anyway?

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Some pics of "The Driver's Seat", a large sculpture on the (once and future) transit mall, at NW 5th & Irving. This is a 1994 piece by Don Merkt, added during the transit mall extension. Apparently it's going to be moved across the street in the near future due to the new MAX line, but that shouldn't disrupt matters too drastically.


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I don't have a definitive reference for this, but I'd imagine Driver's Seat is an allusion to the TriMet bus lot next door, sort of. It would stand to reason, at any rate.

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Oddly enough, I didn't actually sit in the driver's seat pictured here. I'm not sure why not. Maybe it's that this is Art with a capital A, and it's intimidating like that. I don't have a degree in art, and I don't have a doctorate in anything, so I'm not sure I'm qualified to sit in the driver's seat.

Also, for some reason this reminds me of a scene in Alien, where the crew comes across a highly deceased creature that got all chest-bursty while operating a huge sci-fi ray gun.

So, you know, no sense in tempting fate.

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Friday, June 01, 2007

photo friday: northern edition

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If you dropped by here yesterday (and don't feel bad if you didn't; nobody else did either), you might recall that I hopped the Yellow Line north to the Kenton neighborhood to play "weird guy wandering around with a camera" for a bit. Don't worry, we're done with roses for the moment. Here are a few other neighborhood attractions, starting with the, uh, famous Paul Bunyan statue. They just don't make roadside kitsch like this anymore, monumental in size but brightly colored, and with a big goofy grin. This makes him kind of hard to work with, camera-wise. You can either just take the stock photo above, or you can try to get a little creative:

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But here's the best angle available, in which we learn exactly why Mr. Bunyan sports that goofy grin:

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Perhaps you were wondering about the absent Blue Ox. This particular Bunyan never had one, even before they moved him to the current location (officially known as "Paul Bunyan Plaza") when MAX went in. Here's a 2002 Trib story about the move. The story notes:
Across Denver Avenue, a sculptor will install small statues in the shape of hooves representing Paul’s pal, Babe the Blue Ox. They will serve as seats.


So here are those hooves, which sit across Denver Ave. from Bunyan. We didn't get the full ox, and probably not for budgetary reasons, either. No self-respecting artist in this modern era would be caught dead building something that would go with the Bunyan statue. And doing just the hooves gives you a great opportunity to spout art jargon, too, stuff like "subverting the dominant paradigm". Which I suppose the hooves do, in a way.

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TriMet's public art info for the Yellow Line says the mini-park with the hooves is called "N. Denver Plaza", not to be confused with Paul Bunyan Plaza across the street. So now you know.




Next stop, a few blocks to the east at the corner of Fenwick & Interstate, is what TriMet calls Fenwick Pocket Park, featuring a few salvaged architectural elements from the old Portland Union Stockyards building that used to be around here somewhere. Kenton started out as a company town, which explains the distinctive architecture in the business district along Denver Avenue. No, I don't have any photos of the business district. I ought to have taken some, but I was a bit overly narrowly-focused yesterday and just sort of didn't.

Suffice it to say that the business district still has a lot of its blue-collar, "old Portland" character... for now. Like downtown St. Johns, it's just too cute and too close in to avoid the gentrifiers for much longer. Like St. Johns, the process has already started. If you're curious, you may want to go have a look now. You'll be able to say you saw the place before it was all upscale coffee chains, swanky martini bars, and doggie day spas, like the rest of 21st century Portland.

When the city brings in artists to build monuments to your neighborhood's vanished working-class glory, you can be absolutely sure that you won't be a working-class neighborhood for too much longer. At least not if the city can help it.

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detail, fenwick pocket park>

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The bovine theme continues at the Kenton MAX station:

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Cow, Kenton MAX Station




A couple of blocks west of Bunyan is Kenton Park, which has your usual collection of sports fields, playgrounds, etc., nice enough but nothing to go out of your way to see. I understand the city's thinking about siting a skate park here. From the neighborhood association's board minutes: Tom reports that Dreamland will be sure to design a facility so that kids will be drawn to it and not to other areas of Downtown Kenton. It will be a small enough facility that it will not attract kids from all over the city.".

Which is an interesting and rather defensive way to put it. You could probably write a whole book about how and why communities decide to provide certain sports or recreational facilities and not others. Nearly every neighborhood park in the city provides a baseball diamond or two, and these get used maybe once in a blue moon. Meanwhile, we've heard for years about the Portland area's critical shortage of soccer fields. You'd think it wouldn't be too hard to convert a few baseball diamonds around town into soccer fields, but apparently it isn't quite that simple.

Conventional wisdom seems to go something like this: If you build basketball courts, you attract inner city gangs. If you build soccer fields, you get Hispanic folks, and skate parks pull in the teenagers, and we all know teenagers are nothing but trouble. Baseball fields, however, attract only wholesome, Midwestern, field-of-dreams types. Yes, even the screaming Little League dads are 100% pure and wholesome; what could be more American than erupting in a violent psychotic rage over whether the last pitch was a ball or a strike? Just thinking about that makes me want some apple pie. So even if your baseball field just sits there empty 99% of the time, it still elevates the neighborhood's moral character simply by existing. Or that's the theory, anyway.

Society's been willing to make a few concessions to the city's skateboarders in recent years. I suppose the thinking is that, unlike being an ethnic minority, being a teenager is something one grows out of eventually. If kids' anarchic impulses can just be channeled constructively for a few years, they may yet become productive, respectable, taxpaying members of society. Sure, older generations think it's a weird activity, and wonder why kids do it if nobody's even keeping score and don't have a coach screaming at them from the sidelines. But hey, teenagers are mysterious and inscrutable like that.

Kenton Park

Kenton Park

Thursday, May 31, 2007

rose overload

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Gentle Reader(s), it occurred to me today that you might -- just might -- not be sick and tired of rose photos just yet, so I thought I'd go take a few more.

I figured going up to the main rose garden in Washington Park would almost be cheating, plus the place is probably thick with tourists right now, so instead I wandered up to one of the city's other rose gardens, the small and rather obscure Kenton Neighborhood Rose Garden. More info about the place at OregonLive, Waymarking.com, and the Kenton neighborhood association. Seems all the upkeep is done by local volunteers, not the city. Maybe I'm biased, since I can't even grow mold on stale bread, but they've done a pretty impressive job if you ask me.


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The cephalopod conquest continues...

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This sign is on the temporary bus mall on 4th Ave. near PSU. Either TriMet now hires human-squid hybrids, or the agency's graphic designer has spent wayyyy too much time in Japan.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Civic Plaza


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A few photos of Portland's "Civic Plaza", the little triangle around the westbound PGE Park MAX stop. That's the name TriMet gives the place, and since nobody else seems to offer a different name for it, that's the name we'll go with. The name's less generic than it sounds actually; if you're new to Portland you might not realize this, but until PGE bought the naming rights a few years ago, the plaza sat next to "Civic Stadium", hence the name.

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The place exists a.) to make it easy for MAX trains to round the corner onto 18th, and b.) so large crowds can get on and off the train easily when there's a game on at the stadium. But since it's a public works project in Portland, we have to have us some art, too. TriMet describes it thusly:

Westside design team artists used the buildings and plaza to express the importance of oratory to the city's history.


  • Robert Sullivan supports the theme with an original essay
  • Bronze podiums invite spontaneous oratory
  • Punctuation marks form seating and accents on the Yamhill platform
  • Windows light up at dusk

Here are a couple of those podiums they speak of:

Civic Plaza

Civic Plaza

I'll grant that I don't go by here every day anymore, but I've never seen any spontaneous oratory, I'm afraid. If you decide to avail yourself of our own local Speaker's Corner, be warned, though: Since this is (presumably) TriMet property, there are a number of rules & regulations you'll need to abide by. First, you'll need to keep your oratory quiet, and entirely non-musical. From the TriMet Code, section 28.15 A:


(13) Excessive Noise: No person shall:
(a) Make excessive or unnecessary noise within any District Vehicle or District Station with the intent to cause inconvenience, annoyance or alarm to the public, District personnel, or a peace officer, or with a reckless disregard to the risk thereof; or
(b) Perform vocal or instrumental music, without the prior written authorization of the District.

Well, I suppose you could get a permit and do some music, but if you need a permit, it isn't free speech, is it?

Second thing to know, your spontaneous oratory is only permissible if you're currently waiting for a train. Otherwise, no dice. From the code, part 28.15 B:


(1) Use of District Transit System for Non-Transit Purposes: No person shall enter or remain upon, occupy or use a District Station for purposes other than boarding, disembarking or waiting for a District Vehicle, in an area where non-transit uses are prohibited by posted signage. A person is in violation of this section only after having occupied a District Station for a period of time that exceeds that which is reasonably necessary to wait for, board or disembark a District Vehicle.

And don't even think of posting any handbills:


(5) Posting of Unauthorized Signs or Notices: Except as otherwise allowed by District regulations, no person shall place, permit or cause to be placed any notice or sign upon any District Vehicle, District Station or District Parking Facility or upon any vehicle without the owner’s consent while the vehicle is parked therein.

There's the usual bit forbidding threats and/or harrassment, which is fine, of course, and then there's this catch-all provision:


(6) Violation of Signage. In addition to the prohibitions set forth elsewhere in TMC Chapters 28, 29 and 30, no person shall fail to abide by specific directives provided in the form of a fixed permanent or temporary sign posted in or upon the District Transit System that has been authorized by the General Manager to address a regulatory or security concern. The General Manager or the General Manager’s designee may establish and post such signage in a manner to provide sufficient notice concerning the conduct required or prohibited. Any violation of the specific directives in any sign authorized by the General Manager shall constitute a violation of this subsection.


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So all things considered, you might want to do your spontaneous oratory elsewhere. Besides, you'll just annoy the commuters heading home to Beaverton -- when they can hear you over the trains, that is.

Still, a MAX station with an "oratory" theme in the first place is a delightfully archaic notion. Free speech anywhere near a transit facility? You can't get much more "pre-9/11" than that, can you? We won't see another place like this anytime soon, so we might as well enjoy it, I suppose. I mean, the government's still OK with you standing on a box just like the one here. It's just that the box is in Guantanamo, and there's a hood and some electrodes involved....


Moving right along... You might've wondered about the silver cube in the top photos. It's a hot dog stand. No, really. Once in a blue moon, it opens up and you can buy hot dogs. TriMet says it's called "Hot Dog Ernie's". (Curiously, a different Hot Dog Ernie's on the eastside figures in this story about a weird TriMet accident. Huh.) The rest of the time, the cube just sits there being silver and inscrutable, and if you get close enough you might get a history lesson. Here's a bit from OPB about the author (I think) of said history lesson.

If you don't have anything to say, and you aren't in the mood for a hot dog, there's really not much else to do here, except maybe wait for a train, or cross the street and go see a baseball game or something. Or, in the unlikely event that you're trying to make a circuit of places covered in my ongoing "local parks" series, you can make it a twofer and hit Portland Firefighters' Park, just steps away to the north on 18th. Or hey, make it a four-fer: Go west a couple of stops on the train to 18th & Jefferson, and you'll be right at Collins Circle. Then walk south on 18th, going under the Hwy 26 underpass, turn right on Mill Street Terrace, and walk uphill a short way to Frank L. Knight Park. I mean, you could do that, if you were so inclined. I'm not suggesting it'd be fun, exactly, but it'd certainly be esoteric, and I imagine that counts for something in some quarters.

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So I was walking to work again, this time along the South Park Blocks, and I noticed a work crew tearing down this church office building:

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Look closely at the photo (or look at the larger version), and look in the window next to the room being demolished. Look at the painting on the wall in that room. Doesn't that guy look a little familiar? I'm not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination, and I generally favor the notion of tearing out church buildings when the opportunity arises. But even to me it seems like this ought to be bad luck or something, tearing down the building without rescuing that mural first.

It should come as no great surprise that the building's being demolished in favor of an ultra-ritzy condo tower. When there's big bucks on the line, I suppose there's no room for getting all sentimental over some old painting, even if you're a church.

On a much cheerier note, here are a couple of roses near the sacreligious carnage:

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And some decorative berries nearby. They're either salal or Oregon grape, I think. I always get the two confused. Yes, yes, I was a Boy Scout once, and I'm sure there was a test on this, but that was a very long time ago. Entire new species have probably evolved since then. Continents have drifted, even.

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Elsewhere along the South Park Blocks, a couple photos from the Peace Plaza block:

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This block's been known officially as Peace Plaza since 1985, although I don't know of anyone who calls it that. The sculpture you're looking at is called "Peace Chant". I hate to sound like an uncultured rube here, but I don't get it. I don't really see the peace component to the work, I have to say. No doubt the artist and funders meant well, and everyone knows that representational sculpture is tres gauche and all that. But if your goal is to educate the public about the desirability of peace rather than war, you really want something a bit more, y'know, accessible, dontcha think? Peace is a deadly serious business. It was in '85, just like it is now. It deserves better than just another pile of mute, inexplicable stones.

The plaque that goes with the work doesn't do much to explain it:

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(You might notice the leaves; the "Peace Chant" photos were taken back in September, but I hadn't gotten around to using them until now.) Some more photos of the thing at Portland Waymarking, and it also figures in a conservative author's rant against abstract art over at the Trib. Which is funny really; you'd think that conservatives would be delighted at how utterly ineffective the thing is as a peace monument.

Contrast that with the giant peace symbol at "Peace Memorial Park", at the east end of the Steel Bridge, which is a giant peace symbol made of flowers:

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I've discussed this place previously here, before the peace symbol was replanted for this year. When I mentioned it, I'd forgotten about the plaza in the park blocks, just like everyone else. So this makes at least two close-in locations dedicated to the cause of peace, although they're still outnumbered by all the war monuments we have around town.


I realize I'm rambling and wandering a bit afield here, but while poking around in the archives looking for those photos, I ran across a couple of photos from the North Park Blocks.

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Now here's a bit of art that works, for what it is. Yes, it's a drinking fountain for dogs, another of those silly "only in Portland" things. And yes, we paid $$$ to have a famous artist design it for us, namely William Wegman of Weimaraner fame. But I like it, and it's still new enough that it doesn't show up in all the guidebooks yet. So here it is.

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At the other end of the North Park Blocks' time scale, here's an archaic street name pressed into the curb. It's Park Ave. now, and the old name hasn't been used since at least the 1930's, if I recall correctly.


So I suppose this doesn't really give you a good picture of my morning commute today, but there you have it.