cyclotram

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Organic Beer Festival 2007

Friday after work we dropped by the grandly-named North American Organic Beer Festival, which was up in Overlook Park this time around. This is the first edition of the festival that I've been to, and we all thought it was a pretty good event. I'm not what you'd call a strident organic type, but when you see the word on beer it tends to indicate the brewers put a bit more time and care into their ingredients. I'm always in favor of that, and who wouldn't be?

If you put the word "organic" on something, certain other things are inevitable, even now in 2007. Which means this beer festival looks a little different than most: Patchouli, occasional tie dye, a band with bongo drums, another band whose singer finished the set by reading from some annoying Hunter S. Thompson book. Lots and lots of people arriving on bikes (and I'm quite curious how they got home). Vendors advertising home solar power, Flexcar, that sort of thing. It's one of those "only in Portland" things, but one I can handle, with only a minor amount of amused eye-rolling. As I've said before, I'm not precisely in the "organic" core demographic: I've only been to one Grateful Dead show, in Eugene around 1990 or so, and only because a friend begged me to go. And I no longer own any tie dye or patchouli items. I am, however, in the core beer demographic, and I'll happily tune out the bongo drums if there's good brew to be had.

Here's a pic of just a few of the vast armada of bikes lined up at the festival, chained up to the high fence the OLCC's jackbooted thugs insist you have around all beer events in this state. So that particular bluenosed regulation turns out to be useful for once, for a completely unrelated purpose.

Anyway, on to the beer:

El Torero Organic IPA: An IPA from Portland's Alameda Brewhouse. First beer of the day. Decent IPA, floral hops instead of citrusy. I might've appreciated it more if I hadn't arrived hot and thirsty.
Hop Lava, Double Mountain (Hood River): I have a bad habit of hitting the double IPAs early when I go to beer events. It's not really the best idea, if you plan to drink anything other than double IPAs. Still, I stubbornly persist at doing this. I suppose I'm just not a very strategic thinker where beer's concerned. In any case, this is quite a good double IPA. A lot of them end up being too sweet for my taste. The idea is to strike a balance between the malt and the hops, it's just that not everyone agrees on what "balance" tastes like.
India Red Ale, Double Mountain: My wife says this was good. I didn't get to taste it. Double Mountain was supposed to show for the Spring Beer & Wine fest, and we were kind of disappointed they weren't there, since this beer sounded pretty good. May need to track the place down next time we're out in Hood River.
Hopworks IPA: Hopworks is a new brewery founded by the former head brewer at Laurelwood. They've got a pub opening later this summer out on Powell, which may herald the start of gentrification down there. Gentrification on Powell -- who'd have ever imagined that? In any case, this was a nice IPA. I thought they were trying for more of an English style than you tend to see in Portland, not quite so many hops, more biscuity malt, and a bit drier. But the guide says it's Northwest style, with all the classic NW hop varieties inside. I don't see any reason to doubt the guide's guidance, so I think I'll chalk this up to having a double IPA immediately prior to this. I'll guess I'll just have to try it again once the pub opens. I don't know what it'll be like, but I know you'll be able to get there on TriMet bus #9, one of the Frequent Service lines. And it'll be a short stagger away from the Clinton St. Theater, with its attached brewpub.
Hell's Kitchen (i.e. the potato beer), Crannog, BC: I actually wasn't surprised this doesn't taste like potatoes. Potatoes are a fairly neutral-tasting source of fermentable starch, which is why you see them used to make vodka a lot. A good, dry Irish-style Red. It's a shame the Crannog folks are up in British Columbia and don't seem to have wide distribution down here. I could drink more of this. And I have a sneaking suspicion it'd go really well with potatoes.
Backhand of God Stout, Crannog: A really great dry Irish stout that isn't Guinness, which is a rare thing indeed. They nailed the lactic and astringent notes, which is where people usually mess up. Too often you just get a dark, dry, sorta-roasty beer, drinkable but nothing to write home about. This one's not like that. To give you some idea, my wife picked this over the red when we were at the Crannog booth and didn't want to trade with me, which is saying a lot.
Standing Stone Double IPA: I remember really liking this one, but it was late in the afternoon and the details are a touch hazy. Standing Stone is out of Ashland, so hopefully I'll be able to track this down again. I can tell you it didn't taste like the previous double IPA.
Mateveza: This is a yerba mate beer from the Butte Creek folks. Yes, yerba mate, that stuff Argentinians drink out of gourds instead of swilling $5 lattes like civilized people. Wisecracks aside, this was the big surprise of the festival as far as I'm concerned. I wouldn't have thought an herbal, tea-like flavor would go well in beer, but it does, or at least I thought it did. It had a very refreshing quality about it. It'd be great on a hot day after mowing the lawn, if I had a lawn, which I don't. It'd also be great on a hot day after doing absolutely nothing, which I'm eminently capable of. Did I mention that yerba mate's loaded with caffeine? Did I mention that I'm a caffeine-based organism? I'm hesitant to say this would be a good morning wake-me-up, but it might be worth a try, at least.
Roots Chocolate Habanero Stout: I think this is the consensus choice as the beer of the festival. I only had a sip of it, a complete stranger was ahead of me in the line for the men's room and had acquired a rather evangelical fervor for the beer and wanted me to try it. It really was great. You wouldn't think this would be the ideal condition to try a chocolate habanero stout, impatiently standing in line in the hot sun. That can't be anywhere near the ideal condition, so it must be even better than it seemed at the time. Scary. A certain macrobrew calls itself the king of beers, for no obvious reason except marketshare. If there really is such a thing as beer royalty, though, this cocoa-n-chile beer has got to be the Aztec emperor of beers.
Roots East Side Abbey: I went back later hoping to get a full glass of the stout, but they'd just run out. They had an abbey-style ale instead at the Roots booth, so I had a glass of that. It was fine, although it wasn't the beer I really wanted. I probably ought to have asked what the abv was before getting a whole glass.
Lucky Lab Rose City Red: Your standard dry red style. Got up to track down another red for my spouse, and decided I'd have some too instead of waiting in another line. I'm glad I did. I can sometimes be a bit of a hop bigot, going "30 IBU's? You call that beer?" But 30 is what this clocks in at, and I liked it a lot. A mug of this would've gone great with food if I'd been interested in any of the festival's healthy organic food choices, but sadly it was not to be. At 4.2 abv, it'd be a good session beer too -- everyone could stand their round without getting loaded to excess. Or at least not to what I'd consider excess. The guide says this red's made without crystal malt, and the color comes from using Munich and dark malts in the right proportions. I'd love to be able to tell you I noticed a substantial difference, but I didn't. I will, once again, blame this on the other beers I'd tried earlier (and there'd been several at this point), rather than blaming my untrained and insensate palate. Hey, I'm the one writing this, I can blame whatever I want. Describing a beer as a "dry red" makes it sound like a wine or something, which it most definitely is not. A dry red wine is what I'm having right now as I write this, actually, but I wouldn't dare to attempt to describe it. Describing wine is an art reserved for highly paid experts and pretentious rich twits, and I wouldn't presume to horn in on their turf. Someday, maybe, wine will become an everyday beverage in this country the way beer is, but I'm increasingly convinced it won't happen until the very last baby boomer hoofs it off to the great Woodstock festival in the sky. But this post is about beer, and I digress.
Lompoc Bald Guy Brown: I'm pretty sure this is one of the Lompoc's usual seasonals. I didn't realize they were doing the organic beer thing now. Maybe it's just the 5th Quadrant up in trendy North Portland that's doing the organic beer thing. I dunno. I wish I had more to say about this, but it was late in the day. I remembered I'd had some after reading the guide again. They've probably still got it at all the local Lompoc outlets. The original location on 23rd is still my favorite, about the least pretentious, least upscale microbrew spot in the city -- except with really good food.
Hop Van Boorian: This is advertised as a "Belgian IPA". It's not the first thing I've tried that's been described that way, and the more of them I try, the more I think there's no such thing as a "Belgian IPA". Crossbreeding two popular styles seems like a no-brainer, but I've never tried one that's made much of an impression on me. It's quite a shame, really. By this I don't just mean US brewers trying to make Belgian styles but with more hops. I've run across a few beers from Belgium that claimed to be hoppy US-style beers, complete with hop cones all over the label, and still, no dice. The result is inevitably a little of both styles, but not enough of either. Belgian yeast/microbial flavors just don't seem to mesh up all that well with hops, period -- with the possible exception of Orval, which is definitely not a beer for all tastes.

Oh, and here's a sunset at the festival, FWIW. I'm not sure why I took this. Possibly there was beer involved.

Updated: Linkies from Venti's Cafe and Basement Bar and the NAOBF itself. Hooray, interwebs!

Friday, June 08, 2007

cris de coeur

Most graffiti is really stupid. People always say it's an art form and all that, but if that's the case, most of the time it's really bad art, and all it says is "hey, look at me, I was here."

Here are a handful of exceptions I've run across recently. In the top photo, someone has written on a decaying poster "I just want to mean something". This is next to one of the Fremont bridge supports, up in the dreary semi-industrial part of NW Portland.

(If you're wondering about the title, here's a great explanation. Basically a "cri de coeur" is like a heartfelt plea, but much fancier.)

A truism every graffiti artist knows, and no politician has apparently ever learned.

I'm convinced this kite picture is trying to make a point. I don't know what it is yet, but it just has that look. Maybe it's the eyes.

A rare bit of graffiti in the Pearl, insisting the place is not any safer. Sadly, it lacks crucial bits of context. Safer compared to when? Or due to what?

Every hippie's favorite number. You see this around town a lot (like this for example), and it doesn't look like it's all the same person.

Posters aren't technically graffiti, but this seemed to fit here. Either poster by itself wouldn't be a big deal, but they make for a nice dichotomy. When you see something like this in the wild, be sure to take a photo of it. Anything with a dichotomy in it is Art, automatically. It doesn't even have to be a very good photo, which this isn't.

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.

History Stories Portland, A Great City Bridges Portland City Government Portland Fire Department Portland Police Department Portland's City Water Bureau Lumber Industry Port of Portland Portland Traction Company Railroads Utilities Civic Organizations What Is Here And Where To Find It Portland Rose Festival Rose Festival Queen's Crown Portland's Junior Rose Festival The Royal Rosarians History of the Rose History of the Rose Society International Rose Test Gardens Mystic Order of the Rose Airlines Banks Churches Fraternal Hotels Industries Newspapers Parks and Statuary Radio Sports and Recreation Schools and Colleges Stores

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

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.

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?

driver's seat

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.

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.

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:

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

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.

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.

The bovine theme continues at the 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.

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.