On the Beaten Path: Tracing the I-90 Trail in Seattle

Public art installation at Sturgus Park along the I90 Trail.

The I90 trail is part of the Mountains to Sound Greenway National Heritage Area, an effort to create a natural corridor for walking, biking, and recreation from Seattle to the Cascade Mountains along Interstate 90. Here we’ll look at the pathways that wind along Interstate 90 as it passes from Mercer Island, through the Mount Baker Tunnel, and down to Interstate 5. The east-west route slices through the heart of Seattle and its historic neighborhoods. From the relatively affluent communities of Leschi and Mount Baker with their lake views, the trails run through the Central District and the north end of the Rainier Valley (the old Garlic Gulch), skirt the south end of the International District, and end up on Beacon Hill. There are views here, as well!

Interstate 90 is an audible presence for much of the route. While on the tunnel’s “Lid,” things are relatively tranquil, once you have crossed 23^rd Avenue South, where  the vehicle tunnel emerges, the sound and sight of the freeway is always with you, at points uncomfortably close as the trail runs within just a few feet of speeding traffic. The environs are somewhat gritty, typical of highway margins. Some denizens may be gritty, as well. Stay well aware of your surroundings. 

https://maps.app.goo.gl/rF25QwVfWhdAUySD7

The Bridges

The I90 bridge between Seattle and Mercer Island is actually comprised of two bridges. The first Lake Washington Floating Bridge opened on July 2, 1940. In 1967 it was named the Lacey V. Murrow Memorial Bridge in honor of the recently deceased director of the state highway department. Lacey Murrow happened to be the brother of famed newsman Edward R. Murrow.

In 1989, an extensive reconfiguration and renovation of the bridge was hit a curve when a massive storm exposed engineering flaws causing the structure to break apart and sink. Fortunately, a parallel span known as the Homer M. Hadley Memorial Bridge had just been put into service and the old bridge closed to traffic. Thus, there were no casualties. Three years later, the rebuilt Murrow Bridge opened. The Murrow Bridge carries traffic eastward, while the Hadley Bridge brings traffic westward into the city. (The short span from Mercer Island to Bellevue is known as the East Channel Bridge.)

Homer Hadley was a civil engineer who promoted the idea of a floating bridge across the lake. Although he was not involved in the design or construction of either bridge, he was given posthumous credit for his concept. A plaque honoring Mr. Hadley appears to have been removed/stolen while the plinth remains.

While the plaque honoring Lacey V. Murrow is somewhat defaced by graffiti, that honoring Homer Hadley is missing.

The Lid

When originally opened in 1940, the I90 bridge connected to Interstate 5 along surface streets, including the newly made Lake Way. It was even possible to access the bridge from side roads close to the bridge deck. It wasn't until the 1989 expansion that the connection was converted to an elevated highway, decimating the surrounding neighborhoods. As part of the 1993 reconfiguration, an earthen "lid" or cap was built over the portion of the Mount Baker Ridge that covered the newer span. What once were residential neighborhoods are now a series of parks: Sam Smith, Jimi Hendrix, and Judkins.

Much interest focuses on the technological marvels of the bridges, tunnels, and lid; less on the human cost of these marvels in divided and destroyed neighborhoods.

 

This detail from the 1953 Kroll Map of Seattle shows the route of the aptly-named Lake Way, the arterial created to provide direct access to the floating bridge. Lake Way cut the old neighborhoods in half, but worse was to come.

Mercer Island to the Portals.

Interstate 90 cuts between and over the Leschi and Mount Baker neighborhoods, tunneling through Mount Baker Ridge to emerge west of 23^rd Avenue South in the Central District. The I90 trail officially begins (or ends) on Mercer Island at Aubrey Davis Park; it parallels the Homer Hadley Bridge, the northern stretch of the I90 floating bridge, before tailing off into the Leschi/Mount Baker neighborhoods just before the Mount Baker Tunnel. For bikers and walkers, magical portals at the east and west sides of the ridge allow you to access a pedestrian tunnel, avoiding a very steep hill climb.

The I90 trail leaves Aubrey Davis Park on Mercer Island to run alongside the bridge deck. Informational panels at Aubrey Davis Park describe the vision of the Mountains to Sound Greenway.

For those who prefer to start at the shore of Lake Washington, a tangle of trails leads from the lake edge along Lakeside Avenue South up to two East Portal overlooks, one on top of the other. Or they did. Today the trails on the north side of the bridge are cut off by construction related to the coming light rail connection to Bellevue. The southside route encompasses a steep ascent via stairs and landings. It crosses 35^th Avenue South where one gets as close to the highway roadbed as one could comfortably wish. A further staircase leads up to Lake Washington Boulevard and the higher of the two viewpoints. The lower viewpoint stands directly in front of the portal to the pedestrian tunnel through Mount Baker. From here, once may take the 10-minute walk through the tunnel or opt for the steep climb over the ridge.

From the viewpoints one could stand and watch the pieces of the old floating bridge drift away after the Thanksgiving weekend storm of 1990 broke the bridge apart. The replacement bridge opened three years later.

The I90 bike/pedestrian trail adjoins the floating bridge on the north side, landing up just below the lower viewpoint. From this vantage point, one can see the complicated interplay of bridges, bike trail, construction right of way, and the new light rail track, as well as remnants of pedestrian paths and stairs now off-limits. (The 2 line was tested for the first time on September 8, 2025, and is expected to be in service early in 2026.)

Near the East Portal: view many routes across the lake -- eastbound bridge, westbound bridge, bike path, and light rail.

One of several staircases that take you part way up or down Mount  Baker Ridge.

            The Lakeshore

The communities along the lake were quickly identified as recreational hotspots. By the early 20^th century, white settlers were setting up summer homes here, some right where the freeway looms today. Indians who camped along the shore were pushed out as the Mount Baker and Leschi neighborhoods built pleasure grounds and the Olmsted Brothers planned and implemented interconnected parks and parkways as part of Seattle’s Emerald Necklace of greenspaces. Some residents made futile efforts to protest the widening of the bridge in the early 1990s.

The Tunnel to Sam Smith Park

Glorious views of the bridge, lake, and Cascade mountains reward those intrepid explorers who brave the slightly dark, noisy, graffiti-plastered pedestrian tunnel. The one-third mile stretch may not be for the claustrophobic, but the walls do offer many helpful suggestions for improving your love life.

Exiting the Mount Baker pedestrian tunnel on the west side places you in Sam Smith Park, named for Seattle’s first Black city councilmember. Sam Smith served five terms in the state legislature beginning in 1958; he then ran for city council in 1967, serving until 1991. The park, with its huge structures related to HVAC and electrical operations of the pedestrian and car tunnels, resembles a giant’s set of building blocks. While there is actual public art here, I recommend leaning into the brutalist nature of the landscape. Many houses were condemned to build the lid; faint traces of foundations remain if you look closely.

 

Presumably a self-portrait within the pedestrian tunnel.

West Portal to pedestrian tunnel, Sam Smith Park

Sam Smith Park

From the West Portal, walk westward through Sam Smith Park and across Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard (MLK) to Jimi Hendrix Park. Before you cross the boulevard, take note of the Italianate church in a hollow just to the south of Stan Smith. This is Our Lady of Mount Virgin Catholic Church, once the spiritual center of the Italian community in Seattle. Originally, a smaller church, St. Boniface, that catered to German immigrants, stood here. Sadly, Mount Virgin is now closed, one of several local parishes falling victim to dwindling attendance, the scarcity of priests, and the policies of the Archdiocese of Seattle.

Sketch of the original Mount Virgin, once called St. Boniface, drawn by graduate student Nellie Roe in 1915. Courtesy University of Washington Special Collections.

Mount Virgin Church today, Alan Humphrey.

Jimi Hendrix Park to Judkins Park

On the west side of the Mount Baker Lid, trails meander through Seattle’s Central District before merging to travel across North Rainier Valley.

Cross Martin Luther King Jr. Way, and enter Jimi Hendrix Park, named and inspired by the Seattle-born rocker and innovative musician (1942-1970) with ties to both the Central District and the Rainier Valley. The park, including innovative rock-inspired artwork, surrounds the old Colman School, now the Northwest African American Museum (NAAM).

Colman School becomes NAAM

Colman School and NAAM have a unique history. The elementary school opened in 1918, well before highway construction began, and served children from the Central District and the Rainier Valley, including many minorities. When the school was closed in 1985 due to construction of the I90 lid, community leaders put forth the idea of converting it into a museum of African American history. To make their point, a small group of activists broke in and occupied the vacant building, an act of civil disobedience that lasted eight years and ended with a promise by the city to make their dream come true. Another decade of contentious negotiation and legal maneuvering finally resulted in an agreement for the Urban League of Metropolitan Seattle to purchase the building from the School District and convert it into a museum and affordable housing. The Northwest African American Museum had its grand opening on March 8, 2008. The apartments in the upper floors are designated the Urban League Village.

In 1991, a new Colman Elementary School opened a short distance away from the first, on the northern edge of the lid. It was renamed in honor of Thurgood Marshall in 1996, three years following the death of the nation’s first African American Supreme Court Justice.

A word about Mr. Colman: The Colman School was named for James Murray Colman (1832-1906), a Scottish-born businessman whose name can be found throughout Seattle. There is also a Colman Park, a Colman Playground, Colman Dock on Elliott Bay, and the Colman Building downtown.

The old Colman School, now NAAM. 

To the south of the Jimi Hendrix Park lies Colman Playground, first laid out in 1915. At that time, the area around the old Colman School was just blacktop, if that, so the playground was used by schoolchildren, as well as families from the surrounding area. Some say the Italian families used it for lawn bowling (bocce ball). In 1940, with the assistance of the Works Progress Administration, a shelterhouse was opened at the corner of the park. The Italianate-style building still stands at the corner of South Grand Street and 23^rd Avenue South and is utilized by the Seattle Children’s PlayGarden, an inclusive recreation and education program serving children with disabilities, but open to all for play. At one point the shelterhouse was offered to the African American community for the museum they desired, but that offer was turned down.

Jim Hendrix in the park that bears his name.

Cross another street, 23^rd Avenue South, and find more traces of the old Italian district once called Garlic Gulch. You’re still on the I90 lid here, but soon cars will roar out of the tunnel heading for Interstate 5. Traces of the Gulch can be found on both sides of the freeway. From the I90 trail one can easily see several fragments of the Italian community. The Atlantic Street Center, which began life as Deaconess Settlement House for Italian immigrants, still stands at Atlantic and 21^st. The street itself, which once stretched for several blocks east and west, is now only a short remnant west of 23^rd Avenue South  and another remnant to the east next to Sam Smith Park. The expansion of I90, with its tangle of onramps, offramps, and overpasses, wiped out many of the businesses that made up Garlic Gulch, as well as some 200 homes. 

Atlantic Street Center, once the Deaconess Settlement House, still serves families in need. 

To the north of Atlantic Street lies Judkins Park and neighborhood and the new, not-yet-opened, Light Rail station that will soon link Seattle to the Eastside along the I90 corridor. Trails through the park lead to the residential area that once was full of Italian homes, the north half of Garlic Gulch. Many homes featured grape arbors, vegetable gardens, plum trees, and even bocce ball courts. Take the trail on the north side of the lid that leads to Hiawatha Place and you’ll find a neighborhood transformed into apartments and condominiums. Along the trail you’ll pass the Charles M. Stokes Overlook, a scenic viewpoint from which to gaze out over the freeway to North Beacon Hill and downtown Seattle. Stokes (1903-1996) was a Black lawyer, legislator, and King County District Court judge. He served three terms in the Washington State legislature.

One theory is that the dump that once existed where Judkins Playfield is now sparked the nickname Garlic Gulch.

The Judkins Park Light Rail Station awaits its grand opening sometimes in 2026.

 

The Charles Stokes Overlook, just a wide spot on a hill, but a pretty view.

Judkins Park to Jose Rizal Park

The last stretch of I90 and the I90 trail skirts the southern edge of the International District, with nods to the Asian cultures that have shaped Seattle. Begin on the south side of the lid, at a spot called Benvenuto Viewpoint on 23rd Avenue South. Little information is available about this overlook immediately to the south of the Light Rail station. Benvenuto means “welcome” in Italian, so it is clear that the site honors the Italian immigrant community. It is currently closed while construction continues on the station.

The walking path then heads west along what’s left of Atlantic Street, crosses over Rainier Avenue, and heads up Beacon Hill. For a good stretch it parallels Interstate 90 closely as it rushes out of the lid and on toward Interstate 5. Hold on to your hats!

 

The next stop is Daejeon Park (originally spelled “Taejon”) and its ornate octagonal pavilion honoring Seattle’s sister-city relationship with Daejeon, South Korea. Built in 1998, the pavilion has not yet fallen into disrepair, although it is currently slated for refurbishment. 

The same cannot be said of José Rizal Park at the north slope of Beacon Hill, just a short walk away from Daejeon.

The park, long in the works, was officially dedicated in 1981 in memory of the Filipino patriot, poet, and martyr José Rizal. It contains a picnic shelter, small play structure, and – obscured by heavy hillside vegetation -- a dog park, as well as a bust of Rizal and colorful mosaics. Unfortunately, the park has fallen victim to vandals and looters who have stolen not only several bronze plaques but also the time capsule buried inside the pedestal of the Rizal bust. These events occurred in the fall of 2024. The damage has not yet been repaired and no one has been charged with the crimes. As of my visit in August of this year, the area is sadly down-trodden with trash and graffiti everywhere. On a positive note, the park does boast arguably the best views of the city’s waterfront. Renovations and maintenance are scheduled to begin this fall (2025).

Bust of José Rizal, showing the hole in the pedestal from which a time capsule was stolen in 2024.

Along the greenbelt between Daejeon Park and José Rizal Park lies a wide spot called Sturgus Park. An art installation appears to be a grid of 35 small concrete houses or tents. A larger “house” stands on a knoll some distance away. No visible signage explains the work or credits the artist. A deep dive reveals that the artwork, titled “Equality,” was created by artists Rolon Bert Garner and Ken Leback and unveiled in 1996 with Seattle’s 1% for the Arts. It is meant as a statement on wealth disparity. Beyond this, the park offers dramatic views of the city.

The I90 trail officially ends at José Rizal Park after diverging from the master Mountains to Sound Greenway trail which dives under the José Rizal Bridge and skirts the edge of what is sometimes called “The Jungle,” a heavily wooded area favored by unhoused individuals. The dog park situated in this area, and accessed via steps down from José Rizal, appears little used. Yelp reviews refer to the secluded setting and the lack of maintenance.  

The dramatic José Rizal Bridge was built in 1911 to span a deep gully created by the city’s regrading efforts. Then known as the 12^th Avenue South Bridge, it connects Beacon Hill to the International District over low-lying Dearborn Street. It was renamed for the Filipino patriot in 1974 thanks to the efforts of the Filipino community in Seattle. The steel-arch bridge is quite dramatic, especially when lighted at night.

José Rizal Bridge, with Pacific Medical Building behind. Courtesy Seattle Municipal Archives, #1206-16, November 24, 1998.

 

The I90 Trail - come for the history, stay for the views!

 

View of downtown and waterfront from José Rizal Park.

All photos by the author except where indicated.

Spooks and Books: Exploring Literary Haunts

 

        Illustration from The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, 1903, Arthur E. Becher.

Ghost and other supernatural creatures seem drawn to books and to places containing many books – libraries, bookstores, the private studies of scholars and philosophers. We have explored the connection of books and manuscripts to the paranormal in several previous blog posts: books of magic spells (“Spellbinding: Works of Magic in Fantasy Literature”), books that are cursed or that deliver curses (“You Have Been Warned”), and volumes that predict, or even write, the future (“Spellbinding, Part II: Books of Power on Screen”). Some of these volumes are real, while many are fictional works in fictional settings. Either way, they speak of the lure of words, signs, and symbols in conjuring our imagination and perhaps something more! Add to this the fusty atmosphere of old libraries, the dark, eerie recesses of antiquarian bookshops, and the lonely, dimly-lit alcoves of a scholar’s study, and one can see and feel the attraction for the otherworldly.

Forgotten Lore

Libraries full of Edgar Allan Poe’s “quaint and curious volume[s] of forgotten lore” are a staple of horror fiction. Sometimes the book-lined shelves seem to attract the forces of darkness. At other times, the book collector himself is the source of the evil.

In Poe’s poem “The Raven,” the bird – clearly a denizen of the spectral plane – visits a grieving scholar in his study, offering cold comfort.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore

 

In his novella The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, horror writer H.P. Lovecraft describes the “special” library of an evil occultist, intermixing real and imaginary works:

The bizarre collection, besides a host of standard works … embraced nearly all the cabbalists, daemonologists, and magicians known to man; and was a treasure-house of lore in the doubtful realms of alchemy and astrology … Mr. Merritt turned pale when, upon taking down a fine volume conspicuously labelled as the Qunoon-e-Islam, he found it was in truth the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, of which he had heard such monstrous things some years previously….”

Famed ghost story writer M.R. James litters libraries throughout his tales of ghosts, demons, and cursed texts. In the short story The Tractate Middoth, a young librarian at a “certain famous library” goes to retrieve a book (containing a magical secret) from the Hebrew section for a visitor. He is found in a state of shock. Later he speaks to his friend about the occurrence:

I’ve noticed it the last day or two – a sort of unnaturally strong smell of dust. But no – that’s not what did it for me. It was something I saw…I saw an old parson in a cloak taking [the book] out…Well, I made a bit of a noise on purpose, coughed and moved my feet. He turned around and let me see his face…the upper part was perfectly dry, and the eyes were very deep-sunk; and over them, from the eyebrows to the cheek-bone, there were cobwebs – thick. Now that closed me up, as they say, and I can’t tell you anything more.

The (Re)animated

Boy: “They say this library is haunted.

Bully: By who? Ernest Hauntingway?

(Casper: A New  Beginning, 1997)

Cartoons and comics are rife with magical books, haunted libraries, and bookstores.

Gravity Falls offers a story arc centered on a set of mysterious journals containing information on otherworldly beings, instructions for building an interdimensional gateway, and an incantation for raising the dead. In the Netflix series Hilda, the title character and her friend Frieda find that the Trolberg library contains a labyrinth of secret staircases, passageways, and rooms – all lined with ancient texts – and that the fabled “witches tower” lies beneath all of these.

In the Disney series The Ghost and Molly McGee, a tiny ghost known as a story sprite invades the local bookshop and wreaks havoc by slurping up the words of the books. According to lore introduced in the story, the sprite is responsible for bringing on the Dark Ages by consuming all the books of the day. In The Owl House, young witch-in-training Luz visits the Bonesborough Library where she encounters the demon decimal system, an “encyclopsedia,” and books that come to life under certain astrological conditions. There is also a “forbidden section,” which would seem to sort of defeat the purpose.

And in the episode “Knight Terrors” of Scooby-Doo: Mystery Incorporated, the gang visits the spooky Burlington Library and encounters disturbing phenomena, including a ghost train.

A Japanese book series, The Haunted Bookstore, has been adapted in manga-style. The book shop of the title contains a portal to the spectral dimension; many spirits from Japanese folklore enter to purchase or borrow books.

“Real” hauntings

And what about real literary hauntings? A simple internet search uncovers dozens of “real” library hauntings across the world. Since those events are well covered elsewhere, we won’t discuss them here. Suffice it to say, when next you find yourself in a secluded corner of your favorite library or bookshop and hear rustling, well, it may not be simply pages turning.

A monk surprises a ghost in the abbey library, 1704 German illustration

The Ghostly Tale of Old Book

 

The old Peoria State Hospital, 2010, Courtesy Willjay via Wikimedia Commons

A young man leaned against an old elm tree and wept for the man whose grave he had just dug. This was his habit upon each interment at the Peoria State Hospital, a mental institution in Bartonville, Illinois.

The young man was an inmate at the hospital and its resident gravedigger. He had been born in Austria. He was either mute or did not speak English. No one seemed to know his real name; he was called Manual [sic] Bookbinder after his trade before his hospitalization. He was also called “Old Book,” although he was not old. He was about 31 when he died in 1910.

The ghostly part of the tale of Old Book began at his death. It seems there were many people at his funeral, due to his popularity among patients and staff. Witnesses, including the hospital’s superintendent, swore they heard crying coming from the elm tree; some claim they saw Old Book standing by the tree. So convinced were they, that they opened his coffin to check if he was there. (He was.)

Further embellishments to the tale center on attempts to remove the elm tree from the property; efforts which caused the tree to weep and wail scaring off the groundskeepers. (Perhaps it was a weeping elm.)

Old Book’s grave can be seen at the Peoria State Hospital Cemetery, Marker No. 713. Unlike many inmates, he was given a full headstone with a recent plaque that reads:

IN EACH DEATH HE FOUND GREAT SORROW.

HE WEPT AT EACH PASSING TEARS FOR THE UNLOVED AND FORGOTTEN.

NOW, “OLD BOOK,” WE WEEP FOR YOU.

 

 

This story was originally published on the blog of the American Bookbinders Museum.

Their Own Voices: World War II Victory Girls, Venereal Disease, and Rapid Treatment on Puget Sound

 
Toward the end of 1943, the federal government, in partnership with the City of Seattle, opened a Rapid Treatment Center for young women infected with venereal disease. The facility was located at the Crittenton Home for unwed mothers in Rainier Beach, leased to the city for the duration of World War II. The project was part of a wider effort to keep syphilis and gonorrhea from sapping the strength of the nation’s fighting forces. About the same time, the state of Washington set up a second RTC at the existing girls reformatory in Grand Mound. Ultimately, the two entities merged. Hundreds of women and girls in Washington state were involuntarily quarantined and treated during the war emergency with little regard for civil liberties, while service men faced little in the way of consequences.

Public health reports from the agencies concerned offer a dizzying array of statistics and theories about “the problem.” And while officials often spoke and wrote about the sad backgrounds of the women involved, little can be found from the point of view of the women themselves. In this essay, we’ll listen to a few voices that come through the din.

The Crittenton Home

In 1899 a group of women in the Seattle area, inspired by the message of millionaire-philanthropist Charles Crittenton, formed a “rescue circle” to help “fallen women” in their community. The establishment quickly evolved from one meant to rescue prostitutes to a sanctuary for pregnant teens and unwed mothers. When the original wooden home in Rainier Beach proved inadequate, the ladies replaced it with a sturdy brick structure at the same location. The Crittenton Home weathered changing economic times and social norms for nearly three quarters of a century, with one significant interruption during World War II.

Uncle Sam Needs You

In 1943, the Crittenton Home was transformed, temporarily, into a Rapid Treatment Center (RTC) for women with venereal disease (STDs). Many of the women targeted were the “Victory Girls” who populated Seattle’s downtown and waterfront, as well as other ports of embarkation, during the war years. Not exactly prostitutes, these good time girls were willing to give their all for the war effort. Unfortunately, the resulting outbreaks of syphilis and gonorrhea threatened to sap the fighting power of the armed forces, so punitive measures were taken. In many places, women and teens were arrested and jailed if suspected of being infected; if contagion was proved, they could be quarantined, even when no laws had been broken. In an obvious double-standard, infected enlisted men were treated on base and were not subject to arrest. Nor was the very young age of some of the girls considered a cause for charges against the men involved.

So serious was the perceived threat to public health that the federal government established an agency, headed up by one Eliot Ness, with funding from the 1941 Lanham Act, to combat the problem.[i] The Seattle treatment center, run jointly by the city and the feds, was one of dozens nationwide under the aegis of the Division of Social Protection of the Federal Works Agency. Many were set up at former Civilian Conversation Corps camps in rural areas. The Crittenton Home, already fitted up for the care of girls and young women and far removed from temptation, seemed a perfect location for what were, in most cases, first offenders. (The word “amateurs” is often used in government reports.) The trustees of the home were persuaded to lease the building and grounds to the city for the duration.

In some ways, the program for the residents was quite similar to that of the Crittenton girls – school studies, chores, occupational training (typing, sewing), and fun and games interspersed with medical exams and treatments. A type of self-government prevailed, including elected officers. However, unlike their predecessors, the inmates of the euphemistically-titled Lake View Manor School for Girls were all court-mandated. Further, they were not (necessarily) pregnant. The grounds were patrolled by guards. When one “faithful and respected guard” passed away, the inmates raised funds for a floral arrangement. 

Situated as it was within an urban area, the home found itself something of a curiosity. Visitors included society women such as Mrs. Kenneth B. Colman (Edith, 1905-1970) and attorney Lady Willie Forbus (her name, not a title, 1892-1993), Seattle Mayor William Devin (1898-1982), and Father (later Bishop) Thomas Gill (1908-73), all in addition to a steady stream of public health and military officials. The residents were often called upon to entertain visiting dignitaries with skits and songs.

Lake View Manor did aspire to something more than medical cures; the authorities hoped fervently for moral rehabilitation and “individualized redirection,” as well.[ii] A memo to Ness written by his local representative invites him to come and see “what can be done with promiscuous girls.” The writer, Edwin James Cooley, adds that the inmates are “worthwhile human material.” [iii]

Cooley enclosed copies of the Tattler, a typewritten newsletter written by the residents, as evidence of their creative spirit. True to its name, the Tattler offered up gossipy, often catty, tidbits about both residents and staff, using full names. For example,

“Where on earth did Alice Flowers get those bedroom slippers? For a while we thought someone had dyed their French poodles red and turned them loose in the house.”[iv]

Cultural affairs

Treatments at the time consisted of sulfonamides for those with gonorrhea and a combination of drip and injection therapy with drugs containing arsenic for those infected with syphilis. “Rapid treatment” typically meant six to ten weeks of confinement, as opposed to a year or more of outpatient treatment. The use of penicillin, which could effect a cure in a far shorter period of time, was just around the corner. In fact, a short item in the Tattler refers to the experimental use of penicillin:

“To our extreme gratification, on March 8 [1944], we received our first quota of Penicillin, released to the U.S. Public Health Service by the War Production Board. Until this time, it has except in rare cases been used exclusively for the armed forces. Sulfa resistant patients were immediately started on Penicillin treatment and results have been definitely successful.”[v]

Sketch of Medical Director Harb by Marilyn Rogers, in Tattler.

The war on VD included weapons familiar to other epidemics, including AIDS in the 1980s and COVID-19 in the 2020s: swab tests, isolation, contact tracing, and medical monitoring. For the Lake View Manor women, medical follow-up meant periodic tests to assess whether disease was still present. Three negative gonorrheal cultures were required before a woman was eligible for release. Tattler snippets refer frequently to the intimately-obtained cultures in humorous terms:

“Wonder why some of the girls are having such a hard time sitting down recently? Essie, you should be built more like Doreen.”

“Sweet consolation, girls. Mrs. Knippel insists the ‘pointed’ part of treatment hurts her worse than it does us.”

And….in words many of us may relate to:

“The way Irene Francis’s culture came back, we would like an explanation in language we all can understand. How about that, Dr. Harb?”

The use of the Crittenton Home for a treatment center by the city lasted from late fall 1943 until sometime in 1946, a little more than two years. Estimates of numbers served at any given time range from 43 to 100 women. The annual budget was $100,000. Early on, planners had promised that inmates would receive assistance with placement in jobs once they left. Unfortunately, no quantifiable information is available to determine actual outcomes.

The Washington Infirmary

The push for rapid treatment of venereal disease during wartime was a nationwide effort; across the country at least 59 RTCs were established. In the Puget Sound area another RTC was set up at roughly the same time as that at the Crittenton Home. The second Washington facility was located in a cottage at the state’s Training School for Girls, a reformatory at Grand Mound near Centralia. Priority placement was given to women from the Tacoma area and, then, to others outside Seattle. Preliminary planning documents indicate that girls were to be quarantined for not less than four weeks nor more than eight, with the goal of complete cure. Inmates were to be segregated by race (black and white) and by their sexual history (amateur vs. professional).[vi] Given the tight quarters that must have existed in the dormitory-style cottage, it is doubtful that either of those dictates were carried out. Planning documents note that “patients should be allowed to have choice in making plans for rehabilitation.” That last word implies that the inmates were not simply diseased patients to be cured, they were moral misfits who needed to be reintegrated into society.[vii]

Six months into operations, that Grand Mound facility reported curing 94 of 150 women treated at what was then called the Washington Infirmary. While the treatment center at the Crittenton Home was run by the Seattle Department of Health, Washington Infirmary was a state operation. Both, of course, relied heavily on federal funds to operate.

Early in 1945, despite the objection of medical personnel, Seattle officials moved to shut down operations at the Crittenton Home citing vacant beds due to rapid turnover resulting from the new penicillin regimen. At this point, the state stepped in with a new plan: move the women and girls remaining at Grand Mound to the Crittenton Home, merging the two entities. The transfer happened in March 1945.

From here the timeline becomes a bit hazy. It is likely that rapid treatment under state auspices continued at the Seattle location for another year. Probably early in 1946, the Washington Infirmary moved to a structure at the little-used Paine Field airbase near Everett. Two years later, it moved again, this time to the campus of Firland Sanitorium, a tuberculosis hospital in what is now the city of Shoreline. On June 10, 1949, with the war emergency far in the rearview mirror, the 60-bed wing of Firland devoted to VD treatment closed permanently.

Meanwhile, because the Crittenton board had only leased the property to the city, the trustees were able to re-open the home to unwed mothers by August of 1946.

Behind the Numbers

Reports of the Seattle Department of Health are full of statistics about the VD problem, including age and race of the (female) offenders, the “place of meeting” (tavern, hotel, dance hall, street, etc., the location of “actual exposure” (hotel, home, street, taxi, brothel, etc.); types of treatment, cure rates. The occupation and marital status of the women arrested is noted. In the reports from 1944, occupation categories include “prostitute,” “waitress,” and “other.” In some reports, women are categorized as “amateurs” or “professionals.” One striking statistic that emerges from the records is the number of uninfected women who are arrested. In the first trimester of 1944, infected women make up only 17% of the women arrested and examined – indicating a huge number of unnecessary invasive procedures.

Missing from the reports is any sense of the humanity of the women. A much different picture emerges from the pages of the Tattler, the home-made newsletter printed semi-regularly by the inmates of Lake View Manor. In addition, reports from officials made in the course of trying to track down runaways and girls who had left the Washington Infirmary owing money provide glimpses of what life held for them.

In May 1944, the Tacoma Department of Health tracked down a young woman who had left the Washington Infirmary in order to collect $7.19 owed to the facility presumably for small items such as stationery and postage. Lois K. was found working at the Puyallup Laundry and living with her mother; she promised to remit the funds after her next pay day. Another young woman, Ruth T., was located working at the Tacoma Elks Club.[viii]

One Garnetta F. was the subject of much concern by the Pierce County Welfare Department. It seems she had bounced in and out of the Grand Mound facility, her abusive mother’s home, and the county jail. As of December 1944, she was 17, pregnant and without any clear plans, although she claimed to have a fiancé who was not the father of her child. She readily admitted to many sexual encounters of which she was not ashamed. According to the report of the county placement officer,

“Garnetta has no particular plan for the future and said she had not allowed herself to think ahead. She did not want to go to the White Shield Home [a Tacoma maternity hospital for unwed mothers] and hoped that she could marry her boyfriend, a sailor from the U.S.S Commencement Bay, and that they could work out some plan.” [ix]

For her sins, Garnetta earned a place in the sheriff’s jail records alongside men held for burglary, drunkenness, car theft, and disorderly conduct. Her arrest record simply states: “Held for Board of Health.”[x]

Despite the many strikes against her, Garnetta was a survivor. Public records reveal that she married another man and had a daughter in 1946. She died at the age of 62 in Skagit County. No information is available on the outcome of her earlier pregnancy. [xi]

From the pages of the Tattler, we learn more about the young women of Lake View Manor, their hopes and dreams, their thoughts on their confinement, and, in some cases, their lives after quarantine. Although the stays were relatively short, it seems that bonds were formed and friends kept in touch. In the column “Let’s Follow Our Alumni,” we learn that Adela G. is “dishing out ice cream and smiles at Bartell’s Drug Store,” Connie M. is working at the Port of Embarkation, Eleanora S. and Sally S. are “beating out that ‘hup-one-two-three” at the Wave [sic] Station, Hunter’s College, New York, and that others are working at Sick’s Brewery, Boeing Aircraft, and the Seattle-Tacoma Shipyards. Katherine S. reports that she is married and living in Toppenish.[xii]

A news clipping from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, contained within the files of the National Archives, shows Frankie Gribbin, a former resident of the treatment center, in uniform as a recruiting petty officer for the Waves.[xiii]

As noted above, the pages of the Tattler are filled with many humorous anecdotes revealing an effort to cope with confinement and obligatory treatments with humor. The institution is regularly referred to as a school and the inmates as students. Jokes, poems, sketches, and news from “The Grapevine” give a fairly rosy picture of life behind the walls, albeit with some hints of deeper concerns. An anonymous poem is titled “Contemplation of Suicide:”

I wonder if, to the place I’m going

All my sins will follow me –

And point their ugly fingers

And say, “you’ve sinned, you see, you see.”

Or if, when this life is over

I can draw a carefree breath,

And find a friendly solace –

When I leave this earth in death.

As for hopes and dreams, it seems they continued to revolve around men in uniform.

Conclusion

The war emergency of the 1940s caused upheaval in many lives. The women and girls who found themselves quarantined during this time might have much to say about civil liberties. Many more suffered arrest and intrusive testing for little more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nonetheless, looking beyond the statistics, we can find plenty of evidence of resiliency, courage, and the human spirit.

We’ll conclude with these words from the Tattler:

“It’s nearly time for your roving reporter to be in bed, girls, so before the Matron catches me giving out with all this gossip, I’ll take my leave. But, I’ll be watching you – better be good. Bye, now.”

 

Sources

Odin W. Anderson, Ph.D., “Syphilis and Society: Problems of Control in the United States, 1912-1964,” Health Information Foundation, Research Series 22, 1965, pp. 18-21.

Edwin James Cooley, Regional Representative, to Eliot Ness, Director, Division of Social Protection, Community War Services, February 17, 1944, Seattle Rapid Treatment Center, Subject Classified Central Files, 1940-1947, the Office of Community War Services (Record Group 215), National Archives;

Edwin James Cooley, Regional Representative, to Eliot Ness, Director, Division of Social Protection, Community War Services, March 7, 1944, Seattle Rapid Treatment Center, Subject Classified Central Files, 1940-1947, the Office of Community War Services (Record Group 215), National Archives;

Edwin James Cooley, Regional Representative, to Eliot Ness, Director, Division of Social Protection, Community War Services, May 9, 1944, Seattle Rapid Treatment Center, Subject Classified Central Files, 1940-1947, the Office of Community War Services (Record Group 215), National Archives;

Lakeview Tattler, various issues, typescript, undated, Seattle Rapid Treatment Center, Subject Classified Central Files, 1940-1947, the Office of Community War Services (Record Group 215), National Archives;

John C. Cutler, M.D., M.P.H., and R.C. Arnold, M.D., “Venereal Disease Control by Health Departments in the Past: Lessons for the Present,” American Journal of Public Health, Vol. 78, No. 4, pp. 372-376;

Marilyn E. Hegarty, Victory Girls, Khaki-Wackies, and Patriotutes: The Regulation of Female Sexuality During World War II, Kindle Edition (NYU Press, 2007), 61-84;

A.L. Ringle, M.D., Director, State Department of Health, to Rogan Jones, Director, Department of Finance, Business & Budgets, February 19, 1945, Box 12, Institution Files, 02-A-449, Washington State Archives, Olympia, Washington;

“Lack of Funds Hits Health Unit,” Seattle Daily Times, April 10, 1949, p. 3;

“Infirmary Cures 94 Women,” Ibid., May 18, 1944, p. 4;

“Social-Disease Center May Be Run by State,” Ibid., January 9, 1945, p. 5;

“City to Operate Woman Hospital,” Ibid., July 29, 1943.

 

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[i] The city’s application for Lanham Act funding  states that in April, 1943, Seattle was “the third most important source of venereal diseases in the entire country among the personnel of the U.S. Navy.” Not for nothing did the city’s port area earn a reputation as a sailortown.

[ii] Edwin James Cooley to Eliot Ness, February 17, 1944.

[iii] Edwin James Cooley to Eliot Ness, May 9, 1944.

[iv] Tattler. Note the pages of the Tattler are undated and unpaginated.

[v] Tattler, undated. Item likely submitted by the facility’s medical director.

[vi] Memorandum, “Results of Talk with State Health Department,” undated, Washington State Archives.

[vii] Ibid.

[viii] Correspondence, RTC Grand Mound, Washington State Archives

[ix] Placement Officer to Ines Taylor, Pierce County Welfare Department, December 29, 1944, retrieved from Washington State Archives.

[x] Arrest records, Pierce County, retrieved from Ancestry.com

[xi] Ancestry.com

[xii] Tattler, undated. WAVES were “Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service,” part of the naval reserves.

[xiii] "Husband Killed in Action, She Joins Waves Here," Seattle Post-Intelligencer, undated clipping.