Recent Research Curiosities
Spies and Espiers
Every so often I come across intriguing stories that provide just enough fodder to excite me but not really enough to justify a full newsletter. Here are two of them.
Many years ago my wife was in a play, the only line of which I remember is “the code of the west.” I think it had to do with honor or chivalry or something to that effect. Recently, I came across a different code of the west while perusing archival documents (thick books of letters copied on onion skin paper) from the Monte Cristo Mining Company at the UW Library’s Special Collections. On October 24, 1894, Charles L. F. Kellogg, cashier for the Mining Co, had sent a telegram to assistant mining superintendent John Mercer. “Please revivalism eligize fretwork and gala to gilding before infantlike indebtment for lexabark.”
Were these typos? A strange mining language I wasn’t privy to? Then, a page or two later in the letterbook was the following:
A secret code of the west! Why? I find it hard to believe that Kellogg and Mercer were truly concerned about outsiders stealing such benign information but perhaps corporate espionage in the middle 1890s world of Puget Sound was bigger than any could imagine. Or maybe they simply liked codes. This wasn’t the only time Mercer was involved with coded messages. He had sent them in March. At least this time money was involved.
My favorite coded message is below. It must be important, considering all of the strange words and the length but unfortunately I didn’t find the translation. If you have any thoughts let me know, particularly if you have access to a turmeric jig or know a javelining Robinson (who may or may not have played for the Phillies with Pileus Hew-hole). By the way, a vanner is part of an ore concentrator, a hypodont is a type of extinct shark, and trephining is what you do when cut a hole in someone’s head.
My second fun discovery resulted from a professor of history and urban design from Switzerland contacting me about the Denny Regrade. After talking, he sent me several Seattle photos. In one that I hadn’t seen before, I noticed a curious little feature atop the rather handsome Central Building. The incongruous structure was labeled Chamber of Commerce Observatory. I had never heard of it and wondered why there was an observatory downtown amidst the urban lights. I quickly learned the error of my assumption. The Chamber didn’t want you to look to space but out on downtown and the waterfront and see the rapid growth and opportunities in the city.
Opened in 1909, the Central Building was described as having “bones of steel, body of stone” and included a “mob proof armor-plated vault.” (Were the builders expecting organized crime or a mass gathering of safe crackers?) When the Central opened, the Chamber occupied the eighth floor, which housed a Museum that included displays where one could “learn in a short time something of the big variety of industries located in Seattle.” In addition, the public Observatory provided stunning views of the city and its path to greatness. (During construction, architect Charles Aldrich told a reporter that people thought the Observatory might be a laundry.)
It remained open to all until 1918, when the Mountaineers moved into the space. The outdoor group planned to “carry on the work of their sphagnum moss auxiliary to the Red Cross” in order to aid the war effort.
After figuring out that the structure was still in place, I knew that I had to try and see it. Luckily, I have a contact in the downtown real estate world and he connected me with the right person to make this happen. We (I was with my pal Feliks Banel) met my insider connection in the lovely lobby (adorned with Alaskan marble), took a tour of the basement (where we see saw the old vault, an impressive boiler, and other fun-for-dorks basement-located infrastructure), rode the elevator to the eighth floor, got out, walked down a couple of hallways, up a partially hidden flight of stairs, through a locked door, and into the old observatory.
When I had looked at the observatory on Google streetview, it appeared that the windows were boarded up but they were only shut in by blinds. The room was empty except for a few ends and odds. The views, as you can see, were still splendid, from the Smith Tower to the Space Needle, the two buildings whose observation decks bookend the city. The historic view would have been even better with none of these pesky, taller buildings marring the view.
I have no idea what happened to the space between 1918 and present. How long were the Mountaineers there? Did anyone else use it? No clue. It’s too bad that the space sits empty; I can easily imagine that with a little TLC, it could be made into a lovely space for a writer-in-residence, observing life downtown. Seems like the modern Chamber of Commerce or present building owner could support this idea.
Word of the Week - Mob - A large crowd of people. The word comes from the earlier, circa 17th century, usage of mobile, the abbreviated form of the Latin mobile vulgus, or ‘excitable crowd’. The use of The Mob is a much later, American coinage.
Wow!! Thanks for both of you for the update on the little observatory. Any exciting moments while being in that location?
Very interesting to read about the origin of the rooftop space on the Central Building. I had no idea that it began as an observatory. But I do know something about who used that former observatory space in subsequent years -- one of them being me. From at least sometime in the 1980s (possibly earlier) until 2013, the eighth floor of the Central Building was occupied by The Defender Association, a public-defense law firm. When I worked there between 1988 and 1994, the room on the roof was used as an office, and I was lucky enough to share it for a while. I always liked the Central Building and it's great to learn more of its history.