Space Needle Stories: 1973

When I was a child attending elementary school every so often my mother would pick me up in the middle of the day. These occasional pick-ups were bittersweet. While I was overjoyed to be leaving school in the middle of the day - so long, suckers! – the joy was tempered by the reality that my mother wasn't picking me up to take me to McDonald's for lunch then afterwards to a double feature at the John Danz. 

War of the Worlds? Planet of the Apes? Not today.

No, I was going to the orthodontist. I was going to the chair, where a guy in a white garment with matching mask was going to stoop over me like a mechanic, twisting wire, tweaking bits of metal, adding water – spit - giving my mouth a front end grill so to speak in order to help straighten out my teeth and lessen my overbite, or as we kids used to call them, buck teeth.


Dreading what was awaiting me on the other side of Lake Washington, my mother and I quietly made our way across the Evergreen Point floating bridge in the family's blue 1969 Impala with KIRO 710 on the radio, giving us the news of the day. Normally, I wouldn't have hesitated to thumb a radio button to one of the three AM pop stations in the area – KJR, KING or KOL – but today I wasn't in the mood for Bennie and the Jets.


We connected onto Interstate 5 southbound, and my nervousness rose as I knew we were now far out of the safety zone of my school, my friends and my home in Bellevue, and much closer to the danger zone of my orthodontist's office on Cherry Street in Seattle.

But as in previous trips to the orthodontist, there was one friend in the big city I knew I could count on to give me comfort before having to climb into the chair.

The Space Needle.

The Space Needle and I were born around the same time. I was born in March 1961. Construction for the needle started less than a month later in April. It was built for the 1962 Seattle World's Fair as not only a shining symbol for the fair, but a world-renowned monument for the city and for googie architecture. 

605 feet tall to the top of its antenna spire, the Space Needle with its observation deck and rotating restaurant, in keeping with the fair's space-age theme, was originally painted the colors Orbital Olive, Astronaut White, Re-entry Red and Galaxy Gold. In the early 1970's, however, the needle was repainted to a more conservative all-Astronaut White and Orbital Olive.

Left: The original Space Needle colors - Orbital Olive, Astronaut White, Re-entry Red and Galaxy Gold. (some might call it orange) Right: In the early 1970's, the needle toned it down a bit. Click on the image for a better view.

Seeing the Space Needle from I-5 as I made my way to the chair, was of great comfort to me. The Space Needle and its environs – the Seattle Center – signified happier times. It conjured up memories of spending whole days there with my classmates. For those of us who served on school patrol, every year we would be rewarded with a day at the Seattle Center, given tickets to all the rides and carte blanche to have the time of our lives. And we did: The Zipper, the Skyride, The Flight to Mars, the Wild Mouse, the arcade, the Food Circus, Jones' Fantastic Museum and of course, the Space Needle.

As we passed the Space Needle in the distance, I kept my eyes on it the whole time, giving it my full attention as if it were talking to me: “Where you going, Lou?” “I gotta go to the orthodontist...” “Oh man, that sounds rough.” “It's not going to be fun.” “Well, hang in there, kid. Keep your chin up and for crying out loud, stop by for a visit, Lou, it's been ages!”

My eyes riveted on this crazy tripod with the flying saucer on top, it entered my mind that one day I would love to live in the Space Needle. But even at 12 years old I knew that wouldn't be happening anytime soon or later for that matter, so I re-thought the idea that perhaps one day it would be nice to have a place with a view of the Space Needle. Of course, I figured a place with a view like that would cost millions and I would have to be as rich as J.P. Patches to afford it. And while I never obsessed about it, the dream stayed quietly with me throughout my youth.

Eventually we entered the downtown core, and I could no longer see my 605-foot inanimate buddy. The visit, however comforting, was over and the butterflies returned as my trip to the chair was imminent.

But like all my other trips to the orthodontist, I would survive.

(An individual starts clapping slowly. Stands and continues to clap. Others join in. The applause grows stronger. Cue John Williams soundtrack...or perhaps a Bronx cheer.)

Fast-forward to 1981

I received a phone call from my girlfriend who tells me she’s found an apartment on Capitol Hill, that she thinks I will just love. The rent was $285 a month. A little more than I was wanting to spend, but she recommended I come take a look before disregarding it.

The apartment building, St. Ingbert Apartments, was – still is - located at East Harrison Street and Bellevue Avenue East. It’s a beautiful 6 story brick building with art-deco ornamentation. St. Ingbert Apartments was built in 1928 by contractor Ludwig J. Hellenthal, whose family had been pioneers in Columbia City. The name St. Ingbert was taken from the town in Germany in which he was born. The building sits on a hill just above Melrose Avenue, which parallels above Interstate 5.

St. Ingbert Apartments, 309 East Harrison. Photo from Seattle.gov Department of Neighborhoods. Used without permission.

I met my girlfriend over at St. Ingbert Apartments, and we went inside to meet the landlord, who seemed less a landlord and more a strict schoolmarm. After listening patiently and politely to her presentation of the tenants’ building rules, she then led us out into the dimly-lit hallway with thick 1930’s era carpeting and made our way to the old Otis elevator with the manual sliding gate door.

We made our way down one flight to the second floor, and exited to our left towards the apartment, #203. The landlord explained to me that it was a bachelor apartment. She opened the door and to the right was a fairly long narrow hallway. The hallway opened up to a bright, spacious living room with high ceilings, hardwood floors, a sofa bed and walk-in closet. Past the walk-in closet was a narrow kitchen with a small, but charming 1950s formica table with two chairs, a Murphy ironing board, a little nook for the telephone, an electric stove, refrigerator, sink and what was once an icebox now being used as a cupboard for dry goods.

I was in the apartment for only a couple of minutes and already I was feeling good about the place. But the one element that my girlfriend thought would seal the deal, the pièce de resistance, was the view looking west:

View from apartment 203 facing west. Click on the image for a better view.

She was right.

Sold.

Or rather, rented. With the Space Needle in full view, from a little higher vantage point but essentially in the same area as my passing visits, this was the place I wanted to live. And it's where I lived my childhood dream for the next seven years.