This Picture Really Sucks

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This should go amongst one of the Portlandest pictures ever. For reference, this is facing westbound at the corner of NE Grand Avenue and Couch St.

Stark's Vacuums is one of that vanishing breed of quintessential Portland purveyors of commerce that is not only as Portland AF but also has survived through generations; 2022 will mark Stark's 90th year in business. If you wanted a really good Covid-era face mask, you've been there latterly. If you want a great vacuum, you will go there. And if you're not near this one, there are nine locations scattered across the Portland Metro area.

This particular one has been kind of the Home Office of the company. This, NE Grand and Couch, is the location that holds their renowned Vacuum Museum, which once occupied the windows looking out onto Couch you can see in the photo, but has been moved to another part of the building as the Couch side has been made into another leasable space.

Looking at what's been written about that Vacuum Museum, you get an idea that
vacuums aren't just something Stark's is good at selling. This outfit is scary serious about them. But, then again, Portland's always been good at being intense about things long before they're cool; Stark's was rocking vacuums back with 'Dyson sphere' was just something SF writers and astrophysicists talked about. They also have the best damn logo anybody ever came up with for a vacuum cleaner company, and I will fight you on this.

This picture sucks. But totally in the best possible way.

Zidell Marine: The Last Of The Industrial South Waterfront

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Once upon a time there was no such a thing as escalating property values in a place we today call the South Waterfront, and instead of glittery if-you-have-to-ask-you-can't-afford-it shi-shi condo towers, there were things like this you see pictured hence.

 

Zidell Marine Company (ZMC as can be seen on the crane above) built barges. And, from the ways just south of the west end of the Ross Island Bridge, launched a great many of the ones that ply the waters of the American West Coast.

During the early 1990s, the Brown Eyed Girl and myself lived in an apartment just on the other side of the river from this, on SE 8th Avenue near Rhine, and we were in love with the urban sounds. McLoughlin Blvd, in the mornings, as the traffic was winding up for rush hour (which was more like just an hour back then) sounded like a rushing stream. And we could hear barges being launched from there in the middle of the night: a long horn, a brief moment of quiet, then a rather authoritative splash.

Now, it's the last corner of authentic industrial activity in the zu teuer South Waterfront area, and even now it's actually in an afterlife. Zidell Marine built its last barge in 2017, so that crane, the factory, and the property they're on are just awaiting its next life - undoubtedly as something for those somebodys who already have everything and talk in terms of leases and condos and e-vehicles and the like.

The Jantzen Building, NE 19th and Sandy

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It's been a long time since a swimsuit came out of this building, I don't know how long. Just like Nalley's and Steinfelds and Henry Weinhard's, Jantzen is just a brand name that gets sold about like some corporate trading card.

But when the Jantzen Diving Girl was just a young lady, 411 NE 19th Avenue, corner Sandy Blvd, is where she grew up. 

She was and always will be a Portland girl.

The edifice, complete with iconic Jantzen girl over the main door, still stands, waiting for something au courant to lease it and make it their own.

And so it goes.

An Antique Portland 7-Up Sign Re-Emerges

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During the off time I got during my birthday-time, we did some driving around. I got a few things. Great used books from Backstory on Hawthorne. Long-desired classic Firesign Theatre albums at Everyday Music on Sandy. And in the process we drove down Sandy rounding the bend onto Couch.

There's a building there that is adjacent to and was once a working part of the Portland Bottling Company. Its got some vague art-deco-ness to it in the port-hole like windows and the great panoramic glass on the corner of 14th and Couch with rounded corners. For the past decade or so it was home of Natian Brewing.

The pinnacle of the building held a revolving 7-Up sign. Since Portland Bottling vacated the space, it's had various advertising signs covering the old logo. 

Those are down now, and we can see a hint of the glory it once had. 

The bottle on top, which was a 7-Up at one time, is still dressed as a Guayaki Organic Yerba Mate Bottle. 

It was this way earlier this week and is still that way now, presumably, if one were inclined to go look. North side of NE Couch just west of NE 14th. Yours for the finding.

Township And Range Restaurant:2013 Throwback

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This is a building that has held a number of restaurants and/or trend bars over the years; it's on the south side of SE Hawthorne Blvd at SE 24th Ave. At the time it was a bistro and bar called Township and Range, and I insisted we pull over and lens it because I adored the bold, angular fat script o the sign. It looked good, impressively good.

It was a bar which promoted itself as a 'friendly neighborhood tavern' sort of vibe which even in 2013 in Portland meant hyper-stylized American bar food with painfully local ingredients and prices to match the attitude ... and even then Hawthorne was the kind of place where the patina of gentrification had soaked in to become the organizing principle of the place ... so we never went. 

We did look in through the entry glass when it was closed once though. Had this big beautiful wood outline map of the state of Oregon, with the surrounding states picked out in different colors, and inlays representing the Willamette Baseline and Meridian and the Willamette Stone. So at least they knew what townships and ranges were about.

Suffice it currently to say that it met the same fate as most ambitious bars and restaurants and self-styled 'friendly neighborhood spots' in Portland did. It's closed - as in gone out of business - and that was well before any pandemic stared hanging around, so put it all down to Portland's legendary shark-tank of a restaurant culture, where you kill or be killed. 

Something else is undoubtedly there, maybe. I guess. Whatevs. 

The Afterlife Of A Dead Portland Racetrack

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This is a thing that exists, now. NE 82nd and Killingsworth. This is a building that's been many things over the years: restaurant, bar, strip joint. The name that comes to mind is Taylor's Viewpoint. But haute cuisine? No.

Here's what it is now:

It's the remains of Portland Meadows, or at least, that's the way it's branded. And there's a lingerie espresso kiosk in the parking lot, which does not seem wholly inappropriate.

The actual horse racing track, the one that stood for more than 50 years just off I-5 near Delta Park, is gone now. It was demolished in February, but had by then largely moved on from horse racing ... a sport, outside of its marquee events, that appears to be trending toward irrelevancy across the United States. But Portland Meadows did do a steady business in off-track betting and poker tables, and that's what we have out here at 8102 NE Killingsworth which is, withal, the sort of intersection you'll be going through for one of only a handful of purposes, all of them adult. 

So it goes.

Goneworth Chevytown

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The dive into the past continues. September of 2017. Somewhat happier times.

Along Southeast Grand Avenue, between Ankeny and Ash, there's a car dealership called Subaru of Portland. Back in the day, and up until that day, though, it was known as Wentworth Chevytown (Subaru was a sideline for a long time there though).

Through 2013, there was a big sign with 10-foot tall letters which flashed WENTWORTH CHEVYTOWN to the west side of the river. You can see a picture of that at The Oregonian's article of the demise of the sign here: https://www.oregonlive.com/portland/2013/11/wentworth_chevytown_sign_comin.html.  That sign was a casualty of a number of things: the march of time, the development of the Portland Streetcar, et. al. And eventually, in 2013, the sign was retired. Eventually, Wentworth Chevytown removed to Wilsonville, only the Subaru dealership remaining and renaming.

But in 2017 it was still a little bit of Chevytown, and the sign over the used car division's lot across Grand from the main showroom defiantly stood to the last, it's oldjack letters recalling any number of car related business from childhood who had similarly-styled signage.

We went, and it was worth it.

Hey, we got this sweet picture.

Lost Portland: The Carolina Motel, Parkrose, Sandy Blvd

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Today I stopped by the corner of NE 112th and Sandy Blvd in Parkrose.

For those who don't know, Parkrose is a neighborhood of northeast Portland, centered more or less on NE 102nd Avenue and Sandy Blvd. That intersection pretty much anchors the west end of 'downtown' Parkrose, and it stretches just about a mile east, to NE 122nd Avenue and Sandy. The more redoubtable and historically commerical buildings are all between about 102nd and 110th.

There are also a number of shabby motels which nonetheless are trim and neatly kept but which bear names which kind of poke existential fun at themslves: There's a "Courtesy Motel" and a "Prestige Motel", and you know how every town has a "Nordic Motel"? Ours is along the commercial strip in Parkrose.

Of course this was the point at which US 30, the Columbia River Highway, entered Portland back in the day; for a good portion of the 20th Century, Parkrose was pretty much Portland's NE corner. And, at the gateway to town, there were the roadside motels. Travellers stayed there, and people moving to town; I'm no judge of people, but if the zeitgeist is any clue, some people aren't travelling so far any more, and the places some travel to are just a little darker than they used to be.

In 2014, Google Street View showed 11144 NE Sandy Blvd, Portland, Oregon, to look like this:

Sometime during the last year, the property obviously sold. This is what it looks like now.

The neat, trim cottages are gone, leaving a lot so meagrely sized you'll find yourself wondering how any motel could have possibly fit there.

The sign still standing, offering DAILY RATES, CABLE TV HBO SHO, and the rustic amenity of the DD PHONES adds a real touch of surreality to the scene. The fence around, meant to keep Those Who Needn't Be Here off has been breached. I did not take advantage of the freedom of entry.

An additional touch of culture amidst the ruins is positively spooky: Note that the topiary, even after most of a year, is still disturbingly on fleek.

OryCon 39 and the Ghost of OryCons Past

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The occasion of OryCon is, as one could probably expect after one reaches a certain point in their journey, an occasion to remember things and to evaluate how those things have changed, just like spending long quality time with any loved one in ones' life.

The location of Ory39 this year was the Red Lion Inn on the Columbia River, at Jantzen Beach. Jantzen Beach, for those who don't know, is essentially a neighborhood on Hayden Island, which is just within the boundaries of the city of Portland and the last bit of Oregon as you head north on I-5 before you enter Vancouver, Washington. It's seen many changes. For a very long time a very many years ago, it was one of Portland's then-more-numerous amusement parks; it was the place where the first traffic bridge from Portland into Vancouver was built (and is still rockin' away), and it had a front-row seat to Vanport.

In my time it's been the home of two hotels that loom large in Portland fannish history: one on the west side of the bridge, the other, on the east. And that's still the case.

When I began attending OryCons, back at the ninth iteration of same, it was being held at the one on the west side, then known as the Red Lion Columbia River. The one on the east side of the bridge was known as the Red Lion Jantzen Beach (it's rubric has flowered somewhat), and since most of the Orys happened at this hotel, that was was affectionately referred to as the other hotel. No further explanation was needed. That which was known as the Red Lion Columbia River began and ended life as the Thunderbird, which was a local chain based here in Portland (it's original edition, between Interstate Avenue and the Willamette River adjacent to the Memorial Coliseum, is what gave that dead end street there, N Thunderbird Way, it's name).

The Red Lion Columbia River/Thunderbird was a cool hotel to have an SF convention at. It, with it's five room wings extending like pincers to the west and east of the main hotel building, even reminded me of a spaceship. And in the early days, me and The Wife™ entered the hotel on Friday afternoon and didn't leave until Sunday afternoon, so it was pretty much the same thing as.

Mapquest tends to update on some levels slower than Google Maps on the satellite view. You load that into MQ and zoom in, and here is what you see.

That is just a cool layout, as I said. Walking the corridors linking the five wings, which were all named for local features, was like traversing a sort of space station.

In the interim since the last OryCon was held there, the property has seen some adventure. Around 2003, the Red Lion sold off the property, and it simple became the Thunderbird again. In 2005, it closed for good. In 2012, most of it burned to the ground, taking a whole lot of memories with it.

But part of it still stands, and that's the part that really is cosmically hilarious. It's still a hotel. A Rodeway Inn, as a matter of fact.

Those last two wings are still in business. They even have the names of the old wings up on the outside: Multnomah Wing, St. Helens Wing.

We drove around it on Sunday on our way out from our end of 'con. There's a new lobby area ... it was the ground floor lobby on the Multnomah Wing back in the day ... and they've built a new entrance. Driving around the back side, though, it's hard not to remember the rest of the hotel attached to it ... and the good times it held.

And now, OryCon's home is what we used to call the other hotel, perhaps illustrating that axiom that implies that while you can return to whence you came, you can never really go home again - but, all you really need is now, anyway.

And so it goes.

[pdx] I Bring You The Head Of Tom Peterson. Or, At Least, The Face.

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Tom Peterson seems to be a trending item.

Interest has increased in the legendary salesman since it's been made public that his health is failing to the point he has to be moved into assisted living, as reported by KPTV's Andrew Padula last month. Considering Tom's commercial relationship with Yesterday's KPTV, that's only appropriate.

The signage remains memorable and, in its Portlandian way, iconic. When his visage delivered its smiling benediction to the corner of 82nd and Foster Rd, you knew just where you were, and it was a landmark. The building has been remodeled out of recognition, of course; gutted, made new inside and out, and turned into a corner strip center, "Peterson Plaza". I've been an Oregonian all my life and a Portlander the majority of it, and I know my granfalloon enough to know that we save things.

If we didn't exercise some restraint, this whole state could appear on Hoarders. That's how we get so funky and kitschy. We're drunk on it, up in here.

A couple of days ago, though, an acquaintance of longstanding who prefers anonymity at this time contacted me and said he knew where the old sign was. Really? said I. I'd be all over that if I could.

Get back to you in a couple of days, was the gist of the reply. Today, here's the payoff. Somewhere, secluded in a Portland back yard, I know not where (not even in confidence, and I understand why), rests …

The head … or at least the face … of Tom Peterson.

This is the most Portland back yard in Portland, wherever it is. And I'm not tellin' where it is because I don't know; and what little I know of whom took it I shall not divulge. He knows how some people are, and so do I.

But it's enough to know, just to know, that it's out there somewhere.

Now, that's Tom Peterson's.

[pdx] My Tom Peterson's 82nd And Foster Pic Communicates Hard!

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Being the PDX lover that I am, I usually find my way to the great posts, one way or the other. Maybe it's net-magic, the way the intarwebz tend to remember what you like, I don't know. But I find them, or they find me.

Today's offering is a article at the real estate blog Movoto, which I have only just heard about. The reason is this fine article about sweet quirky Portland things that were. Pride of place, though, and number one of the 26 Things You'll Never See In Portland Again, is this:

Which uses this photo I have up at Flickr:

… which was taken back in 2005 and originally posted on this blog at http://zehnkatzen.blogspot.com/2005/12/logodesign-pdxhistory-now-thats-tom.html

I rock this town. With my blog. And if they think of this photo when they think of Tom Peterson's that was, well, that's about the next best thing to getting a ton of money for my opinions.

Which I'm still open to. Just sayin'.

[Out122ndWay] Outer East Portlandia Sunrise With Added Ron Tonkin

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Sunrise in Outer East Portlandia.

This contains all the things that cause anxiety to people who don't actually live out this way, but which, if you look upon things with a kinder eye, are just kind of homey.

This street is one of the 'miles and miles of unpaved streets in Portland' which seem to make so many people so unhappy. The homes are careworn, many of them, but they are also cared for; that little complex there on the right may need a coat of paint, but it's got nice people living within.

Just because this is Portland, it all has to by glossy and neat, I guess.

But I love it.

Meanwhile, southbound on NE 122nd Avenue at Glisan …

There it is, in the middle distance. You see it. Down there, on the left. A monument to an era. Once upon a time, two brothers … Marv, and Ron … opened two auto dealerships out 122nd way. The first one gave us a memorable jingle (though mayhap you moderns never heard of it. I pity you). Marv Tonkin Ford was where Courtesy Ford now is: the building, with integral arches giving a distinctive roof line, has been funadmentally re-modeled, and no trace of Marv's hand remains.

The other gave us a more visible monument:

… which is persistent and nostalgic, reminding of ages when the monumental neon sign was all. The lights still sparkle in the first name, and you can still see it from a looooong way off.

We no longer have either Tonkin with us, Ron having left us earlier this year, and Marv several years before that. There is still a surfeit of auto houses up and down 122nd between Burnside and Halsey, but Tonkin … for the love of cars … is still the king, surviving waves of Thomasons and Carrs and Alexanders and Lyman Slacks (long may their memories linger).

[pdx] I Now Have A Tom Peterson Watch. It Is Overflowing With Win.

2303.I have, over the course of this chronicle, demonstrated at  a perennial affection for things Tom Peterson.

I really can't explain it. Maybe I just regret missing out. Despite living in Portland for a very long time now and being an Oregon native I never managed to make it over there, and Tom sure did define late-night kitschy advertising for Channel 12 (KPTV).

I've longed for examples of TP giveaway kitsch that I could call my very own. The big, smiling face of Tom is, as I've pointed out; iconic – it graced walls in PDX for many a year as a guerrilla stencil, and even made it into a comic book. But the real thing about having a bit of TP is the giveaways – the alarm clock, the coffee mug, the wristwatch.

Well, it's my thrilled whilst humble opportunity to announce to the world that, when it comes to a Tom Peterson watch – I haz it:

The Tom Peterson Watch. It tells you the time. It doesn't tell you the date; it doesn't have to. It won't chime on the hour – it doesn't need to show off.

What about alarms?

Where we're going … we don't need alarms.

It tells you what time it is, bucko. If you can't handle the rest, then, sorry, you just aren't good enough for the Tom Peterson watch. It has so much win, the Yes watch (which I still lust for) bows down with respect – and not just a little awe.

Because no matter what watch you have and what it does or doesn't do, it sure-as-shootin' don't do it with the incomparable style that the Tom Peterson visage rather naturally imbues to the process.

Now in all seriousness, the above may sound off with a studied irony but I really am thrilled and happy to have this watch. I actually do have a deep affection for Petersoniana, it's entirely sincere, and one of my dreams has been to own this watch (or at least a Tom'n'Gloria version), and I have one now, for real and for sure and I'm going to have some fun with it.

The story behind getting it is a rather touching one, actually, and I'll try to tell it respectfully. Very recently, a very sweet woman out in Clackamas lost her loved one. And that fellow owned this watch. Working out what to do with it, she Googled about the watch and found my blog postings about it, and finding that I was the sort of person who would value it for the awesomeness it contained, asked if I would wish to have it, and naturally I said that I would.

So, this started out as Charlie's watch. When Lorraine met me and The Wife™, she opined that I looked like the kind of person who would want to wear such a watch, which, for me, stands as a very high compliment.

It comes with something of an obligation. I'd like to take this watch on an adventure, but I don't quite know what sort of adventure to go on; with meagre means, our adventures don't range too far. But I'll figure out something, because I owe a debt of gratitude, if nothing else, for Lorraine's being so excellent. But there is one thing that me and Charlie had in common, sorta-kinda … he was a musician, and I aspire to be one, even if occasionally and with the bass guitar. So, maybe that's a point of departure there.

I'll keep everyone posted, of course. And, Lorraine, if you Google or drop by here … the watch works like a charm. It's one sweet timepiece, I'll tell you that sincerely.

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