Gone Native...

You’re a native of the place where you were born. Being a local means you’ve lived there for a very long time.  The distinction may be subtle but, to many, it’s important.

The 50^th Anniversary of the Seattle World’s Fair has brought the Seattle natives out in full force.  Everywhere I go it seems someone is talking about their early years either right before or right after the Fair. There are natives everywhere but Seattle’s distinct personality makes being born here something a little more special. Yakima, Spokane, Wenatchee, Tacoma, even Bellevue don't count. I'm talking Seattle city limits. Knowing your parents best friends and growing up with their children are badges of honor. Learning to ski in the passes as a child and hiking at Mt. Rainier on the weekends made for the best kind of childhood.  Being a babe in arms when the World’s Fair came along or having your mother carry you to the first round of King Tut in the 70’s or seeing the last movie at the 5^th Avenue Theatre are privileged experiences …and being a Patches Pal, well, what more can you say than that.

It was the 50^th Anniversary of the groundbreaking for the Space Needle that got me started thinking about Seattle natives.  I was asked to find as many of the folks involved in envisioning, building and opening the Needle as I could.  It was quite an interesting task and the group of people assembled said a lot about  Seattle and its natives.  The most common denominators are a pioneering spirit and an entrepreneurial bent. Seattle’s settlers were lumberjacks, fishermen, forest rangers and businessmen…and women. And their children and their children’s children inherited that drive.

When we had three generations of Seattle Natives painting the roof of the Space Needle back to its original color of galaxy gold, my friend C. David Hughbanks was flooded with memories of working at the World’s Fair. It made him giddy. And local writer extraordinaire, Knute “Skip” Berger, who pens regularly under the name “Mossback” (he looks like one too) relishes every minute of growing up here. Right down to seeing the Space Needle under construction from the Smith Tower as an 8-year-old Cub Scout.

Though in many ways I now wish I was, I am not a native.  Seattle has become my life.  I got in just under the wire before former daily columnist Emmett Watson formed the KBO, “Keep the Bastards Out”.  I was here to see Bill Kirschner build his first pair of red, white and blue K2 Skis on Vashon Island. And I was here to watch Jan sewing up bags that would go on the new framepacks named after her “JanSport”.  I knew Gordon Bowker before he went to Italy and came back with an affinity for coffee that he named Starbucks. The only Bill Gates we first heard about was Senior, who was our corporate lawyer. I could go on but still, I’m not a native.

I actually envy people who have lived in one place all their lives…even those who went away and then came back. Until I came to Seattle, I was a military transient.  My father was overseas when I was born and didn’t see me until I was almost 2 years old…had to be shocking, I’m sure. Mom and I lived with the grandparents on their farm until dad got home. Then I have vague recollections of a couple different houses and communities where we lived but, by the time I started school, we were on a non-stop one-year-turn-around… 13 schools (all public) in 12 years (two 5^th grades). Although college and grad school found me in one place for most of five years, my parents moved three times while I was getting my degrees before settling in the “Other” Washington.

 My “lifetime” friends are all from college and beyond.  Recollections of my public school days are frankly pretty dim.  I barely had time to get to know my classmates before moving on. The first 20 years of my life were mostly about the experiences, not the people…although Jayne Mansfield and Mickey Hargitay did bring their daughter Mariska to our house for dinner one time…but that’s another story.

First generation Seattlites are a breed among themselves. Some speak Norwegian or Swedish.  Others, Chinese or Canadian or Yiddish. I have to say that some of my best friends are natives.  The stories they tell about parents and grandparents growing this city fascinate me to no end. Building skyscrapers like the Smith Tower. Digging the ship canal. Putting in Highway 99, the only freeway we had for years. And, perhaps the ultimate, being involved in building the Space Needle. That is an unparalleled benchmark in this town.

When someone tells me that they know so-and-so because they went to BF Day Elementary or Franklin High School with them or that their best friends were Beavers too (Ballard, that is), I know I’m in the presence of a true homey.  In deference to my Cougar friends, UW is virtually a pre-requisite higher-ed experience for the natives. As is being an original member of the Brothers Four folk group. And if you worked at the World’s Fair, driving a pedi-cab, working at an international pavilion or selling balloons, you hold a treasured place in many hearts.

Seattle natives are a discerning group.  Some have even left the city because “it’s not really Seattle anymore”.  It’s even changed pretty dramatically since I’ve been here.  The percentage of out-of-towners to natives is much larger now. Sometime I’ll tell you the story of the president of a major local bank (no longer in existence) saying that he and his senior management group agreed that the presentation by my new company was by far the best they’d heard but they just couldn’t do business with someone who wasn’t originally from Seattle.

In spite of all the rambling I did in my younger years, I’ve spent most of my adult life in Seattle. I’m often asked if all the moving around I did was hard on a kid.  My answer is that some take to it and others don’t.  Either way, it does often make you a different kind of person.  You’re not easily rattled. You’re very independent. And you’re more tolerant of others, less religious and much more liberal in your thinking than your parents. All qualities that seem to mesh pretty well with Seattle natives.

Being a Seattle native is a position of note. It’s seldom flaunted. After four decades or so here, I am still not a native. However, I do know where a lot of the bodies are buried and I can go cross-town from east to west pretty quickly by totally using residential streets. Finally, after all this time, some of my native friends are willing to grant me special dispensation as a Semi-Local. Suffice it to say, I've gone native in Seattle and I love it.