John

haSing a T?shirt at the market, Fair Day minus

one. She was a strapping blond, and outof a
keen sense of zoological aest etics-? and a smat-
tering of atavistic sexism ?v I investigated her
progress through the stalls of the Park Place 
Market. -

Her pectoral political proclamation demanded
attention. Across her bosom was a picture of a
grinning policeman captioned: 

YOUR LOCAL 

I But because of the instabilit of the medium,
the proclamation and the cop?s ifting expression
was neither easily nor hastily read.

She marched through spice shops and head

the slogan across her back. 

Woman Without a Man is Like a Fish
Without . . it began. She zipped around a plywood
wall and was gone.

The Market on the eve of its annual fair (it will
be held tomorrow, and Monday from 10 am. to 8
pm.) is a rewarding spot for_T?shirt browsing. The
philosophies usually are bold and the graphics often
excellent.

I caught up with her near where Post Alley
intersects with Lower Post Alley, one of the city?s
lesser intersections, and again tried to scan her
latissimus dorsi. 

. . Without a Man is Like a Fish Without . . .

. . a Bicycle.?

She strode up the dirty cobbles to the level of
the city proper, and I remained below, engaged by
the gloom of the alleys. For some, that squalid little
incline is sacred ground.

It? was there, seven years ago, that the competitive
spirit of the Pike Place Market Street Fair first
saw the light of day or, considering the surround-
ings, the gloom of day.

"It was a group of patrons from the Victrola
and Hideout taverns,? said Margaret Wherette of
the Pike Place Merchant's Association.

?They thought it would be fun to hold a rather
loose soapbox derby down the alleys. They entered
anything that would roll. It is a wonder any of them
are still alive."

What began as an almost impromptu expres?
sion of subterranean counter-cultural frivolit in
1971, has become a thoroughly organized an al-
most well-behaved yearly event. A

The area has changed dramatically, and con-
tinues to change almost daily as the market?s
various levels and gradients are upgraded. But not
Post Alley.

There is not a scuzzier stretch of lowdown
street in the city; maybe not even on the Coast.
Somehow, prOgress and renewal and bureaucratic

clipboards seem to have passed it by.

Post Alley stands (or oozes downhill) as a
monument of undisturbed urban sleaze, for one day
each year elevated into a race course.

It was, abandoned last year in favor of the
dressier, tamer inclines of Virginia Street and
Western Avenue.

?Up out of the catacombs,? Dave Guren said

 

at the time of the course change. ?The new course

shops and leathermongers as I attempted to peruse

Hinterberger

50? 

 

will not run through alleys where half the populace
would not dream of going."

He .was right in general; wrong in his'statis?
tics. Full 95 per cent of the populace would never
dream 0 descending into Post Alley. By day his
depressing. At night, frightful:

It contains the only basketball court in town
where the basic fastbreak is impossible, because
the Choop is on the uphill end of a ZOdegree asphalt
gra e.

To play basketball in Post Alley you need a
guide, a guard, and a Sherpa to carry the ball.

When somebody steals the ball from you in Post .

Alley, it stays stolen.

The No Parking Any Time sign has been altered.
The "No" has been torn off or bitten off. This
is~impressive since the editing also removed the
half-inch plywood underneath.

Near the bottom of the alley, where Union
Street would have intersected had it stooped to
such a liaison, there is a pedestrian stairway strug-
gling up to First Avenue. One of its concrete steps
was once patched.

In the cement is now inscribed: 

SLEPT 

It is not known if the inscription was made by
Gallard or his assailants. A large inscription in
black spray-paint overlooks the general clutter.
?Let?s Smoke Dope,? it says. And an empty packet
gthops papers indicates that someone therelonce

1 .

That was where the race ran. First it went
down the cobbled run of Lower Post Alley. and took
a sharp right (where the Stage One Theater once
played before audiences who were generally re-
garded as aesthetically curious and physically
brave) and then down the slippery, sociological
dump of Post Alley proper.

"The problem was,? said Margaret Wherette,
?not all of the racers made the turn. Some of the
cars were very lar and very heavy and very fast

and they simply owed right into the Stage One --

Theater.

?One of the race veterans was here yesterday
and he recalled the instance where one of the cars
not only went into the Stage One, but light on
through it, and ended up sailing down the back
stairs to Western Avenue.?

Richard Fruchter is the special-events coordinator
for the fair. There will be, he said, in excess of
300 booths, 26 of them serving food; musicians,
belly dancers, folk dancers. 

?We are going to decorate the alleys," said
Ms. Wherette, ?by hanging up second-hand clothes
on clotheslines.?

?Everything from worn-out jeans to splashy
doubleknits," said Fruchter.

Sounded appropriate, I said. Even unbroken
bottles would be an improvement.

?Do you know where we can get 3,000
Clothespins??

I replied. "But do you know where I can
find an open-minded fish who is willing to learn to
love a bicycle?? .

"ost??roce .:

.1.

9,

.-

 

 

 The Seattle Times

A 3 I
Saturday, May 27, 1978 

ray-w

    

'm

t? 

 

 

A view down Post Alley
Staff photo by Kathy Andrisevic. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somehow, no one Was injured in this
three?cor accident, which delayed rush-hour
traffic on the freeway about an hour yester-
day. The accident, near Yesler Way, occurred
about 4:15 pm. when the first cor, driven by
Gordon Stroith, 6i, of ?531 Bartlett Ave.

 

 

N.E., stopped suddenly and was struck in the
rear by the second car, driven by LeRoy W.
Wells, 30, of 21 17 32nd Ave. S. Wells' car
was struck by the third car, driven by Curt
Gauthier, 22, of l7542 199th Ave. NE,
Woodinville. Staff photo by Cole Porter.

 

 

 

 

 

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