Kalakala needs us, but we need it even more

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Kalakala needs us, but we need it even more

Monday, July 9, 2001

By SUSAN PAYNTER
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

For decades she sashayed among the ferry ports of Puget Sound, haughty, shiny and improbable in her art deco splendor.

Then, doomed to indignity, Seattle's famed Depression-era ferry, the Kalakala, squatted, all but forgotten, in the squalor of Alaskan mud. The deck where bands once played "Satin Doll" for dancing swells was a reeking fish-processing plant. That is until November 1998 when, against all odds, Fremont artist and windmill-tilter Peter Bevis hauled her out of the muck and brought her home on a barge.

Now, only partly reclaimed, the Kalakala sits on north Lake Union, full of promise but deeply in debt and in sore need of a sugar daddy.

But even more than she needs us, Seattle needs the Kalakala.

The morning the Kalakala came home, chained, King Kong-style to her barge, I was one of a lucky few aboard a Navy gig off Kingston when the outlines of her curves first emerged from the foggy dawn. As a girl, I had ridden her shuddering splendor, spying Seattle's then-tallest building -- the now-tiny Smith Tower -- through the ferry's trademark portholes. Seeing her again after all that she and Seattle had been through, was inexplicably stirring.

But "what's next?" is what counts now -- both for the boat and the city.

Kalakala Foundation board member and cheerleader David Ruble believes that restoring this symbol of Seattle's past will spell the city's cultural redemption. And I'm inclined to agree with him.

The Kalakala is more than a ferry. It's even more than a potentially great place to have a party, dinner or a honeymoon, which is what the commercial plotters of her future now envision. The tin-skinned, one-of-a-kind treasure embodies what is unique about the Puget Sound, past and present. And reclaiming her is a doable, human-scale project that could actually make money while making us smile.

Face it, next week when All-Star baseball euphoria fades, we'll be back to arguments over whether we want to be a "world-class" city or a "livable" one. We'll still be sorting out why Boeing bigwigs dumped us. And we'll still be smarting from riots and relentless pain between the races.

In practical terms, this soon-to-be 150-year-old city will be facing the cost and disruption of a regionwide remodeling project. And, as with any aging home, few of the required fixes will be fun or fast.

Tearing down and replacing the Alaskan Way Viaduct, for instance, will be akin to gutting a kitchen. It's a necessity that will cost a truckload and will disrupt daily life. And, when it's over, although we may have something that works and looks a lot better, it's doubtful we'll have anything uplifting to the soul.

An even more daunting deep money pit will be the light-rail project and all the transportation tentacles that will have to be attached in order to keep gridlock from grinding us to a halt.

Before Seattle hit its current remodeling stage, the city allowed more than one monster project for which it must now atone. I won't mention any high-rise boxes by name but you know who you are.

But, unlike my own house, where a decade has been spent reclaiming a nice old home from the "modernization" of '70s aluminum siding, sash windows and sparkling cottage cheese ceilings, the city can't flatten a building simply because it's ugly and lacking in grace.

Still, just as private entrepreneurship built the Kalakala in the first place, private money can reclaim her while giving the city a badly needed emotional boost.

And, compared with stadiums, bridges and tunnels, it won't cost that much -- somewhere between $6 million and $10 million tops.

The boat's evolving business plan calls for:

A grand ballroom located forward, on the passenger deck -- a two-story space flooded with light framed by portholes.

A bridal suite behind the wheelhouse.

An exhibition space on the cavernous car deck.

A "Double Horseshoe Cafe" in the original horseshoe-shaped snack-counter space.

A Palm Room for fine dining and a cocktail lounge where the semicircular women's lounge used to be.

And a host of merchandising schemes and revenue-producing tours.

Clearly, the restored silver relic would be a magnate to tourists and locals alike -- especially if it is eventually moored on an improved Seattle waterfront -- say somewhere between Piers 48 and 70.

It's hard to believe that local business types -- particularly ones such as the Nordstrom family with deep local ties -- can't see that, if you rebuild it, "they will come" and they will spend.

But, even more important is the way in which a restored Kalakala (Chinook for "flying bird") will anchor the city to its history, reminding us that we're not just another interchangeable franchise town. Yes, inexorably, Seattle is going somewhere. But we came from somewhere, too.

Susan Paynter's column appears Mondays, Wednesday and Fridays. Call her at 206-448-8392 or send e-mail to susanpaynter@seattlepi.com.

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