When we were in college in the early 1970s, my future husband and I used to take the bus to downtown Seattle and walk through the city, visiting 5 and 10 Antiques sometimes, where my mother worked part time. I have a necklace from that shop. We always went to what Gary called the “Pubic Margaret.” Then we worked our way down First Avenue pawnshops, looking at guitars. That was our Saturday habit for ten years.
Gary’s photo collage: That is me at left in early 1977 (the part I cut from a photo of Manny), another of me on the beach at about the same time (also a trimming from the important photo of a dog). Then Ian in red, Ian, Alan and Alan as a teenager. Behind these snaps is the faded photo of Gary standing in the main entrance to “Big Pink” with Ann Ann, our first Afghan Hound (she was black and so is hard to see—she always was). Our cat Rabbit is in the kitchen window at right. Herbs and geraniums are in the pots lined above her.
There had been drug dealers and prostitutes and a “witch” living there. The police would come for Debbie when she had a drug-overdose-triggered “complete psychotic break” and the FBI to investigate number 12, where a member of the Weather Underground had stayed. Rent was cheap and the location just up the street from the Blue Moon Tavern where Gary would always find change dropped on the ground in the parking lot at back. More important, the building was only a few blocks west of The Ave and the University of Washington campus, which guaranteed it was always fully occupied.
Today is not our wedding anniversary, which will be next month, but is still an important anniversary for Gary and me. In 1972 we moved together into a tiny apartment in a notorious building in the University District of Seattle. Continue reading
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