Seattle Vice: Strippers, Prostitution, Dirty Money, and Crooked Cops in the Emerald City
By Rick Anderson, Sasquatch Books, 2010, Paperback, 242 pages, $17.95
You think you know Seattle? Not until you've read "Seattle Vice" by long-time local journalist Rick Anderson, a rock-solid, bare-knuckled brawler of a writer who for decades has been peeking under the covers and poking around behind the curtain of Seattle's respectable image. He knows every nook and cranny of his town and points beyond. For years Anderson has provided trenchant accounts of local and state politics. He has written compassionately about poor folks and those on the street. In this rollicking gem of a book, Anderson proves himself a savvy chronicler of the scurrilous and sometimes madcap world of Seattle sleaze and the motley crowd who purvey it.
The undisputed star of this narrative is the recently deceased strip joint impresario Frank Colacurcio, whose first brush with the law occurred in 1942. Frank was a tender 22 years of age. He inveigled someone even more tender in years -- she was only 16 -- into a sexual liaison. Evidently Frank and his brothers thought it would be funny if they spread word that a ghostly apparition could be seen floating about the grounds of the family's Eastside farm. That made-up tale actually attracted some visitors who hoped to catch a glimpse of the wraith. Under this pretext Frank drove the girl to the farm. Ghost hunting was not what transpired.
"Court records are unclear on how willing the teen had been. But she was a minor and Frank an adult, constituting a morals offense. The day after she spoke with police, the county prosecutor filed papers charging Frank with carnal knowledge, today known as statutory rape, and the story was in the next day's newspapers. That was the first mention of what has become sixty-eight years, and counting, of Frank's name appearing in print, and now on-line, wherein he was suspected, accused, tried, or convicted of a crime." In Frank's first legal imbroglio his attorney was a 32-year-old UW Law School graduate by the name of Albert Rosellini, the future governor of Washington. Their incongruous relationship appears to have been a lasting one.
Anderson's often ribald record of chicanery is bursting with colorful individuals from Seattle's less celebrated history. In the 1950s there were about a dozen lupanars, or brothels, downtown. Ensconced in Pike Place Market was the notorious madam Nellie Curtis. Nellie had already been in the bordello business when she took over the lease of the Outlook Hotel. An interned Japanese family had operated the Outlook before Nellie transformed the place. She "remodeled and renamed it the LaSalle, as it is still known, moved in with her vast collection of hats, and drew heavy breathing, cash-waving throngs to her upstairs cribs. Back when Navy ships routinely tied up on Seattle's waterfront, sailors on some occasions created a noticeable line outside the LaSalle's front door."
Did you know that one of the most famous strippers in burlesque's history was a native Seattleite? The legendary Gypsy Rose Lee. "She had been one of the biggest stars of Minsky's Burlesque and was frequently arrested in raids in Seattle and around the circuit. Dancers, it seemed, aroused the indignity, if not the libido, of the cops by not only stripping down to G-strings and panties, but sometimes even taking them off! After watching the full performance in the line of duty, cops rushed the dressing rooms and dispatched the arrested performers to the waiting paddy wagons. They were usually back in time for the next day's performance, if the proper payoff had been made." The writer H. L. Mencken's term "ecdysiast" -- a slick term meaning striptease artist -- was inspired by none other than Gypsy.
Another saucy Seattle ecdysiast named Candy Renee, "who claimed to be a staunch Republican," tried to become a precinct committeewoman so that "everyone could get a fair shake." This Republican stalwart evidently didn't succeed since "she had once been found with drugs and a gun in her car, and had dated a Portland cop." When asked what she was doing with the respectable constable, Candy stated that "like any other woman, [I] like to get laid once and awhile." How many honest politicians like that can you find today?
Anderson's trek through this cavalcade of creeps, con men and crooks keeps coming back to the unseemly saga of Frank Colacurcio and the perpetual controversies and accusations that swirled around him. Yet Anderson's work of history is as current as today's news. The Seattle Times just reported that Bob Davis -- who is mentioned in
Anderson's book -- wants to convert his now closed University District comedy club "Giggles" into a nudie joint to be named "Jiggles". Despite having successfully sued Seattle and Bothell for obstructing earlier strip joint ambitions, poor Bob has yet to open one such club. U-District folks have averred that they will block Bob's latest business proposal. About frustrated Bob, Anderson writes: "He lamented the old days, when Seattle had tolerance for this sort of thing."
Anderson's riotous romp through Seattle's seamy side will have you roaring at the audacity and tenacity of the myriad characters he depicts. He thoroughly knows this territory and its denizens. For a tour of Seattle after dark there is no better guide than Rick Anderson.