Dear Elephant Sign,
I took you for granted. I really did. I think when you grow up in a city and you see certain things all the time you sort of just expect them to always be there.
From what I read it was a mixture of things. The lot was getting too expensive. The rent was getting too high. And with COVID? It was just too much to manage.
I get it. So the world turns, these days.
But I thought you were superglued to that cement on Denny Way. I thought that neon sign of pink, green, white and orange would be able to illuminate this city in even the darkest of times, or at least until things became bright again--and I think we’d all like to know when that might be.
A little bit ago I found out that you would be be getting removed and sent off to the Museum of History and Industry, which has been aptly described as “A graveyard for Seattle landmarks.” While I must admit that I was a bit down that you’d be getting removed at all, there was some solace in knowing that you would be spending some time in restoration and then eventually preserved, so that future generations of inquisitive Seattleites and maybe even some nostalgic types could revel in your glow in perpetuity.
I heard the people that own the lot tried to play some hardball. They tried to deal with you quick. “Take care of you” before people even knew what hit them. I’m glad to hear that they were checked, faced with a petition, and that you will still remain for the time being before the imminent transition.
I even tried to immortalize you in a short film recently, but alas they made sure I couldn’t create the dream that I envisioned for you. For context, earlier this year I saw the Seattle documentary “Streetwise” and there is a beautiful moment where one of the protagonists is stationed right in front of your sign smoking a cigarette. While it might not make AFI’s “Top 10 Images in Film” list, it certainly made an impact on me.
A couple of weeks ago as the film neared, I made sure to check that you would still be glowing in the moonlight and you were, albeit with about half of the lights defunct. Still, it was like you were still alive.
And then, wouldn’t you know it, I went to check again the day before we started shooting and you had gone dark. Your lights were all off. The spinning that had stopped such a long time ago seemed more still than ever. Those happy little elephants at your base looking so vacant. Bleak visages.
When did you stop turning?
Why did your lights have to go out?
A couple of days ago I read that your sister sign had been removed. Just like that. Vanished in the night.
What robber? What thief?
…
I took a run in the early evening today. It wasn’t until halfway through the run that I looked up to see a sunset. Of pinks. Of oranges. Of blues. Of greens. Of whites.
I think that could have been you…washing the sky with your memory. Cloudy cars and soaring souls. A World’s Fair up above.
I’ll bet that Elvis and his pink Cadillac don’t mind having you around.
The most photographed landmark in Seattle. Even more than the Space Needle.
Thank you for giving us something to be proud of.
Until the next sunset…