Cover photo
Randy Seifer
Attended North Salem High
Lives in Seattle ✈
Came, saw, tagged & went!
Yeah, but in-between, I worked promoting Seattle's Pike Place Public Market for the better part of two decades. Until a traitorous group of interlopers, worming their way in, eventually wrestled control and literally sold (out) the "Soul of Seattle", to: The New York Urban Group of Investors - who then formally tried to recruit me as their 'inside man'(!)  [ We've a real classy group of Californians here!
Having morals, ethics and scruples clearly puts me out of my element, and vastly out-numbered.  Honesty and literalism, it seems, are highly overrated, and not fodder for the masses. 

Mom was simply wrong and naive.  Language is intentionally sloppy (low-resolution) for it's wiggle-room (future deniability) and manipulative purposes (you thought I meant, what!?).

Obviously it's really all about the rich, for the rich, and by the rich; accumulating (unlimited) resources to crush all future resistance.  Why do you suppose loopholes are routinely found in laws - if not expressly for the maneuvering of ever-increasingly expensive lawyers?  It's just normal operating procedure for governing bodies of every size, and their godawful convoluted webs of deceptions, obfuscations and legendary metastasizing greed. Just add corruption² with a twist of sociopathy into the mix. 
But I never said it was an organized crime, 'tho the inference is natural.

This was an unabashed California / New York tug-of-war over what's ours' power-grab. The psychosis of eminent domain fever.  And "we'd" already sold our soul..  continuity was broken ..'twas to be a rough and very expensive road ahead! . ..for us, who elevated it's visibility, into prosperity. 
(read: 'Confessions Of An Economic Hit Man' for insight into our government's formula for conquest)

Ah, politics: betrayal and fabricated history. All to keep the slaves in their place.
Now comes the acquiescence, capitulation and sacrifice crap, as the parasitic organism, in it's grab-bag excitement, races to devour those who gave it the opportunity; (still more) eventually though will come the comeuppance sh!t. That just goes with the physics, it's automatic, and built-into the fabric.  It could be another freaking movie, had it not become the normal background noise of denying our accomplishment, which was clashing horribly with their clamorous rush of self-serving historical revisionism and self-righteous indulgence*. But they're from Big Hubris Country where (questionable) documentation instead of actual performance gets them the respect they so desperately seek.
Isn't it just typical of those spewing so much disrespect, to demand it the most in return?  You know where they come from (or soon will). Just pat them on the back, in a pitiful sort of way. 
They're not from around here. 

Overseas I visited many outdoor markets and what we commonly call, farmers’ markets.  I was particularly impressed with one in Yokohama where my father bought me a beautiful cerulean blue silk reversible G.I. flight jacket knock-off from a local merchant, it was deep red with “Tokyo” and colorful yellow & gold dragons emblazoned on the flip side.  The market had a seaside view and was filled with exotic fish, colorful fruits and vegetables -many unusually large in size, most often grown with human manure ("honey-buckets", one hanging at either end of a long wooden pole, carried horizontally across the back and shoulders, out into the fields), and very impressive to a young boy from simple farm country USA.  That goes double for the Japanese people I encountered on near daily walks from the courtyard of my home to the neighborhood shops that lined the street a few blocks away. There I was also fortunate enough to witness the marvelous craftsmanship available in ordinary small, individually run family shops.  It was all so very fine.  And barely eight years after TheBombs were dropped (I can hardly imagine how they'd be received if the situation were reversed).  I was finding wonderful toys made from recycled materials American servicemen donated routinely, by the truckload; empty beer cans.  Steel beer cans: raw material for kids' friction-powered (flywheel) and spring-wound cars and trucks.  Only on the inside could you find the original, undisturbed American brand name labels staring back at you: Lucky Lager, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Miller High Life; Schlitz. 
Two shy young housemaids, Ami and Kako, filled in days my mother went to the base commissary or PX, and generally helped all around the house, including babysitting my baby brother, introducing my inquisitive mind to Buddhism, Boys' Day, and the construction and repair of sheer rice paper walls. Some afternoons they'd escort me to various puppet shows practically on every-other block along the route. They absolutely hooked me on green tea.  And I still miss them dearly to this day.  It was in that expansive gravel courtyard one afternoon upon my casual return home when a young Japanese boy about my age candidly introduced me to the classic wallet-on-a-hidden-string-trick. Ha! (welcome the new guy!)  A mere 30 yards away his father sat with a barrel between his knees, rapidly shucking oysters for pearls; his alternate source of income.  He later taught me about siphoning water to make it run uphill, and the tradition of putting a thread through enormous June Bugs to fly them around like model airplanes. Later on he presented my mother with a string of pearls from his harvest. There I often played with his son and a wind-up tin submarine in a rock-walled pond outside his home. Good times.  All except when my 2 year-old baby brother got intestinal worms from sucking on rocks.  They can come to light in other orifices I discovered.  I was later informed that this wasn't uncommon in Japan, where native children routinely learned 'not-to-do-that'.  This was one parasite we hadn't been inoculated for.  These humble, honest & sincere hard-working people gave me an everlasting appreciation for their culture and personage.  And a broadened perspective on attitude. 

When I was told that Seattle's very own Pike Place Public Market was broke, dilapidated and unable to continue being profitable I became concerned, no, alarmed.  Long lines of traffic had been normal through the streets intersecting and paralleling the main arcade, (a dogleg off Pike Street) along Pike Place Avenue (whence it took it’s name).  Now a few years later and things had radically changed. The sixties were like that. Change was in the air virtually everywhere.  A close friend who worked there off & on gave me the grim news of it’s protracted demise.  I was preoccupied with my own start-up selling hand-fabricated jewelry wholesale to local outlets around the Seattle-Tacoma area.  One of the Market shops on the second tier became one of my more reliable contacts, as they never stiffed me or otherwise tried to weasel out of consignment obligations.

I met with Joe Desimone, the Market's owner one day by chance as he was ridding a table of a squatter who was selling smoking paraphernalia without Joe's consent or the management's permission.  In talking over the Market's dire situation Joe explained that bulldozers would be demolishing it by the end of the year (1970), "..the thing slowing things down was deciding whether the property would be turned into condos or a parking-lot for a mega shopping mall."  With this confirmation catching me by surprise, I recommended he try phasing out the flailing flea-market element (in the North Arcade) and instead allow local craftspeople to come in and sell their wares retail, something that could benefit us all.  Individuals as myself who were selling wholesale were enjoying the growing interest in more personalized gifts and knickknacks (commercialization had made cookie-cutter replicates less desirable in a new age of personal expressionism).  Creativity was on the rise with every bit as much force as society’s ills pulling us down; also I saw an opportunity to possibly contribute to my hometown.  Skeptical, but still open to suggestion he politely listened (remember politeness?) to my answering his concerns and objections.  Volunteering to be a test subject for a demonstration and evaluation he finally somewhat reluctantly agreed to rent me a space on a daily basis, after I offered to sign a waiver freeing him (and the Market) from responsibility, should some of the crumbling architecture tumble down causing personal damage or injury.  I'd told him of my experience in outdoor markets in Japan and Europe, and he eventually accepted an unspecified trial period. 

The Market had been in his family for decades and this no doubt piqued his interest.  After a few successful weeks word spread and more local craftspeople began showing up to compliment the barren tables.  A few turned into dozens and we were suddenly on our way.  Customers were returning now, by word of mouth, and out of curiosity for something entirely new in the local downtown scene.  Only a few of the resident farmers had actually survived the downturn, hanging on to their businesses best they could.  Simply more reason to lend a supporting hand.  Compliments began flying around and money started changing hands with the customers' realization that they were getting original, individually unique pieces of art and craftsmanship, at prices well below the retail value that had been established through local businesses also carrying many locally made items.  Suddenly we were ‘golden’. 
Nordstrom's was my earliest premier outlet, which donned status onto my forged metal and bead work (often interlaced with fine macramé) worked into high-fashion earrings and necklaces.  They wanted me to sell to them exclusively, prompting me to expand my capacity by training and hiring workers in order to increase my available output.  In those days they had only three stores, all were known as “Nordstrom’s Best”, covering the local area, and I couldn’t even keep them supplied.  I also sold to the Bon Marché (now Macy’s) among others during that time. 

People who looked our products over would often remark that they’d been enticed to shop by the novel experience of buying directly from the creator, and having a story to go with it.  Meanwhile a small representative group I was with were also attending City Council meetings, trying to garner interest in the City's ownership, thereby further extending the precarious protection afforded Pike Place.  Curiously they had little or no interest; until we became profitable and they could see more exploitable value in ownership than in dealing with the risks involved in a new mega development.
According to Joe (and management) this is what caused customers to return: "...the draw of (the) Craftspeople....resulting in rising profits for the rest of us... which ultimately saved The Market."  In his own words, at the official announcement before the usual Monday morning group of craftspeople. 

The City purchased what we'd previously saved a year and a half earlier from the bulldozers. It's much like claiming I built a house when truthfully I only had it built (bought it).  Not quite the same thing. Subjective Reality.  One is a personal perspective meant for bragging rights, but belies one's level of honesty.  All the while exposing our willingness and desire to maintain the general illusions, which allow us to pretend, hope and wish. For it seems we can't handle the truth.  Ah, The Plug that fills The Hole in your soul. Okay now, let's all hide.. If we started really being honest the next thing you know we'd be expected to be accountable and behave responsibly; no, we can't have that.  Spoils all our fun.

Point Being
: The guy in later iterations of the PDA who gets credit for all of this (of course, it's their fake history!) and then built a park for (further bolstering their invested version of reality), was the very man who continually tried to have the Craftspeople thrown out!  He would often circle the Market in his shiny Bentley like a stalking animal looking to draw attention and intimidate.  So.. according to Desimone-logic there wouldn't be a Market for him (let's just call him 'Vic') to take credit for "Saving" in the first place. *Vic came too late to the show - and both the Owner and the Market Master openly called him "a grandstanding, showboating poser, just playing to the press; always looking for attention and ways of getting his name into the paper." 
Personally I think he was just trying to improve his prior legacy. He was my very unpopular landlord, owner of many apartment complexes on the north end in the mid-sixties, and unwittingly responsible for Seattle's adoption of the "no managerial entrance w/o a 24hrs-notice" law. So all of his visits (surprise!) really were good for something after all!  Having personally been here long before the PDA (which we created to manage the infrastructure only, specifically not to mess with the creative element) turned bad I can only view their historical indoctrination as hysterical instead, so I'll just call it their "hystery"; because they certainly don't jibe.  Nefarious people without a clue, seriously bent on schooling the rest of us, how absolutely ludicrous and totally absurd!  They also came (ignorantly) late.  So blatantly and typically Amërican of them.  No shortage of egocentric perspective here. 
(We certainly don't want to inspire others into taking responsibility for their surroundings on their own!  No sir, at least not until we've branded it!
[ And that's how History Is Produced! ]

One evening my personal physician, unbeknown to me, attended a Market/Constituent meeting. To my surprise he lived in the neighborhood, and had gone to check out what I'd told him about the kangaroo-court method they used to 'listen' to opinions, with no intention of ever implementing anything outside of their own preconceived agenda (and regularly wasting 3-4 hours of my workday).  This ruse, fulfilling their contract to "allow public input".  At our next meeting he asked me, "..are you sure you don't want a 'script for anti-depressants? It was much worse than you'd said!"  Have you ever read Brave New World, I asked him. "Yes, in college I did", he replied.  Then we talked about 'Soma', the fictional drug (referenced in the classic written by Aldous Huxley, required reading many years ago), and the future-government's solution for preventing an overwhelming rebellion: drugging the population to desensitize them of their personal abuse.  We're there right now.  Soma is now (of course) a real drug, joining the long list of psychoactive concoctions that keep the beast at bay. If you can't get their guns, then chemically 'lobotomize' them. Deceit, being the preferred technique, dispensed via our superior propaganda distribution system. Drugs for coping, being the final solution: "can't cope w/o dope" (anyone..?).  Feeling vindicated I eventually hopped on board.  I'd become so envious of those who just didn't even give a damn..

So, through renewed financial stimulation and a growing awareness of what we were about to irretrievably lose, up until then pretty much a given (that few had come to even care about) renewing the public's interest, the demolition and redevelopment plans were scrapped.  Old had always been replaced with new, but now dissatisfaction was rampant in the country at large, it was ‘in the air’ everywhere.  Suddenly the Market’s physical structure, and then the buildings in Pioneer Square became hot subjects of debate, with historical preservation eventually winning out.  My testimony.

Vapid politicos and their hollow representatives may claim the credit (honesty having never been their strong suit) but regular grunts, the ones closest to the action, with intimate knowledge, acting on their own volition actually got the job done; as grunts generally do.  Once we're all gone their phony baloney political-hystery will stand.  But those who lived it remember.  We were all in our prime, ignoring the occasional shouted epithets, taunts and jeers of passersby (by definition: transients) to "go home"; we ignored the ignorant buffoons and went on to kick ass nonetheless.  

Actions and their consequences: why I came and why I left. 
"Reality", is simply the collective rationalization amongst a specific group of observers; often having little to do with actual events, structure, origins or perceived intellect. Throw in the subjective layers of profiteering and anything can happen. It's little wonder then that we're unable to learn from history when it's essentially a fabricated manipulative device designed to influence (control) the masses, empower corporations and enrich a few privileged individuals.  Familiar?  Should be. It truly is, "The American Way".  Eventually the monster turns on its creator.

Ergo: propaganda rules!  and Public Relations people are typically physically attractive (because it works) and know the power of (BS) a good story; e.g. psychologically implanted "billboards" influencing and defining your life.  you're welcome.
Tour groups anyone?  Just keep in mind it's at least bullshit.
Because: We're #1.   We really are #1!

So yeah, in as much as they actually saved it, naturally I believe the Craftspeople belong here on a permanent basis.. so just suck on it, Vic!  
Put another way: It's a good thing someone came along to save 'Your' stinking Market isn't it? 
Keep in mind that without liars we wouldn't have drama. One can't really expect to learn anything from propaganda other than the perpetrators agenda. The show is infinite. And infinitely repeated (ask the old!). Expecting a different outcome is a prime requisite of insanity.  And the primary explanation. 
After all is said and done, it truly is an open ward. 

Anyone recognizing a pattern here analogous to their own current situation, please beware..


Assisting entropy through incomprehension and incompetence

Each generation accepts what they're born into, then downgrades it for the next (we abuse our privileges, in part so that those following won't inherit them; kinda making us "special" in a perverse sort of way).
A screw or bolt can't tighten due to vibration, it can only loosen (motorcycle maintenance 101).

It can't get any better - because it's already been that.

␥ previously frowned upon, from now on it's pretty much pandering.. .
␥ from institutionalizing pretentiousness✫  ~ to outright pandering
␥ times change ␥ and so has Seattle  ␥ we're now more like you

(Love by it's very nature is a tragedy waiting to unfold)

curmudgeon sez:
are you kidding me?!
⋗it's not a market- it's a carnival without the rides!  a poor-mans theme park..
⋗tourism is
so far from green they're really polar opposites..
⋗but it's the only thing they know, and besides..
⋗you'll do whatever the ads tell you.
⋗you know you will.

[ My original: Pike Place Market 1970  Business License #130707A - jpeg available upon request ]

PDA have been turncoats. optimizing illusions for maximum profitability. treacherous "middlemen", doing little more than altering history to take credit for (our) creativity and then pumping as much out of that cash cow as possible.  Exploitation vs whistle-blowing; a combo meal.
my apartment building is controlled by them. 
when they get pissed they remotely shut off my key fob, locking me out..  so naturally i see litigation ahead. 
no-accounts and ne'er-do-wells spending all their time scheming to exploit the hard work and efforts of others. no heavy lifting required, just pushing pencils in-between plotting and sneak attacks.
how cool!  mommy, "i want that no-account's job!" 
invisible history, a microcosm - of the disease that affects the rest of us. 
crazy: it's another business.  psychoherpes -imported, incurable, contagious madness.

(isn't this beginning to sound familiar?)

yeh.  but tell me, how du yew really feel? 

abused.  there's clearly more money in crime and dishonesty than in their counterparts.  more lies..  you're living in a wicked pyramid scheme that's completely reliant on acquiring new fish to game.
if it's not the cia running heroin - it's this kinda crap!   the truth depletes (imaginary) resources. 
as well as the number of 'honest' people.

...are you going to light that up?

[ Besides leveraging medical records and attempting to sacrifice our traditional "pedestrian lane" to traffic, bringing in L.A. police to hassle those of us walking in it (!?!) what's been your goddamn contribution, Marlene?..Bill? ..Anyone?  Seriously!! ]



  • North Salem High
  • 18 previously
  • Grokking U since
Basic Information
Other names
Ra! ☼
SoRetired @ Pike Place Market 〰〰
  • SoRetired @ Pike Place Market 〰〰, present
  • Boeing 1965/67 (template design)
  • Myself (33⅓ LP yrs.@ Pike Place Mkt)
  • & many more [education]
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Seattle ✈
Internationally (Army Brat) - Japan - France - Oregon - Kentucky - California - Arizona - Nebraska - Washington - other places & times..