paddled in AYPE races, they also signified the development of a shared Native identity. Totem poles represented not only Seattle's imperial claims on the North but also the people who traveled to the city in pursuit of economic independence, social status, or a good show. While on its surface a spectacle of urban dominance and white racial superiority, the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition also reflected the ambitions of its Native participants, who came from the far ends of Seattle's hinterland on their own terms.
O NE OF THE MOST STRIKING PHOTOS in any of Seattle's archives dates from the first years of the twentieth century. Taken by an unnamed photographer in front of the Frederick and Nelson Department Store at the corner of Second and Madison, it captures a Native woman, likely Makah or Nuuchah-nulth, sitting against the building's stone façade and selling baskets, blankets, and other handicrafts. She looks ahead and slightly down, avoiding the gaze of a well-dressed white woman who leans over her with an I-assume-you-can't-speak-English-so-I'll-talk-louder expression. A third woman of indeterminate race, possibly Indian, watches the exchange as busy urbanites rush by, among them a particularly dowdy older woman who seems to observe the scene with disdain. It is a momentof encounter, where women of different races and classes came together for a moment on the streets of the city to haggle over a basket.
Weaving was not just a metaphor for what happened on this coast. Like canoes and totem poles, baskets were both product and symbol of Seattle's Indian hinterland. Throughout the late nineteenth and the early twentieth century, sidewalk encounters between Indian vendors and white customers were a part of everyday life in Seattle. One 1905 newspaper article might have been describing this very photo: “Uptown, on First and Second avenues, many an important corner was given a touch of nature by the presence of a wrinkled old squaw, leaning her toil-bent back against the supporting columns, while around are arrayed canoes and baskets and mats, in reckless profusion, all ready to be traded for the money of whites.” Travel correspondent Nina Alberta Arndt described the ubiquity of similar “touches of nature” in the Overland Monthly three years later, noting that Indian women and their wares could be found “upon the steps of the principal banks, on the sidewalks of the business thoroughfares, or again … in the aisles of some department store.” Local newspapers identified Indians “squatting in characteristic attitudes with ‘hiyu iktas’ [many things] spread around them” as “one of the most common sights along the pavements of Seattle… intrud[ing] itselfon the vision of every pedestrian.” Meanwhile, “more eager seekers” of curios could visit Native encampments on filled land south of the city. No need to go to Neah Bay, Prince Rupert, or Sitka; the hinterland came to Seattle, bringing touches of distant nature to the heart of urban America. And, in fact, most of the basket vendors on Seattle streets at the turn of the century were not from Puget Sound. According to the Post-Intelligencer , many were Makah or Nuu-chah-nulth from Vancouver Island (and her baskets’ designs suggest that the woman in the Frederick and Nelson's photo was as well). An agent among the Sheshahts at Port Alberni on Vancouver Island confirmed that many Seattle vendors were his charges: “during the winter months the women often engage in the manufacture of baskets…which, being… a distinct novelty, are readily disposed of in the larger towns in the state of Washington.” Like canoes and totem poles, baskets connected Seattlestreet corners to Native communities hundreds of miles from the city. 30
Eastern tourists to Seattle often saw a basket or other Indian “curio” as the requisite souvenir of a trip to the city, meaning that a Sheshaht basket could easily end up in Boston or London or St. Louis. Indeed,
O NE OF THE MOST STRIKING PHOTOS in any of Seattle's archives dates from the first years of the twentieth century. Taken by an unnamed photographer in front of the Frederick and Nelson Department Store at the corner of Second and Madison, it captures a Native woman, likely Makah or Nuuchah-nulth, sitting against the building's stone façade and selling baskets, blankets, and other handicrafts. She looks ahead and slightly down, avoiding the gaze of a well-dressed white woman who leans over her with an I-assume-you-can't-speak-English-so-I'll-talk-louder expression. A third woman of indeterminate race, possibly Indian, watches the exchange as busy urbanites rush by, among them a particularly dowdy older woman who seems to observe the scene with disdain. It is a momentof encounter, where women of different races and classes came together for a moment on the streets of the city to haggle over a basket.
Weaving was not just a metaphor for what happened on this coast. Like canoes and totem poles, baskets were both product and symbol of Seattle's Indian hinterland. Throughout the late nineteenth and the early twentieth century, sidewalk encounters between Indian vendors and white customers were a part of everyday life in Seattle. One 1905 newspaper article might have been describing this very photo: “Uptown, on First and Second avenues, many an important corner was given a touch of nature by the presence of a wrinkled old squaw, leaning her toil-bent back against the supporting columns, while around are arrayed canoes and baskets and mats, in reckless profusion, all ready to be traded for the money of whites.” Travel correspondent Nina Alberta Arndt described the ubiquity of similar “touches of nature” in the Overland Monthly three years later, noting that Indian women and their wares could be found “upon the steps of the principal banks, on the sidewalks of the business thoroughfares, or again … in the aisles of some department store.” Local newspapers identified Indians “squatting in characteristic attitudes with ‘hiyu iktas’ [many things] spread around them” as “one of the most common sights along the pavements of Seattle… intrud[ing] itselfon the vision of every pedestrian.” Meanwhile, “more eager seekers” of curios could visit Native encampments on filled land south of the city. No need to go to Neah Bay, Prince Rupert, or Sitka; the hinterland came to Seattle, bringing touches of distant nature to the heart of urban America. And, in fact, most of the basket vendors on Seattle streets at the turn of the century were not from Puget Sound. According to the Post-Intelligencer , many were Makah or Nuu-chah-nulth from Vancouver Island (and her baskets’ designs suggest that the woman in the Frederick and Nelson's photo was as well). An agent among the Sheshahts at Port Alberni on Vancouver Island confirmed that many Seattle vendors were his charges: “during the winter months the women often engage in the manufacture of baskets…which, being… a distinct novelty, are readily disposed of in the larger towns in the state of Washington.” Like canoes and totem poles, baskets connected Seattlestreet corners to Native communities hundreds of miles from the city. 30
Eastern tourists to Seattle often saw a basket or other Indian “curio” as the requisite souvenir of a trip to the city, meaning that a Sheshaht basket could easily end up in Boston or London or St. Louis. Indeed,
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