Three prisoners staggered out of the truck: two men and a woman. The men knew each other. Their hands grazed and their gazes met. The woman stood alone, clinging to the broken neck of a violin. They were all unchained, but fear and shock were as good a shackle as any. Until it was disrupted, at least. 

Nicole Bearden (NB): You’ll find our next guest nestled in an arched niche of the Cal Anderson Gatehouse. Saint Rat is the talk of the town this summer—Hot Rat Summer, that is.  Welcome to Iconic Convos, Saint Rat. I’m thrilled to finally connect.

Saint Rat (SR): Blessings of the Season, my child.

NB: You are having a bit of a moment. How are you dealing with your newfound notoriety?

Ivy watched as the evening workers and night dwellers shuffled down the sidewalks, heads bowed against the omniscient glow of the streetlights that’d borne witness to their savage furies. 

Warning, the voice began again. 

Ivy lifted a cigarette to her lips, inhaled, let the smoke sit and coil through her lungs like a breath of life before she blew it through the crack of her propped window. Only the stub of the cigarette remained, its embers hot against her fingers. But it was good for a few more puffs at least, and god did she need it. 

Firelight flickered on the walls, and the crackling grew into a roar. In the amber glow, a face watched her pass, little eyes staring out from an old photograph of her daughter. 

Ivy was twelve when Leonna last saw her. The girl was Leonna’s greatest pride. The one creation of hers whose heart seemed truly pure. She hoped Ivy had remained that way, indelible and defiant against the cruelties of the world, never letting them break her. 

A day trip out of Seattle up to San Juan Island, near the Canadian border, will take you to one of my favorite Washington icons. At Roche Harbor, a short walk through a wooded cemetery more than a century old will lead to a clearing, in the center of which rests a large stone rotunda. Afterglow Vista (previously known as McMillin Memorial Mausoleum) seems otherworldly—a classical, open-air rotunda containing Masonic symbols, including a round stone table and chairs (in which the ashes of the McMillin family, along with those of John S. McMillin’s secretary Adah Beeny are interred) in the center of a Pacific Northwest island forest.

When Leonna was six, wildfires turned the sky a wrathful shade of red. 

The sun seemed to be the glowing eye of a giant beast veiled within the smoky horizon. She feared it would consume the world. That morning, her mother had soothed her despondent cries and promised it would be all right, but Leonna never quite forgot the dreadful memory of that burning sky. 

Now, for the first time in forty years, the fury of those flames returned.

If you spend time in historical Downtown Renton, you will likely run across our next guest—just look up. Erasmus the Rooftop Dragon landed atop a crooked little building in 2019. Since then, the city of Renton has embraced Erasmus, holding the annual Dragon’s Landing festival every April to commemorate his arrival.  

Nicole Bearden (NB): I’m excited to chat today, Erasmus. I’ve never had the pleasure of speaking with a dragon before.  

Erasmus the Rooftop Dragon (ERD): The honor is yours, I’m sure.

The barkeep opened a side door and waved them in. There, in the gilded haze of flame-lit lamps, artists gathered. Poets, painters, sculptors, musicians, dancers. Artists of all sorts came to the garden to talk, create, and workshop. It was a safe place for unfettered expression. One of the last of its kind.

Nicole Bearden (NB): If you end up in the U District, on the Burke-Gilman Trail, you might run across our next guest, one of Seattle’s oddest icons: The Wall of Death. I appreciate you taking time to speak with us today. I must say, your appearance is pretty intimidating, Wall, not to mention your name. What has your experience on the Burke-Gilman been like?

On my way back from my short hiatus, I ran into our next Iconic Convos interviewees, Hat n’ Boots at Oxbow Park in Georgetown. At 22-feet high (Boots) and 44-feet wide (Hat), these two are hard to ignore.

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind.

The setting sun outside steeped the city in gold, and a pleasant breeze carried the scent of budding flowers. He remembered the open fields of Anna’s family home, breaths of summer wind rustling the curtains as Anna painted by the window. 

He never should have brought her to the city.

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind.

Nicole Bearden (NB): In honor of Seattle’s Faux Spring weather last week, I decided it was time to have a confab with one of my personal favorite Seattle Icons: A Sound Garden. Located on the NOAA campus near Magnuson Park, between Piers 15 and 17 on Lake Washington, A Sound Garden reverberates with hauntingly atmospheric intonations as the wind blows through artist Douglas Hollis’ twelve, 21-foot high, steel tower sculptures. Sound Garden, I appreciate your presence today.

A Sound Garden (SG): a chorus of metallic hums breezing through the air We are delighted to converse with you.

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind.

Nicole Bearden (NB): Hello, and welcome to another Iconic Convo with Seattle’s most recognizable icons. Today we are speaking with the Fremont Troll. We appreciate you spending time with us today, Fremont Troll. 

Fremont Troll (FT): Grunts, and nods slowly as dust drifts from his head to float through the air

NB: Now, you’ve been around since 1990. How have you noticed that the city has changed over the past 35 years?

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind. 

NB: A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of chatting with Pike Place Market. During our talk, Pike Place spoke briefly about their friend The Gum Wall. Now that we are clear of the market’s holiday hustle and bustle, Gum Wall has made time to connect with us and share some secrets. Welcome, Gum Wall, and thank you for speaking with us today.

Nicole Bearden (NB): Since we are deep into Seattle’s dark days (Winter), I thought it was about time to talk to our most famous, local, glacial icon: The Seattle Freeze. Thanks so much for joining us today, Freeze. What have you been up to?

Seattle Freeze (SF): Oh, just chilling. The usual.

NB: Snorts Oh! Ha. Very funny.

Nicole Bearden: Zdravstvuyte, today we are speaking with the Fremont Lenin statue. (I don’t speak Russian, but I learned the phrase for “hello”, just for today).

Lenin Statue: Hello. I do not speak Russian.

NB: Aren’t you a Lenin statue? I thought Lenin was Russian?

LS: Lenin was Russian. My nationality is more complicated. I was created by a Bulgarian, for Czechoslovakia, and have now been in the Capitalist States of America since the ‘90s. What is nationality anyway? What are borders, but arbitrary lines assigned to take power from the many and funnel it to the wealthy?