To spot the Grand Opera House, look for a tall, rectangular brick building with arched entryways and windows, and imagine it standing just off Cherry Street with its painted-over stone details still peeking through on the façade.
Now, as you stand here in front of the Grand Opera House, let’s wind the clocks back to 1900, when this corner of Cherry Street was buzzing with excitement and the irresistible smell of popcorn drifted through the air. Can you picture crowds in their finest hats and coats, hurrying up these steps, laughter rising as they gathered under the bright gaslights? It’s almost hard to believe that today’s parking garage was once the “crown jewel” of Seattle’s nightlife.
This glorious theater was the brainchild of architect Edwin W. Houghton, Seattle’s go-to guy for grand stages and big dreams. John Cort, the theater mogul, had a vision: instead of leaving entertainment clustered down by Yesler Way, he pushed the city to stretch the fun a bit farther north-right to Cherry Street. It worked. The Grand Opera House quickly became where you’d go if you wanted to see and be seen, trading gossip or-if you were less lucky-tripping up the grand staircase while trying to act cool.
The opening night in October 1900 was the talk of the town. Not only could you enjoy a proper opera, but you could also slip downstairs to the Palm Gardens for a beer and some variety acts. The main hall sparkled with two tiers of fancy box seats, an enormous balcony, and a stage big enough for the rowdiest vaudeville troop or a ghostly opera with swirling capes. All told, it could squeeze in about 2,200 excited souls, all craning their necks as the curtain rose.
But as with any juicy drama, trouble was always waiting in the wings. In 1906, a fire tore through the interior, reducing the stage and all those plush velvet seats to ashes. John Cort, never one to mope, shifted his spotlight to newer theaters-the Moore Theatre at first, and with time, the show-stopping Metropolitan Theatre. Meanwhile, the Grand found new life as a movie house, tossing in some “incidental” vaudeville to keep the crowds from dozing off.
Then came 1917, and with it, a scene straight out of a disaster movie. Before dawn, smoke started curling out from beneath the balcony. The janitor, George Matsu, dashed for help, and within minutes, fire engines were clattering down Cherry Street, horses neighing and bells ringing. The flames grew so fierce that firefighters scrambled to empty the nearby hotel next door. Suddenly, the domed roof gave a thunderous roar and collapsed, claiming the life of Battalion Chief Frederick G. Gilham and injuring several other heroic firefighters. It was a day Seattle wouldn’t soon forget.
Rumors swirled in the aftermath-had the building inspectors been too lenient? Who was to blame? In the end, no wrongdoing was found, but it left a bitter aftertaste. The Grand sat empty for years, echoing only the ghosts of sold-out performances and the footsteps of people who remembered when it was the grandest piece of theater around.
By the roaring twenties, cars had taken over Seattle, and a clever duo scooped up the Grand to give it a new lease on life. They transformed the shell of this once-glorious theater into the Cherry Street Garage, boasting all the latest auto trends-patented ramps, full-service auto repairs, and floors thick enough to handle hundreds of shiny Model T’s. If buildings could sigh, the Grand probably rolled its eyes at the engines but was secretly relieved not to be completely forgotten.
As you look up at the painted brickwork, squint and you might spot traces of original sandstone trim and the arched vestibule doorway where actors and visiting nobility once paused, perhaps nervously, before facing the crowd. Somewhere above you, a faded plaque clings to the past, a silent reminder that this stretch of Cherry Street once rang with applause, music, and dreams a mile high. In a city always eager to move forward, the Grand Opera House is proof: every parking garage could be hiding a little backstage magic.
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