MISCmedia for 9/13/00
My Dear Watson

IF YOU KNOW THE NAME OF EMMETT WATSON, you might associate it with a weekly Seattle Times column, which usually consists of cute dog stories or reminiscences about Seattle's quieter olden days.

He's 81 now. It's OK in my book for him to take his life, and his writing, a little easier these days.

But you should've seen him in his prime.

Unfortunately, the only way you can do that (besides coming through newspaper microfiches in the library) is to stumble upon Watson's three volumes of memoirs--all of which are, apparently, out of print.

Aside from a handful of ex-UW Daily cartoonists (Mike Lukovich, Lynda Barry), Watson may be the only truly great creative mind the Seattle newspaper industry has generated. (And yes, I'm fully aware that Tom Robbins had been a newspaperman here.)

During his peak years (essentially the era of his main P-I column, 1959-82), he was one of the master practitioners of the three-dot column, that now nearly-forgotten American art form in which dozens of seemingly unrelated items would share the same space, rattled off in crisp stacatto brevity.

But Watson did more than just chronicle the comings and goings of local politicians, business bigwigs, TV-news personalities, and other "celebrities." He captured the soul of the city he loved.

Each of Watson's books fits as a discrete part of a whole, like the items in a three-dot column.

The first, Digressions of a Native Son, was put out in 1982 by the Pacific Institute, an employee-motivation-seminar outfit Watson was copywriting for after the P-I reduced him to part-timer status. (How that Lovable Curmuddgeon wound up, even temporarily, with such a Think Positive Thoughts outfit is one story he's never completely told.) Digressions is mostly autobiography, with long pauses to reminisce about the World's Fair, press agents, colorful local characters past and present, etc.

A decade later, Watson's own Lesser Seattle Press came out with Once Upon a Time In Seattle. This slim volume profiled a dozen local leaders and characters; most of whom, like Watson, came of age in the Prohibition and Depression years.

He immediately followed that with My Life In Print. It starts by reprinting the most important autobiographical scenes from Digressions. That's followed by some 370 pages of Watson's old newspaper writings, culled and edited for Watson by longtime friend Fred Brack. After a few examples of his early work as a sportswriter (he was 40 before he got to write general-interest columns), My Life gets down to business with brilliant examples of his P-I and more recent Times work.

The three-dot material isn't included; that, apparently, has proven too perishable, its shortness necessitating an audience pre-familiarity with the eprsons and topics at hand. Rather, My Life collects the single-topic, full-length essay columns that would fill his daily slot once or twice a week. It's not that he was doing the daily goings-on-about-town stuff to draw a salary and a forum for the longer material; rather, he put into these 900-word profiles and rants everything he continued to learn on the daily grind about pacing, brevity, and writing for impact.

That's what makes the pieces in My Life still work so well; whether they're profiling authors and senators and Supreme Court justices, complaining about all the skyscrapers going up downtown even then (he says their massiveness reduces street-level humans to the insignificance of ants), crowing for the preservation of the Pike Place Market, or promoting his only-partly-joking anti-civic-boosterism crusade, "Lesser Seattle Inc."

Get any or all of Watson's books. Look on the auction boards for them, if they're not at a library near you.

Learn about the heartbeat of a community, and read some of the best prose ever "forgotten tomorrow" while you're at it.

WE'LL BE OUT OF TOWN THE REST OF THIS WEEK, BUT ON MONDAY: Paul Schell's latest miscalculation.

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