Free The Burg and Other Seattle Scenes by Jerome Gold

The Burg
    On Thursday, December 14, 2006, a gale struck western Washington State. A million people were without power for a few hours to two weeks. The gale’s most powerful gusts reached hurricane speeds. In Seattle, winds were recorded at 69 miles per hour.
    On Friday when I came by I saw that a tree had fallen on Burgermaster’s roof near the southwest corner. Handwritten signs were taped to the doors, informing customers that the restaurant had limited power and was closed. I thought I saw someone inside, and there seemed to be dim lights, perhaps from candles, but the doors were clearly locked. It was the only building in the area without power and I thought it odd that the gale the day before had singled out the Burg.
    As I stood beside my car, trying to decide what to do next, a couple of other cars pulled into the lot. People got out, went to the front door, and read the sign. Then they peered inside and drew back. They looked at me, then back at the building, then simply stopped moving.
    There was a new Starbucks on my way home and I decided to give it a try. Ordinarily I do not much care for Starbucks. My problem is its atmosphere. There is a kind of anxiety that I associate with young, ambitious executives, or executive wannabes, or unemployed executives that seems to permeate every Starbucks I’ve been in. The staff are generally nice enough, but Starbucks is not for me. On this occasion, however, I could think of no other place to go thatwas close, and I chanced it. The staff were nice, but I was right—it was not a place for me.
    Each day for the next five, I cruised the parking lot at Burgermaster. Each time, I saw people reading the signs on the doors, and others wandering as though stranded or confused. Each day, it seemed to me, less light emanated from the restaurant and it grew smaller, as though the weight of the roof were slowly compressing the walls. I wondered if it had been abandoned.
    One day, shopping for peanut butter, vitamin C, and other essentials at Safeway, the Burg’s immediate neighbor to the west, I ran into Sandi, my friend Roy’s partner. Roy had been moping on the couch at her house, she said. “Don’t you have to be somewhere?” she said she asked him. But he didn’t.
    After Safeway, I went to Third Place Books in Lake Forest Park, where I saw Bob, a physics teacher, grading papers as he does at Burgermaster. I had wondered where everyone had dispersed to. At least two of us had found our way north to Third Place.
    Third Place Books gets its name from Ray Oldenburg’s idea (in
The Great Good Place
) that a person needs a place, one neither his home nor his work location, where he can be among people he chooses to be among, where he can speak openly about subjects that interest him and listen to others’ opinions over something to eat or drink. Third Place is an agreeable place, but it is not the place it wanted to be. Instead, it is a combination of things: bookstore; food court; community center; a place, on some nights, for musical entertainment. It is for youngish families. It is loud, not withthe passion of discussion, but with the boisterousness or discontent of children and the clatter of dishes and, on some nights, with the music. In the food court I feel that I should not linger, nor, if a band is playing, even speak for fear of distracting those who are there to be entertained.
    The Burg is what Third Place Books wanted to be. It does not have live music. While it occasionally hosts vintage or classic car shows, or Mustang or Volkswagen shows, and allows a number of charities to use a portion of its parking lot as a car wash, these events are outdoors and can be ignored, if you choose to ignore them. There is not another place in Seattle like the Burg, with its good soups, its spaciousness and light, its mediocre coffee and free refills. In the Burg you can stay as long as you like and no one will hurry to take your dishes away,