Roanoke Inn -- where the Somebodys are no better than everybody

By JON HAHN  
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

If you have to do time on the rock -- as some call Mercer Island -- the Roanoke Inn is the place to do it.

And it is where many of the Seattle area's movers and shakers go to relax and have a drink when they're tired of moving and shaking, and don't want to be bothered.

"There are regulars here of wealth beyond imagination, and then there are construction workers and 'poor folk' like me," said one 30-year resident of the rock.

Or, as another regular put it: "This is the only place on the island where, once you're through the door, anybody who's somebody can be a nobody."

The owner says she doesn't really know any of the Somebodies and could care less about who's a Who, as long as they're well-behaved. Sometimes the bartender might tell her if a local celebrity unwinds at her 10-stool bar, she said.

"I think that tall blond guy who used to play basketball for Seattle comes in here sometime," she said.

So too, if you believe regulars, do politicians, judges, biomedical company executives, surgeons, coffee company presidents, big-shot lawyers and guys who run aerospace companies.

And most everybody would have a hard time figuring who's the owner, because on most days she's in jeans and a ball cap, painting the white picket fence, planting new perennials or cutting the grass out back.

This 81-year-old tavern on the far, far northwest tip of the island is the most un-Mercer Island place you might imagine: gray clapboard siding on a modest frame cottage with wide booths on the front porch, a white picket fence and a garish green and red neon sign proclaiming its name and "TAVERN."

This is true Island Revival architecture and décor, harking back to the days when only ferries brought Seattleites to their summer cottages, and the inn also served as a general store. Despite its historical landmark status, there is no firm documentation of reports that the old Roanoke also served as a gambling den, house of ill repute and "blind pig" during Prohibition (when illicit spirits were served in coffee cups).

Despite its practical and legal function as a tavern, the Roanoke has served as the host for high school reunions, baby showers, more than a few bachelor parties, at least one backyard wedding performed by a resident judge, and several "celebrations of life" of former owners and even a few customers. The Roanoke is where many an island father used to bring his progeny for their first legal drink, only to discover the child already knew the bartender.

And it's "always been a place where Mercer Island High has its 10- and 20-year reunions," said Tim Conway, a 15-year island resident and once-a-week regular.

"My wife went to school here, and it's also a great place to come after softball or volleyball games. I'll meet my wife here after work and we'll decide what we're going to for the evening. It's a nice cross-section of people."

Three construction workers sharing a pitcher of beer at a front porch booth agreed this is the place to unwind after work on the island.

"We see everyone, from businessmen in suits to little old ladies coming in to get a glass of wine," said one.

Byron Halvorson, who said he owned and ran Roche Harbor Resort before moving to Mercer Island, has been a regular "since I was in high school in Seattle." Now that he's on the mainland, he comes here to meet friends and to watch sports events on the four televisions.

"And do you know, in all the time I've been coming here, I've never seen a guy walk out of here on his lips!" Halvorson said.

Because it's a tavern, there are no infants or surly teenagers to spoil the relaxing adult atmosphere. And because there's no hard booze or mixed drinks, you have to be content with a modest wine selection -- no fancy schmancy reserves -- and a wide range of bottle or draft (10 taps) beer.

Meals have become a draw at the Roanoke ever since Dorothy Reeck remodeled the kitchen and brought in "a real chef." The Saturday and Sunday breakfasts, in particular, "are pretty damn good . . . she should charge more!" said one regular. During weekend breakfast hours (9 a.m. to 2 p.m.), only white wine or light beers may be served. Soft background music only, and televised sporting events are put on mute.

"It's a great place to have breakfast, kick back and read the newspaper without interruptions," said one man.

Dorothy, who lives upstairs, concedes the Roanoke was very old-fashioned and far, far behind the times when she inherited it several years ago from her late husband, Hal, who was the son of the couple who owned and ran it since 1941.

"There was just so much to do! There was no refrigeration in the kitchen, and not even an exhaust fan," she recalled. "And the men's bathroom! It was the worst I've seen west of the Mississippi.

"When I took over, all the old customers said things like: 'I hope you don't put in pink curtains.' And when I had the men's room redone, even though we tried to make it look 'old,' there was some customer reaction. They said 'We hope you don't Bellevue-ize the rest of the place like you did the men's room!'"

Because of the Roanoke's landmark designation, there were restrictions on what Dorothy could do. The new fenced-in side patio was put in at the suggestion of state liquor board agents. Solid fencing was installed in the back yard as a noise buffer from the enthusiastic croquet games regulars enjoyed there.

"I decided to go with gas in the kitchen and furnace and particularly the fireplace," she said. "In the winter time, we kept a wood pile and a double-bit axe out back and the regulars would decide when they wanted a fire and they'd go out there and cut the wood. And frankly, I worried about that."

But it was those same regulars who came to her defense when a down-the-road neighbor complained of tavern noise and other so-called offenses. It was the hastily organized Friends of the Roanoke who paid for refurbishing the old neon sign out front -- the same found offensive by the complaining neighbor -- and the same group testified in defense of the tavern before city officials.

Needless to say, city council members and other city officials who take occasional refuge at the Roanoke couldn't testify in her defense, but the old tavern won out in the end. And the neon sign still proclaims "TAVERN.".

And Dorothy, putting on her gardening gloves to signal the end of an impromptu interview, seems pleased to let things roll as they have for so long and for so many, at the Roanoke.

"If this were just a tavern," she said, "I wouldn't even be here!"

Jon Hahn is a staff columnist who writes three times a week in the P-I.

The Roanoke Inn is at 1825 72nd Ave. S.E., Mercer Island. Limited parking. Hours 11 a.m.-2 a.m., Monday-Friday; Breakfasts 9 a.m.-2 p.m., weekends, closing 2 a.m. Saturdays and "usually early" on Sundays. Phone 206-232-0800.