Living on a Seattle Houseboat in 1963-64

Part 3

My life as an adult was really beginning to m0ve along.  I landed a job at the Western regional office of TV Guide in Seattle, moved out of the YWCA and into an apartment in the University District with two girls (who could type!) I had met at the “Y’.  It was a very  temporary arrangement; I had to find some other living quarters.  Quickly.

I still loved to explore the waterways of Seattle.  During one evening walk along the ship canal between Lake Union and Lake Washington I met a woman, Durrell Whiting, who would become my first roommate. 

She was from New England, had gone to U. Connecticut, signed up for the Peace Corps–it was brand new at that time–and apparently been bounced out of training in Hawaii for rowdy behavior.  Like me she thought living on a houseboat would be terrific.  So we began to look for a houseboat to rent on Lake Union. 

Even in those days when the houseboat communities were definitely not fashionable–in fact, they were somewhat disreputable,  semi-bohemian slums–it took several weeks of daily scrutiny of the For Rent ads before we found one that was available on a dock on Fairview Avenue and in our price range.  Well, I thought it was in our price range.  (Durrell was a physical therapist and was paid much better than I was.)  

$90 a month split two ways meant my rent was $45.  Plus heating oil which was delivered by a tiny tugboat.  Plus electricity.  Plus all those other things–like pots, pans, dishes, food–that very sheltered 22 year olds in those days never thought of.  We moved in.  

Like all houseboats and many beachfront homes, the living room faced the water.  The entry from a ramp that led from the dock brought one into the “back” of the house.  We had to walk through the kitchen–such as it was–to reach the  livingroom.  There was only one bedroom, accessed by walking through the tiny bathroom and Durrell took the bedroom.  I slept on a fold out sofabed in the livingroom.   We had no TV, no radio.  The houseboat was furnished in grubby, faded furniture.  But we didn’t care–we had our houseboat!

Living on a houseboat, working in magazine publishing– those earlier dreams of running off and traveling the world began to fade.   My life was great!

Five days a week I caught the bus downtown to the TV Guide offices.  I found out immediately that being an editorial assistant was basically a file clerk job.  What I did was pull file cards out of a massive bank of filing cabinets.  On the file cards were capsule summaries of syndicated TV shows that were showing during the week.  The information about new TV shows came over a news wire from Radner and printed out on continuous form paper.   We cut the continuous form information apart, added the file cards, made sure the times were correct then sent it all to the printer, who set the type for the listings.  The cover and the articles for each edition of TV Guide were printed elsewhere.  Our work was only involved with the listings of the 12 editions for Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia that came out of the Seattle office.  But in the Christmas edition of TV Guide in 1963 I was listed as an Editorial Assistant in the magazine.  Wow!  Even my parents, who were dismayed by my living on a houseboat, were proud of the fact that I was listed as an editor–at any level.

Meanwhile Durrell and I learned to eat creatively.  We would “shop” at the Safeway in the University District and eat all the free samples we could get our hands on.  Maybe we would buy a dozen eggs and some English muffins, which I had learned to love during my college years in New England.   Our favorite recipe was English muffin pizzas–long before they entered the wider world of American cuisine.  We would split two muffins, smear on some plain tomato paste (no herbs), toast them in the oven and call that dinner.

More tomorrow…

(This post is part of an experimental memoir.  I teach memoir writing and will edit your memoir to make it better.  Learn more at www.onedaymemoir.com)