This is a Message Board Post that is gatewayed to this mailing list. Author: EDCRF Surnames: Classification: obituary Message Board URL: http://boards.rootsweb.com/localities.northam.usa.states.washington.counties.king/6851.2/mb.ashx Message Board Post: The Seattle Times Monday, October 22, 1973 Page C16, Column 7 Schudie, John J. 8909 Roosevelt Way Northeast. Husband of Mrs. John Schudie. Father of Mrs. James (Amelia) Buss and Mr. I.S. Schudie, all Seattle. Four grandchildren, nine great-grandchildren. Member of St. Catherine's Catholic Church, Bartender's Union, Local 487. Rosary Tuesday 7:30PM Chapel of Green Lakes Funeral Home. Requiem Mass Wednesday, 10AM, St. Catherine's Catholic Church. Interment, Holyrood Cemetery. Remembrances may be made to the Heart Fund. ========== The Seattle Times Sunday, November 25, 1979 Page A14, Column 1 'Mom' is original; so's her tavern The bartender was in her rocking chair, looking out the front window. Surrounded by a dozen knick-knacks, cards, flowers, photos and crossword puzzle sections, she rocked slowly and pulled the shawl up over her shoulders. "Mrs. Schudie," I said, "would it be OK if I had a beer?" Clotilda Schudie rocked and looked out the window. "Oh, why don't you get it - I'm so comfortable here." I climbed off a stool and went around behind the bar, rifling through the cans in the coolers until I found my brand. "And by the way, " Tillie Schudie said from her rocking chair in the corner, under the 18-foot-tall dracyenia plant, "call me Mom. Everyone else does." You think to yourself all the long years spent studying the lower sociological order of tavern life. And now just when you think you've got it right, you walk into the little North Seattle beer haven of Grandma Schudie, age 84 and discover that, once the door behind you closes, you've gone back in time, truly back, almost a half century, back to when the dispensing of spirits was a high artistry of undistracted talk, friendly company and cold beer. "What time is it?" Tillie Schudie asked. The rocking chair halted suddenly. She looked shocked. "I'm a half hour late!" She reached for a pack of cigarets on the lightly cluttered windowsill. "I have one at 3, 5, 7, and 9PM," she said, opening the pack with nimble fingers. "My minimum each day is six, maximum is seven. And I just HATE to be late." She lit up, pulled the wrap up over her legs, patted her bonnet and began rocking again. "If you want another beer," Tillie Schudie said, "get it." Schudie's Tavern sits back off a busy neighborhood street in the Roosevelt District, a one-story, narrow brick building lost among other, one-story brick buildings. Outside, which Tillie Schudie observes daily from her rocking chair in the window, the world has changed considerably over the years. Once, across the street, she could see an old farm house, with a windmill. Now there is a windowless business office and the windmill has been replaced by the huge microwave tower of a cable television company. Tillie also used to watch the old, boxy automobiles bounce down the one gravelly street, bringing customers in nice suits and dresses to drink her beer and wine and dance around the old rainbow glassed jukebox. And, of course, all that is gone. Outside. Inside, there is the same polished counter and 15 stools and heavy, mirrored back bar John and Tillie Schudie started out with here 38 years ago, although the business itself started in the neighborhood a few feet away almost seven years before that, at Tillie's chili parlor. In the middle of the Depression, John and Tillie pulled out of Minnesota and came West, putting their few dollars into the little café. But with that hot chili, customers needed drink. And with $10 borrowed from a beer salesman, John and Tillie started up the tavern operation, beginning with one keg, three bottles of wine and a few cartons of cigarets purchased across the street at the old Safeway store. >From there, Schudie's moved into a full tavern business across the street and then, in 1941, to the present spot - with the present cash register, present coolers (including an old, footed and boxy Norge standup unit from the café) and fixtures and wooden booths, two of which are now taken up by Tillie's flower baskets and family photos. And, too, with the present owner. "It's all original stuff," Tillie said in the corner rocking chair, "including me." Schudie's is for sure the oldest original owner run tavern in North Seattle and maybe in the city. She and her husband, John, who died six years ago shortly after their 60th wedding anniversary, were given a plaque and a party by the Rainier Brewing Co. for their long years in the business. "They made such a big to do," said Tillie, "that is wasn't even funny!" The rules are bent a little in Schudie's; bent, but not necessarily broken, since today's rules don't apply. Tillie might let you chase down your own beer now and then, but, in return you are expected to act decent and keep a civil tongue. You might also help bring in a case of beer from the back or turn on the heat for her in the afternoon, as a friendly neighbor does (several people, including her nearby daughter, Amelia Buss, keep constant watch over here). You might also make your own change, but, if you tip, you risk being lectured about such waste. And, if you play the jukebox, please do not put on Lynyrd Skynyrd. Those groups are there just to fill out the slots around Grandma Schudie's favorite songs, the yellowed pieces of papers with names such as Red Foley and The Moms & Dads. The jukebox, unfortunately, is a modern, computer like Americana II. Tillie was sorry to see that forced on her. But it is her only apparent concession to modern day bar practices. And you notice that what makes Schudie's an original is not only what has been left in it, but what has been left out: No pool tables, clanging electronic games, shuffleboard or foosball tables. The one exception was years back, when slot machines were around - "That's what really made us!" Tillie says proudly. Today, the few sounds other than talk in her tavern come from the humming refrigeration units and the regular, quarter hour chimes of a pendulum clock atop the back bar. And one more, important thing: Do not come to Schudie's thinking you are ever going to watch Monday Night Football. For one, Tillie starts closing up about halftime (hours are "about" 2 to 9-10PM). And, for another, she doesn't have a television set. "No, no, never, " Tillie Schudie was saying now atop the cushions of her rocking chair. The hair is gray, the face healthy, lined more with curiosity about tomorrow than worry about yesterday. "On TV, they have that jamboree crap, or whatever. I just can't take it! That thing blaring at me all day. Bunch of guitar players and football players. I just won't have one of those in here." But, I tell her, think of the business - "If they're comin' in here for my television, then I don't want 'em around," she interrupts. "I've been at this about 45 years. This is my home here. (She lives in the back.) I do what I want, read, look out the window and if you come into my home, you've got to remember where you are. "People don't talk to people anymore. The regulars, the boys who come in after work here, they talk. And I listen. And talk. We don't need television. Or the business. "Some people came in here last week and said they'd like to use the place for a big party. I said, 'Hey, get off my back, I don't need it.' I don't want for nothing." She can look back on it though, the business and two children (a third died in infancy), 11 grandkids and she says the best is gone now. At her feet, she brings up an old menu, from the original Jolly Roger roadhouse a few miles away. The 30-years-ago prices include "unjointed chicken" for 60 cents and full course dinners for $1. But she does not dwell on the good old days. "Oh, I see a man get out of his car across the street and run in here and the woman opens her own door and follows. He doesn't even have the common courtesy to open her door and wait. And that has nothing to do with age - it was bad manners 50 years ago and it still is today," Tillie said. "You know, a couple weeks ago a couple boys came in, strangers and just talked all afternoon with me. They left me a dollar tip. Well," she said, obviously offended, "I don't need no tips! But I guess they just enjoyed my malarkey." I told her I enjoyed it, too and that I also had to leave. I thanked her and started out the door. "Hey," Tillie called out and I turned, expecting a warm good-bye. "You didn't pay for your beer," she said. Actually, I had. I left a dollar on the bar, I said. This seemed to upset her even more. "Now, that's too much! Come back here!" I started to close the door. Her face softened a little. "My friends are going to be surprised when they see this in the paper," Grandma Schudie said. "They'll gasp and say, 'Old Ma Schudie - is SHE still alive?'" I closed the door and unfortunately, stepped back into 1979. ========== The Seattle Daily Times Monday, March 21, 1949 Page 1, Column 3 Child Had Ailing Heart, Kin Reports Frederick Lee Martin, 7-year-old pupil of Olympic View School, died at 10:50 o'clock this forenoon, a few minutes after he fell from a rope stretched between two trees at the edge of the school grounds. T.E. Catching, principal of the school at 502 East 95th Street, said other school children who saw the accident told him the Martin boy fell after catching his feet in one of two trees to which the swing was tied. The rope was about five feet from the ground. Catching said he did not know whether the boy suffered fatal injuries or had died from other causes. He explained that the boy's grandmother, Mrs. John Schudie, 8909 Roosevelt Way, told him after the accident that Fred had suffered from a heart ailment. Mrs. Winifred Carlson, third grade teacher, was standing only a few feet from where the boy fell, but did not see the accident. Fred was a son of Mr. and Mrs. Harry O. Martin, of 1223 East 92nd Street. Important Note: The author of this message may not be subscribed to this list. If you would like to reply to them, please click on the Message Board URL link above and respond on the board.