Seattle Press on Line - Local Matters

Local Matters

By Folke Nyberg

Oct 08, 1998 -- The apples from the big tree at the corner of Kensington and N. 56th Street are not being picked up this week. Mr. Herring, our neighbor for 30 years, died at 85, and his family was preparing for his funeral. With his death, and Vera Bickert's last year, who lived across the street, a generation of long time residents has passed away. The neighborhood now has many new families moving in, and it is a sign of health that the new residents have found the Meridian district, on the cusp between Green Lake and Wallingford, a good place to live. The contribution of Mr. and Mrs. Herring to this sense of place was through the neighborliness generated by the many years of their friendly presence on their corner property.

Mrs. Herring's dahlias along the white picket fence were the wonder of passersby, and the same picket fence also provided hurdling practice for their sons, Bob and Archie, to the amazement of the Bickerts who told us of the almost mythical running feats of the Herring boys. They both became outstanding athletes at Lincoln High School, where Bob Herring provided me with an indication of my limitations as an athlete. At the first football turnout under the tutelage of the legendary Coach Bill Noland at Lincoln, Bob won the practice sprints, and I was a poor second, shattering any illusions about being the fastest on the freshman team. Light as a feather, Bob later won local acclaim as a halfback at the University of Washington, much to the pride of the Herring family and their neighbors.

The Herring family originally came from Mississippi. After a short stay in California, where Mr. Herring worked in a saw mill, they moved to Seattle in 1943 where he worked at Washington Iron Works foundry. In later years he worked in construction, but his final choice of occupation was as the neighborhood "can man."

Mr. Herring became well known well beyond his immediate neighborhood through his morning constitutionals of collecting cans. He and his black bag of aluminum cans combed the edges of the University District and into the heart of Wallingford. Only he knew where he had found the best "pickings". His piles of full bags along his driveway were a tribute to his collection skills, and he would drive them in on his red pickup as long as he was able. When he finally couldn't, others were enlisted to give him and his stash a ride to the recycling yard.

It was not the promise of the "financial yield" that set him out in continuing search of new territory, but the reward of sociability along his daily routes. Dressed in overalls for the work he was doing, he disarmed anyone of pretense and quickly brought them into his circle by his good cheer and a handshake that made you feel as if you were an initiate to some esoteric fraternity. At other times he would take some spoons out of his pockets which included other found objects of potential value and perform an impromptu jig using them as an accompaniment. His way of recycling was not that of a noisy truck and scrambling collectors governed by a "time is money" necessity. Born in another era and place where gentility was based on taking time, Mr. Herring no doubt found that his retirement and the release from the demands of earning a wage brought him to a more carefree existence that acknowledged his true spirit, combining grace with practicality.

This is not to say that he did not have other ways of enjoying his retirement. For many years he kept night crawlers in an old tub in his backyard for his annual fishing trips to Eastern Washington that both he and Mrs. Herring took with their friends and relatives. This plentiful supply of bait was partly the reason for their fishing success that Mrs. Herring was generous enough to share with us on their return.

This life that reaffirmed the basics of being a good neighbor while being true to himself was paralleled by Mr. Herring's devotion to the Mt. Zion Baptist Church. It was at his funeral that the full range of his contribution could be felt. There, too, he had been a greeter and an usher and served as the president of the Church's Ushers' Ministry for seventeen years. His dedication to this work was rewarded by being entrusted the keys to the church's doors and he opened them on Sunday mornings to greet arriving members. In his eulogy, Rev. Samuel McKinney gave witness to Mr. Herring's long service to the church with a tribute to the same qualities that his neighborhood had come to appreciate. At the church, too, he had not only been a greeter, but it was his collecting of cans there as well that brought back some of the fondest memories among those at the funeral service.

For us in the neighborhood, it is not only his cheerfulness that will be missed, but seeing him sitting in front of his garage in the late afternoon smashing the cans with a sledge hammer between his knees. The steady thud still reverberates, and although time will weaken our memory of the sound, the garage still recalls the presence of Mr. Herring and his "Morning, neighbor."

Note: Any pictures and/or memories of Mr. Herring would be welcomed by the Herring family and can be mailed to Archie Herring, 2601 East Aloha St., Seattle, WA 98112.

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