Viva Vito Vitale!

Back in the day when I ~ pregnant with my firstborn and effervescent with excitement and gestational fascination ~ would trek to and from my apartment at the crest of Seattle's Queen Anne Hill to the soup kitchen at Saint James' Cathedral on First Hill, my city-traversing journey would take me past a grand-homme of a building which, for some inexplicable reason, invariably piqued my curiosity. It was as though my antennae of awareness bucked up like a teenage boy's penis in math class and spun into hyper-aware mode every time I walked by, and its sketchy, almost dirty energy would give me pause to discreetly scrutinize it for as much mystery-solving detail as possible.

It was hard to pinpoint precisely what it was about the place that so captured my imagination. Perhaps it was its strange, divy vibe that stood in stark contrast to some of the evidently wealthy patrons I'd notice confidently strolling in and gingerly stumbling out. It could have been its very basic menu of classic Italian-American restaurant staples coupled with dated signage, suspiciously mirrored windows, or air of abject indifference and apparent lack of desire to pretend it was something it wasn't. Indeed, there was an almost admirable stubborness about the joint.

One thing was for certain, however: the edifice that stood at 9th and Madison was derelict yet poised, crumbling but proud, and like a sagging, ancient stripper who knew she still had maybe two good dances left in her, Vito's Restaurant clung on, its weathered poker face belying decades' worth of fierce dramas within.

Last night, while awaiting the arrival of a few sassy and beautiful girlfriends at our cozy neighbourhood Francophile watering hole, I found no tables free, a few seats empty at the bar, and my favourite waitress promising me the first cozy booth that opened up. At the enticing offer of a drink and some quality time alone, I slipped onto a stool, kicked up my booted feet, and melted comfortably onto the bar to the charming strains of Françoise Hardy cooing sweet French nothings on the stereo. With an Amaretto sour in hand and a fresh copy of The Stranger sprawled enticingly before me, I found myself gasping in delight as I stumbled across the following article:

The Return of Vito's
by Bethany Jean Clement


One night long ago, a longshoreman and a cocktail waitress had sex in one of the burgundy-colored vinyl booths at Vito's. They never saw each other again; the story comes from the fruit of their union, who returned four decades later with all her friends to celebrate her 40th birthday. In between, in June of 1984, Kim Ricketts of local Book Events fame had her water break in the women's room (she was probably at Vito's for a drink, back in the day when a massively pregnant lady could enjoy an alcoholic beverage in public without shame). Local promoter/DJ Kerri Harrop remembers a night at Vito's in the early '90s, drinking after-hours with a couple of retired cops. In 1999, performance artist/Stranger Genius/oddball Korby Sears saw both Dan Aykroyd and Snoop Dogg at Vito's ~ they were sharing a booth and having a grand ol' time.

Everybody who's been in Seattle for a good length of time and hasn't been living under a rock has a story about Vito's. I surprised my mother at dinner one night by asking to go to Vito's Vagabond Room, having fallen for the vintage signage. I was 6 years old. When I finally got inside, it was every bit as great as I knew it would be: old-school Italiano glory, tattered around the edges, smoked mirrors and lots of actual smoke. The place opened in 1953 and was home away from home to mobsters and mayors and priests. Doctors from the nearby Pill Hill hospitals got smashed after shifts. A lot of money and other stuff exchanged hands in the Vagabond Room, during card games and otherwise.

After Vito sold it, Vito's staggered on, but in 2008, there was a drive-by shooting outside, followed by a fatal shooting inside. In 2009, it closed.

This year, Greg Lundgren ~ owner of bar/gallery the Hideout, producer of contemporary art projects via Vital 5 ~ decided it was time to revive Vito's. At the dim, packed, hot reopening last week, the room looked like it had just stepped out of the rose-colored collective memory. You'd never guess that the floors, upholstery, twinkly light fixtures, almost everything, including the bar—the place had fallen into a wrecklike disrepair—is new. (Of note: the mural on the west wall; the name change of the Vagabond to the Cougar Room, with a large stuffed wildcat named Barbara added.) The ivories of the grand piano will be tickled by, among others, Ruby Bishop, a local jazz legend who walked in one day during the renovation and, in no uncertain terms, requested a regular gig. Steve Wells, beloved from his Re-bar days, is your host. Michael Bruno, formerly of longtime Capitol Hill favorite Tango, is in the kitchen cooking classic Italian, including Vito's Famous Cannelloni. The ace bar staff, looking dapper, awaits to mix you a perfect martini. Welcome home.

Welcome home indeed. It's been years since I'd wandered that oh-so-familiar stretch of Madison Street ~ well over nine, actually, as I'd stopped volunteering at the Family Kitchen exactly a week before my oldest son was born ~ but it's heartwarming to see a bastion of this cool city's history being resurrected with such dignity, style, and respect for its remarkably colourful history. The Stranger's Dan Savage posted his top ten reasons why one should get excited about the revitalization of such a venerable Seattle institution, and I daresay, I simply can't wait to go.

The question is, how can I sneak into the men's room and check out that scandalous, legendary mural for myself?

(photo credit: a snapshot taken of the infamous mural; from The Stranger)