I'm referring, of course, to the globe of the P-I—though, actually, it's one of a constellation of unofficial sculptures that overlook the park (the needle, the ghostly arches) and threaten to outshine its art with their plain, undemanding realness.

The globe was made in 1948, a time of total American confidence. This was, in many ways, the exact opposite of the moment we're in now: Instead of being a squandered superpower, we were a rising underdog. American art—abstract expressionism and then pop in particular—was about to steal the spotlight away from Europe for the first time ever. Art and design were paramount to the national identity.

From the P-I's own description:

The globe was inspired by a P-I promotional contest that sought designs for a new identifying symbol for the paper. The winner, Jakk Corsaw, suggested using a circular mural of the world, which professional designers turned into a three-dimensional globe. It was hoisted atop the building on Nov. 9, 1948.

The slogan, "It's in the P-I," is mounted on a raceway that revolves around the globe. Capital letters are 8 feet tall; small letters are 5 feet tall. The eagle that perches atop the globe is 18.5 feet tall.

The globe, which uses about 38 kilowatts per hour when fully lit, has been turned off several times during power shortages. It was shut down for six weeks in late 1952, which nearly led to the globe's untimely demise. P-I columnist Douglass Welch reported on Jan. 18, 1953:

"The wheels that carry the words, 'It's in the P-I,' are rubber-tired in hard, solid rubber. During their idleness they acquired a permanent 'set.' They became flat at the rail. When the sign was turned on, the flat wheels nearly shook the globe to pieces."

A quick-thinking worker saved the globe by turning off the mechanism that rotates the slogan. The manufacturer then replaced the tires.

The globe also was darkened for a day in 1973 and for two months in 1977, both drought years, to conserve energy.

Since the fate of the P-I is up in the air, so is the fate of the globe. Regina Hackett, P-I art critic, said that the newspaper gave its photo archives to the Museum of History and Industry—so she sees the globe landing there, too.

Okay: a public museum is better than anywhere else, and MOHAI makes the most sense.

But in my dreams, Seattle Art Museum would install the 18.5-ton globe in the sculpture park. It would be the perfect—a magnificent!—readymade, a thing parked in an art spot and reconsidered doubly: as a sign of the times that changes the way you look at all the other sculptures in comparison, and as the strong, calming aesthetic presence it is.

Just look at it. All that old-world, eagle-fied, big-bellied nobility wrapped in democratizing neon. Without it Belltown will be lost in itself.