Looking up history yesterday on the late, great Cal Anderson, I Googled his name. The top return and all but one of the top ten results was about—not the first openly gay legislator in Washington state—but the grassy reservoir cap named after him.
Imagine you've worked like a dog your whole life and the city loves you and then the civic leaders thank you by turning your name into a lawn. For example, former architect Victor Steinbrueck carved out a place for the Pike Place Market and Pioneer Square so they honored his life by renaming a place with a nice view after him. But now, "Steinbrueck" connotes visions of craven pigeons, overbearing drunks, and spontaneous brawls. It's the armpit of Seattle. However, Steinbrueck's fate isn't so bad; through his impression and his posterity (Peter Steinbrueck), he remains first and foremost a real person. Even Google lists the man before the park.
But Myrtle Edwards is not so lucky. Not who—but what is Myrtle Edwards? Before a page chronicling her life as a bold city councilwoman, Google recognizes Edwards as a 4.8-acre strip of bike lanes. The park has preserved the name recognition of Edwards—but she is named after the park. Also: Emma Schmitz, to the contemporary index of record, is first and foremost an overlook, and Bobby Morris is a square of Astroturf.
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