Rooming Houses and Shared Living in Seattle
Rooming Houses and Shared Living Surprising Lessons from Seattle’s Radical Cooperative History
The City Built on Fire and "Grit"
Seattle is a city ruined and remade by fire. On June 6, 1889, a stray pot of hot glue in a cabinet shop sparked a blaze that would consume the city’s commercial heart. In the aftermath, sixty acres—more than thirty blocks—were reduced to mudflats. This "burnt district" became the canvas for a new urban vision, one defined by the heavy masonry of Richardsonian Romanesque architecture and a unique social toughness.
It was here that the term "Skid Road" was born, named for the log track where felled timber was "skidded" down to the waterfront sawmills. This corridor served as the northern boundary of a laborers’ district that would define Seattle’s early character. While the city grew into a regional economic center, it never lost its "rough and tumble" reputation.
But there is a second history running beneath the surface of the brick facades. Seattle’s identity as a "City of Cooperatives" didn't happen by accident; it was forged by a heavy Scandinavian immigrant population, a major union presence, and the self-help movements that rose from the desperation of the Great Depression. This heritage transitioned the city from the industrial grit of the waterfront to a global laboratory for communal living.
The "Skid Road" Roots of Modern Co-Living
Long before "co-living" became a modern real estate buzzword, Seattle relied on Single Room Occupancy (SRO) hotels. These were the essential housing solution for the industrial laborers—the loggers, miners, and sailors—who built the Pacific Northwest. In these high-density spaces, workers found a sanctuary that stood in direct opposition to bourgeois social norms.
While middle-class standards emphasized the single-family home, cleanliness, and permanence, the SRO offered a culture of informality on "stinking, marginal land" and "sawdust-filled tidal flats." This was an urban landscape of "lewd dancing," card games, and social juxtaposition. These buildings are archives of a social experience that is often "culturally invisible" because its residents lacked social power. Today, that spirit of radical shared living survives in the colorful names of Seattle’s group homes: the "Ballistic Chicken Co-op," "Sushi Tribe," and the "Emma Goldman Finishing School."
As we look at preserving these spaces, a profound tension arises: should we focus only on the material fabric, or on the intangible social conditions that defined them? As the 19th-century critic John Ruskin famously observed:
"[I]t is not until a building has assumed this character... till its walls have been witnesses of suffering... in walls that have long been washed by the passing waves of humanity... that its existence... can be gifted with even so much as these possess of language and of life."
The "golden stain of time" on Seattle’s old hotels isn't just a patina; it is the material evidence of a workforce that required sweat equity and community to survive.
The $276 Downtown Deal: Apex Belltown’s Artist Uprising
In the early 1980s, a group of Seattle artists and their friends sought a way to remain in the city’s increasingly expensive core. They looked to a derelict SRO hotel and saw a future. Their project, Apex Belltown, became the first permanently limited equity housing cooperative in Washington State.
Financed by the National Cooperative Bank and the City of Seattle, the transformation of this former hotel into a functional community remains a radical challenge to traditional homeownership:
The Layout: 21 units spread across two floors, where residents share community lounges, two kitchens, and four bathrooms.
The Perks: A roof deck with stunning views of Puget Sound.
The "Grit" Requirement: The 25 members all have required weekly work shifts and must serve a term on the board every three years.
The Cost: A share investment of approximately $2,500 with a monthly carrying charge of only $276 for a single room.
Apex Belltown proves that high-density, shared-facility housing isn't just a relic of the industrial past—it’s a viable, economical path for the modern urban dweller.
"Volunteers are Superheroes": The Mobile Home Park Revolution
The cooperative movement in Washington isn't restricted to downtown masonry. A "Coopservation" revolution is happening in mobile home parks, where the Northwest Cooperative Development Center (NWCDC) helps residents shift from renters to owners. This movement now protects over 700 families across the state.
A prime example is Cedar Grove in Bellingham, where 105 units sit around a lake. When the park was put up for sale in 1992, residents organized to buy it, creating a tiered participation model to ensure no one was displaced:
Full Membership: A $17,500 share upfront with $140 monthly dues.
Loan-to-Share: A $7,500 down payment with $10,000 borrowed from the co-op, resulting in $240 monthly payments until the share is paid off.
Rent: A non-membership option for original residents at $340 per month.
By 2010, Cedar Grove residents had paid off all debt and now own their park outright. It is a powerful reminder that when residents own the land, they secure their own future.
The Fog and the Future: Solar Miracles in San Francisco
The cooperative spirit of innovation extends into the realm of sustainability. At St. Francis Square in San Francisco, a 299-unit cooperative proved that even the city's famous fog couldn't stop a solar revolution. This wasn't their first foray into green tech; the co-op had actually invested in a solar hot water system as far back as the early 1980s.
In 2012, they took a step further, investing $1 million into a solar power electric system and roof repairs. The results were staggering:
Efficiency: A 60% reduction in electric costs.
Savings: $178,000 in saved utility costs annually.
Stability: As board member John Herbert noted, the "win-win" installation allowed the community to avoid a projected 1.5 to 2 percent increase in monthly carrying charges for 2013.
The "Business" Blind Spot: Why Systemic Change is Still Needed
Despite their success, cooperatives face a "business" blind spot in federal and state legislation. In the wake of Hurricane Sandy, it was discovered that FEMA rules classified housing cooperatives as businesses rather than residences. This resulted in a glaring injustice: while multi-family condo owners received federal assistance for repairs, co-op owners were denied grants for essential common infrastructure like boilers or roofs. As Mary Ann Rothman of the NAHC noted, "if the boiler doesn't work, it means no one can live in the building."
Simultaneously, "negative legislation" has threatened the democratic heart of the model. In Massachusetts, advocates recently had to fight back against Amendment #233 and a Home Rule Petition that sought to strip cooperatives of their right to set selection criteria. By attempting to force co-ops to accept any applicant based solely on income, the legislation threatened to end the existence of specialized communities, such as artists' co-ops or senior housing, effectively dismantling the communal concept of the cooperative and rooming houses.
Conclusion: The Architecture of the "New World"
From the ashes of the Great Fire of 1889 to the solar-paneled roofs of St. Francis Square, cooperatives and shared housing represent more than just a housing model—they are "utopian" social experiments designed to build a "new world." They rely on the grit of their members and a commitment to mutual aid that traditional housing lacks.
As our cities continue to gentrify, we must ask ourselves: As our cities continue to gentrify, are we preserving the soul of our neighborhoods, or just the brick facades? The history of Seattle’s cooperatives suggests that the "soul" is found in the shared kitchens, the board service rotations, and the collective ownership of the land. The mission remains clear: cooperative housing is the best and most economical form of living and even home ownership.
