Evergreen Journal: Double life of an old ghost town

It sets aside a day each year to race hand-powered carts on the town's railroad tracks. Its sewer system was built by volunteers. It has two historic churches, and one bar each for beer drinkers and whiskey lovers.

And just in case you get there in time for breakfast, people play cribbage over coffee at the Pick 'n Shovel.

Wilkeson, population 430, used to have nearly 6,000 people. Rumor had it that state officials considered moving the capitol there. Then the railroad left. Steel and concrete replaced sandstone construction. The town once known for its coal mines, timber and sandstone pits earned a place in the ghost-town guidebooks.

Now people are moving back to this spot in Pierce County, lured by Wilkeson's charm, history and spirit. The stone arch, the playground, the lights and clock downtown -- all testify to the power of volunteerism.

"The quality of life here is as good as anywhere in the state," said Bert Gonzales, who owns the Early Bird Espresso. The schools are "more one-on-one" than most. The water is pristine. Traffic is tolerable.

And "you're in the most historic town in the whole state."

David Walker, the grandson of Welsh miners, has lived in and around Wilkeson for all of his 80 years. Paul Joseph Brown/P-I

Sadly, Wilkeson is different in one other respect. Its personality conflicts and rumor mills have reached shameful levels. The result is a vile undercurrent that threatens not only to kill the charm of this adorable place, but also to ruin the remnants of its past.

Wilkeson has no stop lights. It isn't even on some state maps, but you can find it between Buckley and Carbonado, in the foothills of Mount Rainier. A sign just outside town tells you that this is the last place you can get gas.

Go under the arch, built of sandstone in 1925. Pass through downtown and take a left toward Wilkeson's school -- the oldest elementary school still in use in Washington. Stop when you see the bleachers and the gravel parking lot.

This is Coke Oven Park, where the colorful history -- and much of the controversy -- starts.

Wilkeson first attracted settlers in the 1870s, when people were looking for coal in the Carbon River Canyon. By 1876, a railroad line stretched from Kalama to Tacoma to Wilkeson to transport coal from the town's rich mines to the ports.

Northern Pacific Railway bought up property. Union Pacific moved in. Wilkeson Coal and Coke Co. built ovens in 1885 to bake the coal, producing coke, which burned cleaner and hotter and was a major ingredient in steel.

The section of town not owned by Northern Pacific was known as Hope. "If you mailed a letter to Hope, (Washington)," Gonzales said, "it came here."

It was a hopping place, too.

The town had two electric plants, its own newspaper, a cigar factory. Two theaters, two bakeries, a soda pop bottling plant and one house of prostitution.

Gonzales keeps a box of Wilkeson's history at his store. Incorporation: 1909. Photographs of two fires, in 1910 and 1912, that burned down much of the town. Accounts of the heyday that saw 13 saloons serving not only miners, loggers and quarrymen, but also politicians and other bigwigs.

Coal and coke and timber were huge resources for Wilkeson, but the town also shipped sandstone all over the state. It was used to build the Capitol in Olympia. The Cathedral of St. John in Spokane. The cobblestone of Seattle's Pioneer Square. Puget Power headquarters in Bellevue.

By the 1930s, the heyday had passed. Trains began depending on diesel, gas and electricity rather than coal. Sandstone, too, became less of a commodity because steel and concrete were cheaper. Coke production ended in 1937.

In May 1943, Wilkeson lost its mayor. The man had been in a tavern fight. He left the bar, crossed the street and lay down on a park bench. Someone killed him with an axe.

'It's stayed small'

Wilkeson's physical assets are impressive for a municipality that only 30 years ago was labeled a ghost town.

It manages a 160-acre tree farm that pays for town improvements. It rotates crops, cuts timber and plants trees. Wilkeson also has a 13-acre watershed with pristine water. And last year, it got a new sewage treatment plant, thanks to volunteers and a $1.3 million grant.

"We replaced our own sewer lines with all volunteer help," said Mayor Paula Perry. "Laid 900 feet of sewer lines, including manholes. We hired a contractor to show us how to put the first manhole in."

Wilkeson also has the booster club, which started in 1923 as a way for the community to organize town projects. Its members built the town arch, rebuilt the caboose, installed a clock and lights downtown. The club has organized Christmas caroling and town picnics, built playground equipment in a park and an announcer's booth at the site of the annual Hand-Car Races.

"For a small town," Perry said, "we have a lot going for us."

The timber industry still provides some jobs in Wilkeson, but most residents commute to work in Enumclaw or Bellevue or, like Perry, Boeing Field in Seattle. All live here either because they passed through one day and fell in love, as Perry did 14 years ago, or because their roots are here.

Laura Andersen is a newcomer, having worked at the Early Bird Espresso only a couple of months. "I like it," she said. "It's not so hustley bustley like the rest of the towns." She came here "to get away from the mass of people. I'm an artist, so I like to go up in the mountains and paint."

Jeff Sellers, 44, a former councilman whose father served as mayor and police chief, has lived here all his life. "We had free run as children, running the hills," he said. "And it's stayed small. A house here or there, but it's kept that small-town feel. Everybody knows everybody else's business."

Sometimes, he said, "that ain't the greatest thing."

The Hatfields and McCoys

The community's closeness is its blessing, but also its curse. Grudges can last a lifetime.

In the 1920s, people came to town because they heard Wilkeson had jobs. When they arrived, they found workers on strike. The newcomers needed to support their families, so they crossed picket lines, were labeled scabs and were scorned socially.

The descendants of those who went on strike still refer to the descendants of those who crossed the picket line as scabs.

Some grudges are more recent. Among the issues that have spawned petitions, cease-and-desist orders and lawsuits: A proposal for a bike trail through Wilkeson. Restoration of the 30 remaining coke ovens. A company's plans to harvest timber near the town. The booster club's cleanup day.

No matter how innocent or well-intentioned the proposal, if environmentalists are behind something, members of the town council oppose it. Ditto for any idea originating with the council, mayor or booster club -- environmentalists question the motives and look for sinister meanings.

Both sides say they've tried to work with the others. Each side accuses the other of having mental problems. An anonymous flier posted at Town Hall said one of the council's foes had been a prostitute in Japan. Preservationists speculate that one of their arch rivals is the town's lone sex offender.

When Joan Miller and Cindy Calton, Wilkeson residents who work on preservation projects, proposed that the town become part of the national Rails-to-Trails program, Wilkeson officials not only balked, they sued.

Trail proponents had suggested that the town donate its land beside abandoned rail lines for use as a bike path. They collected 165 signatures in support. Town officials sued Pierce County and won the right to keep the path from coming through Wilkeson.

But when members of the booster club tried to do something good for the town -- cleaning up the area around the coke ovens to prepare for the annual hand-car races -- they were slapped with fines and cease-and-desist orders.

Preservationists accused them of logging the property, clearing it and adding a 19,500-square-foot parking lot within 25 feet of a salmon-spawning stream. The group, it turned out, had not obtained any permits.

Travis Ripley, 23, was instrumental in the cleanup efforts. He said the group had cut the grass along the highway, cleared weeds and cut out blackberry vines. They also cleaned up the coke ovens.

"They were hollering about us cutting trees," Ripley said. "We didn't cut any trees, just got 'em off the tracks. We built a parking lot. We put gravel in there. Everything was donated. We tried to beautify it. Built an announcers' booth."

The cleanup controversy has led to another: How the 30 remaining coke ovens -- originally there were 160 -- should be preserved. The ovens are listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Preservationists want the entire park -- 11.3 acres -- listed, too. They worry that the mayor and her husband, Councilman Dale Perry, will build a campground there.

"It's almost like the Hatfields and the McCoys," acknowledged Cindy Calton, who asked a judge this year for a restraining order against Dale Perry.

David Jenkins, 80, moved here in 1967, but his ancestors were here well before 1900, he said. "There's always been two factions in this town. It's an unhealthy situation, but you have to forget about these things."

When he goes to the post office, he greets everybody. "There's some people in town you don't care for, but you might as well say hello."

Bert Gonzales, who has watched local politics since he was a child, wonders why things always have to be controversial.

"Why can't we all get along?"

Good question.

P-I reporter Candy Hatcher can be reached at 206-448-8320 or candyhatcher@seattle-pi.com