150 tents for homeless spring up on industrial land owned by Seattle

They look very photogenic, the 150 fuchsia-colored tents for the homeless that volunteers illegally set up in a couple of hours, beginning in the predawn dark Monday.

The tents were spread over a 600-by-90-foot area with tall grass and Scotch broom, and volunteers had plans to expand to an adjoining area of equal size, eventually housing 1,000 people in permanent, wooden structures. About 30 people had moved in by Monday afternoon.

At the entrance of the makeshift grassy camp near West Marginal Way Southwest and Highland Park Way Southwest, an industrial area with the continual sound of heavy rigs, somebody had planted a wooden sign with burned-on letters: "NICKELSVILLE."

This was a reference to the belief by advocates for the homeless that Mayor Greg Nickels is not exactly their friend. As expected in a high-tech city, the advocates posted within hours a fuchsia-tent picture on www.nickelsvilleseattle.org.The public-relations war was on.

At 5 p.m. Monday, the city responded, with some three dozen fluorescent-green-yellow notices attached to wooden posts that were spread through the encampment.

"THIS IS NOT AN AUTHORIZED AREA FOR STORAGE OR SHELTER. THIS MATERIAL WILL BE REMOVED NO LESS THAN 72 HOURS FROM THE TIME POSTED ABOVE," said the signs.

The city has swept through encampments, such as in May at a Queen Anne park, in which 21 tons of debris was removed from a 44-person camp.

So the homeless advocates are linking Nickels to the Depression-era Hooversville wooden and tin shantytowns. Seattle had one of those in the 1930s, twice burned by the city, and twice rebuilt by its residents.

A spokeswoman for the mayor, Karin Zaugg Black, was asked how the mayor took to having a shantytown named after him.

"What I heard the mayor say today was that people have political demonstrations to make a point about an issue, and I respect that," she said.

Neighbors in Highland Park said they were taken aback when they saw news reports about the encampment, set up about 4 a.m. The tents were donated, although no one quite knew with certainty by whom. Blankets, sandwiches, a contract for a couple of Honey Buckets — all had been donated.

"I was really shocked. It seems an obvious political move, the fact they did it under cover of darkness, yet it was fairly well organized," said Dan Mullins, 54, a real-estate agent who is a member of the Highland Park Action Committee.

He described the neighborhood as blue-collar.

Unlike Queen Anne, where he once lived, Mullins' neighbors here "wouldn't be calling their lawyers" to deal with the encampment, he said.

But, he also said, if Nickelsville went away, "I'm not going to be heartbroken about it, no."

In fact, Nickelsville sits on a site the city has proposed as one of four potential areas for a municipal jail.

Most Highland Park residents do not want a jail in their neighborhood.

The majority of the site is owned by the Seattle Department of Transportation; a parking lot is owned by the state; and a private marine-parts warehouse is owned by Greg Jacobsen, of Kirkland.

"They don't deserve to be on the property if they don't own it," said Jacobsen about the homeless.

He said he once used a small asphalt strip by the warehouse, but on city property, for storage.

"They kicked me off, pronto," he said. "The same should apply to these people."

The mayor's office said there are shelter beds available for the homeless, and that outreach workers would go to the camp and offer help.

Zaugg Black said she hoped the camp would be cleared by the time the 72 hours were up, which would be 5 p.m. Thursday.

If they hadn't departed, she said, she wasn't quite sure what would happen next, "but we will work with the encampment people."

Anitra Freeman, who called herself a member of the Nickelsville committee, said she wondered how it would look to the public.

"Is the mayor really, really, in front of TV cameras and the media, going to tear up shelters when he doesn't have a place for them to go to? Call it shame!" she said.

Meanwhile, Aaron Colyer, 28, who came to Seattle last year from Morristown, Tenn., had moved into one of the fuchsia tents.

He was more typical of the homeless who were arriving, not seeking a confrontation but shelter.

He lives on $339 a month in state assistance for those deemed unemployable because of physical or mental problems.

"I've had like 90 jobs in nine years," he said. "Construction, restaurants ... I ... I just can't deal with stuff ... I don't know. You just give up, you know?"

Colyer told a bit about his past — his mom dying of cirrhosis of the liver when he was 6; never knowing his dad; of being molested in his youth.

He showed his belongings that were in his tent — a sweat shirt, a sleeping bag. Not much else.

Erik Lacitis: 206-464-2237 or elacitis@seattletimes.com. Seattle Times researcher Gene Balk contributed to this story.