Decades of decay haunt infamous Aurora

Night has fallen on North Seattle, and Dan Pavlovic leaves his house for a walk.

This simple act — a gesture of freedom, really — did not come easily to Pavlovic when he and his wife moved to North 89th Street 10 years ago.

Their one-story bungalow was steps away from Aurora Avenue North, one of the city's most notorious stretches of highway. Gunshots echoed at night. Drug dealers and hookers carried out business on his street. The couple closed their curtains and locked all doors.

Two years passed, then three, until finally in 2005, Pavlovic decided: Enough of the hiding. Of the fear. It was no way to live, especially as the father of two young girls.

"This is our neighborhood," said Pavlovic, 44. "We don't have to run from this."

So he talked to others around him. Groups formed, and Pavlovic became a founder and block-watch captain of Greenwood Aurora Involved Neighbors. Soon, hundreds of residents from Fremont to Greenwood started attending community forums, sending e-mail alerts about suspicious activity, and calling 911.

They organized morning trash pickups, clearing streets of condoms, beer bottles and cigarettes. At night, they donned orange vests and patrolled the streets.

The impact was dramatic, police say. Data show auto thefts in North Seattle dropped more than 60 percent between 2005 and 2008. And a 20-block radius of Aurora last year fell out of Seattle's top 10 for problem narcotics areas — a first.

But the corridor still has far more crime than most areas of the city. Just last Monday, police made 11 arrests in a prostitution sting on Aurora.

Pavlovic hasn't given up. On this night, as the dry September air holds steady, he waves goodbye to his wife and children. The rush of cars on Aurora thunders in the distance.

"You never know what you're going to see on any given night," he said as he began to walk.

Decline of a star route

Head north on Highway 99 from downtown, and moments after Seattle's skyline fades from your rearview mirror, pieces of Aurora start to fall together like a jumbled jigsaw puzzle.

Lake-view condos sit opposite transitional housing. A gun shop faces an organic grocery, one block up from a 7-Eleven. Acres of retail sell everything from kung fu lessons to X-rated videos to double-shot lattes.

Before Interstate 5 opened in the 1960s, Highway 99 was the main arterial for automobile travel through Seattle. The highway extended from Canada to Mexico.

In the 1930s, the section through North Seattle was named "Aurora Avenue North" to evoke images of the northern lights, local historians says.

It was a romantic time, they say, when cars and highways held the promise of adventure. Roadside motels sprang up along the corridor, catering to these new travelers. Even more popped up during the 1960s to accommodate visitors to the World's Fair.

But time, and neglect, have taken a toll. About 20 motels operate now from North 40th to North 145th, the Seattle city limits, and peeling facades, burned-out neon signs and buckled asphalt lots hint to conditions inside.

The licenses of four motels — Green Lake Motel (now Oaktree Motel), Orion Motel, Seal's Motel and the Seattle Motor Inn — were suspended temporarily last year by the state Department of Health for being filthy and unsafe.

The density of cheap digs has fueled Aurora's reputation as a magnet for drugs and prostitution. An average room goes for $50 a night.

Easy access

"Crime on Aurora has been a deeply ingrained problem that's lasted for decades," said Seattle police Capt. Mike Washburn, commander of the North Precinct. "Aurora is a state highway, it's easy to get in and out of ... and the motels are certainly a piece of this."

Authorities are quick to add that many Aurora motels are on the up-and-up. Chains such as Holiday Inn Express are popular choices for families or out-of-towners on a budget, they say.

The low-rent motels also serve an important need because they offer affordable rooms for the homeless, domestic-violence victims and the elderly — people often desperate for temporary shelter, authorities say.

Some have owners who keep tight watch over the properties. But those with lax management are a huge draw for criminals, said Ed McKenna, assistant city attorney. And the activity spills onto residential streets.

Last month, after numerous complaints from neighbors and a combined 463 police visits in 2008, the city took action against Dean and Jill Inman, a Bothell couple who own the Wallingford Inn, Fremont Inn, the Isabella and Italia motels and the Seattle Motor Inn.

Seattle police arrested 32 people at these motels in April 2008 and, during a 16-day period that month, seized 42 grams of cocaine, nearly 12 grams of marijuana, four drug scales and other drug paraphernalia, according to the city.

Robberies, assaults and prostitution also have occurred on the Inmans' properties, the city says.

The City Attorney's Office in August filed 152 criminal charges against the Inmans and their corporations, alleging a variety of tax violations. The city also is seeking to revoke their business licenses.

Officials said they went after the couple this way because current nuisance laws make it difficult to hold property owners accountable for chronic problems. The Inmans and the city are negotiating a settlement, McKenna said. Meanwhile, the motels are still open.

The Inmans, who got into the motel business about four years ago, said they were targeted unfairly. They said guests must show valid identification to register and offenders on a "criminal trespass list" — a police roster of people banned from all Aurora motels — always are denied rooms.

Beyond that, they said, there's not much they can do in the way of screening.

"For us to think that somebody might look like they are going to cause problems, it's illegal to discriminate and we won't do that," said Jill Inman, 39.

The couple said they met with community members and tried to be "good neighbors." They said they gave out their e-mail address and cellphone number for residents to call whenever a problem came up.

As property owners, they have the power to evict a guest immediately, said Dean Inman, 38.

But no one ever called, he added.

"It's not OK if our customers are committing crimes," Dean Inman said. "But we just don't really know what we're supposed to do to address it."

Pavlovic lives about a mile from the closest Inman property, the Seattle Motor Inn. But he's near other motels that have had their share of problems and have attracted crime to the neighborhood.

He's full of stories. Among the most chilling, he said, is the one about the pimp.

"Meanest-looking guy I ever saw," he said.

The man would whistle to his girls as a signal, a long, loud shrill that reminded him of dog owners calling their animals. He sometimes heard the sound late at night from home.

Pavlovic has been propositioned at 8 a.m., he said, and another time a hooker chased his van up his street after he'd picked up his children from school. He promptly called 911.

It's unclear what the future holds for Aurora. Two years ago, Mayor Greg Nickels launched an initiative to help revitalize the corridor between North 72nd and North 90th streets.

But Nickels is out of office soon, and neighbors will have to get renewed backing from his successor.

Asked why he stays in the neighborhood, Pavlovic paused. He doesn't know. Maybe it's because he's seen the changes. Baby steps, he said, but significant all the same.

"Aurora still looks ugly, but crime is way down and that's because of us," he said. A note of pride entered his voice.

"Our presence is meaningful."

Sonia Krishnan: 206-515-5546 or skrishnan@seattletimes.com