A new book, Lost Roadhouses of Seattle by Peter Blecha and Brad Holden, explores the links between prohibition and the roadhouses that sprung up just beyond the city limits.

Prohibition came early to Washington State—in 1916—and kicked off an unforgettable era of nightlife. The Prohibition movement went national in 1920, and a network of roadside inns, taverns and dance halls just outside Seattle’s city limits thrived, providing illicit entertainment for those seeking a good time.Spurred on by early car culture and strict liquor laws, places like the Spanish Castle, The Jungle and the Black Cat sprang into being and thrived well into the rockin’ 1950s and, for some, beyond.

Commonly called roadhouses, many of these early remote outposts existed along two newly built and parallel stretches of “north of the county line” highways (the Old Bothell Highway and the Seattle-Everett Highway, which later became part of Pacific Highway). During that era, roadhouse businesses were located far from the prying eyes of city police.

The book opens: “Roadhouses were a fascinating American institution that have all but vanished from the old highways and remote roadways where they once flourished. A unique byproduct of early car culture, roadhouses initially offered lodging and a hot meal to weary travelers—although drinking and dancing were additional attractions provided at some.

“One commonality was that many openly flaunted liquor laws, and some allowed illegal gambling and prostitution, making them the frequent recipients of late-night police raids. Federal Prohibition agents—with badges out and guns in hand—were also regular visitors, and one young Snohomish County district attorney, who would later become a U.S. senator, rose to political fame as a result of his zealous crackdown on local roadhouses. Providing ample fodder for titillating newspaper headlines, roadhouses represented the sordid underbelly of Seattle’s peripheral nightlife.”

Before reading this book, I had no idea that our region boasted so many memorable nightclubs that were perched just beyond “City Limits” signs in order to escape police crackdowns. “Back in the roadhouse heyday, the highways and byways all across Washington were lined with many more dine-and-dance and BYOB joints than could ever be covered in one book.”

I’d heard stories from my aunt’s husband, a teetotaler but notable entrepreneur. He owned a cab company, which provided cover for his escapades delivering booze during Prohibition. He rented a house in Burien in order to bury bottles of liquor in the yard. When someone in his cab asked if he knew where they could get a drink, he answered yes. Then, after dropping off his fare, he returned with a bottle after a quick trip to the buried treasure. He had to give up the gambit when he was hauled to court for it. Although the judge advised the jury not to be fooled by his innocent looks, my uncle walked out a free man. The truth was, he was a very young man trying to support his widowed mother.

This book opened my eyes to the sheer number of stories that our region can tell. Who knew Seattle’s mild-mannered Greenwood Avenue was such a trailblazer for rowdy joints.

Since I had heard about it from the time I was a young girl growing up in the hinterlands south of Seattle, I was particularly interested in reading about the Spanish Castle, located in the Des Moines area, or “Mid-Way,” along Old Highway 99. The Spanish Castle, built in 1931, attracted visitors from Seattle and Tacoma with its dance floor and big bands. The Spanish Castle continued to flourish after Prohibition ended, through WWII and well into the 1950s. But by 1959, the big band era was waning, and rock was on its way in. From Lost Roadhouses of Seattle: “Fridays suddenly opened up, and thus in October 1959, an enterprising local radio DJ, Pat O’Day, booked the area’s most prominent band, The Wailers, to play what would be the very first of countless rock ‘n’ roll teen dances held at the Castle. And so began the area’s golden era of teen dances…” My oldest sister, Barbara, still laments to this day that our mother would not allow her to attend the teen dances at the Spanish Castle. I was a bit too young to even ask.

The book ends with a description of Mack’s Shanty, which started life in 1932 on Twenty-Second Avenue Northeast. It later moved to Bothell Way, relocating to several different locations along that road. The book lists numerous bands that have played the Shanty, then ends, “Along the way, the Shanty has been proudly promoted as ‘the last roadhouse in Seattle.’”