Old stories: the Tropic of Cancer

Ok, this isn't an "old story" so much as a reminiscing, but you get the idea. Back in my fabulous Community College days, ol' Charley introduced me to this great little coffehouse that existed in downtown Everett then, called "The Tropic of Cancer".

The Tropic (as we call it) was a very beatnik/bohemian inspired coffeehouse. Soft, mismatched "vintage" furniture filled the place. An old chest sat in the corner filled with board games; one table had a backgammon board painted on it. Cool jazz played all the time. Coffee was served in those huge cups now so popular in cafes, like the one in So I Married an Axe Murderer that inspires the line, "Excuse me, miss, I think there's been a mistake - I believe I ordered the large cappucinno. Hello! It's like Campbell's cup-o-cinno." I always drank drip coffee, deriding those who preferred mochas or lattes as "coffee snobs". Oh how the times have changed. Famously, one friend, Aaron, ordered a cappucinno, even though he didn't know what one was. Half-way through his drink, he exclaimed, "Foam! I paid a buck and a half for a cup of foam!"
It's been a long time since you could get a large cappucinno for $1.50. I blame Starbucks.

The Tropic served delicious desserts made by the hoity-toity Passport restaurant next door. My favorite was the cognac chocolate torte. My sweet tooth pangs just thinking about it. (Passport's desserts and bread were so good, they spun off a bakery called Pavé, which Jen and I would later work at - along with Launchpad and Charley, briefly. We still go to Pavé when we're in Everett to get their wonderful bread and terrific deli sandwiches, and say "Hi" to the owners)

One of the things I loved about The Tropic was the sketchbooks. On many tables, there would be a sketchbook that people would write and draw in. They were very entertaining to look through and add your thoughts or drawings. One favorite I still remember for some reason: Along the top it says "Jesus in his College years". Drawing of Jesus holding a glass, he says "And now I'll turn this water into Schmidt." Cheers and yeehaws from the background.

Thursday nights at The Tropic were live jazz nights. It was a packed house every Thursday. I always loved jazz, so I frequently co-erced Jen and other friends into going. Music started at 7pm, if you weren't there by 6:30, you weren't getting a table. Many was the Thursday night we sat on the sill of the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping our coffee and listening to the jazz play.

And one of the biggest attractions: Wendy, the owner. A young, gorgeous, blonde, neo-hippie/beatnik chick. She had hired other pretty young girls to work there as well, but none held a candle to her. Most all the male regulars (and some of the female ones) were madly in love with Wendy - myself included. Alas, she was married - to a Snohomish County Sherriff's deputy. We all thought it was odd, this liberal hippie chick married to a cop. The Man. And it made us envious, especially those of us who were Criminal Justice majors.

After awhile, Wendy started wearing out on the whole cafe thing (she worked a full-time job and ran The Tropic). She started changing things in ways the regulars didn't like - switched Jazz Night for improv comedy, quit serving food altogether, started selling the furniture as "antique" or "vintage". The regulars stopped going - us included - and eventually The Tropic closed its doors. We were sad to lose our beloved hang out, and have never found another cafe quite as cool as The Tropic of Cancer.