Best Literary Collection of Dead and Near-Dead Columnists

Wander through the foyer and adjoining hallways of F.X. McRory's spacious steak and oyster house in Pioneer Square, and you'll see paneled walls littered with reviews and clips from the likes of Walt Evans, Emmett Watson, and other dead Seattle scriveners—along with some who just seem dead. I'm posted at the entrance to the women's room, not far from a Hinterberger, a Conant, and a Hahn. They (we) write mostly glowing prose describing owner Mick McHugh's food and high jinks (he has, in fairness, long been one of the city's most successful and good-time restaurateurs). Nonetheless, the entryway is an unabashed museum of McHugh history and life in the '70s through '90s as seen by some of Seattle's leading typists and moochers. They're readable, even if, as Art Thiel often says of sportswriters, they think of themselves as America's guests.—Rick Anderson 419 Occidental Ave. S., 623-4800,

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