In February, news broke that McDonald’s had filed for a permit to spend $750,000 to turn the old Broadway Theater (once our most fashionable Rite Aid) into a fast food restaurant. We groaned a collective groan. McDonald’s doesn’t just move in. They turn storefronts into a wash of grays and blacks, with ever-growing golden arches. In our March issue, Emily Nokes begged for a little more imagination: “‘Preservation’ is a loaded concept when we need max efficiency in this expensive-as-fuck city of ours,” she wrote. “But must every choice we make include no rizz whatsoever? If we need a neighborhood sacrifice, why not tear down the US Bank across the street?” It could be a venue, a skating rink, an indoor sculpture park, a magic show emporium. Or, imagine it’s a McDonald’s, she wrote. But we take inspiration from the residents of New Hyde Park, NY, who rallied to save a historic mansion in 1985 that was facing the same fate. The home earned historic status in 1988, and McDonald’s had to restore the façade to its 1926 beauty before it reopened as a McDonald’s in 1991. In The Stranger’s newsroom, we all agreed: In a 7000 square-foot space on a main thoroughfare, our chances of getting something other than a national chain might be slim. But maybe we could make sure, no matter who the tenant in the building is, that the neighborhood always gets to see the iconic Broadway Theater marquee. Our main option for preserving the structures in this city that we love is through the Landmarks Preservation Board—a part of Seattle’s Department of Neighborhoods that has long been a frustrating force for urbanists in the city. Since its founding in 1973, the board has designated more than 400 Seattle sites, buildings, boats, cars, and street clocks as landmarks. And with that designation comes protection: from demolition, major alterations, or capitalism in general. According to our municipal code, something can become a landmark for a handful of reasons: (1) if it’s associated with a significant historical event, (2) if it’s tied to an important person, (3) if it’s significant to the heritage of a specific community, (4) if it captures a specific architectural style, architect, or builder, or (5) because it’s an “identifiable visual feature of its neighborhood… and contributes to the distinctive quality or identity of such neighborhood or the City.” The theater’s architecture is ordinary. Aside from an unfortunate string of deaths associated with the Theater, we can’t tie it to any historical events. And the most important person to speak there was a candidate for coroner. But we think the marquee fits right into number five: an identifiable feature of a neighborhood. And that’s what we’re going to use to try to protect it. The History of the Broadway Theater That marquee is the welcome sign for Capitol Hill. It’s the first thing you see when you crest the hill on Olive Way, or come out of the light rail station. In a neighborhood that’s rapidly developing, it’s a reminder of the neighborhood’s history, and our choice to preserve that for decades. Because it’s fun. Because it’s whimsical. Because it’s rare to get to see anyone’s name in lights. And it’s certainly an “identifiable visual feature” of Capitol Hill that contributes to “the distinctive quality” of the neighborhood. We here in The Stranger offices might all agree, at least, but that case is harder to make to the Landmarks Preservation Board. Eugenia Woo, the director of preservation services at Historic Seattle, says the building’s exterior has likely been through too many alterations to qualify as a whole. The marquee is a different story, though. The “Broadway” sign looks as it did when it became the Broadway Theater in the late 1940s, Woo says. It’s the marquee it had in 1977 when the theater hosted the opening of the first feature film to be financed and produced entirely by people in the Pacific Northwest. And it was functional when the Rite Aid closed down in 2023. But the board has “a high bar for designation, as it should,” says Jeff Murdock, the preservation advocacy manager of Historic Seattle. He was on the Board in 2016, when the Guild 45th was under consideration for landmark status. “I felt that the building (even though it had been altered from its original early Mediterranean revival style) was significant even with (and because of) its art moderne remodel,” he told The Stranger in an email. But it was voted down. “It still stings when I think about it,” he says. He expects the old Broadway Theater would meet a similar fate. “It’s meaningful that we can all still look at this community landmark on that prominent corner and remember how important neighborhood theaters once were to Seattleites,” he says. But “there isn’t much left to designate.” He wasn’t all doom, though. “It’s noteworthy that whoever first converted the building to a pharmacy cared enough to preserve the marquee,” he says. Which brings us to the next question: the ownership. The building is owned by Limantzakis Properties No 2, LLC, which is run by a collection of Limantzakises: John, Johnette, and John II. If you’ve been in Seattle for a few decades, you might recognize the name. For more than 20 years, John and his wife Polette owned and operated Latitude 47, a waterfront steakhouse on Lake Union. (Rock Salt Steak House now lives at that same address.) But with the restaurant closed, they’re largely property owners now. Until last year, ownership wouldn’t have mattered much in the question of landmarking a 100-year-old building. But in the 2025 legislative session, the state changed our landmarking rules, requiring that the owner of a building or other property provide written support for a landmark before it’s approved. “Unless the owner of the property gives written consent for designation, I do not suggest preparing a nomination and submitting it to the landmarks board staff because they may not accept your application,” Woo of Historic Seattle told The Stranger. The good news is, John Limantzakis and his family have chosen to be stewards of the marquee for almost 40 years already, and we don’t think they’re changing course now. But by landmarking the sign, they can ensure that any future owners steward the sign as well as they have. We were able to share the landmarking information with one of the owners shortly before press time, and will update this story when they respond.  If we submit an application and get rejected, we won’t be able to apply for another five years. But if the owners are on board, we’re ready to go. We’ve already combed through our local newspaper archives to cobble together a comprehensive history of the space, from its early days as the Society Theatre, to its transformation to a pharmacy with a flashy marquee. In between, it witnessed some PNW firsts, a string of very unlucky managers, and earned the superlative as the most comfortable small theater in the city (it had air conditioning).  Seattle is growing, and with growth comes change and development. But that doesn’t mean we have to lose the evidence of our history in our built environment. Preserving this sign is a rare opportunity to allow for both. We’ve chosen to save it for decades: Let’s make it official. The post The Old Broadway TheaterMarquee Should Be a Landmark appeared first on The Stranger. ...read more read less