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DOC FREEMAN'S GONE
By Robert Hale
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September 25, 2003. The heading on the readerboard sign in the corner of the parking lot read, Doc Freeman's Marine Supply, since 1947. Underneath, in block letters put there by a long pole, it said, Public Auction Sept 24. The parking lot was full. On a warm sunny morning under a cloudless blue sky, one of the county's legendary marine supply companies was in the last moments of its death throes.
Hot dogs were for sale, 2/$5, at the big red van signed "The Renowned Mr. Brown Bar.B.Q. & Catering." Inside the building the James G. Murphy Co., Commercial /Industrial Auctioneers, was selling off the meat and bones of the once great Doc Freeman's. The turnout was good. They ran out of catalogs.
Doc Freeman's had been a bulletproof franchise, with fiercely loyal customers and a superb staff. I remember being in Doc's on a spring midweek afternoon some 20 years ago, and seeing the store absolutely full of customers. Each of them was holding a little ticket with a number on it. When a counterman was finished with one customer he would look up at a lighted display and call out the next number. Even with several countermen on duty the waiting time was at least 30 minutes. People seemed to know each other, and nobody was angry or impatient. It was like a club meeting. The store was filled with a low roar of happy conversation. Looking at the sea of white shirts (businessmen and professionals still wore white shirts in those primitive days) I thought, "Doesn't anybody in Seattle go to work?"
The auction crowd, which was not in white shirts, was a cross-section of the Puget Sound boating waterfront: boatbuilders, boat owners, small marine service companies. Many had registered to bid, and carried signs with registration numbers on them. Others, such as I, simply were there. What was missing were the sales reps from all the suppliers. Since many of them were owed large sums of never-to-be-collected debt, perhaps they just didn't have time.
Doc Freeman's helped feed our family for many years. In the 1980s and 90s I was the Northwest sales rep for several marine manufacturers, including Sikaflex, Bruce anchors, Nicro/Fico, Davis Instruments, and a number of others. I would go into Doc's regularly to count inventory, identify the empty bins, and pass the information to the buyers. In a day or so purchase orders would appear, and I would collect commissions.
Doc's also bought books, and when the business was humming it was a lot of books. As a nautical book wholesaler we continued to stock their book display even after the rep business had been left behind. In the early years of the Waggoner, Doc's could be counted on for a full-page 4-color ad -- much appreciated by a publication that was still building its place in the market.
Oh, the loyalty Doc's developed in its customers. Right up to the end, John Flaherty, who does the electrical and mechanical work on our boat, went first to Doc's for everything he needed. At the auction I saw Ann and Angie, the A&A boat detailing ladies, who told me that in earlier years they would shop nowhere else. Then, as Doc's decline grew worse, they said, "We would have ten items on our shopping list and Doc's could fill only two or three."
At Lee Knudsen's memorial service in August (also notable for the absence of sales reps) several old customers stood up to tell of the lengths Doc's went to so their own businesses could prosper. Their heartfelt gratitude was clear, unmistakable and unshakable.
Lee Knudsen bought Doc Freeman's from his father, Pete Knudsen, in 1985. As a second-generation owner, brought up in the business, all appeared to go well for several years. The slogan, "Doc's Has It," meant something. If a customer wanted a particular widget, the counterman could ask, "Do you want it in right hand or left hand, in nylon, galvanized, bronze or stainless? Coarse threads or fine threads?" Much of the merchandise had been bought at auction, from boatbuilders and marine suppliers who had gone out of business. Stock was stacked to ceiling, not only in the labrynth-like main store at the north end of Lake Union, but in several warehouses nearby. Doc's had it, and could provide you with 12 dozen if you needed that many.
The staff loved it. As one of them, now working for another supplier, told me, "Working at Doc's was fun, really fun. I've never seen an environment like it."
Then Lee developed Parkinson's disease. As the affliction progressed, crippling him and hurting his speech, something changed. It could be argued that Lee was deeply involved in the business, but it wasn't the same. Lee's interest in art led him to an art-buying binge and an effort to create an art gallery, a diversion of critical time and resources. When the rent went up and they decided to move to larger quarters, it seemed to me that the new store wasn't a store but a monument. The remodeling was overdone and the plans for a new, expanded Doc's were too grand. One questionable decision led to another, and another. The slide was underway.
Staff were laid off, the fantastic staff that knew every item in the store and the warehouses. Capital was invested, but it was never enough. With each setback Lee tried harder to recapture the success of the past. Instead of making little base hits, though, he was swinging for the fences and missing. Lee was smart, and had imagination. But the challenge of finding his way back to a profitable operation somehow eluded him. And with each advance of the disease, the cause became increasingly desperate.
They lost their exlusive distributorships -- Crusader engines, Borg Warner Velvet Drive transmissions, Ford Lehman, Yanmar small diesel engines. With unpaid bills to suppliers, they ran out of the fast-moving items and were stuck with the slow sellers. Customers tried to shop at Doc's, but couldn't get what they needed and were forced to go elsewhere.
And so it came to September 24, 2003. The business that was built from auction-purchased merchandise was itself being auctioned off. "Ten, who'll five me fifteen? Fifteen, fifteen-HEY! twenty-five, twenty-five-HEY! thirty-five, thirty-five, thirty-five-HEY! forty, forty, forty . . . sold for thirty-five, number 161, thank you."
A number of people came to the auction as I had, not to buy, but to stand on the sales floor one final time and mark the end of a great era. The auctioneers barked their auctioneer patter, prices were reached, individual lots were sold. Doc's was busy for the last time and it was sad.v
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