Originally published Saturday, August 16, 1997

By JON HAHN  
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

The two Russian naval officers stiffly and silently entered the tiny Pioneer Square toy shop as though they were conducting a Cold War intelligence mission one late afternoon several years ago.

"They were so serious, and they apparently didn't speak English," said Doug Norwood, whose semi-serious business card identifies him as "Top Dog" at Wood Shop Toys.

"The older one obviously out-ranked the other, who trailed behind him, and they stopped awhile at our Russian nesting dolls, then turned to leave."

Nothing in the fantastic assortment of traditional and off-the-wall crazy items seemed to interest the straight-laced and uptight Russian pair. And that was all right, that they didn't buy anything. Lots of people stroll through without buying.

But they didn't smile. And for 25 years, the Norwood family's toy business in Pioneer Square has run on smiles . . . coming in and going out. This is a place where your inner child is allowed to roam free and even touch shelf items. This is where a life-size Jack the stick man is rolled out to greet passers-by on the sidewalk every morning, with a sign proclaiming: "Toys Are Not Just For Kids!"

"So when they started to leave, I figured it was time for Boris," Norwood said, grinning as he cuddled his furry Boris the Wolf puppet like someone holding a big puppy.

Boris, one of more than 100 Folkmanis puppets, has amazing facial expressions and a heavy Russian accent when he's next to his 36-year-old keeper.

"We both watched them as they came toward the door. The older Russian walked by and nodded, without saying a word, and Boris sort of turned and followed his exit. The younger officer, still trailing behind, almost cracked a smile. So Boris turned back, looked him straight in the eye as he approached, and said in his best accent: 'Do svidaniya!' (Farewell!). He cracked up right there. And he reached into his pocket and gave Boris a red star pin."

Wood Shop Toys is nestled in a 25-foot-wide by 25-foot-high sort of tunnel that terraces up in three levels as it reaches back into the Seattle Quilt Building at First Avenue South and South Jackson Street. It is very, very close to its advertised slogan: "Often a circus, always a zoo."

Doug's mother, Marcia, still helps open up "about 10, every morning" as she has done all the years since she and her husband, Wil, opened what was originally a wood dulcimer shop down the street. Wil, now retired, was a Harvard Business School graduate working for his father as a machinist when a heart attack forced him to gear down.

Dulcimers evolved into handmade wood stick men and other toys and items, some on consignment from local crafts artists. The shop moved to Occidental Avenue South, then to First Avenue South. Its specialty is locally made wooden toys. Finely crafted wares became the shop's focus. And because she had nowhere else to put them, Marcia brought Doug, his brother, David, and their sister, Amy, to the shop from the time they were infants.

"And I bring our daughter, Marlena, to the shop, too," Doug said. "I've even put her in the front window, in her bassinet, and watched as people stopped to figure it out." From her perch on the stairs leading to their tiny office space near the ceiling in back, little Marley, now 3 and long out of a bassinet, boldly announces to her father that "it's time for me to help organize the puppets!"

But there is only a loose semblance of organization here, sort of like Noah's Ark, among the fuzzy and furry puppets that range from giant mosquitoes and Dungeness crabs to real alpaca-hair Teddy bears and camels, whales, bison, and, of course, a goodly assortment of lions, tigers, and bears, oh my!

The current front-window attention-getter is a giant swarm of brightly colored toy Volkswagen "bugs," some flapping their doors like wings, trying to evade two giant stuffed frogs with long red-ribbon tongues. The adjacent window has a more sedate display of exquisite hand-blown glass marbles, hearts and perfume bottles.

You also know it's a people-friendly place because a hand-lettered sign in the window announces: "We Gladly Make Parking Meter Change."

You have to let your hair down a little when you enter a shop where the big sign at the front counter announces:

"Avoid Embarrassment -- Adults wishing to purchase toys for themselves may receive them in a plain brown wrapper at no extra charge."

Another sign above the same counter advises:

"Help Wanted! Gentle but somewhat nasty ogre to help watch permissively reared children. Apply to Manager."

Wil Norwood, still making the occasional stick man puppets at home on Vashon Island, made that sign years ago. It was his wry, subtle way of advising other parents.

Like his father before him, Doug went to college (Eastern Washington U.) and was headed in another direction (radio and TV) when he decided to come home to the family business. All three Norwood children worked in the store from the time they were old enough to lift a box to when they were home on college vacations.

"It (broadcasting) wasn't nearly as much fun," Doug said, picking up his Sylvia the Witch puppet and unstraightening her hair as he prepared to do his "sexy witch" shtick. "And Pioneer Square, despite what some ladies in Bellevue think, is a fun, safe place to shop and work or just pass the time."

"Say, Sweetie . . . You wanna see something really scary?!" said Sylvia the Witch, as she started to raise her black cape above her red-and-white striped underwear.

Jon Hahn is a staff columnist who writes three times a week in the P-I.