When it comes to accepting eccentric characters, Seattle has a long and proud history — whether it's a street trumpet player who doesn't play very well, or a mother-son duo who'd show up uninvited at funerals of establishment figures and take pictures of the caskets.

Richard Lewis, 56, certainly qualifies for that special category of slightly off-kilter, oddly dressed, innocent individuals you might see for years on end making the rounds in the city.

If, in the past 34 years, you've visited the Ballard Locks on any weekday between 3:30 and 4:50 in the afternoon you've likely seen Lewis. We'll explain the 4:50 p.m. time later.

Those 34 years add up to about 8,840 days of visits, and Lewis says he's maybe missed eight in all those years.

At the Locks, you may have heard Lewis expound on his favorite subjects — the Locks and the tugboats that go through them.

"Without reservation, he has more knowledge of the towing industry in the Northwest than any person alive, or who has lived," said Bob Frost, a retired Boeing engineer and boat owner who has befriended Lewis. "He's a walking encyclopedia of the tugboat industry.

"He's got the history of every tugboat, when it was built, who owned it, and the succession of owners. If someone could put a USB port into his brain, they'd have the whole story of the industry. And he is accurate, absolutely."

It's hard not to notice Lewis.

Thick Coke-bottle glasses because he's so nearsighted; baseball cap covered with pins that he happened to pick up (John Kerry for President; "Transit Tunnel Grand Opening"); headphones with cables leading to a radio around his waist (Mariners games and the "smooth jazz" station); scanner set to maritime-industry frequencies so he can follow the tugboats; backpack weighing 50 or so pounds, filled with maritime magazines, books and just stuff that Lewis deems necessary to carry every day; actually, so much stuff, that he needs two Bartell's plastic bags for the overflow.

"He's one of the flavors of Ballard," said Scott Diehl, a lock and dam lead operator at the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks for the Army Corps of Engineers.

Lewis had just given Diehl copies of free weeklies that Lewis makes a point of delivering to workers at the Locks.

Some of the Locks employees have an appreciation for Lewis' uniqueness; some just ignore him.

To the tugboat crews, seeing the familiar figure of Lewis — most think that's his first name — is part of the ritual of going through the Locks.

"Lewis is the man!" said Adrian Anderson, master of a tugboat coming in from an 18-hour journey from DuPont in Pierce County, pulling two barges going to Salmon Bay Sand & Gravel.

Man of detail

On a recent afternoon, Lewis is pointing out to a tourist an orange building in the distance.

"That's the cement plant where it's going," he said.

It was not a big detail, but a detail nevertheless that gave a visitor a glimpse into the industry here.

As usual, Lewis had been spot-on about other details about the boat.

"It's got two Caterpillar diesel engines, probably 800 to 1,000 horsepower." he said. The tugboat master confirmed that.

In his backpack and plastic bags, Lewis usually has copies of the daily papers, which he sells at cost to employees on the commercial boats, so they have something to read on their voyages.

If they want, he'll run out to a nearby takeout place or convenience store, to buy food or whatever they might need.

Why the enthrallment with tugboats?

Lewis said he grew up on West Commodore Way in Magnolia, right across from the Locks.

"I used to get up at 5, 6 in the morning, and watch them come in," he said.

That is all the explanation he provides. Once his fascination with the boats began, it never stopped.

Marveling at Lewis' tugboat-information trove, Frost, the retired engineer, said, " 'Savant' is probably the closest term to describe him," meaning someone with extraordinary skills in a very specific field, whether mathematical calculations or memory feats.

For most of his adult life, Lewis said, he's received Social Security disability payments. He doesn't talk about the details.

After graduating from Queen Anne High in 1970, Lewis said, he joined the Army, only to be discharged nine months later because he is so nearsighted. After that, he said, he worked for a time on a vessel used to teach seamanship to children.

"I was the sanitation officer," Lewis said.

Then, except for once getting a ride on a tugboat from a crew that liked him, and taking the state ferries, Lewis has not been on boats.

Set schedule

As for why Lewis leaves the Locks at 4:50 p.m.:

He is a man of schedules.

To get to and from the Locks from his Ravenna residence, he always takes the same bus, boarded at the same place, at the same time.

He has to leave the Locks at 4:50 to catch the No. 17 that stops a couple of blocks away.

On weeknights, he goes to the Seattle Public Library downtown.

It's not simply to read more maritime stuff, which he does.

At the library, Lewis also has carefully found the addresses of more than 1,000 radio stations across the country. In tidy block printing, they fill a notebook.

Each day, he mails a letter to one of the stations. Often they send back bumper stickers and other promotional items, and Lewis mails them promotional material he's collected.

Why his interest in the radio stations?

Lewis shrugged.

Once this endeavor caught his interest ... well, you can understand.

If you're Richard Lewis, those letters to the radio stations have to be sent out.

That is Lewis' weekday life, one in which he seems quite happy with the choices he made.

And Seattle, for now, still is a city that allows Lewis to live them out.

Erik Lacitis: 206-464-2237 or elacitis@seattletimes.com