A Lonely Death on the Way to the Hospital
An unidentified man, likely a former builder suffering from dropsy, dies in the arms of a jailer while being transported to Providence Hospital.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
Thomas Murray, a gray-haired man about 50 years of age, died in the patrol wagon yesterday afternoon at 2 o'clock while on his way to Providence hospital. It is thought that he has been a contractor and builder, but nothing positively is known concerning his calling, his friends, or his people. Murray first came to Seattle two years ago and then went to Port Townsend. It is known that he had business dealings with an East Portland firm of merchants. He returned to Seattle about May 2, and on May 4 took up lodgings in a fifteen-cent house in the basement of the Oregon hotel, corner of Third and Jackson streets. He was sick, apparently being a sufferer from dropsy, and the other lodgers chipped in and kept him with enough money to pay his way until yesterday afternoon, when he was taken so sick that the patrol wagon was sent for to convey him to Providence hospital. When the wagon arrived he walked upstairs and took his seat in the vehicle without assistance. Just as the wagon crossed Washington street, going down South Third, he gasped, became blue in the face and would have fallen out but Jailor Noble held him in his arms. The veins stood out on the old man's forehead and in a moment more he was dead. He did not utter a word or a sound. The wagon was drawn to police headquarters and Deputy Coroner Green was called and ordered the body removed to the morgue. On the back of an envelope found on the body was written: 'E. S. Murray, Grand Crossing, Ill.' This is supposed to be the address of a brother of the deceased.
“The veins stood out on the old man's forehead and in a moment more he was dead. He did not utter a word or a sound.”
The precarious existence of unhoused or sick laborers living in flophouses in 1890s Pioneer Square prefigures the ongoing struggle for adequate social safety nets and housing for vulnerable populations in modern Seattle. The reliance on the charity of fellow impoverished lodgers for medical care remains a stark reminder of systemic gaps in civic support.
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