Seattle’s 1872 Brothel Controversy and Public Hypocrisy

To the Editor:

But that is not the worst of it. What is? Why the thing is advertised in a newspaper and in a Directory. Citizens know what the foul thing really is, and can warn people against being caught in its toils; but strangers must be lured by false advertisements.

A newspaper claiming the support of respectable men and weekly laid before our sons and daughters to be read, advertises its masquerade bulls. The 'Puget Sound Business Directory and Guide' prints without a blush the following advertisement:

'Restaurant, Saloon and Skating Rink. John W. Pennell has the honor to inform the public that his Restaurant and Saloon will compare favorably with any in the City of Seattle. His Skating Rink is the only one in the city, located at Pennell's Restaurant, Seattle, for further particulars. J.W. Pennell.'

Further particulars? To what? A Squaw Brothel. Has he the indecency to inform the public that it will 'compare favorably with any in the City of Seattle'? What! Are there more such places here? What is honor? Did Burned & Murphy, Publishers of the Directory, know they were advertising a Squaw brothel? Yes. Advertisement sandwiched, too, between respectable Attorneys and a respectable manufacturer, on the same page.

Oh, citizens, where is your shame? Oh, fathers, in what an atmosphere are you nurturing your children? Oh, merchants, where is your respectability? To be a respectable merchant is to be a gentleman, an honorable man. Oh, Judges, look at your ermine. To be a judge is to be a conservator of morals. God is the great Judge. Oh, lawyers, who minister at the shrine of Justice, how many of you are retained by the thing? One; I know has a yearly retainer to see that no Grand Jury has regard enough for its oath to present the thing for trial. I have half a mind to give his name.

Oh, preachers, what fruit have ye brought forth? Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire. Did not our Master say this? When have you raised your voices against this festering offshoot of Hell? What fruit is being brought forth, day by day, under your very eye? Is it not time?

Oh, mothers, God be with you in the struggle to keep the contamination from your children.

Where are the officers of the law? Are there any? Is there any law? Citizens, when do you intend to move? Don't you know that population is being driven away; that the finger of scorn is pointed at you? How will you do it? Why, demand the thing to be broken up. If refused, 'hell betwixt us all.' It is the nineteenth century. Why, I saw this man pass down the street the other day in familiar converse with citizens of unquestioned respectability, and they did not seem to have a sensation of contamination. I saw a lawyer actually take him by the hand, and two others likewise, and he then went and joined a knot of persons on terms of equality, one of whom was a... but I spare the cloth.

And these things in daylight, unblushingly as a matter of course, as if it were the normal state of things. But it is not the normal state of things. There are churches here and a University. There are as many true men and women here as in any place of its size. They have tried to act, too; but their action came to naught. Their petition to the City Council was rejected. It was said to be a false alarm.

One professional man branded his partner as a jackass for signing it. Why? It cut off business coming from the hellish thing. Business! Yes, traffic in souls. Business for lawyers and judges, traders and physicians. Business for Satan. Ah men, refuse these dollars—they will burn into your souls. Just as sure as there exists the eternal principles of right and wrong, just so sure every dollar will bring its meed of punishment.

But two days since one of the patrons of this thing died from off the earth—burnt out with liquor and leprosy. A cavalcade followed him to the grave, the largest I have yet seen in Seattle. All proper enough; it had once been a human being. But why did they cover the bier with the stars and stripes? Ah, emblem of the rights of man! signal of progress! oriflamme of liberty! was it needed to thus desecrate your rippling folds? From my window I saw it, and was myself tempted to tear the banner from off the liar, with my woman's hand.

What next? Why, the thing means to crush out your paper. I have heard it so said. I have heard really respectable men say it was impolitic. It would hurt trade. Don't believe it. Go on with the little paper. It is a light set on a hill. Good men and women will stand by you, and you will not fail. If you do—if an independent press printed in the interest of civilization and good morals must die in Seattle, then Seattle dies.

No longer will the fair city sit upon the lovely hill-side overlooking the coming and going of richly freighted ships—but it will be a huge Squaw brothel reeking with filth and crime, signaling the passing ship to death and dishonor.