The Man in the Red Drawers
A distressed man wielding a saw causes a scene in the streets of South Seattle, highlighting the era's lack of support for those in mental crisis.
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.
The picturesque figure of a man clad in red drawers, a white shirt, and gray stockings, while in one hand he waved a large saw, greeted the eyes of residents on King street near South Seventh last evening. For at least fifteen minutes he had the whole street to himself, and the only interruption was the appearance of a head now and then at a door or window followed by the remark, 'Ain't it awful.' Officer Temples came along and, after talking to him for a few minutes, found that the man's name was Alex Hasaln, and he was laboring under the belief that his enemies were going to kill him. At headquarters he said he had been discharged from a Tacoma hospital recently and came to this city yesterday. Capt. Hogle says he has the 'Jim Jams.'
“For at least fifteen minutes he had the whole street to himself, and the only interruption was the appearance of a head now and then at a door or window followed by the remark, 'Ain't it awful.'”
Today, someone in the midst of a mental health crisis is often met with law enforcement instead of medical support, much like Alex Hasaln in 1892. While the terminology and the setting have changed, Seattle’s struggle to provide adequate care for those experiencing psychosis remains a recurring civic challenge.
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