The Rain-Soaked Fourth: Seattle's 1899 Celebration
A persistent storm could not dampen the spirits of thousands as Seattle paraded through muddy streets, celebrated the anniversary of Manila, and grappled with the 'reckless debauchery' of a damp Fourth of July.
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.
Oh say, did you see by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we view at the night's last gleaming? If so, it must have made you grit your teeth. These beautiful street decorations, which appeared so resplendent last night, wore an appearance of reckless debauchery this morning. The red, white and blue streamers showed plainly the effects of 'a night out,' and streaks of red appeared through the blue. Old Glory wrapped wetly around his flagstaff, refused to unfold and flap himself, and even the tin firecrackers, let loose in the night, barked troubles and added faint interest to the jubilation. As for the people who had planned to many pleasant things, their umbrella-protected countenances were a study. Women wore a look of hopeless despair as they waded along the rain-swept thoroughfares. Others had angry gleams glinting from their eyeballs, and it was plainly to be seen that they had just passed idiots who had said 'it would not rain!' As for the committee on Fourth of July arrangements, the less said about their feelings the better. These public-spirited citizens had worked long and earnestly to make the day a glorious success. Despite the rain, the streets were soon crowded with people, many of them being strangers. Gradually, the drizzling quietude of the early morning was broken by the increasing racket of paper-jack explosives and the loud-mouthed ejaculations of cannon, large and small. About 10 o'clock the rain ceased, and then the pent-up enthusiasm of the multitude broke its restraint, and manifested itself in a furious bombardment that rolled from one end of the city to the other, and was especially hot along Second avenue.
“The red, white and blue streamers showed plainly the effects of 'a night out,' and streaks of red appeared through the blue.”
Seattle’s struggle to reconcile grand civic planning with the reality of its notorious weather is a tradition that remains unchanged. Just as in 1899, when organizers were left scrambling as their 'weather clerk' proved unreliable, modern Seattleites still view the outdoors as a site of both immense public joy and unpredictable civic chaos.
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