No Work, Then Gunshots: A Tacoma Family's Despair

TACOMA, Sept. 10.—[Special.]—Albert McAchren, aged 39, shot his wife Edith through the neck this afternoon and tried to shoot his daughter Bessie, aged 8, but missed her. He then placed the 32-calibre Smith & Wesson revolver, with which he did the shooting, to his right temple and shot himself. When Mrs. McAchren was asked why her husband shot her she answered promptly: 'Because he loved me and could not support me.' She may recover. The bullet passed in under her left ear and came out under the other ear.

The story of the shooting is best told by Bessie, who is a pretty, bright girl, too young to realize the condition of her parents. Bessie says: 'Papa and mamma came from Ohio. We lived at Fidalgo, where papa rented a farm, until last Christmas, when we moved to Portland. We came here a week ago, and stopped at the Kirby house. Papa expected to get work, my uncle, Mr. Campbell, being at work for the Northern Pacific railroad here. Papa went down town after we moved in Capt. Leonard's lodging house, on G and Twelfth streets, this morning. He went to order wood. When he came back he told me to get ready to go to the train to meet my aunt, who was coming. I was ready, and mamma was driving flies out of the bedroom and getting ready to rest while we were gone, when papa shot at her across the bed. Mamma fell over on the bed and I ran out into the kitchen screaming. Papa chased me and shot at me, and my hair was burned.'

Bessie's hair was singed, and at one place it looked as if the light, glossy hair had been cut by the bullet. Continuing, Bessie said: 'Papa was shaking and could not shoot straight. After he shot at me he pointed the revolver at his head, but his hand kept shaking, and he shot just as I ran down stairs. He never had a revolver before, and I do not know where he got it.'

After running out of the house, Bessie met another girl, who ran to the county jail near by and informed Jailer Duval and a reporter of the Tacoma bureau of the Post-Intelligencer, who was present. Capt. J. Leonard was down stairs when the shooting occurred. He took his revolver and went upstairs after the second shot was fired. In all there were three shots. He found McAchren bathing a flesh wound in his hand in a bowl of water in one corner of the bedroom. Leonard ran for help. Dr. Quivell and the police patrol wagon in charge of Sergt. Ellis responded.

'What have you been doing?' asked the doctor, addressing McAchren, who was still bathing his hand in the bloody water in the bowl.

'Only a case of suicide, and—and murder,' replied McAchren, without moving. He spoke in a quiet, dogged manner, almost derisively.

'Is your gun?' asked Quivell, fearing McAchren, whom he did not know, still had the pistol and might shoot.

'It's in the other room,' replied McAchren, still without moving. He was busy bathing his hand. Blood dripped from the bullet wound on the side of his head. Quivell got the pistol and then approached the woman. As he did so McAchren asked, still without showing the least emotion: 'Is she dead yet?'

The doctor said she was not, and asked her why the man had shot her. 'Because he loved me,' she replied feebly, 'and couldn't support me.'

McAchren was taken to the city jail. His wife was made as comfortable as possible. Later McAchren was taken to the city and county hospital. He has not had steady work for a year. On this point little Bessie says: 'I never heard papa speak about being out of work until this morning, when he said there wasn't any work for him to do. He and mamma never quarreled.'

Bessie recovered from her fright in about an hour. When bedtime came she said, without seeming to realize that her mother's life hung in the balance: 'I don't want to sleep with mamma tonight.'