Seattle's Young Outlaw Dies—and the Paper Prints His Face
Thomas Blanck, a Seattle criminal notorious before he was twenty, is dead. When the Post-Intelligencer runs his portrait, a reader protests the spectacle—and the city debates how to bury a reputation.
Blanck's Life Forfeited. (Portland Oregonian.) The career of Thomas Blanck, the Seattle criminal, is strongly suggestive of a stark heredity which he worked out stubbornly to the bitter end. Though barely twenty years old, he achieved a record in the annals of crime in the Northwest that has been approached by few criminals of his years. The inevitable conclusion is that instincts of outlawry were born with the man, and that his constant effort was in the direction of fostering them. From the time at which the public became aware of his existence he fiercely resisted all restraint, and it is but a logical conclusion that he had a stormy, wayward and wild boyhood. If anything could have been done toward his reformation, the key wherein it might have been done has been missed. It is well that the farce has been paid and the account settled.
Ill-Advised Publicity. Seattle, March 3, 1896. To the Editor: In the name of the outraged public, I want to enter a protest against this unnecessary and demoralizing publicity given to the dead criminal Tom Blanck. What good can it possibly do? And the harm it may do cannot be estimated. I shuddered when I looked upon those ghastly features in this evening's paper. And I am not a nervous woman, either. I fancy they must be very trying to one of delicate health, and our little ones ought to be taken into consideration. As I came down town this evening a lady and a very small boy were in advance of me. He propounded one question after another about the desperado, scarcely waiting for a reply, so filled was his little mind with eager questioning. As a mother, and I am sure I voice the sentiment of many, I beg of you to give us something in your paper that will be a benefit to our little ones. He is gone, and I am positive that we all breathe the freer that it is so. But why can it not be done decently and in order? Would any other Christianized country permit the public exhibition of such a character? H. C. B.
“He is gone, and I am positive that we all breathe the freer that it is so. But why can it not be done decently and in order?”
A century before viral mugshots and true-crime documentaries, Seattle readers were already arguing over whether a dead outlaw's face belonged in the paper. The Blanck episode is an early lesson in how crime coverage can turn a young life into public spectacle—and how readers push back.
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