The Blue Glass Cure: A Barber’s Quackery and a Seattle Elder’s Rage
In March 1877, an elderly Black man named Uncle Dan nearly came to blows with a white barber over a ridiculous 'medical' treatment involving blue window panes and sunlight.
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.
Old Uncle Dan is the most venerable darkey in Seattle and carries his sixty-four years with becoming dignity. Yesterday he made his appearance at Harvey Williamson's barber shop just as that sable artist was shaving us, up against the grain. After the usual good morning had passed between our two sunburnt fellow citizens, Mr. Williamson noticed that Uncle Dan was holding his right hand on his starboard jaw.
"What's de matter Uncle Dan?"
"G'long duh, sassy boy, don't bother me," replied the veteran.
"Oh say, what ails ye, ole man," persisted the tonsor.
"J done got too of a che," granted the old man.
"Yer in mighty big luck to have any tooth to ache, at your age," remarked the barber, "but I know sullixf to cure dat."
"You don't tolo me dat?" said the old man.
"Yessir-ree. de blue glass cure," replied the Knight of the razor.
"Blew glaff'? Blew glafl'? 'afl'or ye call dat '9'"
"Haven't you heard tell of General Pleasanton's curing sick folks wirl de blue glass bizness?" asked the professor.
"Huin't lieern nuflin chile, I tolel you. Bin down wid de roomativs and de lumbugo, and just got up in time to hatch dis trubble," growled the aged colored gentleman.
“Well," says Harvey, “ye take out all de white panes of glass in yer room and have a lot of blue ones put in de place of ’em. Den you wait till de sun comes out and sit down what de sunlight strikes de floor. Den take off yer boot and socks (at! for got any) and put yer bar’ foot! whar de sunlight from de blue glass can shine on yer toes}, and you’ll be well as ever in ten days."
The aged durkey‘s frame quivered with emotion as he asked:
“D'ye mean to tole me dat‘s good l for de. toot-ache ‘9" _
“Tooth-ache! Tooth-ache!” cried Harvey, with real or feigned astonishment. “I thought all de time you had come!”
We believe that our presence alone prevented a hostile encounter, for the old man hobbled off up the street muttering a tune that sounded very much like “Gunme dd gun before he runs.”
This 1877 anecdote captures Seattle’s early racial dynamics and the absurdity of 'patent medicine' culture. While today we might laugh at the 'blue glass cure,' it highlights how Black residents like Uncle Dan navigated a predominantly white society with humor and resilience, even when subjected to condescension or quackery.
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