The Laborer Who Said He Might Be Dead Tomorrow
A transient worker shot himself on a Tacoma wharf. A dentist’s receipt and a Steilacoom postmaster gave him back his name.
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 identity of the man who committed suicide on the wharf near Nineteenth Street yesterday morning by shooting himself in the head was established this morning by the postmaster of Steilacoom, who informed The Times by long-distance telephone that the dead man was well known there as a laborer for the St. Clair brothers. His name on the books of a Steilacoom grocer appeared as N. Ingalls. He was a man about 50 years of age and made his home in a tent. So far as can be learned in Steilacoom, he has no relatives living in this state.
Ingalls, who had evidently contemplated suicide for some time, was seen by C. O. Gabriel and Victor Peterson in the neighborhood of the Puget Sound Drydock & Machine Company’s place of business on Dock Street at about 7 o’clock yesterday morning. The men had passed Ingalls and had just entered the Drydock company’s building when they heard a shot. Rushing out, the men saw that the stranger had shot himself, and when they reached his side he was dead.
Before firing the fatal shot, Ingalls braced himself firmly against the wharf railing, and the body remained in a sitting posture after the bullet had crashed through his brain. He used a .32-caliber revolver and had the weapon grasped tightly in his hand when Peterson and Gabriel reached him.
The only clue to the identity of Ingalls was a receipt found in the dead man’s pocket for dental services rendered by Dr. B. Eshelman, whose office is in the Fidelity Building. The man’s initials were not given; neither was his place of residence. Ingalls came into Dr. Eshelman’s office last Tuesday, suffering with the toothache. He waited several hours to be attended to. As he left he handed the dentist $5, saying that he might be dead tomorrow. By appointment, Ingalls returned the following morning and had some additional work done. The entire bill amounted to $7, and Ingalls paid the remaining $2.
In talking with a Times reporter this morning, Dr. Eshelman remembered that Ingalls had told him that the St. Clair brothers of Steilacoom had directed him to come to Dr. Eshelman with this information. The Times communicated with the postmaster of Steilacoom and the mystery surrounding the identity of the dead man was cleared up.
Ingalls’ remains are still at Meilinger’s undertaking parlors, but no arrangements have been made for burial. It is likely that no inquest will be held.
“As he left he handed the dentist $5, saying that he might be dead tomorrow.”
A laborer who lived in a tent, Ingalls died with only a dental receipt to identify him—a reminder that in 1904, as now, transient workers could be deeply isolated. The story also shows how a small institutional paper trail, a dentist’s ledger or a grocer’s account, could restore a person’s name after death.
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