The Perilous Steam Bath of 1876
A Nevadan visitor to a Seattle Turkish bathhouse finds himself in a comedic, sweltering hostage situation over the reputation of his famous family 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.
A gentleman from Nevada recently entered a Turkish bathhouse in Seattle, but he didn't count on the super-heated experience he was about to endure. He was subjected to a heat so intense that every time he called out to the attendant for relief, his pleas were dismissed as the 'fancies of a traveler.' In this condition, he was certain there was a foreboding plot that our Nevada friend had entered the lair of a villain. The suffering gentleman, who was now nearly boiled, definitely felt like he was being parboiled. He yelled for water, for air, for mercy, but the superintendent only laughed. The victim knew he was losing his hair; he knew it; there was a damnable conspiracy against him, so he thought, and he staggered to the door and yelled lustily for the police. The superintendent once more came, and there was a diabolical gleam in his sinister eye as he whispered through the keyhole: 'What in the devil do you want now?' 'I want to get out of this, you ruffian! I am scalded to death—my hair is falling out! My legs are melting down like a candle; let me out, I say.' 'My dear, good fellow,' quoth the Turkish fiend, 'you act like a child. Be a man, sir—take your full time—only ten minutes more! Finest bathhouse in the city—built by Hon. John Paul Jones of Nevada, sir, of Nevada—blame it, take your time.' After five more mortal minutes, there came a quiet, orderly rap from the inside. 'Well, well, sir! What's the trouble now?—want to get out again, I suppose,' said the superintendent. 'No, oh, no; but did you say this infernal oven was built by J. P. Jones, of Nevada?' 'Yes, sir, yes, sir—but what in thunder do you want now?' growled the Turkish monster. 'My good, kind obliging fellow, I am Ed Jones, brother of J.P., and I simply want a fork.' 'A f-o-r-k—what for—a f-o-r-k?' 'Yes, my friend, a fork. I want to try my bones, and if they're done, I'm done clear through.'
“I want to try my bones, and if they're done, I'm done clear through.”
Early Seattle was a boomtown where luxury amenities were often imported with high-flown claims, leading to consumer disputes that feel surprisingly familiar. This tale of an overheating customer highlights the tension between the city's rapidly professionalizing service economy and the rugged, sometimes absurd, reality of life on the frontier.
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