The Drunken Gentleman of Commercial Street
A tipsy passenger’s chaotic attempt to board a streetcar and his subsequent social performance in 1877 Seattle.
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 man dressed in good clothes, and sporting a silk hat and somewhat racy mustache, had the air of dignity with which he used to maintain his center of gravity. As he pioneered toward the car, it was evident that he was absolutely intoxicated. Arriving at the door, he solemnly raised his foot to enter, but not raising it high enough, he fell headlong on the floor of the car. Raising himself up with some difficulty, he cast a severely reproving look at a fat old gentleman sitting near the door. 'Sir, what do you lift this for just as I was to get in?' 'My dear sir, I did not lift the car,' replied the old gentleman, meekly. 'Well, perhaps you didn't. I won't argue with a man in your condition. My amiable friend, it's my calm and deliberate opinion you've been looking upon the wine when it is red. Very sorry to see it in a man of your age. What do you suppose your mother would say if she should see you intoxicated? My friend, I've shed many bitter tears over such cases as yours. Yes,' continued he in a faltering voice, and pulling out his handkerchief, 'and I'm d—d if I ain't weeping now, as you'll readily observe.' Whereupon he wiped his eyes with a grand flourish, blew his nose, and navigated to the other end of the car. When he reached his destination, he pulled the bell-strap and started for the door. When he got about half way, and just as he was in front of a lady, he tripped and fell full length on the floor. Raising himself to perpendicular, he turned to the lady, and in a tone of mingled severity and whisky, said: 'Madam, you've certainly got the biggest feet I ever saw in my life.' 'Sir!' said the lady indignantly. 'Oh, don't apologize, madam. I beg you not to apologize. You're not to blame for it. But if you would just sit down a little 'twould be a great accommodation to the traveling public.' The lady was speechless with indignation, the passengers were convulsed, and the gentleman stalked majestically out to the door, stepped to the ground, and immediately sat down. As the car moved away, he arose, examined his clothes, looked up and down the street, waved his hand in an uncertain manner, and walked away.
“My amiable friend, it's my calm and deliberate opinion you've been looking upon the wine when it is red.”
While this vignette was syndicated from the Detroit Free Press, it appeared on a Seattle page detailing the city's burgeoning commercial district. Today, the walkability of Commercial Street—now 1st Avenue—remains central to Seattle, though public transit etiquette and the character of our streetside encounters remain as unpredictable as ever.
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