The Day Seattle’s Subscribers Hauled Their Newspaper Office to Safety
When a fire threatened the Seattle Star building in Pioneer Square, loyal patrons didn't just call the fire department—they grabbed chains and ropes to physically tow the structure away from the flames.
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.
HAULED FROM THE FLAMES Newspaper Office Saved By Loyal Subscribers.
That the daily news of Seattle will be able to appear today in unimpaired form is due to the resourcefulness of its subscribers, who in great numbers yesterday morning hauled the Star building out of the path of a destructive fire. Some of them, and all figures in the book as fully paid up. The editor mentions his esteemed friends who applied their combined weight to the mass, and did not require any more than usual subscription was five years.
On the other hand, many that among the most energetic forces in this man-made war were five of the finest prominent spring posts in Seattle. When all the excitement was over the editor called for his latest contribution from the waist basket and he will print them in tomorrow's paper.
The original and strictly amateur innovation in work was that initiated by a New York business man, who ran out of the club with many of his fellow men to view the fire. Many Wall street men and lawyers make their home in Seattle, and there is a great feeling of sympathy in the removal of the Record Building, house of them were in evening dress, but the cheer and the chivalry that did not prevent them from hauling cries of 'If she goes!' and 'Give way, there, ladies!' had all its effect.
With eight steam hoses about, a feeble water supply, and only two small fire engines, one of them (No. 1) out at midnight, the outlook was mournful. The editor displayed a picture of Christian resignation. He looked as if he were bidding farewell to his press, his type pots, his reservoirs, and all the other implements of his craft, which he held close to his breast.
At the beginning of the rescue effort, a dozen of his fellow clubmen ran to where they could procure a tow rope and several lengths of chain. Meanwhile others fetched 40 casks and laid them in a runway, plentifully besmeared with grease and soap. The chains, when they arrived, were fastened thick-end and loose about the press room building at the side, which is the lowest and weakest part of a frame structure. While the editor looked on as if in a trance, one end of the roll of rope was made fast to the belt, and all the men in the crowd laid hold of the ropes.
At the third united tug the building all from moorings, and then with a cheer the corps of subscribers towed it to a place of safety.
In the expression of gratitude the bewildered editor talked of presenting a kind gift with a life subscription to the Record, but it was pointed out to him that if he did this would have to depend for revenue on advertisements only.
This 1905 account of community-driven disaster relief highlights a time when civic infrastructure was fragile and citizens acted as first responders. It resonates with modern Seattle's reliance on mutual aid networks during crises, from the pandemic to recent housing displacement issues, showing that local solidarity has long been the city's strongest safety net.
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