The Failed Elopement of the Postmaster’s Daughter
A small-town romantic drama in Bucoda ends with an attempted escape, a Winchester rifle, and a boxcar departure to California.
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.
It is reported that the town of Bucoda was somewhat perturbed during the closing days of last week over an attempted elopement. O. W. Coates, who until recently was postmaster at Bucoda, is the parent of two daughters. Recently Maude, the younger daughter, who is about 18, has been the object of the affections of Alfred Wilson, son of the Methodist minister. Alfred won the heart of the pretty damsel, but her stern parent would not smile on the union. Mr. Coates prepared to move to California and vowed that his daughter should go with him. Last Thursday evening was the time set for the elopement. A buggy was stationed near the Coates residence and Rev. Mr. Wilson was in readiness to tie the nuptial knot at the Bonnases place. The young couple were discovered scaling the back fence, and the girl was led home. On Friday, Mr. Coates started for California. His lares and penates were loaded in a box car, and just before the train started he marched his family down to the depot, covering their retreat with a Winchester. The whole family got into the box car and the train pulled out, leaving the disconsolate Alfred on the platform.
“Just before the train started he marched his family down to the depot, covering their retreat with a Winchester.”
While elopements are no longer the stuff of daily local scandal, the tension between family authority and young independence is a timeless trope. The image of a father brandishing a Winchester rifle at a train depot highlights the dramatic, sometimes violent, stakes of private social control in rural Washington territories.
From readers
No comments yet. If you know something about this story — a correction, a family memory, a source — it belongs here.