The Unintended Leap in Snohomish
A local restaurant owner’s attempt to mimic the athletic feats of his neighbors ends in a public, pants-splitting embarrassment.
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.
Jumping is one of the Olympic sports which is largely indulged in, by both old and young, in our quiet town, being about the only excitement that ever disturbs its serenity. The other day a Snohomish restaurant keeper stood in the door of his place of business, watching a crowd in the distance engaged in this manly sport. All of a sudden a brilliant idea flashed through his brain, and his hands involuntarily swung fore and aft as one about to make a leap. Now it must be known that the restaurant man is a very sedate person, a serious gentleman, and not addicted to any such foolish antics; but, nevertheless, he stealthily gazed about him, gazed stealthily up then down and across the street, and being convinced that no eye was upon him, he made a leap and just didn't clear the sidewalk. His heels slipped and he fell—sat down and made the rest of the way on the seat of his trousers. To make a long story short, he wasn't long picking himself up and gazing around, sheepishly, this time, and beating a hasty retreat into his domicile, both hands affectionately clasping his—well, the seat of his breeches. As we go to press he still feels aft ever and anon and extracts a small piece of sidewalk; but he has made an eternal vow to jump no more.
“As we go to press he still feels aft ever and anon and extracts a small piece of sidewalk; but he has made an eternal vow to jump no more.”
While Snohomish has outgrown its era of 'only' having sidewalk jumping for excitement, the universal human experience of wanting to be part of the local trend—and the subsequent humiliation when it goes wrong—remains a timeless community anchor. It serves as a reminder that small-town life has always been defined by these quiet, human moments of absurdity.
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