A Farmhand, a Misdiagnosis, and a Smallpox Scare Near Kent
E. Ballard returned from Seattle, fell ill in a barn, and was first treated for measles. By the time doctors suspected smallpox, several Kent residents had been exposed.
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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.
People were considerably excited yesterday over a case of smallpox that developed on the ranch of Mr. Wilson, about two miles north of Kent and three-quarters of a mile from O'Brien station. The patient, E. Ballard, had worked for the greater part of two years as a farm hand for Mr. Wilson. A little more than a month ago Wilson paid Ballard off, and he came to Seattle, where he spent his time in dissipation among the "bobos." About a week ago he returned in the evening and was permitted to sleep in the barn. In the morning he was found quite ill, and the next day an eruption appeared on his face and gradually spread over his body. Mr. Wilson called Dr. C. E. Boyer of Kent, who pronounced it measles. Later he became convinced the man had smallpox and reported it to the county commissioners. Ballard is an old soldier, and his comrades at Kent removed him to a vacant shack isolated from other buildings. The commissioners advised keeping him there. A Seattle physician visited him last night. The doctors report little hope of recovery and predict his demise within two or three days. Several Kent people who have not had the disease have visited the sick man, and one of those now attending him has been about the streets of Kent nearly every day or evening this week. In all probability half a dozen persons have been directly exposed.
“The doctors report little hope of recovery, and predict his demise within two or three days.”
Before vaccines and modern public health, a single overlooked case could empty a town's streets and trigger an emergency. The Kent scare shows how quickly a rural community's connections to Seattle—work, travel, and a shared doctor—could turn one infection into a public crisis.
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