The Hotel Thief Who Slept Under the Same Roof He Robbed
Sat Sanguinetti begged the Rainier Hotel's manager for a place to sleep, then used a skeleton key to strip its guests of diamonds and gold — until a private watchman caught him red-handed.
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.
Sat Sanguinetti, who was convicted of entering a room at the Rainier hotel and stealing $12, has succeeded in obtaining much sympathy and a strong petition for pardon. Mr. Harbaugh, of the hotel, says:
'Sanguinetti was in my employ about a year. When I cut down the force last January he was paid off and discharged. He was away for a while, but came back, saying that he had no place to eat or sleep. He begged the privilege of sleeping in the house and getting his meals while trying to procure work elsewhere. For about two months he stayed about the house and at different times worked for the housekeeper, receiving pay for his services.
'In February, 1896, numerous complaints of theft were made to me, and where money was stolen I refunded it to the guest. Numerous and valuable articles of jewelry were also stolen. In the midst of these complaints my own diamond scarf pin was stolen. The matter was referred to detectives, but Sanguinetti knew them by sight and nothing resulted. As a last resort a private watchman was called in, with the result that Sanguinetti was caught red-handed in a guest's room, which he had entered by means of a skeleton key.
'After being arrested he was taken to my private office, and, dropping on his knees, he confessed, and said he would get out of the country if I would spare him. I told him he had caused me too much trouble, and the law would have to take its course. At this juncture Sanguinetti made a break for the door and ran across Sixth street into the alley back of Dr. George Horton's house, where he was captured by Watchman Lamoreux. Then he was jailed. I then sent to his room, and in his clothes found twenty or twenty-five pawn tickets. All of those, the time of which had not expired, called for articles of jewelry that had been stolen from the house. Among the goods recovered were gold spoons and diamond studs owned by Mrs. Mitchell, a diamond scarf pin owned by John Craig, a diamond sleeve button owned by J. M. Wilmot, a crescent brooch made of diamonds and rubies, valued at $500, and owned by Mrs. Ashton, of Dresden. All these and other valuables were recovered and returned, so it will be seen that Sanguinetti was not much of a petty larcenist. Notwithstanding this I had no desire to send him to the penitentiary for a long term, so he was prosecuted only for stealing $12 from the room in which he was captured. I gave these facts to the governor today as here related.'
“So it will be seen that Sanguinetti was not much of a petty larcenist.”
A worker taken on out of pity, given a cot in the back of the house, becomes the thief the whole building fears: the story of economic precarity and trust betrayed is entirely recognizable. The manager's account — restitution to guests, a private watchman, an off-the-books mercy plea to the governor — shows how much hotel justice once happened outside the courts.
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