The Jailbird Who Refused to Leave
After serving sixty days for grand larceny, a Seattle man found freedom so underwhelming that he immediately tried to steal his way back into a cell.
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.
Last Wednesday, Sheriff Cochrane released a fellow from jail who had served out a sixty-day sentence for stealing a grindstone and an overcoat from a piledriver. No sooner had the jail door closed behind him than the fellow commenced looking for something to steal. He turned around several times and finally spied Sheriff Cochrane's horse and buggy standing under the shade of the courthouse. He advanced toward the rig, evidently intending to steal the whole business; but he compromised with his conscience and carried off the valuable buggy robe. On the way downtown, he was arrested by a policeman and locked up for theft. He denied stealing the robes, although the sheriff identified it as his and several witnesses saw him carry it off. He was given twenty-four hours in which to leave town. This displeased him very much, and he insisted that the guilty should be punished according to law. He wanted to go to jail so bad that the justice concluded it would be the severest punishment to turn him loose.
“He wanted to go to jail so bad that the justice concluded it would be the severest punishment to turn him loose.”
While contemporary Seattle faces debates over the revolving door of justice and the conditions of local detention, this 1888 anecdote captures a classic 'crimes of poverty' narrative, where the lack of social safety nets made incarceration seem like a viable alternative to homelessness.
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