The Judgment Day Landlord
A Seattle resident finds his patience tested when his neighbors' millennial religious fervor leads to the systematic expropriation of his household goods.
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.
Mr. Cobleigh moved on the 1st of May. We were going through North Street when we caught him with the signs of the action on him—namely, a looking glass, clock, and lamp. He had lived in the house from whence he was moving for at least eight years. He set the lamp on the fence and propped the clock and looking glass against the fence. 'You are surprised to see me at this,' he said with an amused look. We admitted as much. 'I little expected it at one time myself,' and he sighed drearily. 'And trouble with the landlord?' 'No, sir. With the house, then?' 'Oh, no; good landlord, and good house. I don’t know if I’ll ever again find as good. I’ve lived there eight years last fall, and I might have lived there all my life if it wasn’t for the dangdest fools in the world.' He explained that a neighbor, a fervent 'Second Advent' believer, had moved in next door. 'They said the world was all going to be burned up in two weeks, and they didn’t feel like going to the expense of getting a barrel of sugar when eternity was so close.' This logic led to the constant borrowing of tea, sugar, and saleratus. When the predicted judgment day passed, the neighbors simply claimed a 'postscript' with new details, continuing to drain his pantry. The situation reached a breaking point when the neighbor borrowed his shaving brush and then his axe, claiming that since the resurrection was imminent, there was no need for the neighbor to purchase his own tools. 'He said there was no use of my buying a new axe with the crack of doom facing us... there’d be no use of a new axe in heaven, for there is no pain there, no crying.' The neighbor suggested Cobleigh should just pray for his lost items, a suggestion that drove Cobleigh to move to the other end of town to escape the constant encroachment on his groceries.
“That chap would come on the greatest errands you could think of. He came in one day to get my shaving brush. He said he didn’t feel justified in buying a new brush right on the eve of a general resurrection, but he would use mine.”
While religious millennialism looks different today, the clash between neighbors over household resources and the desperate search for stable, quiet housing in a rapidly shifting city remains a core Seattle experience. The frustration of being unable to reason with neighbors who operate on a different reality is a timeless urban grievance.
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