As one of Seattle’s most persistent photographers, George N. Moore built a 35-year career punctuated by two unexplained events. He arrived in Seattle from Massachusetts in late 1870 and ran a popular photography studio for five years. Then, without public explanation, he quickly sold his home, moved without his family to Oakland, California, and opened a new studio there. Less than a year later, Moore returned to Seattle and resumed his career with no account of why he suddenly departed and then returned. For the next 20 years, he owned and operated a thriving portrait business that attracted some of Seattle’s most influential citizens, including Thomas Prosch, co-founder of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, Father Francis X. Prefontaine, and Judge Thomas Burke. Moore’s career experienced a sudden downturn after the Panic of 1893 when a combination of poor investments and the loss of many regular clients led to a bleak situation. In late November 1897, he vanished one morning while going for a walk near his home. Friends assumed he committed suicide, but despite multiple searches, his body was never found. His disappearance remains a mystery to this day.
Son of Lowell
When George Nelson Moore was born in Lowell, Massachusetts, on November 21, 1847, that city was the largest industrial center in the United States. Textile mills lined the Merrimack River, taking advantage of Pawtucket Falls’ endless supply of waterpower to run their looms, spinning machines, and other equipment. Moore’s father, Horatio Nelson Moore, worked as an overseer at one of the mills. His mother, Jane Gooding Moore, cared for their family.
Because of the mills’ increasing need for workers, by 1860, Lowell was home to more than 38,000 people. Many of these were "mill girls," or young women who found plentiful but challenging jobs at the mills. Photographers also flocked to the city to take advantage of the many newcomers who wanted to send likenesses to the families and loved ones back home. In the 1860s, at least 44 different photographers worked in Lowell, although most lasted only a few years. During this same period, three separate events overlapped to set a course of events that would alter George Moore’s life forever.
First, in 1864, a bold young man named Asa Mercer came from Seattle to give an impassioned speech in Lowell. He talked about the beauty of his city and especially about the abundance of jobs and men in the Northwest. By that time, the Civil War had taken many men from Lowell’s textile mills, and marriage or career prospects for young women in that city had quickly declined. A small but intrepid band of women accepted the speaker’s offer and began the two-month journey by sailing ship to Seattle. They became known as the Mercer Girls.
At about this same time, George Moore apprenticed at one of many photography studios then in Lowell and soon learned the trade that would become his lifelong career. He found that he enjoyed creating portraits of some of the city’s fashionable citizens, and, at least for a while, the work paid well. Fully employed and feeling confident about his future, in 1865, George married a young woman named Emeline Barr in his home city. Her father worked as a tailor, a profession in high demand in clothing-conscious Lowell. George and Emeline settled into a happy domestic life.
Seattle Beckons
The following year, Asa Mercer returned to see if he could entice more women to go with him to Seattle. This time, Emeline’s older sister, Mary Jane, volunteered for the journey. She had married local druggist Ebenezer Sumner Osborne in 1851, and in 1856 she gave birth to a son, Eben. Her husband died unexpectedly two years later, leaving her a widow with a young boy. She weighed her options for another marriage in Lowell against Mercer’s tales of the booming and predominantly male Puget Sound region, and she quickly decided that a westward venture was to her advantage. She chose wisely, for just eight months after arriving in Seattle, she married Henry Allen Atkins. He was a successful construction manager who co-owned one of the first steam-driven pile-driving machines in the Puget Sound region. His device was in constant demand as businesses expanded along various waterfronts where pile (post) driving was necessary to support new wharves and piers. Due in part to his many connections in the growing city, Atkins was elected as Seattle’s first mayor in 1870. He and his wife lived a very comfortable lifestyle for many years.
Back in Lowell, however, things took a different turn. Several cases of smallpox were reported in 1870. Perhaps in response to this threat or simply in search of business, George N. Moore was listed as a "photographist"
in the 1870 Boston City Directory. The exact dates of his time there are unknown, but throughout the year the outbreak of smallpox in Lowell continued to escalate. By early January 1871, a major smallpox epidemic was underway. Moore disappeared from public documents in Massachusetts during this period, and he and Emeline next appear in the 1871 Washington Territorial census (conducted in July) as living in Seattle. George listed his profession as a photographer in that document. Given the circumstances, it seems likely that Mary Jane Atkins enticed her sister and brother-in-law to leave Lowell while they were still healthy and join her in the opportunity-filled Pacific Northwest. This idea is supported by the fact that the rest of George’s family, including his parents, brother Charles, and sister Helen, also moved to Seattle soon after that.
For the next several years, Moore operated a busy portrait studio in downtown Seattle. He regularly advertised that he used the latest styles, and he ventured periodically outside the studio to capture scenes in and around Seattle. He was one of the first to adopt the new stereoscopic card views that became enormously popular in the 1870s and for many years afterward. These were horizontally long cards that held two views of the same scene, slightly off-center from each other. When seen through a hand-held device called a stereoscope, they presented a rudimentary 3-D appearance of the image on the card. Stereoviews (also called stereocards or stereographs) quickly became a worldwide phenomenon as people viewed images of far-off locations, historical events, and, of course, actors, actresses, and other celebrities. Moore took advantage of this format to slyly promote the work of his brother-in-law, Henry Atkins. A local newspaper reported that "Mr. Moore laid upon our table a beautiful stereoscopic view of the driving of the first pile on the Seattle and Walla Walla Railroad" ("Mr. Moore ..."). The latter was an ambitious but unsuccessful effort that never made it beyond the boundaries of King County.
By September 1873, Moore was in such demand that he published a newspaper notice saying: "Hereafter all persons who wish pictures of small children must make engagements in advance or I will not attend to them, for my time is too valuable" ("Notice ..."). A year later, his life got even busier after his wife gave birth to their only child, Gertrude.
There and Back
Moore’s photography business appeared to thrive until May 4, 1876, when this ad appeared in the Puget Sound Dispatch: "For Sale. Two fine lots with one and a half story House. Must be sold within days. Moore, Photographer, Seattle" ("For Sale"). No buyer emerged that week or any time soon afterward, and some variation of the same ad appeared once or twice a month until the late fall of the following year. In the meantime, Moore moved by himself to Oakland, California. From October through December 1876, he advertised his new photography gallery at 1161 Broadway, Oakland, in local newspapers. During this same period, ads appeared in Seattle papers from two photographers, R. H. Cardwell and, two months later, E. F. Dollarhide. Both operated from Moore’s old address, and each claimed to be a successor to George Moore. In November 1877, Moore’s Seattle house and lots were finally sold, but his wife and daughter remained in Seattle.
Whatever the cause of Moore’s quick departure to Oakland, it did not seem to raise any eyebrows in Seattle. Early in 1877, the Puget Sound Dispatch reported: "George Moore, the photographer, has a fine gallery in Oakland and is doing a good business" ("Seattleites Abroad"). The question of why he had to leave Seattle has never been answered, but regardless of his reasoning, Moore was not absent from the Northwest for very long. Less than a year after his departure, he came back to Seattle and repurchased his old studio. He advertised, "Moore, the photographer, has returned and will be happy to see his old patrons at the old place, corner of Commercial and Washington Streets" ("Moore, The Photographer ...").
By the summer of 1877, he acted as though he had never left by reassuring his clients that his skills had not diminished, He advertised that his gallery "has an artistically arranged collection of photographs, the faces being mostly those of well-known citizens" ("George Moore ..."). A month later, he won the prize for best photography at the 1877 King County Fair. When his business slowed a few years later, Moore resorted to some more innovative ways to find new clients. He even tried to lure people with advertisements featuring poems such as this one that is filled with pretentious language but ends on a somewhat desperate note:
Who leads in the art that creates
Lifelike pictures, small and great?
Who takes your face as true as fate?
Who keeps his word, is never late?
Who makes both tide and time to wait?
George Moore, the Artist.
Who studies hard to keep ahead,
Whether abroad or in his bed?
Who takes the portraits of living and dead?
Of grangers and traders, low and high-bred?
And the grandest pictures of those just wed?
George Moore, the Artist.
Who has rooms furnished in elegant style?
Who works with energy all the while?
Who labors with vigor the time to beguile,
While waiting on patrons with a genial smile?
George Moore, the Artist.
Who catches the smile on the infant face,
Before to sobs it has time to give place?
Who seats the babe with a matchless grace,
Then with lightning speed put form and face
In a mould which time will never erase?
George Moore, the Artist.
Who has rooms in Sullivan’s Block on Front Street?
Where patrons at all times he is happy to meet.
Whether the sky be clouded or bright and sunny,
So long for his work they can pay the money.
George Moore, the Artist. (“Moore, The Artist,” 1879)
There is no record of how people responded to Moore’s poetry or any of his more standard ads, but he seemed to regularly face financial challenges in running his studio. In 1880, the prominent national magazine Philadelphia Photographer asked its readers several questions about how their businesses were doing. Photographers from across the country responded, including Moore. He wrote, "Business is dead, and we expect no improvement for six months, as this is the rainy season. Eight months rain!" Asked if he had reduced prices in order to attract more customers, Moore said, "Reduced prices last July, hoping to improve business, but it did not" ("From George N. Moore ...").
As forlorn as that situation sounded, competition among photography studios worsened as the town continued to grow. In 1885, Seattle’s official population was recorded as 9,786, with Moore listed as one of just five photographers in the city directory. Ten years later, the city was home to an estimated 65,000 people, and it had at least 17 photography studios within the city limits. While Moore had a good reputation with some of the city’s older residents, it was a constant struggle to keep up with the latest technology and styles while trying to match the lower prices that some of the newer photographers were offering. Family losses also began to take a toll. Moore’s father died in 1884, followed by his mother in 1891. Five years later, his wife’s sister, former Mercer Girl Mary Jane Barr Atkins, died. All were living in Seattle, and the deaths must have added to things that weighed heavily on Moore’s spirits.
A Profound Mystery
Tuesday, November 30, 1897, dawned like many late autumn days in Seattle. It rained heavily the day before, but that morning it was simply overcast and chilly, with temperatures in the low 40s. Around 8:30 a.m., Moore left his residence in the Washington Park neighborhood of Seattle and started what appeared to be his usual walk to his downtown studio. However, when he reached East Madison Street, a streetcar driver who recognized him said Moore turned toward Lake Washington rather than downtown. After a few blocks, he left Madison and headed north on side streets.
His route took him near the home of William B. Goodrich at 39th Avenue E near E Blaine Street. Mrs. Goodrich was at home and recognized Moore passing by but did not speak with him. That was the last time any reliable witness saw him alive. This much was documented at the time, but from there, we are left to speculate about what happened next. Moore’s last known location was just a short distance away from the recently completed bicycle path that traversed from Lake Washington up to Capitol Hill. A far cry from today’s paved and well-marked paths, the 1897 path was a narrow and rough dirt road that, in more than a few places, wound its way through otherwise undeveloped lands and along steep embankments. Friends who investigated Moore’s disappearance found an unmailed letter at his home addressed to Herman Chapin, president of the Boston National Bank. Moore wrote that he was forced to close his studio because he could not pay his rent and that the bank had secured most of his property because of unpaid mortgages. He said he had pleaded with his other creditors for more time but was refused. The letter closed with Moore saying he could not bear to see his wife and daughter suffer, but he did not directly mention ending his life.
It is clear from his writing that Moore was emotionally distraught that morning, but we don’t know if he set out to end his life or was just hoping that a longer walk would help him feel better. If he did access the bike path, he had two ways to continue. Turning south would soon take him back to Madison Street, where it is likely he would have been seen again. Going north would lead him into wilder and more isolated areas. Another streetcar conductor on East Madison later reported that he heard a gunshot on the north side of the street at about the time Moore was walking, but he assumed it was a hunter looking for game in the woods.
The police, Moore’s friends, and volunteers repeatedly searched near the bicycle path where he was last seen. His family said he did not own a revolver, and it was assumed that he chose nearby Lake Washington for his demise. Friends walked the shoreline of the lake in both directions from his likely access points, but neither the land nor water searches turned up any signs of Moore’s body. Two people came forth saying they saw Moore after his disappearance. A Seattle man claimed he saw Moore downtown the day after he vanished, and Mrs. G. A. Miller, who said she knew Moore well and had recently moved to Spokane, swore that she saw him in that city two days after he went missing. Police and Moore’s friends did not take either story seriously, especially the one from Spokane, since it was well-known that he had no money to travel or pay any bills. The organized searches ended after two weeks without finding any sign of Moore, and no one ever heard from him again. He was 54 years old. Perhaps to avoid embarrassment to his family, no obituary was ever published. In the 1900 federal census, his wife listed herself as a widow.
Moore’s daughter, Gertrude, and her husband, J. W. Lothrop, briefly left Seattle for Los Angeles after her father’s death, but by 1910, they had returned and established their own photography studio. They continued working as photographers in Seattle until Gertrude died in 1938.
