Tragedy at the Atlantic Hotel
William Shea, a 27-year-old porter at the Atlantic Hotel in St. John’s, was the ideal employee: hardworking, cheerful, and reliable. He had a young wife, two children, and a future full of promise. But in the early hours of Sunday, November 27, 1887, his life was tragically cut short in a devastating accident.
The evening began like any other. Around midnight, the hotel manager, Mr. Foran, made his rounds to ensure all was in order. Guests were retiring, gaslights were dimmed, and William was wrapping up his duties. Foran encouraged him to finish up and retire for the night before heading to his quarters on the third floor. By 3:10 a.m., however, the silence of the night was broken.
Mrs. Foran was the first to notice—footsteps below their rooms, followed by the faint hum of the elevator moving. Moments later, Mr. Foran heard a chilling cry of terror: “Oh!” Then came a sickening crash.
Springing from bed, Foran rushed downstairs in his nightclothes, with Mrs. Foran close behind, carrying a light. On the office floor, they found William Shea lying crumpled at the bottom of the elevator shaft. His face was bloodied, his breathing laboured. The fall had been nearly 36 feet. Foran managed to pull him out of the shaft, while Mrs. Foran roused the other guests for help.
“Of the six porters I have had since the opening of the hotel, Shea was by far the best. He was good tempered and prompt, and was liked by all. I saw him at midnight, well and strong, and three and
a half hours later he was all but dead.””
A doctor and priest were summoned immediately. Dr. Harvey confirmed the worst: William’s injuries were fatal. Father Scott administered the last rites as the porter lay unconscious, his breathing shallow. His wife arrived shortly after and stayed by his side until, at 11:30 a.m., William quietly passed away.
The accident was a heartbreaking mistake. The staff pieced together what must have happened. Shea had taken the elevator upward, likely intending to clean the boots of two late-arriving guests—a task usually completed before midnight. In his exhaustion, he believed he had reached the fifth floor, where the elevator automatically stopped. In reality, he was on the fourth floor. When he stepped off the elevator, it continued upward.
Later, as he returned to the elevator to descend, Shea, unaware of his earlier misstep, assumed the car was waiting for him. In the darkness, he stepped into the open shaft and plummeted to the ground below. Whether he tried to grab the rope to save himself, no one could say.
The day at the Atlantic Hotel was somber. Guests and staff moved quietly, mourning the loss of a man who was admired by all. By 10 p.m., William’s body was placed in a coffin and taken to his home on Barnes Road, where his grieving family prepared for his burial.
Mr. Foran, who called Shea the best porter he’d ever employed, opened a collection for William’s widow and children. Generous donations poured in, a testament to how deeply William’s loss was felt.
The tragedy—a simple misstep in the quiet of the night—served as a stark reminder of how fragile life can be.
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Shocking Accident, Evening Telegram, November 28, 1887
Accident at the Atlantic Hotel, Daily Colonist, November 28, 1887
Fatal Accident at the Atlantic Hotel, Evening Mercury, November 28, 1887
