Fish Cannery Owner Vanished in 1928 — Found 95 Years Later in an Abandoned Storage Room in Oregon

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There were no windows.

The ceiling was low, just 7 ft high, with exposed wooden beams.

The room was filled with wooden shelving units along two walls, and those shelves were stacked with rusted tin cans.

Old salmon cans from the canery’s operating days, their labels long since rotted away or faded to illeibility.

And in the center of the room, sitting in a wooden chair facing away from the door, was a human skeleton.

The skeleton was complete and fully articulated, sitting upright in the chair with the spine curved forward slightly.

The skull tilted downward as if the person had been looking at something in their lap when they died.

The skeletal hands rested in the lap, finger bones loosely intertwined.

The skeleton wore clothing, deteriorated fabric that hung loosely on the bones, but was recognizable as a suit.

A vest was visible beneath what had been a jacket.

Trousers covered the leg bones.

On the skeletal feet were the deteriorated remains of leather shoes.

On the floor near the chair’s legs lay a wooden clipboard with yellowed papers attached.

Next to the clipboard was what appeared to be a fountain pen, the type used in the early 20th century.

The papers on the clipboard showed typed and handwritten text that was partially visible despite the age and deterioration.

Steven immediately backed out of the room and called the Atoria Police Department.

By 400 pm, police officers and detectives were on site.

By 5:00 pm, the county medical examiner and forensic specialists had arrived.

By the following morning, the discovery had made regional news.

Human remains found in a sealed room in an abandoned canery building that had sat vacant for over 50 years.

The forensic examination would take weeks, but preliminary observations told a disturbing story.

The skeleton showed signs of trauma, a depression in the posterior portion of the skull consistent with blunt force impact.

The room had been sealed from the outside, not the inside.

The nails and chain were on the corridor side of the door, and the papers on the clipboard appeared to be an inventory list dated November 1928.

Further, investigation would reveal the identity of the skeleton and unravel a mystery that had remained hidden for 95 years behind a false wall in an abandoned canery on the Oregon coast.

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What happened in November 1928 involves a successful businessman.

labor tensions in the Pacific Northwest fishing industry and a disappearance that was never solved.

By the end, you’ll understand how a canery owner vanished and why it took 95 years to find him.

The questions investigators faced were both fascinating and grim.

How did someone end up dead and sealed in a storage room? Who had the access and motive to commit such a crime? And could a 95year-old murder case possibly be solved when everyone involved was long dead? Matthew James Smith was 52 years old in November 1928.

a self-made businessman who’d built one of the most successful salmon caneries on the Oregon coast through decades of hard work and shrewd business management.

He stood 5′ 10 in tall with a solid stocky build developed from years of physical labor before he became an owner and manager.

His hair had turned from brown to gray in his 40s and was graying to white by his 50s.

He wore a distinctive handlebar mustache, carefully groomed that was a source of personal pride.

His hands showed the calluses and scars of someone who’d worked with fish and machinery for most of his life.

Matthew had been born in 1876 in a small fishing village on the coast of Scotland.

The son of a fisherman, he’d grown up on boats, learning the fishing trade from his father and older brothers.

The Scottish fishing industry in the late 1800s was harsh and provided meager income for most families.

Matthew, ambitious and restless, decided in his early 20s that he wanted more than what Scotland could offer.

In 1898, at age 22, Matthew immigrated to the United States.

He’d heard about the booming salmon fishing industry in the Pacific Northwest, where rivers ran thick with fish during spawning season, and where caneries were being built to process and ship salmon to markets across America and around the world.

Matthew arrived in Atoria, Oregon with minimal money, but considerable knowledge of fishing and fish processing.

Matthew’s first years in America were difficult.

He worked as a laborer in several different caneries, processing fish for long hours in cold, wet conditions for low wages.

The work was hard and dangerous.

Machinery could catch and mangle hands and arms.

The floors were slippery with fish guts and blood.

The smell was overwhelming.

But Matthew learned every aspect of the business.

fish processing, canning techniques, equipment maintenance, inventory management, labor management, and sales.

By 1905, Matthew had saved enough money to become a partial owner in a small canery operation.

By 1912, he’d bought out his partners and become sole owner of what he renamed Smith Salmon Canery.

Under his management, the canery grew steadily.

Matthew invested in better equipment, developed relationships with fishing boat captains who supplied him with quality fish, and built a reputation for producing highquality canned salmon that commanded premium prices.

In 1902, Matthew married Ellen O’Brien, the daughter of an Irish immigrant family that ran a boarding house in Atoria.

Their marriage was strong and produced three children.

James born in 1903, Robert born in 1906 and Margaret born in 1909.

By 1928, all three children were adults.

James worked at the Canery as Matthew’s assistant and eventual successor.

Robert had moved to Portland to work in banking, and Margaret had married and lived in Seattle.

By the 1920s, Smith Salmon Canery was one of the larger operations in Atoria, employing approximately 200 workers during peak season.

The canery occupied a substantial building on pilings over the Colombia River with processing facilities, storage areas, offices, and docking space for fishing boats to deliver their catches.

During salmon season, roughly May through October, the canery operated around the clock, processing thousands of pounds of fish daily and producing tens of thousands of cans that were shipped by rail to markets across the country.

Matthew was known as a fair but firm employer.

He paid reasonable wages for the era and maintained relatively safe working conditions compared to some competitors.

But he also expected hard work and discipline.

He didn’t tolerate slacking, theft, or insubordination.

Workers who performed well were rewarded with steady employment and opportunities for advancement.

Workers who caused problems were fired.

Those who knew Matthew described him as serious, focused, and driven.

He was at the canery most days from dawn until evening, supervising operations, reviewing accounts, negotiating with suppliers and buyers.

He lived modestly despite his success.

His family’s home was comfortable but not ostentatious.

He reinvested profits into the canery rather than spending lavishly.

He attended church regularly with Ellen, supported local charities, and was respected in Atoria’s business community.

But 1928 was a challenging year for Matthew and for the Pacific Northwest fishing industry generally.

Several factors created tension and difficulty.

Fish populations were showing signs of decline after decades of intensive harvesting.

Competition among caneries was fierce, driving down prices, and most significantly, labor unrest was increasing throughout the industry.

Workers in caneries and on fishing boats were beginning to organize and demand better wages and working conditions.

Labor unions were growing stronger.

Strikes and work stoppages were becoming more common.

In several instances, labor disputes had turned violent with confrontations between workers and company security personnel or local police.

In June 1928, workers at Smith Salmon Canary voted to join a regional canary workers union and presented Matthew with demands for higher wages and shorter working hours.

Matthew refused most of the demands, arguing that the margins in the business didn’t support the increased costs.

Tensions escalated through the summer.

In August, approximately 60 workers staged a brief strike, walking off the job for 3 days before Matthew agreed to minor wage increases.

The strike left hard feelings on both sides.

Matthew felt betrayed by workers he’d employed for years.

Some workers felt Matthew was being unreasonable and greedy, refusing to share the canery’s success with the people who did the actual labor.

Trust between management and workers deteriorated.

Several of the Eidi strike organizers were fired in the weeks following the settlement, which further angered remaining workers.

By November 1928, the salmon season had ended, and most of the canery’s seasonal workers had been laid off until the following spring, as was standard practice.

Only a skeleton crew of about 20 permanent workers remained, handling maintenance, inventory, and preparation for the next season.

The Canaryy building was mostly quiet, a sharp contrast to the frenetic activity of the summer months.

Matthew spent the first few days of November conducting yearend inventory, reviewing the season’s financial results and planning for 1929.

The season had been moderately successful financially despite the labor difficulties.

The canery had processed and sold enough salmon to show a profit, though not as large as in previous years.

Matthew was cautiously optimistic about the coming year.

On Friday, November 3rd, 1928, Matthew told Ellen at dinner that he needed to go to the canery that evening to complete some inventory work in the storage areas.

This wasn’t unusual.

Matthew often worked evenings, especially during inventory periods.

He changed from casual clothes into a suit.

Matthew always dressed formally, even for inventory work, maintaining the dignity he felt was appropriate for an owner and manager.

He left home around 700 pm telling Ellen he would return by 1000 pm That was the last time Ellen Smith saw her.

Husband alive.

That was the last time anyone would admit to seeing Matthew Smith.

By the next morning, the canary owner who’d built a successful business over 30 years had vanished without explanation.

November 3rd, 1928.

A Friday evening in Atoria, Oregon.

The weather that day had been typical for early November on the Oregon coast.

Cool, overcast with intermittent rain.

Temperature had reached a high of 52° F during the afternoon, dropping to the IB mid40s by evening.

Light rain fell throughout the day, the kind of persistent drizzle common to the Pacific Northwest in autumn and winter.

Fog was beginning to form over the Columbia River as night approached, reducing visibility to a few hundred yards.

Matthew Smith spent most of Friday at the canery as he had done most days that week.

With the salmon season ended and most workers laid off, the building was quiet.

The permanent crew was working on maintenance projects, cleaning, and repairing equipment in preparation for storage over the winter months.

Matthew spent the day in his office reviewing financial records and inventory reports.

Ellen Smith later recalled that Matthew had seemed normal but preoccupied during dinner that Friday evening.

He’d mentioned that he needed to complete inventory verification in some of the storage areas.

The canery had multiple storage rooms containing canned salmon awaiting shipment, raw materials, and equipment.

Accurate inventory was crucial for financial accounting and for planning the next season’s operations.

Around 6:45 pm, Matthew changed from the casual clothes he’d worn home into a suit.

He put on a vest, jacket, and tie, formal business attire that he wore even when doing tasks like inventory that didn’t require such formality.

He wore his gold pocket watch on a chain attached to his vest, as he did every day.

He wore his wedding ring.

He put his wallet in his inside jacket pocket and his keys in his eye trousers pocket.

Matthew told Ellen he was going to the canery to finish checking inventory in one of the basement storage rooms.

He said he’d be back by 1000 pm perhaps earlier.

He kissed her goodbye and left the house on foot.

The canery was only about 10 blocks from the Smith family home, an easy walk that Matthew made frequently.

The walk from the Smith home to the canary would have taken Matthew approximately 15 to 20 minutes.

The route was familiar along streets he’d walked for years.

The light rain continued, and Matthew likely wore a coat over his suit, though Ellen later couldn’t recall specifically whether he’d taken a coat that evening.

The canary had a night watchman, Thomas O’Sullivan, who was on duty every night to prevent theft and vandalism.

Thomas later told police that he’d arrived for his shift at 8:00 pm as scheduled.

He’d walked through the building, checking that everything was secure, as was his routine.

He’d seen no indication that anyone was in the building.

All the doors were locked, as they should have been.

There were no lights on in areas where there shouldn’t be lights.

Thomas settled into the watchman’s office near the main entrance to spend the night, as he did every night.

Thomas specifically stated that he had not seen Matthew arrived that evening.

Matthew would have arrived sometime between 7 and 7:30 pm based on when he left home.

If he’d arrived before Thomas began his shift at 8:00 pm, there would have been about 30 to 60 minutes when Matthew was in the building before the watchmen arrived.

If Matthew arrived after 8:00 pm, Thomas should have seen or heard him, but Thomas insisted he’d seen no one.

Ellen Smith expected Matthew home by 1000 pm When he hadn’t returned by 10:30 pm, she became mildly concerned, but not yet alarmed.

Matthew sometimes got absorbed in work and stayed later than planned.

By 11 pm, she was more worried.

By midnight, when Matthew still hadn’t returned and hadn’t sent word, Ellen was seriously concerned.

In 1928, most homes didn’t have telephones.

The Smith family had a telephone because Matthew needed it for business, but many people didn’t.

This made it difficult to check on someone’s whereabouts quickly.

Ellen couldn’t simply call the canary to see if Matthew was there.

The canary had a telephone in the office, but the night watchman wouldn’t necessarily hear it ringing from elsewhere in the building.

Around 12:30 am on Saturday, November 4th, Ellen sent her oldest son, James, to the canery to check on his father.

James, 25 years old and familiar with the canery where he worked, walked the 10 blocks through the foggy, rainy night to the waterfront.

James arrived at the canery around 12:45 am and knocked on the door.

Thomas O’Sullivan, the watchman, answered.

James explained he was looking for his father, who’d come to the canery around 700 pm to do inventory work.

Thomas said he’d seen no one all evening, that the building had been empty as far as he knew when he’d arrived for his shift at 8:00 pm James and Thomas searched the canery together.

They checked Matthew’s office, empty, dark, no sign anyone had been there that evening.

They checked the processing areas, the docking area, the equipment rooms, all empty.

They even checked the storage areas, though only superficially.

The canery had numerous storage rooms containing canned goods and materials, and checking them all thoroughly would have taken hours.

They found no sign of Matthew.

They found no sign that anyone had been in the building that evening before Thomas arrived for his shift.

All the doors were locked from the inside as they should have been.

Nothing appeared disturbed or out of place.

James returned home around 1:30 am and reported to his mother that Matthew wasn’t at the canery and didn’t appear to have been there that evening.

Ellen and James spent the rest of the night worried and confused.

Where was Matthew? If he’d gone to the canery, as he’d said, where had he gone? Had something happened to him on the way? Saturday morning, November 4th, dawned gray and foggy.

Matthew had not returned home.

Ellen and James went to the Atoria Police Department to report him missing.

The responding officer took the report, but suggested that Matthew might have gone somewhere unexpected without telling his family.

Perhaps he’d traveled to Portland on business.

Perhaps he’d gone to check on one of his fishing boat suppliers.

He was an adult who could come and go as he pleased, but Ellen insisted this was completely out of character.

Matthew never stayed out all night without notification.

He never failed to return home when he said he would.

Something was wrong.

By Sunday, November 5th, with Matthew still missing, the police investigation began in earnest.

and it would uncover nothing but questions and mysteries.

The investigation into Matthew Smith’s disappearance was led by Detective William Harrison of the Atoria Police Department.

Harrison was an experienced investigator who’d spent 15 years with the department and had investigated numerous cases involving the waterfront, the fishing industry, and the rough characters who populated that world.

Harrison’s initial theory was straightforward.

Either Matthew had met with an accident, perhaps falling into the river on his way to or from the canery, or he’d been the victim of foul play, possibly related to the labor tensions at his canery.

The detective began by thoroughly investigating both possibilities.

The search for Matthew started with the route between his home and the canary.

Police officers walked the streets.

Matthew would have taken looking for any sign of a struggle, any indication of an accident, anything that might explain his disappearance.

They found nothing.

The light rain Friday night would have washed away tracks or evidence, but there should have been something if violence had occurred on the street.

There was nothing.

The Colombia River waterfront was searched carefully.

If Matthew had fallen into the river, his body should have washed up somewhere along the shore or been caught on pilings or debris.

The river was dredged in the areas near the canery.

Nothing was found.

Bodies that went into the Colombia typically surfaced within a few days or were caught in areas where debris accumulated, but no body appeared.

The Canary building itself was searched extensively.

Police accompanied by James Smith, who knew the building well, checked every room, every storage area, every corner of the facility.

They looked for signs of violence, for hidden bodies, for any indication of what might have happened.

They found nothing out of place.

The canery was clean and orderly, exactly as it should have been at the end of the season, with most workers gone.

Detective Harrison interviewed everyone connected to Matthew’s business and personal life.

Ellen Smith provided details about Matthew’s routine, his habits, his state of mind in recent days.

She insisted Matthew had seemed normal, perhaps slightly stressed about business matters, but not unusually so.

He’d given no indication he was planning to leave, or that he was afraid of anything specific.

James Smith, who worked closely with his father at the canery, confirmed that business was reasonably good despite the summer’s labor troubles.

The financial books showed the canary was profitable.

There was no indication of hidden debts or financial problems that might have motivated Matthew to disappear voluntarily.

Thomas O’Sullivan, the night watchman, was interviewed extensively.

His story remained consistent.

He’d arrived for his shift at 8:00 pm Friday night, had checked the building, and found it empty and secure, had seen no one all evening until James Smith arrived after midnight looking for his father.

Thomas had no explanation for how Matthew could have entered the building, done inventory work, and left without being seen.

Unless Matthew had arrived before 8:00 pm, finished his work quickly, and left before Thomas arrived.

But that contradicted Matthew’s statement to Ellen that he’d be there until about 10 pm The approximately 20 permanent workers still employed at the canery were all interviewed.

Most had been off duty Friday evening.

Those few who had been working earlier in the day had left by 6:00 pm No one reported seeing Matthew at the canery Friday evening.

No one reported anything unusual.

Detective Harrison investigated the labor tensions at the canery.

The workers who’d been fired after the August strike were tracked down and interviewed.

Several had clear alibis for Friday evening.

Those who didn’t have solid alibis were investigated more thoroughly.

No evidence connected any of them to Matthew’s disappearance.

Union organizers who’d been involved in the summer strike were interviewed.

Some had continuing animosity toward Matthew, viewing him as an oppressive employer who’d crushed their organizing effort, but animosity wasn’t evidence of murder.

And again, no one had solid information about Matthews whereabouts Friday evening.

Rival canery owners were also investigated.

The salmon canning business was intensely competitive.

Caneries competed for fish supplies, for customers, for workers.

There were business rivalries and personal animosities.

But eliminating a competitor through murder seemed extreme even in that rough business environment.

No evidence emerged connecting any competitor to Matthew’s disappearance.

Detective Harrison explored the possibility that Matthew had staged his own disappearance.

Perhaps he had debts or problems unknown to his family.

Perhaps he had a mistress and had run away with her.

Perhaps he wanted to start a new life elsewhere.

But investigation of Matthew’s finances showed no hidden debts or unusual transactions.

There was no evidence of any romantic entanglement.

Matthew’s bank accounts remained untouched.

The theory didn’t hold up.

As weeks passed, with no progress, the investigation stalled.

There were no witnesses.

There was no body.

There was no physical evidence.

There was no clear motive that pointed to a specific suspect.

Matthew Smith had simply vanished, leaving behind a confused family, an unexplained absence, and questions no one could answer.

By early December 1928, one month after the disappearance, Detective Harrison had to admit the case was unsolved and unlikely to be solved without new information.

The investigation remained officially open but inactive.

The police file on Matthew Smith was stored in the department’s archives.

One of many unsolved cases that haunted investigators who couldn’t find answers.

Ellen Smith and her children lived with painful uncertainty.

Was Matthew dead? Was he alive somewhere? Unable to return or unwilling to return? Not knowing was in many ways worse than knowing the worst.

Ellen couldn’t remarry because she was still legally married.

She couldn’t fully grieve because she had no confirmation of death.

She existed in limbo.

In 1932, 4 years after Matthew’s disappearance, Ellen petitioned the court to have her husband declared legally dead.

The court granted the petition based on the length of time he’d been missing and the presumption that he would have contacted his family if he were alive.

Matthew James Smith was officially declared deceased as of November 3rd, 1928.

The declaration allowed Ellen and the family to move forward legally and financially, but it didn’t provide answers about what had actually happened.

Ellen Smith died in 1947 at age 71, 19 years after her husband’s disappearance without ever learning the truth.

She was buried in Atoria’s Ocean View Cemetery with space reserved next to her grave for Matthew, though that space remained empty.

James Smith took over operation of the canery, running it until the early 1950s when he sold it to a larger company.

The new owners operated it for another two decades before closing it permanently in the early 1970s when the Pacific Northwest salmon industry finally collapsed under environmental and economic pressures.

The building sat abandoned for 50 years.

Different people and companies owned it at various times, but no one invested in maintaining or redeveloping it.

It slowly deteriorated, becoming a waterfront, landmark of a bygone era, a reminder of when Atoria had been a major fishing and canning center.

And inside that building, in a storage room sealed behind a false wall, Matthew Smith sat in a wooden chair surrounded by rusted cans, waiting 95 years to be discovered.

The 95 years between Matthew Smith’s disappearance in November 1928 and the discovery of his remains in September 2023 saw Atoria and the Pacific Northwest fishing industry transform almost beyond recognition.

The booming salmon canning industry that had defined Atoria’s economy in the early 20th century gradually declined and eventually disappeared entirely.

The decline had multiple causes.

Over fishing throughout the early 1900s depleted salmon populations in Pacific Northwest rivers.

The construction of dams on the Colombia River and other waterways blocked salmon migration routes, preventing fish from reaching spawning grounds.

Pollution from industrial development degraded water quality.

Changing economics made the laborintensive canning process less profitable.

By the 1970s, most of the caneries that had once lined Atoria’s waterfront had closed permanently.

Smith Salmon Canery operated under various owners through the 1950s and60s before shutting down in the early 1970s.

After closure, the building sat vacant.

The property changed hands several times with various owners considering redevelopment but never following through.

The building slowly deteriorated from neglect, weather exposure, and occasional vandalism.

Ellen Smith, Matthews widow, never learned what happened to her husband.

She operated a small boarding house after Matthew’s disappearance, providing income for herself and helping to support her children through their early adult years.

She maintained her belief that Matthew had met with foul play rather than abandoning his family, but she had no proof and no answers.

When she died in 1947, the mystery died with her unresolved.

James Smith, who’d worked closely with his father and had searched for him the night of his disappearance, ran the canery successfully through the challenging post depression and World War II years.

But he never stopped wondering what had happened that November night in 1928.

Even into his old age in the 1970s and 80s, James would occasionally speculate with family members about his father’s fate.

Had he drowned, been murdered, run away? James died in 1988 at age 85, still without answers.

The Smith family dispersed across the United States over the decades.

Robert, Matthews second son, remained in Portland working in banking, raising a family, and eventually retiring there.

Margaret, Matthews daughter, lived in Seattle with her family.

Their children and grandchildren spread to various cities, living normal lives with only a distant connection to Atoria and the family’s canary history.

By the early 21st century, few people in Atoria remembered the disappearance of Matthew Smith in 1928.

It was ancient history overshadowed by all that had happened in the 90 plus years since.

The Great Depression, World War II, the transformation of the American economy, the rise and fall of industries, the old canary buildings that remained standing were historical curiosities, relics of an economic era that younger generations knew only from books and old photographs.

The Smith Salmon Canery building became a minor piece of Atoria’s historical landscape.

Occasional articles in local historical publications mentioned it as one of the last surviving canary structures from the city’s fishing industry heyday.

Proposals to demolish it and redevelop the waterfront property surfaced periodically, but never progressed far enough to result in action.

The building’s interior remained largely undisturbed through these decades.

Vandals occasionally broke in through windows or damaged doors, but the interior was mostly empty and offered little of value to steel.

The processing equipment had been removed decades earlier.

What remained were empty rooms, decaying wooden floors, brick walls slowly crumbling, and the smell of decades of mold, salt air, and neglect.

The basement level was particularly deteriorated, partially below the high water line of the Columbia River, it experienced periodic flooding during high tides and storm surges.

Water damage was extensive.

Wooden beams showed rot.

Brick walls were crumbling.

The floor was often wet or standing in puddles.

Most people who inspected the building over the years gave the basement only cursory examination.

It was clearly the most damaged section and appeared to offer no salvageable value.

In the corridor where Steven Clark would eventually discover the hidden room in 2023, the false wooden wall stood undisturbed for 9 and a half decades.

The wall had been constructed carefully enough that it appeared to be an original or at least long-standing part of the building’s structure.

Without detailed architectural plans for comparison, there was no obvious indication that it concealed anything.

It was just a wall in a basement corridor of an abandoned building that few people ever entered.

Behind that wall, in the sealed storage room, Matthew Smith’s remains sat undisturbed.

The room sealed from outside air and moisture created a relatively stable environment.

While not as preserving as complete ceiling would have been, the lack of air circulation and the dry conditions of the upper basement level protected the remains from the rapid decomposition that would have occurred in open air or wet conditions.

The room itself became a time capsule.

The canned salmon on the shelves gradually deteriorated, the tin cans rusting, the contents long since spoiled.

But the cans remained on the edte shelves where they’d been placed in the 1920s.

The clipboard with its inventory list remained on the floor where it had fallen or been dropped.

The fountain pen remained beside it, and in the wooden chair in the room’s center, Matthew Smith’s skeleton remained in the position it had assumed when he died, waiting for someone to open the sealed door and reveal the truth.

By 2023, Atoria’s economy had shifted from fishing and manufacturing to tourism, arts, and service industries.

The city’s historic waterfront, once lined with working caneries, and fish processing plants, was being redeveloped with restaurants, breweries, shops, and residential spaces.

Historic preservation was balanced with economic development as the city attempted to maintain its character while adapting to modern economic realities.

In July 2023, Pacific Coast Development LLC, a company specializing in historic building renovation and adaptive reuse, purchased the Old Smith Salmon Canery property for $1.

3 million.

The company’s plan was ambitious.

Convert the deteriorating industrial building into approximately 40 luxury waterfront condominiums while preserving the building’s historic exterior appearance and some interior features.

The project required extensive structural assessment before renovation could begin.

Pacific Coast Development hired Harrison Engineering, a Portland-based firm with experience in historic building restoration to conduct detailed structural analysis.

Steven Clark, a senior structural engineer with Harrison Engineering, was assigned to lead the assessment.

Steven began his inspection in August 2023, methodically working through each section of the building over several weeks.

The upper floors were in relatively good condition structurally, though they required extensive cosmetic renovation.

The main floor showed moderate deterioration, but was salvageable.

The basement level was the most problematic with extensive water damage, rot, and structural concerns that would require significant remedial work.

On September 17th, 2023, Steven was examining the basement level storage corridors.

These narrow passageways connected various storage rooms where canned goods and materials had been kept during the canery’s operating years.

Many of the rooms were empty now, their contents removed decades ago when the canary closed.

Steven was taking measurements and photographs, documenting the condition of walls, floors, and ceilings.

Around 2:30 pm, he was working in a corridor on the east side of the basement when he noticed the anomalous wall section described earlier.

After determining there was hidden space behind the wall and obtaining permission from his supervisor to investigate, Steven began carefully removing sections of the vertical wooden planking.

The wood was old, but not particularly rotted.

The basement’s upper level was above the flood zone and relatively dry.

Steven used a crowbar to pry the planks away from their supporting frame, working carefully to minimize damage.

As each plank came away, more of what lay behind became visible.

A door frame, a wooden door, heavy nails driven through both, and a rusted chain wrapped around the door handle.

Steven photographed everything extensively before proceeding.

The nails were old, their heads corroded, but still solid.

The chain was heavily rusted, but had been strong steel.

originally.

Both indicated the door had been sealed shut deliberately and had remained that way for many decades.

Steven removed the nails one by one using the claw end of his crowbar.

Each nail resisted, gripping the old wood tightly, but eventually yielded.

The chain was cut using bolt cutters.

Finally, with all the physical barriers removed, Steven grasped the door handle and pulled.

The door was swollen and stuck.

Steven pulled harder, bracing himself against the door frame with a cracking sound of wood separating from wood.

The door opened inward into darkness.

The smell that emerged was musty, stale, the odor of air that had been sealed away for decades.

Steven shined his flashlight into the room.

The beam illuminated a space approximately 10 ft wide and 12 ft deep.

Brick walls on three sides, wooden shelving units along two walls stacked with rusted tin cans.

And in the center of the room, approximately 6 ft from the door, a wooden chair with a human skeleton sitting in it.

The skeleton was complete and articulated, sitting upright in the chair with remarkable preservation.

The spine was curved forward slightly, giving the skeleton a hunched posture.

The skull was tilted downward as if looking at something in the lap.

The skeletal arms hung at the sides with the hands resting in the lap area, finger bones loosely positioned as if the hands had been clasped or folded when the person died.

The skeleton wore clothing, deteriorated fabric hung on the aid bones, a jacket, vest, shirt, trousers, all clearly visible despite their age and decay.

The fabric was darkened and fragile, but maintained enough structure to be identifiable.

On the feet were the remains of leather shoes.

The leather dried and cracked, but recognizable.

Around the skeleton’s neck hung appeared to be a chain or cord, likely for a pocket watch.

In the vest pocket area, the outline of a small object was visible, probably the watch itself, still in the pocket where it had been placed 95 years earlier.

On the left hand’s fourth finger, a ring was visible, a simple band, likely a wedding ring.

On the floor near the chair’s legs, as Steven moved his flashlight beam around the room, lay a wooden clipboard with what appeared to be papers attached.

Next to the clipboard was a fountain pen, the type with a gold nib that was common in the early 20th century.

The papers on the clipboard showed printed text and handwriting, though from the doorway Steven couldn’t read the details.

The wooden shelving units along two walls were stacked with tin cans.

The cans were heavily rusted, their labels mostly gone or degraded to illeibility, but the shape and size were consistent with salmon cans from the early 20th century.

The cans remained on the shelves in organized rows, suggesting they’d been placed there deliberately and had remained undisturbed since.

Steven immediately withdrew from the room and called 911.

He then called his supervisor at I Harrison Engineering to report the discovery.

By 300 pm Atoria Police Department officers were on site.

By 400 pm detectives and crime scene investigators had arrived.

By 5:00 pm the county medical examiner had been notified and was on route.

The scene was treated as a potential crime scene despite its age.

Before anyone entered the room beyond the doorway, extensive photography documented everything from every possible angle.

The door, the walls concealing it, the room’s interior, the skeleton’s position, the clipboard and pen, the shelving and cans, all were photographed thoroughly.

On September 18th, the following day, forensic specialists in protective equipment carefully entered the room to conduct detailed examination.

The skeleton was photographed from every angle with highresolution cameras.

Measurements were taken.

The position of every bone was documented before anything was moved.

The skeleton showed clear signs of trauma.

The posterior aspect of the skull adi back of the head showed a depressed fracture approximately 2 in in diameter.

The bone was pushed inward creating a concave depression with radiating fracture lines extending from the impact point.

This was consistent with blunt force trauma from a heavy object striking the back of the head.

The position of the trauma and the severity suggested a powerful blow that would have caused immediate unconsciousness or death.

The location back of the head indicated the victim had been struck from behind, likely without warning or opportunity to defend themselves.

The room itself told a story.

The door had been sealed from the outside.

The nails and chain were on the corridor side, not the room side.

This meant whoever sealed the room did so after the person was inside, either dead or dying.

The false wall constructed to hide the door had been built over the sealed door, adding an additional layer of concealment.

The clipboard and papers on the floor were carefully collected and examined.

The papers were an inventory sheet, preprinted forms with columns for item descriptions, quantities, and locations.

The forms were filled out in handwriting, fountain pen ink that had faded to brown, but was still legible in many places.

The inventory listed canned salmon by date and batch number, noting quantities and storage locations.

Most significantly, at the top of the inventory sheet was a date, November 3rd, 1928.

And at the bottom, partially visible, was a signature, what appeared to be M.

Smith.

In the skeleton’s vest pocket, investigators carefully extracted a gold pocket watch.

The watch had stopped, its mechanism corroded.

At 8:47, either AM or PM, impossible to determine.

The watch’s case was engraved on the back.

MJS 1910.

In the jacket’s inner pocket, investigators found a leather wallet, dried and brittle, but intact.

Inside the wallet were several items.

A driver’s license issued by the state of Oregon to Matthew James Smith with an Atoria address valid through December 1929.

Several business cards identifying MJ Smith, owner Smith Salmon Canary, Atoria, Oregon.

Approximately $40 in currency, bills that had darkened with age, but were still recognizable as genuine United States currency from the 1920s.

The wedding ring on the skeleton’s left hand was simple gold with an inscription on the interior that became visible after careful cleaning.

M and E 1902.

All of this evidence pointed to a single conclusion.

The skeleton was Matthew James Smith.

the Canary owner who disappeared on November 3rd, 1928, 95 years earlier.

And he’d been here the entire time, sealed in this storage room, just feet away from areas that had been searched by police in 1928 and by various people over the subsequent decades.

The discovery of Matthew Smith’s remains 95 years after his disappearance sparked immediate investigation by Atoria Police Department’s detectives, working with forensic specialists, historians, and descendants of the Smith family.

Understanding what had happened would require both forensic analysis and historical research.

The forensic examination of the skeletal remains provided clear evidence about how Matthew had died.

The depressed fracture on the posterior skull was consistent with a single powerful blow from a blunt object, possibly a wrench, a pipe, a heavy tool, or similar implement.

Adipu force required to create such a fracture would have been substantial, indicating the attacker was either very strong or had swung the weapon with considerable force.

The location of the injury, back of the head, indicated Matthew had been struck from behind.

He likely never saw his attacker or had any opportunity to defend himself.

The blow would have caused immediate loss of consciousness and likely death within minutes from traumatic brain injury, even if medical help had been available, which it wasn’t.

The position of the skeleton in the chair suggested Matthew had been sitting when struck or had been placed in the chair after being struck elsewhere in the room.

The clipboard on the floor and the inventory sheet dated November 3rd, 1928, suggested Matthew had been conducting inventory work when he was attacked.

Perhaps he’d been sitting in the chair writing on the clipboard, his back to the door, when someone entered the room, and struck him from behind.

Though Dean, forensic examination also confirmed cause of death as blunt force trauma to the head, even after 95 years.

The skeletal evidence was clear and unambiguous.

Matthew Smith had been murdered.

The room itself provided crucial evidence about the crime.

The door had been sealed from the outside with nails and chain.

The false wall had been constructed to hide the door completely.

both indicated premeditation and planning.

This wasn’t a spontaneous act followed by panicked concealment.

This was murder followed by calculated disposal of the body.

Historical research provided context about the false wall.

Building permits and construction records for the Smith Salmon Canery were archived at the Atoria Historical Society and the city’s building department.

research uncovered a permit issued in December 1928 for interior modifications and repairs at the canery.

The permit had been issued to James Smith, Matthew’s son, who’d taken over management of the canary after his father’s disappearance.

The permit didn’t specify exactly what modifications were being made.

It was a general permit for maintenance and repair work, but the timing was significant.

December 1928, just one month after Matthew’s disappearance.

This was when the false wall must have been constructed to permanently conceal the sealed storage room.

This raised a disturbing possibility.

Had James Smith known his father’s body was sealed in that room, had he been involved in the murder or the coverup, or had he been deceived by whoever actually committed the crime? Further investigation into James Smith’s history suggested he probably wasn’t directly involved in the murder itself.

James had been the person who searched for Matthew the night of his disappearance.

James had cooperated fully with police investigation.

James had run the canery for decades and never showed any indication of guilt or unusual behavior regarding his father’s disappearance.

But James might have been manipulated or pressured by the actual killer into constructing the false wall without understanding why.

The most plausible reconstruction of events based on available evidence and historical context was this.

On November 3rd, 1928, Matthew Smith went to the canery around 700 pm to conduct inventory work as he’d told his wife.

He went to the basement storage room to check canned goods inventory.

He sat in the wooden chair with his clipboard, writing down quantities and batch numbers.

Someone else was in the canery that evening, either someone who’d hidden there before Matthew arrived, or someone who entered after Matthew was inside.

This person waited for Matthew to be occupied with his inventory work, approached from behind, and struck him in the back of the head with a heavy object.

Matthew died quickly, probably within minutes.

The killer then faced the problem of disposing of the body.

Simply leaving it to be found would immediately trigger a murder investigation.

Hiding it elsewhere risked discovery.

The solution was to seal the storage room with the body inside, nail the door shut, and conceal the entire room behind a false wall that would make it appear to be just another section of corridor wall.

The killer likely returned in the following days or weeks to construct the false wall.

Or the killer convinced someone else, possibly James Smith, that the wall needed to be built for legitimate reasons, using them to unwittingly conceal the crime.

The construction was done skillfully enough that it wasn’t obvious to casual observation that the wall concealed anything.

Who killed Matthew Smith? After 95 years, with everyone involved long deceased, identification of the specific killer was impossible.

But several categories of suspects were plausible based on the historical context.

A disgruntled worker or former worker with a grievance against Matthew.

The labor troubles of 1928 had created genuine animosity.

Someone who’d been fired or felt mistreated might have sought revenge.

Such a person would have known the canary layout, known where Matthew would be likely to do inventory work, and had motive.

A rival canary owner or representative.

The salmon canning business was intensely competitive.

Eliminating a successful competitor would benefit rivals, but this seemed less likely.

Business rivals might sabotage equipment or spread rumors, but murder was extreme even in that rough industry.

A thief or burglar.

Perhaps someone broke into the canery that night intending to steal canned goods or equipment.

Matthew surprised them and they killed him to avoid identification.

But this didn’t explain the elaborate coverup that followed, which suggested planning rather than panic.

The most likely scenario was someone with a personal grudge, a fired worker, a union organizer who blamed Matthew for crushing the strike.

Someone who felt Matthew had wronged them.

This person knew the body.

Canery knew Matthew’s habits and planned the attack carefully.

After killing Matthew, they sealed the room and later constructed the false wall to ensure the crime would never be discovered.

For 95 years, the plan worked.

The room remained sealed and hidden.

Matthew’s disappearance remained an unsolved mystery.

The killer lived out their life without being caught, taking their secret to the grave decades ago.

The discovery in September 2023 finally provided answers for the Smith family descendants.

Genealogical research located Matthew’s great greatgrandson Thomas Harrison age 43 living in Seattle.

Thomas had known of his ancestor who’d mysteriously disappeared in 1928 but had no emotional connection to someone who died nearly a century before he was born.

DNA comparison between samples from Thomas and the skeletal remains confirmed familial relationship consistent with great great grandson to great greatgrandfather.

While DNA degradation over 95 years made absolute confirmation impossible.

The combination of DNA evidence, the identification documents found with the remains, and the historical context provided sufficient certainty that the skeleton was Matthew James Smith.

Matthew’s remains were released to the family in October 2023.

On October 28th, 95 years minus 6 days after his murder, Matthew James Smith was buried in Ocean View Cemetery in Atoria in the plot next to his wife, Ellen, where space had been reserved for him since her death in 1947.

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