From a letter dated November 26, 1905:
Steilacoom Anthropological Protection Society (SAPS)
Dr. Finnian Bartholomew III
Western State Hospital
How are you? I am well. How is Father? Is he still smoking? Studies show it can increase fertility 30 percent.
Sorry I haven't written in so long. I have been working on the most amazing scientific discovery here. Well let me start from the beginning. In the town I am working in, "Steilacoom" (pronounced still-a-kum) there was an ancient tribe that lived here centuries ago called the Steilacoomians. At one time they prospered over this entire area. Not much is known about them except they loved huckleberries and after the age of 30, everyone of the members of the tribe inexplicably became mad. They would walk around in circles, jump out of trees, and throw their young at bears. This probably explains their short lifespan and why they didn't flourish in this region for very long.
And this is where the story gets interesting. We believe we have actually found the last descendant of these fascinating people. They were thought to have died out years ago but there is a man staying here at the hospital that believes to be related to them. Of course, he also thinks he is a grilled cheese sandwich sometimes but that's not the point. Well after pointing my finger and laughing at him for quite some time, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and give him electroshock therapy. Two things were accomplished by this. First, we have conclusively decided that he is not a grilled cheese sandwich, and second, that he truly may be a Steilacoomian relative. The man's name is Matthew Garrison but everyone calls him Mad Matt. We're just mean that way. He loves to scream at night "I'm not Mad! I'm not Mad!" It's really entertaining.
Anyway, the other night he asked for some buckskin to draw on. We obliged and instantly he closed his eyes and scribbled this odd drawing. I've attached a copy for your entertainment so your pinochle friends can make fun of him too.
Above I have written some coordinates in case you're ever in town. Don't bother following them because they're written in GPS language that won't make sense for about a hundred years. And they go to my friend Pedro's house.
Well, give my love to Kiki the poodle, unless she's dead.
Your loving son,