Have you ever heard someone say a man “worked himself to death”? In the 19th and early 20th centuries, this was not an exaggeration. Many families remember coal miners, sawmill workers, and other laborers whose lives ended because their work consumed them entirely. Old books and records mention it too, painting a picture of lives defined by toil.
One story tells of an elderly farmer who spent long hours on his tractor well into his eighties. One evening, after a full day of work, he mentioned feeling unwell, and by the time anyone could get him to the hospital, he had passed away peacefully—still doing what he loved. It mirrors the scene in Anne of Green Gables where Matthew hopes to “drop in harness.”
Office workers experienced a different kind of strain. Some retired only to face sudden death after decades spent under harsh fluorescent lighting, showing how relentless work could affect health. On Wall Street, countless men pushed themselves past healthy limits, their lives measured in deadlines rather than hours of sunlight.
Another account tells of a street peddler in New York City in the late 19th century. Even when sick, he refused to stay home and ultimately collapsed beside his cart, ending a life defined by nonstop labor.
In more recent decades, a man who had worked multiple jobs to support his family finally retired. Soon after, he was diagnosed with lung cancer that had spread to his brain. His retirement years were spent battling illness—an unintended consequence of decades prioritizing labor over rest.
Looking back, those who “worked themselves to death” often had no plan to slow down. They stopped only when their bodies forced them to, or when death intervened. It’s a sobering reminder of a different era, where work and identity were inseparable, and rest was sometimes considered a luxury.