Prohibition in Alabama

Living in Alabama – Prohibition
by Tommy Smedley – October 24, 2007

My mother often talks about growing up during the thirties and forties. Her stories tell of dance halls, bootleggers, rationing and folks caught between the depression and a world war searching for the most that life could offer. Much adventure revolved around the acquisition of spirits. Not the ghostly or religious variety but rather the drinking kind.

The Eighteenth Amendment went into effect on January 19, 1920. Along with it the Volstead Act enabled federal authorities to enforce prohibition and throughout the roaring twenties federal agents, known as G-men, T-Men, and Revenuers fought a losing battle.

The outlawing of alcohol paved the way for moonshiners, crooked politicians and organized crime. Bootleggers transported and sold liquor over land and rum-runners on the water. Thomas McCoy, the most famous rum-runner, refused to water down his product and probably coined the term “The Real McCoy.”

Much to the chagrin of the Temperance Union, prohibition didn’t work. The Eighteenth is the only amendment ever to be repealed in its entirety. Ironically enough, it is the only amendment ever to take away rather than ensure freedom and, during a short life, it caused considerable growth in organized crime. The Twenty-First Amendment took effect December 5, 1933 and gave control of alcohol back to the individual states.

Almost seventy-five years later there are still twenty-six dry counties in Alabama. Tallapoosa and Coosa Counties didn’t go wet until the mid seventies. I remember that at sixteen I could ride my bicycle to the bootlegger’s house and buy a pint of Red Dagger wine for five dollars. Speedy Harris, Alex Billingsley, Curt Pettis, Hood Logan, and Reuben Jackson notoriously sold liquor and the law never seemed to notice. Their families blended into the community and Reuben’s wife Hattie and Mama were best friends. When the wet/dry referendum came up for vote the only opponents turned out to be preachers, bootleggers, and the sheriff.

Our introduction came when Grandpa would give us a tablespoon of whiskey and sugar for coughs. It had an absolutely horrible taste so we squirmed and wiggled and the remedy probably worked because we were afraid to cough again. If I could give him some advice today I would suggest that he may have gotten better results with some smooth rum instead of cheap bourbon.

The county finally voted wet and when the first “State Store” opened in Rockford, Harold Turner landed a job as manager. As its first order of business, the congregation immediately excommunicated him from the First Methodist Church and created quite a mess for themselves. With Harold behind the register good Christians couldn’t buy their own medicinal gin and were left to hire someone to do their shopping. Interestingly enough, after prohibition ended bootleggers went out of business and, with liquor legal, we minors lost ready access to it.

Over the years, prohibition and the quest to get around it gave rise to interesting places like the Dixie Hotel. By 1862 the Savannah and Memphis Railroad extended from Opelika to Sturtevant on the eastern bank of the Tallapoosa River. The War Between the States delayed construction and on June 29, 1874 the first train arrived in Alexander City, formerly Youngstown. Once the bustling community at the end of the line, Sturtevant lost importance until 1923 when work started on Martin Dam and the river crossing had to be rerouted. A short distance east of the river they built a hotel, possibly to house and feed workers constructing the new bridge. Trains stopped regularly and whether it was food, gambling, booze, sex, or just a place to sleep you could find it at Hotel Dixie.

Interesting places give rise to interesting stories. J.R. Black lived in the house now occupied by Bishop Floral. He built most of the shotgun houses along the eastern half of Willow Street. His son Marcus spent the night with Edith Harris at the Dixie Hotel and her father found them out. Although the girl wasn’t pregnant he made them get married immediately and after a shotgun wedding the couple spent their days in a shotgun house on Willow Street.

The legacy lasted until Christmas Eve 1960 when five teenagers walked across the trestle to visit the hotel ruins. Halfway across a train came and the kids panicked. Some jumped to their death and the others perished when the train hit them. Gary Hodge, Marie Huggins, a boy named Grant and two others lost their lives that crisp winter day.

The Coosa County sheriff must have been more receptive to turning his head because illicit liquor sales centered just over the county line on the Goodwater Highway. Up until the fifties, the paved highway ended where David Mosley’s gas station is now. The Blueberry Hill dance hall sat on the south side of the area that folks just called “End of the Pavement,” a rough place with tales of fights and lots of drinking. My Uncle Robert got in a fight one night so severe that Papa Graves had to intervene with the sheriff to get him out of trouble. Just a little further up on the right sat the Pines Motel where Mr. J.O. Gunn rented rooms by the hour. Rather than just one place, the End of the Pavement included the dance hall, motel, bootleggers, and shot houses.

The Tallapoosa River Bridge between Alexander City and Jackson’s Gap sits in the middle of no man’s land as far as law enforcement is concerned. Outside of any city limits, the county sheriff was the only authority. The area, called “The River” was home to a popular dance pavilion on the western side. The structure had open windows all the way around and a juke box. A restaurant sold only soft drinks, sandwiches and snacks but that didn’t stop many an enterprising young man from bringing some hooch from End of the Pavement and the party never stopped. Cars lined the road for miles and the sounds of Dorsey, Ellington, and Goodman echoed across the backwaters of Lake Martin. Mama and her sister Lessie Lee liked to dance and regularly hung out. They watched the door and if Uncle Robert came in they would jump out of a window so he wouldn’t see them and tell Papa Graves. Lake Hill Restaurant sat on the site of the pavilion for many years. When the state widened the highway the restaurant moved across the road to its present location.

Just across the river, and deeper into the middle ground, the “Rock House” offered more than just liquor. Ladies of all shapes and sizes practiced the world’s oldest profession. A nip and a poke here and there made for an enjoyable evening.

The trip from Alexander City to Birmingham used to take about forty-five minutes without rushing. At least four times a week the sounds of an ambulance going south brought smiles at Newberry’s service station. “There goes another load of whiskey.” The adults would say. Under the guise of an emergency they successfully passed-up lawmen in Harpersville, Childersburg, Sylacauga, and Goodwater. Along with their haul and numerous moonshine stills, bootleggers and shot houses stayed well supplied.

The more refined bootleggers had circle drives and a bell that alerted when a customer drove up. The transaction usually took place behind the house out of sight of the main road. For those customers who couldn’t afford a whole bottle, the shot-house sufficed. One would bring their cup and mixer to a window on the side of the house and receive a single shot of alcohol for a much smaller price. Usually a Coca-Cola machine in the middle of nowhere signaled the location of a nearby shot house. Those were the days when Coke cost a nickel and the shots anywhere from a quarter to a dollar according to what they were poured from.

With homemade whiskey in high demand, moonshine stills sprang up everywhere. One cheap way of making a still was using an old car radiator as a condenser and galvanized tubs to ferment the mash. Heavy metal poisoning became a real problem and, unless you were sure of the source, taking a drink gambled with your health. There were signs that read “Warning, poison moonshine liquor being found locally!” posted on trees and public buildings. We never really figured out if there was really tainted stuff or the government just tried to scare folks.

People adapt and survive and as generations pass their needs and desires move forward. The rum-runners and bootleggers of old changed places with drug-smugglers and pushers of today. Boomers and their offspring enjoy a life of prosperity that their parents never imagined and trips to the river gave way to the coast or the Caribbean. These days a good Cuban cigar is a far more intriguing score than a drink of white lightening. A good Cuban is most likely no better than a quality Dominican cigar but the simple fact that it is illegal and hard to get adds to the mystique.

As life goes on it remains constant that throughout the history of mankind the only thing that prohibition of anything has ever accomplished is popularization of the product and the creation of rich criminals and crooked politicians.

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