Deane Jones On Missoula Bootlegging
Deane Jones – KEEPING UP with Jones – on Missoula Bootlegging
PROBING OLD STILLS. So your want a story of bootleg days? At least that’s what half a dozen requests indicate.
Well, we could open a Pandora’s box by going into that. Every community in America must have hundreds of untold tales about the 1919-1933 prohibition era, and Missoula is certainly no exception. More than a few local fortunes were started or made during those days.
Montana had a state prohibition law during the first half dozen years the Volstead Act was in operation. During that period police and sheriff’s officers as well as federal officers could (note that “could”) clamp down on moonshiners.
After Montana repealed its state law in 1926, enforcement of the anti-liquor law was left strictly up to the “prohies”, fewer than half a dozen of them in this area. Fellows like Harry Holland, Bill Winters, Paul Read and a few others comprised the nemesis of the bootleggers.
Quite a system developed. Of the scores of illegal vendors of booze, half a dozen or so were big-timers. The Feds had a quota, of sorts, in the number of arrests they made. Some of the larger-scale ‘leggers (and some of the more minor ones) helped see to it that the quota was met without themselves being hurt. They stool-pigeoned on the little guys, and old Judge Bourquin’s federal court had a regular parade at each session.
Grant Creek Episode
But, enough of that. I’ll toss off a little yarn about one of the boys and let it go for the time being.
Up Grant Creek way there was a farmer who augmented (maybe tripled) his agricultural income by selling hooch. It all came out of the same still, but he had three grades. For a buck and a half, you could get a pint of barely colored mule. At two dollars, a little burnt sugar made the liquor a little darker. The Grade A stuff, for two-and-a-half a pint, had something in it that made it palatable.
To keep from getting caught with the goods in any sudden swoop by Holland or his counterparts, this farmer kept none of the goodies in his house. When a customer showed up, Farmer Joe would go out the door, feel around under various woodpiles, strawstacks and garbage cans, and come back with the booze. He did practically all of his business after dark.
Evil Deed Backfires
Well, a bunch of the guys, or maybe more than one bunch, got onto the system. Four or five would go to the farmhouse, and one would knock at the door while the others deployed themselves outside, out of sight. The one at the door would order a pint (of the dollar and a half brand) and wait for service. The others would watch as the farmer scrabbled under a stack, and after he had gone back to the house they quickly gathered up all the bottles they could find. For an investment of two-bits or so apiece for the first pint, they’d wind up with maybe a gallon or so.
Inadvertently, they saved the farmer’s hide one night. The Feds also had gotten wise to the distribution system, and they went for the haystacks and woodpiles. But the lads had been there first, and apparently had gotten every bottle in the farmyard. For the prohibition agents that night it was no runs, no hits, one error.
The above article appeared in The Missoulian on June 15, 1967.
HARKING BACK to the young chap at the party the other night and his request for a bootleg story, here goes:
I’d say that close to half of people in Missoula made home brew during prohibition, and hundreds of them sold it. The Feds were too busy with the hard liquor guys to pay much attention to the beer makers.
There was one place out on South 5th Street, way out (don’t try to pin down the address, that neighborhood has changed), where a lady did a thriving business in home brew. One night a friend of mine (we’ll call him Roy, because that was his name) went out to pick up a half case. I think it went for 4 bucks a case, $2.50 for a half case.
While he was getting his order filled, the lady informed him, “I handle hard liquor now. Do you want a sample?” He nodded and she poured him a snort. After he’d gagged it down and wiped the tears out of his eyes he told her he’d keep it in mind for the future.
A few days later a couple of the lady’s customers wound up in the hospital partially blinded. Roy never went back again, even for beer, let alone the hard stuff.
The above is from Deane Jones KEEPING UP with Jones column on July 23, 1967.