He has come upon boys trying to open the lockers in country clubs—not little rowdies, but the sons of influential members—that they might steal some of the old man’s whiskey. They have boasted of their attempted and successful thefts.
He has seen flappers disgustingly intoxicated. He has observed them putting their hands up to the hip-pockets of their boy companions, to see if a flask was there. Alas! it was.
As limousines and taxis have flashed by him, he has caught glimpses of youngsters who, five years ago, would not have been allowed to go out without a chaperone, in such close proximity that for a moment he thought it was but one strange enigmatic form in the car.
He has seen college boys in groups of three and four disappear into a small compartment on a train—and emerge ten minutes later with downcast eyes and sheepish grins, flushed with liquor; and he has seen the same boys repeat the proceeding ten or a dozen times on a journey lasting but a couple of hours.
He has seen a woman, injured in the streets of one of our big cities, lying almost unconscious. A hotel was close by, and a doctor in the crowd suggested that someone rush to get some brandy. The man who volunteered to go came back without any—none was available, nor could the proprietor be induced to send any out, even if he had had it. He was suspicious of a stranger, making such a request—he was suspicious of everybody. Police in civilian clothes—oh, they were all too common these days, that he knew; and no one was going to catch him, even though a wounded woman lay prone and groaning at his door.
He has heard the social service worker in a New York hospital say that, while conditions had slightly improved during the first few months of Prohibition, they were now worse than ever. In the old days, a workingman spent, say, $2.50 on grog out of his weekly wages, and was content to let it go at that; now he spends ten and twelve dollars—he’ll get his liquor at any cost; and the wives and families of such men are in despair. With the passing of time, the people have learned how to get drinks, and how to make them, and they are becoming more expert every day. But they drink poison—anything they can lay their hands upon—and become all but raving maniacs for a while.
He has seen form letters from bootleggers in New York, giving price lists, just as though there were no law forbidding such transactions. Deliveries were promised within the city, at rates commensurately low. It was even stated that “prices were going down,” and that the best gin could be obtained, as well as other materials of alcoholic content. A printed address was given, and the mails were boldly used for this questionable business.
He has known friends who had been on the water wagon for years to take to home-brewing as a natural course. Their excuse was that they could not afford the prices asked by professional bootleggers; and they were certain that they could not possibly give a dinner party now—of all times—without offering some stimulant to their guests. In the old days they would have ventured to do so. Since Prohibition people expected—and usually received—plenty of wet refreshment. They did not care to be segregated from their acquaintances; they did not relish the idea of having their invitations refused. So they gladly became law-breakers, and swiftly acquired skill in the preparation of all sorts of wines, gin and beer.
He has seen, in a Southern city, the wife of a leading judge serving a punch made of apple juice and peach juice—oh, a very heady punch indeed!—to State officials, who had no qualms about accepting it, though they were aware that the law was being broken. And he saw young men made quite tight on this same punch.
He has observed people entering a restaurant in New York with packages which obviously contained bottles. These, under the eye of a policeman in uniform, were taken from them by the employees of the hotel. One, a bottle of champagne, was poured into a great pitcher—the customers were graciously permitted to watch the process in a private room—and then served openly, again under the officer’s eye and nose, in the main dining room. So twisted has become our legal logic, that it seems it is one thing to drink from a bottle and quite another to drink from a pitcher. A nation of sophists, as well as hypocrites.