We Did Prohibition One Better

What the feds couldn’t do eighty years ago, we did in one day: the speakeasy down the street disappeared in a blaze of glory and a bulldozer.

It hasn’t been active in many years, of course, but it was still there in all its glory just waiting for that law to raise its illogical head and show how the Noble Experiment never was that noble. Well, it may have been noble in concept, but the experiment fizzled mightily. How people voted for it is a mystery to me and possibly others, as well.

The house didn’t come down just because there was an ancient cash register there, along with all the other appurtenances which belongeth to a house of illegal spirits. Still echoing from the walls, if all is quiet and you listen closely, are the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses and the faint sounds of police sirens coming up the street.

North Franklin Street was a fairly comfortable address; middle and upper-middle class residences, one which stood out from others by its size and age. Our house of some repute was an average home, perfect for hiding What Shall Not Be Spoken Of. The back door led to an alleyway, Spencer Lane, and then to another slight street.

We have become too pure these days. The cops busted a barber shop for having a few slot machines in the back room; big deal, says I. What’s to be harmed in a small town without a little naughty? We had a front here on Main Street frequented by cops, lawyers, a district magistrate and a judge. A few bucks here and there, no problem.