The Bismarck Tribune Newspaper, February 16, 1932, Page 6

HONUUEECUETUAUUUEUAAEAECA AACA a UVVHUOQUAATOCUUOUEUUUCUSEAUEAN ATE RRB Ucn ccvcican stata The downtown district of Butte . . est hill in the world” in the background . . . which mincrs have taken more than $2,000,000, 1000 worth of ores. They're confiscating speakeasies’ equipment now . and this shows officers taking the fixtures from a raided gambling hall in Butte. By HOWARD FEREBEE UTTE, Montana, the last hitching post of the Old West, from which national prohibition drew its most effective weapon, faces a diy and colorless future. For after all these years, prohibition has come to Butte, the “greatest mining camp on earth”—a camp featured in fiction as “The Wide Open Town,” “Perch of the Devil” and “Sin in the Desert.” Not that the town is without drinks. Quite the contrary. Butte still has plenty of whisky straight, but its spirituous children—toddies, cocktails and stir-ups—have been-laid lew. And gambling, heritage of the rip-roaring days when the Montana metropolis was a rude mining camp, likewise is being run out. Such is the fate of the city which oaly two months ago helplessly placed in the hands of federal agents the most deadly weapon yet used against the bootlegger. For when the supreme court, acting on a Butte case, decreed confiscation of speakeasy and night club equipment was a legal post- conviction penalty, it spelled the economic ruin, if not the extermination, of thousands of boot- leggers in all the states, from Maine to Cali- fornia. ITHIN an hour after the court’s decision, federal dry agents started the almost im- possible task of closing Butte saloons. Open saloons flourished, agleam in their ma- hogany bars, brass footrails and accessories, elaborate back-bar mirrors, and old-fashioned oil paintings. Through more than a decade of prohibition, Butte had remained aloof. It was a town where a man could elbow his way through the crowds of the street, pass swinging dcors and amble-up to a: friendly bar where his two-bit piece would ring back as only silver gan—a sound much loved in the west. “Butte,” says Prohibition Adminstrator Carl Jackson, ‘doesn’t even know the: meaning of prohibition. I guess the saloons have never been closed. The bootleggers themselves treat you with respect.” Now since Jackson's visit to Butte, with his assignment of a large number of agents to re- main until the town is dry, all is changing rap- idly. If Butte didn’t know about protubition, it is learning fast. UP UUETTTTUTTTT_TTTTEOUOT ECT ECCCCCCCC . with the * oe tle The men who have given Butte its sturdy, picturesque c aracter, . .. A scene ina Butte mine shaft at lunch time. A GRERSE agents with trucks are carrying away these mellow old fixtures, reminders of the days when John Barleycorn was other than a police court character. Replacing their substantial bars and barroom furniture with a plank and a couple of barrels, bootleggers have gone “Eastern”—to use their own expression. “Here we've been trying to run things on the square and make the places a littie home- like for the boys,” one bartender told the writer. ‘‘Now the government says it can take our property—well, things will change, our sa- loons will be like those ioints down east—a back room where someone deals off the ip.” The swinging doors—and Butte was proud of the fact that a man didn’t have to sneak’ up an alley to get a drink—have been -elegated to the free-and-easy past, along with the bars and the heavy leaded glass light fixtures which SOUUTITUMEUULALULLUULUL _fUUHTVUHHPOCT UU co cast a mellow glow on the time-honored wood- work and paintings. And wary doormen, guards, have been sta- tioned behind the barricades of two-by-fours, to inspect would-be customers through peep holes, sending them on their way or admitting them through massive doors, as the case may be. 'VEN the bartenders have undergone 4 change. Instead of the genial white- aproned figure, busy with his bottles and mix- ers, the bartender can scarce be recognized from his customers. He wears his hat and coat, and engages with the boys in their pinochle game. His white apron with the bar towel at its waist has been thrown out. In his hip pocket he carries a pint, and if anyone wants a chaser. there’s usually a water faucet. So far, the federal agents have been unable to locate any of the large whisky manufactur- ing plants. They have searched the hills, swooped down on small Montana towns, but to no success. The source continues a mystery. How the bartender keeps in touch with this reserve likewise is a mystery. Agents on raids have found a poker or pinochle game in prog- ress, but no evidence. Disposing of the hip pocket sup- ply seems relatively simple. Things were different a few months ago; then no effort was made by bartenders to dispose of their wares in event of a raid. A RAID used to be something iike this: “Hello, Joe, how's tricks?” a vis- iting dry agent would inquire of his friend the bootlegger. “Pretty fair,” the bartender would re ply. “How's it with you?” Their affable conversation usually end- ed with the bartender’s asking the agent whether he wanted some “‘evidence.’ The evidence would be poured out, ard later Joe would join the semi-annua! parade of bootleggers before United States District Judge George M. Bourquin, noted as an ex- ponent of rugged justice. Judge Bourquin’s usual procedure is to in- quire whether the defendant is guilty. If Joe says he’s guilty, so much the better. His fine «Copyright, 1932, by EveryWeek Magazine—Printed in U. 3. A.) SN Oa aM AUUDAASAACRSUULUC N10 MMB At aces nA he es Gand How a militant attorney general is invoking ancient laws in an effort to clean up “Sin-in-the-Desert,” a town that is wide open, but safe Fede Federal Judge George M. Bour- - . “the author of the Volstead act must have been intoxicated. will be anywhere from one dollar to the limit, but more often it is within reason. If Joe is a second or third offender, the fine will be augmented with. a sentence of from one to eleven months in the bootleggers’ section of the Silver Bow county jail at Butte. apne whole proceeding is marked with a speed uncommon in other federal courts. Judge Bourquin often disposes of 25 or 30 bootleggers at a single sitting, interspersing his sentences with’ caustic comment. Once, apparently’ disgusted with the intri- cate provisions of the law pertaining to second and third offenders, Judge Bourquin startled the courtroom with the opinion that the man who wrote the Volstead Act must have been intoxicated at the time. Attesting to the efficacy of the system, De- partment of Justice reports show that in the last fiscal year Montana, with scarcely more than a half million people, had one-fifteenth as many liquor cases as the coitbined four dis- tricts of New York. Furthermore, Montana led the list with 93 per cent of the cases “success- fully” disposed of through conviction. The Christmas term of court found 155 pro- hibition cases on the docket, and Judge Bour- When the bootleggers had things their own way. . . ." An invitation to a social occasion engineer Butte bootleggers’ “fraternity.” quin with customary dispatch made a fresh con- signment to the bootleggers’ section of the county jail. The jail where bootleggers are lodged is very comfortable. It boasts a de luxe cuisine, with 0 3 3 =I =] =| S 3 It's hard to tell the bartender from his customers now. . . . their pinochle game . . « wears his hat and coat . . . and has a pint in his by the He sits in on hip pocket. a chef on the payroll of the bootlegging fra- ternity. Card tables, easy chairs, and other comforts, together with diversions which once included a horseshoe pitching ground and pee- wee golf course, make jail life comparable to that in an exclusive sanatorium. Scoffers facetiously assert that married men have been allowed to go home nights; and it used to be said that it was not necessary for jailed bootleggers to go on the water wagon while serving their terms, These stories, of course, are subject to questioning. Yet they indicate the popular be- lief that a term in bootleggers’ section was something like a vacation. Nee all is changed. Butte’s bootleggers have discovered there is a dry law, and that Uncle Sam can clamp down the lid. ‘When Jackson’s raiders swooped down on Butte, the bootleggers were taken unaware. They handed over the evidence as in times past, made bond and reopened their saloons. Imagine their amazement when agents were so unorthodox as to return as often as four times! Such procedure was unheard of. The bootleggers began to get worried. Some of them were indignant. “Why, I can’t tolerate this,” one of them said. “‘It’s ruining my business. My custom- ers are being driven away. It isn’t fair. I have to put up bail for the boys and I've got to pay their fines and continue their salaries if they go to jail.” Charles Penasa filed a claim against the es- tate of Dominick Guglielmana for $5 a day for a 30-day jail sentence he served. The probate judge denied the claim on the ground that Guglielmana received no benefit from Penasa’s service. Throughout prohibition, the bootleg king has been free to operate, expand his sphere of influence and grow rich, for he could hire bar- tenders who were willing to take the “rap” in event of a raid. AS a result of the supreme court’s decision, even if the big operator is not thrown in jail, his property where the liquor was sold is confiscated, Thus the government for the first time has an effective power which reaches beyond the puppets in the liquor traffic and strikes the boss operator in his most vulnerable spot—the purse. Although Jackson has not made good his threat to “dry up Butte,” he has closed it up. Christmas and New Year's found those inseparable holiday companions, Tom and Jerry, among those absent. . It was the first time in many years that a halt dozen or more Butte establishments neglected to place neat cards in the windows announc- ing the presence inside of the steaming bowl around which many a fond memory became alive. And Butte, whose spirit has ever been one of keeping its vices out in the open, un- gilded, of calling a man a man until he proved himself otherwise, went on about ils way. “The day will come"—you hear it more often these days—'when we'll get a chance to change it all.” \ Bue fonnly pighi ap 24 It was largely responsil state hibition law. And Butte’s thirsty ‘et wee waiting for the next election: eothiitsmescrmacuetcaseusiesoncubed UG | = | — = —¥ = = = — = => = = J = = I = = = => => = a = = = =| = | = = = = = aera Saran aero ee FLARE LAU LITTLE HUUUULUAAUAETI- ENA AMA A cc