Once the ‘new’ highway to Harrisburg was completed, and liquor stores popped up in rice fields on the country line, Highway 63 became the road less traveled. Ever since Craighead Country had gone dry, Highway 63 had been the path to liquor. The liquor stores in Truman had struck gold. Craighead Country going dry didn’t stop anyone from drinking, it just meant that they had to join a private social club to get a drink or drive to Truman to get some beer. All that changed with the opening of the new highway to Harrisburg.
It used to be 10.3 miles down 63 to ‘go down the line’. That’s how far it was on 63 from Jonesoboro the liquor stores at the country line. There were a couple of liquor stores.
I remember one in particular, Curley’s. It was right across the road from the infamous Cotton Club. The Cotton Club was a classic, low ceilinged, lower class, smoke-filled beer joint with loud music and sticky floors. Though I was a frequent patron of Curley’s, I was only in the Cotton Club a few times.
In my brief High School career, I had a bootlegging business to satisfy my gas, ammo and beer needs. I had a deal with some old drunk in Truman. For a pint of peach brandy and a few bucks, he would purchase my beer and wine for me. I would load the beer and liquor into the back of my mother’s yellow and fake wood paneled Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser, cover it with blankets and carefully drive back to Jonesboro to resell the beer to my friends in need. Between the Liquor stores in Truman and my thirsty friends in Jonesboro, however, lurked danger. Bay, a tiny town just off Highway 63, presented the only serious hazard. It was sort of like running a blockade. Back in the day, and perhaps still, there was a cop there. Let’s call him Officer Obie. In my day, Officer Obie would watch for kids making a liquor run and then pull them over to bust them for minor possession. He frequently would give you a break by confiscating the liquor and giving you a ‘warning’. Obviously, this posed quite a threat to my business.
The key I found was to not let him see you go past on your way to Truman. If he didn’t see you going to Truman, he would take no notice of you driving through on your way back to Jonesboro. As long as your lights worked and you weren’t speeding, it was a piece of cake. Most weekends, I would take the split and go through the center of Bay on Main Street. This got me off of 63 which is where Office Obie was watching. I would take gravel up to near Truman, and then come back to 63 and the liquor store. Once I had done my business with my favorite Wino, I began the drive back to Jonesboro relatively sure that as long as my lights worked and I watched my speed, I would be fine.
On one occasion, I drove to Truman on Friday evening to pick up a friend who lived there. I was in my father’s car, a white and brown Lincoln Continental Mark IV. I wasn’t bootlegging that night for some reason. On the way back through Bay, I got pulled over. I was speeding, I was told. Officer Obie was interested in what might be in the backseat, but when he looked, there was nothing there. He was interested in the trunk and told me I had to open it. I was about 17 at the time and did not know I did not have to do that. So, I opened the trunk and surprise! There in the middle of the trunk sat a whole case of Old Charter half gallons. Officer Obie lit up like it was Christmas.
Obie happily told me he was going to confiscate the liquor, but he would only give me a warning….this time. I told him that wouldn’t work for me. He would have to arrest me. He had to arrest me, I told him, because that was my father’s liquor and if I came home without it, my father would never believe that the cop in Bay had taken it from me and not arrested me. Obie still wanted to confiscate the liquor, give me a warning, and turn me loose. There was no way I was going for that. I fully understood Obie’s shakedown, and I was not turning dad’s bourbon over to Officer Obie. Arrest me, I insisted, knowing that an arrest would preserve dad’s bourbon as evidence. Obie, who was not the smartest cop I’ve ever met, was not prepared for me insisting that he arrest me. This was a new thing for him. Usually, minors caught with liquor jumped at the chance to avoid getting arrested. He was stumped. At this point, I somehow became aware that Obie wasn’t actually a Bay town cop, but actually was a Craighead County Deputy Sheriff. A solution presented itself.
I had known the Craighead County Sheriff my whole life, and he knew me, but more importantly he knew Dad and what kind of bourbon Dad drank. On Dad’s insistence, the Sheriff arrested me for my science fair project some years before, I explained to Officer Obie. Dad discovered I was operating a moonshine still in the backyard and was pretty pissed about it, so Dad called Floyd, the Sheriff, and had him arrest me. I told Office Obie to ping the Floyd and tell him that he had one of Doc Garner’s boys (He’d know which one) stopped with a case of Old Charter in the trunk and that I was claiming that it was Dad’s bourbon. Obie still wanted to give me a warning and take the liquor, but I refused his warning and insisted that he either arrest me or contact the Floyd. Finally, without contacting the sheriff, Officer Obie turned me lose with no ticket and with dad’s bourbon intact. Disaster averted.
As the years have passed, I have realized that sometimes the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason.
Whisky? What whisky?
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