This
month, I’m writing a totally different blog. It will be a family story that
I’ve often thought would make a nice, little movie. The story begins during
Prohibition. In 1919, Harry Martin Luther and his family arrived by train in
Jerome, Arizona.
Today, Jerome is a tourist ghost town protected by the
state. But, in 1919, Jerome was a wide-open boom town of about 10,000 people.
The major business was the United Verde Copper Company. The open-pit mines were
flourishing. The largest steam shovel in the world was in operation. The mine
owners provided a dining room for employees, and the mine supervisor,
E.E.Vanderhoff, made sure the food was good and plentiful. Lunch fixings were
also available. A family could get better food here than at most of the local
restaurants. There was a baseball park and ballplayers were given token jobs at
the mine. They spent most of their time practicing for games with the
neighboring towns of Clarkdale, Prescott and Miami.
Harry got a job as a steam shovel foreman. His son Chet, my
father, was working on the Verde Tunnel and Smelter Railroad. The family,
consisting of Harry, his wife Arathusa, daughters Laura, Doris and Nellie, and
Chet, found a small frame house about two miles out of town near the old A&
A Mine.
All was going well for the Luther family until the mine
owners decided to shut down for equipment repair. Many workers were laid off,
including Harry. Fortunately, he was not without resources.
Harry convinced the boilermaker at the roundhouse (a
railroad building for train engines) to build him a copper still. He found some
50-gallon brandy barrels and old, used whiskey bottles. At the general store,
he bought corn meal, potatoes, and brown sugar. He also bought a chemical
testing kit.
Behind his house was a brush-covered hill. After scouting
around the abandoned A & A mine, Harry found a mine shaft behind a
conveniently placed bush. The hole went back about 100 yards and opened into a
small room.
Harry and Chet set up the still and started the “mash”
working. When it was through working, they ran it through the copper coils and
through buckets of charcoal and sand and then into the whiskey bottles. A
little brown sugar was added for color. Harry used the testing kit to ensure
quality. The bottles were sealed and the product was ready to market.
Chet remembered staggering out into the fresh air after
smelling the fumes. He also recalled feeding the mash to the family pig, Mike.
Mike tried it once and swore off the stuff forever.
After dark, Chet would saddle his favorite horse, Whitey, stuff
the pockets of a greatcoat and his saddlebags, and set off for town. He would
ride by way of a canyon until just outside of town and then make his way to the
back of the Chinese restaurant where he had permission to store the bottles in
the refrigerator. He would then make the rounds—pool rooms, dance halls, and
the basement of the Post Office Cigar Store where there was always a crap game
going on.
One block of Main Street had been paved and the town held
Saturday night dances. Corn meal was scattered on the street, a piano was put
on a platform at the T.F. Miller Mercantile and the dancing would begin.
While the dance was going on, Chet sold Harry’s Mineshaft
Whiskey. He employed some of his friends to help sell the stuff. They in turn
passed it on. A young fellow tried to sell Chet his own whiskey—told him it was
good stuff. The prices for this “good stuff” were $4 a pint, $7 a quart and $25
a gallon. A gallon?
A good customer of Harry’s was Doc Carlson, the mayor of
Jerome. Doc liked to have a “little social party” from time to time. He always bought from Harry.
The only competition Harry had was liquor made in 5-gallon
tin cans. The police in Jerome stopped that enterprise, but left Harry alone.
It wasn’t long before the” prohighs” (called revenuers in
other parts of thirsty America) figured out who the big bootlegger in Jerome
was and decided they better shut him down. They would come to Prescott from
Phoenix and check in with Sheriff George Ruffner. George would call the police
chief in Jerome, who would send someone riding fast to warn Harry.
The prohighs would ride out to the Luther home, but they
never found anything. Harry was lying low. Chet used to smile when he told
about hiding in the mineshaft behind the conveniently placed bush. He could see
the prohighs riding within 10 feet of him. He could hear them talking. They
never saw him. After a few unproductive days, they would return to Phoenix.
This went on until finally the prohighs, frustrated in their
attempts to arrest Harry, devised a plan. They waited until everyone in the
household had gone to town, rode out to the house and planted a still under the
house. Later, when Harry was home, they raided the place and arrested Harry.
The prohighs took Harry to Prescott and turned him over to
Sheriff Ruffner. The prohighs, satisfied with a job well done, headed back to
Phoenix.
Harry was given 30 days in jail. The sheriff, knowing a good
thing when it came his way, put Harry’s talents to work for the good citizens
of Prescott. He convinced Harry to run off some batches of his fine whiskey
using a confiscated still in the basement of the jail.
After Harry ran off a batch, he was allowed to go into town.
There he enjoyed eating in restaurants and playing cards. When it was dark,
Harry returned to jail to spend the night.
When the 30 days were up, Harry went back to Jerome and got
his old job back. Arathusa, who had not been pleased with her husband’s private
enterprise, put a halt to any further ideas of the production of Harry Luther’s
Mineshaft Whiskey.
The Western world lost Harry Luther’s Mineshaft Whiskey, but
the still was never found. It may be there in the mine shaft behind the
conveniently placed bush waiting for some enterprising person to come along.
