1929
A FEW WEEKS LATER in the early fall the three brothers drove to the Jamison place near Thorton Mountain for a meeting. An outbuilding perched on a stubby knob near a stand of woods on Jamison’s back scrubland, ringed with cars and a half-dozen horses. Jack noticed more than a few new cars in the lineup, vehicles you didn’t see around Franklin, a few Packards, an Auburn sedan, a new Dodge coupe, a two-tone Buick Series 121.
Somebody around here is making some money, Jack thought, and here the three of us crawl up in Forrest’s busted-down Ford!
As they walked past the Buick he could smell the supple leather through the window, the ripples of the seams, the burnished shift knob. A straight-eight engine, cast-steel block, 150 horsepower. That sweet mother would do seventy easy. That life under his feet, the smooth roll of power at his toe, the lurch of torque. Jack thought if he could get a new car nothing else would trouble him to the end of his days.
When the brothers came through the door Jack was surprised by how many men were there, and how many men he had never seen before. Forrest had said that men from all areas of the county would be there: Smith Mountain, Linville, Sontag, Boone’s Mill, Penhook, Ferrum, Calloway, even some men from the border areas of Patrick, Henry, Floyd, Pittsylvania, and Bedford counties. After shaking some hands and nodding in greeting to others, the brothers positioned themselves to one side against a wall. The others shifted around in the straw, cursing the cold, waiting for something to begin. A few jars of apple brandy made rounds but most weren’t taking. Jack recognized a few men: Roosevelt Smith, J. O. Shively, Arthur Land, Irvin Goode, Gummy Coleman, Posey Webb, George Barbour, Homer Johnson, Tom C. Cundiff, C. T. Cooper, Jimmy Turner, Walter “Peg” Hatcher, Aubrie Kendrick, Talmedge Jamison, and G. T. Washburne. There were at least twenty more he didn’t know or had only heard of, like the Duling brothers from West Virginia, whose territory stretched deep into Floyd County. These men were the major players in the business, not just guys with a teapot in the hollow brewing up small batches, people like Cricket and the Mitchells, and it struck Jack just how many large stills were operating in the county and how much liquor was being produced. Peg Hatcher was one of the biggest runners in the county, and Roosevelt Smith, J. O. Shively, and a few others had syndicates that stretched across a few counties. Jimmy Turner, a man in his forties who ran shine out of Penhook, stood on an overturned bucket. George Barbour and Homer Johnson stood next to him.
Boys, Turner said, I appreciate you comin’. As you know, there have been some changes goin’ on and I figure we ought to get together and straighten it out. We’ve got folks from various organizations, including Tom Carter’s group up in Roanoke.
Jimmy Turner had a thick bristly mustache and a squinting smile, and was known as a calculating man and one that did not suffer fools.
For a long time, Turner said, we was able to go about our business here in Franklin, and nobody paid no mind. Lately there’s been some trouble. We know the Alcohol Tax Unit goin’ to come in from time to time an’ cut a still and get they pictures in the paper.
He got a small laugh, and some swore under their breath.
The sheriff’s department, Turner said, on the other hand, has always let us be. Looked the other way, what have you. But the fact is the ATU has been coming around more regular and Hodges and his boys have been under more pressure. Like usual, everyone is keeping their mouth shut so we don’t have too much problem, but the ATU is making it difficult to move out of the county, even using the way stations like Shively’s place in Penhook, Hatcher’s filling station to the east, and the Bondurant station up in Blackwater.
Turner nodded to each man as he named them. Forrest didn’t seem to register the recognition, his eyes flat and calm.
Some of you, Turner went on, already know that there is an offer from the sheriff’s office, to make things a bit easier on everybody—
You mean paying a granny fee! Tom C. Cundiff roared.
Cundiff held an open jar, hands shaking. He looked like he slept in the barn. A few men hooted and began to murmur.
Call it what you want, Turner shouted over them, but you get something for your money. For things to go smooth you gotta grease the tracks.
Why don’t you just tell it like it is, Cundiff said. Tell these boys where this plan is really coming from. The sheriff. Hodges don’t have a say over his own pecker. This here is Carter Lee’s plan. Revenuers nosing around only where he says to!
Now Tom, George Barbour spoke up, there’s no need to get ornery about this.
Men started calling out: Who’s running this here show? Hey now!
Nobody is running anything, Turner shouted, we are still running our own show. What we have is an offer of a clear ride. From still to county line, guaranteed. Now that is something worth paying a little money for. The way stations will still get their cut. Hodges and his boys will ward any revenuers off or send ’em on ghost chases. Less risk for everybody, and everybody makes more money.
What’s your cut, Jimmy? someone shouted.
Men in the crowd were murmuring and shifting their feet. George Barbour, a fat man with great jowls, spat a stream of tobacco juice in the straw.
Same as you, Barbour said. Same as anyone.
Horseshit, said Cundiff. That why you three calling this here meeting?
Cundiff turned to the crowd. His face was inflamed and his bowler hat tipped far back on his head.
This here is Carter Lee talking, Cundiff said. The damn commonwealth attorney. This here is about making the fat cats richer. Well I ain’t ever paid no granny fee to no man and I ain’t gonna do it now!
Cundiff pushed his way through the crowd, swearing, and the barn door slammed. A few men laughed. That’s ol’ Tom, they said, but Jack could tell that many in the crowd were of the same mind.
Let him go, Turner said. He’s just gonna make it hard on himself. They’ll be a depot of supplies in the old tobacco warehouse in Rocky Mount, anything you need. You may even find some of your old worms and caps there. Sugar, yeast, even copper sheeting can be had out of the warehouse and from Simpson’s place in town. A deputy will be assigned to each district and you boys are responsible for getting the fees together from those in your district. So get the word around to anyone you know is making in your area. The deputy will come by each week to collect and keep the ledgers. Everything gets reported to Jeff Richards and he keeps the tabs. Simple as that.
What’s the price? someone yelled.
We haven’t worked out the exact figures yet, Turner said, but somewhere around ten dollars a carload, plus twenty dollars a month to make.
Men swore and whistled, slapped their hats, and Jack watched the ripple of disgust and displeasure on their faces. Occasionally they greased the palms of Hodges and other local deputies, a bit of cash or a few cans of booze to look the other way; it was expected. But this was something else. This was a system coordinated countywide, no exceptions. This meant a man couldn’t even set his own price for his liquor.
Look, Barbour said, for that you get no trouble. No lost product, no jail time, no blockading troubles. We can all concentrate on what we do best and leave the rest to the sheriff’s office. Let’s not forget easy access to all the supplies we need. Look, you fellas know that Prohibition is near over, done any day now. Now they’ll still be a trade for untaxed liquor in dry counties in Virginia, but we have a chance to make a good stack of money here while the gettin’s good.
What if we don’t pay? Forrest said.
The room quieted and all turned to the brothers standing against the wall. Jack straightened his chin and tried to remain still.
What’s that? Turner said.
What’s Carter Lee gonna do if we don’t pay? Forrest said.
Forrest, Barbour began, we was hopin’ you’d be in, seeing as your station is a central depot for moving north and into Roanoke.
You gonna report him? a man shouted from the back.
Hold on, fellas, Barbour said. It ain’t like that. We just trying to explain how it works. People that don’t want in will have to fend for themselves, like always. Now they ain’t gonna have the protection, and so when the ATU comes round, they the ones gonna get their stills cut and liquor taken. If the feds want a still, then Hodges will give them one. But not one of ours. Nobody is reporting anybody. That much hasn’t changed.
Everyone turned again to Forrest and the barn grew quiet. He shifted his jaw and the ragged scar across his neck rippled. Jack knew that many of these men would rather go along with Forrest and whatever he decided. The granny fee alone would limit the profit of the small-time makers to a minimum, barely covering costs. And what about a man’s private stock? If he wanted to make a batch for himself and his friends, he’d still have to cough up the fee, and then what was the difference between that and the government taking a tax? Forrest stared at Turner and Barbour like he was trying to figure what sort of species they were.
So Hodges and his boys will come after me if I don’t pay?
Now, Turner stammered, I ain’t saying that. I’m just saying there won’t be any protection. Now I know that some deputies roughed up Jack there. That’s the kind of thing that won’t happen in the new system.
The men in the barn inspected his face for injury and Jack set a fresh array of curses on the head of Charley Rakes for this new humiliation.
And of course, Turner said, we don’t want the deputies or ATU coming round your station, nosing round there. That would affect everyone.
Nobody bothers me now, Forrest said. No federal man ever come round my station.
That ’cause they know better, someone shouted, and there was a smattering of nervous laughter.
Forrest turned and addressed the room.
Any of you, he said, want to move liquor through me instead of the government, then come on. We’ll accommodate you. We will continue to operate free and clear, like always.
A few men whistled and cheered, but for most there was an indecisive mutter and shuffle, silence.
Times are changing, Forrest, Barbour said. You can’t do it the old way anymore.
I guess we’ll see about that, Forrest said.
He started up and Howard led the way through the crowd to the door, the men parting to create a neat avenue for Howard’s bulk. As Jack followed his brothers he felt the intense gazes of these men upon his face. He knew that at that moment these men respected their defiance; they wished they had the gonads for such a move. He only wished they would stay and take charge of the thing, push Turner and Barbour aside and do some talking. If Forrest wanted to he could have the whole crew of them on his side and they could overturn the thing. Jack felt that he could do it; if Forrest would let him talk he would give these men some sense and show that they only needed to band together and push Carter Lee and his cronies out. Who could stop them? Turner was right that there was a lot more money to be made in organization, but why should Carter Lee be the top boss? Why not he and his brothers? But he also knew that Forrest wanted none of it. His organization stopped at himself, so Jack kept his shoulders straight as he ducked out the door and followed his brothers into the glare of the sun.