The Thirstin' Howl

Hoist one for John Robbins tonight

If you're anything like me, you'll be obeying your unslakeable thirst tonight and that's about all the reason you need. But if you want to lend a little solemnity to the occassion or feel the need to commemorate something or other, look no further.
Drink a toast to John Robbins, the first martyr sacrificed at the Altar of Temperance.

Once again, our old pal Neal Dow was in the thick of things, and the thing he was in the thick of was the Portland Rum Riot of 1855 and it went down pretty much like this:

As you'll recall, Neal Dow became the Mayor of Portland in 1851 and pushed the Maine Law that outlawed the manufacture and sale of alcohol in the state. By 1855, and with an eye on a berth on the Republican Party ticket as a possible Vice Presidential candidate, Dow created the "Intensified Maine Law" which allowed for, among other things, the interception of liquor in transit, as well as huge fines and prison for 1st offenders. The requirements to execute a warrant were also relaxed which allowed the authorities to pretty much poke its collective nose into anyplace that a little suspicion might lead it. In the words of an anonymous Portland poet (and many suspect Dow's own cousin):

"Mighty reformer! Oft the trump of Fame,
Blown by thyself, has sent abroad thy name!
Sublime Fanatic! Who to aid thy cause,
Slights trifles such as Constitutions, Laws!
O Pimp Majestic! Whose sharp gimlet eye,
All jugs concealed and demijohns can spy!
Astute Smell-fungus! Striving as a goal,
To poke thy nose in every dirty hole!
Pimp, Spy, Fanatic! Arrogant at heart!
Language would fail to draw thee as thou art!"

The words alone point to a growing animosity to Dow and his prohibitioning, but with all those exclamation marks, revolt must have been near at hand(!) And it was.

There was an exception to the Maine Law for alcohol used medicinally or in manufacturing, but the Intensified Maine Law specified that said liquor had to be sold by an authorized agent of the municipality. In May of 1855, Dow was the chairman of the committe to set up the agency store in City Hall and for some inexplicable reason, ordered $1600 worth of booze for the agency under his own name. The ramification was this: Once the agency was duly appointed, Dow would then transfer title from himself to the agent--an illegal transfer under the Intensified Maine Law, and thus subject to seizure and destruction. While Dow's personal peril was only a $20 fine and 30 days in jail, the political damage resulting in $1600 worth of booze getting flushed down the city's gutters could seriously hobble his future plans.

Boozers we may be, but these are the kinds of inconsistencies that our jellicated minds latch on to, and our bretheren in 1855 were no different. So on Saturday June 2nd, Portland's last distiller and two other anti-Dowists swore out a writ claiming that Dow posessed liquor for the purposes of an illegal sale. The judge issued the search and seizure warrant (the Intensified Maine Law having eliminated judicial discretion) and a deputy marshall was dispatched.

Dow's nose was in the wind and he quickly realized that something was afoot.

He frantically patched up some of his bureaucratic snafus--setting up the agency, signing over the alcohol to the city,etc--while a restless crowd gathered near City Hall hoping to witness the seizure and destruction of His booze. They may have been on the rambunctious side, even a little mischievous, and in the beginning, they probably meant no harm.
By 8:00 pm, some of the rowdier denizens of Portland joined the restless crowd and headed to where the liquor was stored, shouting and cursing Dow's name, and pelting the building with rocks and ignoring the Sherrif's reading of the Riot Act.
By 10:00 pm upwards of a thousand spectatators had joined the 50 or so active beligerents.
Dow had now fortified the few policemen with a couple of dozen Light Guard and was expecting a reinforcement from the Rifle Guard at any minute.

"Brandishing a watchman's hook, Dow loudly commanded the crowd to disperse. From out of the darkness, the hated mayor received in reply a shower of oaths, hisses and stones. As missiles injured two militiamen, Dow flew into a frenzy. Without seeking the legally-required concurrence of the sheriff or an alderman, he shouted a comand to fire into the dense mass of rioters and spectators. The militiamen, however, waited for their captain to repeat the order. Turning to Dow, Captain Green asked, "must I fire, for its [sic] hard to shoot our own citizens." The mayor replied, "wait a minute". He later claimed that he intended only to frighten the crowd. At Green's insistence, Dow then led away the Light Guards to seek reinforcements"
Prophet of Prohibition: Neal Dow and His Crusade--Frank L Byrne

Buttressed by the addition of 30 Rifle Guards, the reformed Quaker rallied his troops: "I want every man of you to mark your man. We'll see whether mob law shall rule here, or whether your Chief Magistrate shall!" and they made for the liquor store where the mob was about to breach the doors.

The mayor and the Rifle Guards clattered down the stairs to the rescue....Leading them into the Agency's Middle Street entrance, he halted the militiamen within the darkened store. Several rock-throwers were visible through the opposite door. Dow shrieked an order to fire and three ragged volleys ripped along the length of the store into nearly-empty Congress Street. During the shooting, Dow took three Rifle Guards into the cellar to fire up through the window gratings but found no targets. He then withdrew his men through the Middle Street door, helped them to reload their muskets and finally ordered Captain Roberts to clear stragglers from the neighborhood with the bayonet. The prohiibitionist mayor had won his battle to protect the legal liquor-store.
Prophet of Prohibition: Neal Dow and His Crusade--Frank L Byrne

After the skirmish, snacking on cheese and crackers in the liquor Agency, Dow is told that seven people were wounded and one had died. He is famously cited for casually asking, "Was the body (at least) Irish?"
No, is the reply, the deceased was "American".

So join me in toasting John Robbins tonight. Just 22, a mate on a fishing boat, born and raised on Maine's Deer Isle, and Martyred to the cause of Intemperance.

Here's Champagne to our real friends
And Real Pain to our Sham friends!

Hear! Hear!

Holy Hanna, it's been awhile

Hello All,

Sorry so few (alright, no) posts in a while, but I warned you at the outset that I was a lazy procrastinator And while that's still true, this latest bit of silence is brought to you courtesy of an opposite impulse. I was feeling ambitious and started doing a little Spring cleaning on the ol' HardDrive when I apparently moved or renamed (or more likely, deleted) a little tiny 2Kb file that must have been fairly important to the upkeep and maintainance of this here patch of Blogistan. In the future, I will not touch files with inscrutable names like XC00BF197.dll, so help me God. Hopefully everything is working again, and if you're reading this, than it is. So you can expect a veritable spray of new material in the next few days, but don't get used to it-- you can count on me to get lazy as sure as you can count on the Red Sox to go into a slump after the All Star Break.

I'd all but finished a big and long post for last Saturday about the Mint Julep, replete with themes of heritages lost, traditions stolen and the rise of The Kentucky Mint Julep Hegemony. But that ship, as we say, has sailed. So I'll spare you the details. There is a story about Mint Juleps that surrounds our spiritual mascot, General Neal Dow, however.
At the outbreak of the Civil War, Dow, a reformed Quaker, financed formed a regiment of Tee-Totaling Mainers, who found their way into the campaign to secure New Orleans. Upon his arrival in the Crescent City, Dow checked into the City Hotel, where he paints this vignette in one of his letters home.

"The head waiter, a darkey, is a character, and is very deferential to the 'General', and hopes he is 'comfortable.' This afternoon he brought me a pitcher of ice water, and, with Landlord Woodward's compliments, a tumbler of mint julep, iced, minted and dusted with pulverized sugar and with a glass tube, 'all ready.' He waited as if to see me take it, but I told him to set it down, which he did. Just before dinner, he came up to notify me that dinner was almost ready, and, seeing the julep said: 'Oh, dat's all dead now!'
'Well,' I said, 'I never drink at all.'
'Ah, I tought you was one o' dem dat indulged.'
'No, I never do.'
'Oh, all right.'
'Yes, I mean to keep all right' Exit waiter with the 'dead' julep, to appear probably at the bar with an empty glass."

The insinuation here, of course, is that the waiter surreptitiously downed the 'dead' julep on his way to the bar. Unbeknownst to the general, however, a New York City journalist was sitting in the lobby and recognized Dow, the most famous Tee-Totaler of the day. His account goes something like this:

"A day or two ago my eyes were attracted by a diminutive little man, carrying the significant shoulder-strap of a brigadier-general. I had great confidence in his skill and courage and in his military knowledge...... The general came to my hotel and proceeded upstairs. In a few moments, the attentive landlord, hearing that he had a live brigadier-general in the house, without asking the clerk for his name, only asked for his number, which obtaining, said landlord rushed into the bar-room, and had a julep mixed, of standard strength, and ornamented with an immense amount of 'greens', which ostentatiously stuck up, making the 'institution' look more like a flower-pot than a genial beverage. This chemical and vegetable combination, sustained by a waiter of unusual politeness, was handed in at '21' with the landlord's compliments.
In due course of time, the tumbler returned as dry as a gourd, the mint all wilted; in fine, it seemed as if a sirocco had passed over it. And what of that? Only, gentle reader, that the general was General Neal Dow, the author of the Maine Liquor Law, the commander at Fort Jackson, whose orderly, no doubt, appropriated to himself the landlord's hospitality."

Thus from little acorns, minor scandals are born. As one wag put it:

"This is frightful. Neal Dow, who but a few years ago was not contented unless all mankind foreswore eternal enmity to mint juleps and all other peculiar 'vanities' compounded by liquor sellers; Neal Dow, who called out the police of Portland to shut up the liquor-shops; Neal Dow, who was never weary of poking his nose into other people's business, like a true New Englander; Neal Dow, succumbing before the seductive influence of a mint julep. Oh, tell it not in Gath, and proclaim it not in New England!"

Happy Birthday, Neal

I know. And you're absolutely right. Why is the inaugural post of what surely is a Boozer's Blog about this guy, this creep? How could I?
What can I say other than that's the way I'm wired.
That's how I roll, Yo.

I'm also a terrible procrastinator, always have been, so I have to set deadlines for myself just to get things done. Like this blog, f'rinstance
I had resolved that this would be up by New Year's day.
Nothing happened.
I prayed that I'd have this going by St Amand's Day, the patron saint of bartenders.
Still nothing.
I was certain, as sure as the day I was born, that I'd have this up by my 40th birthday (March 4th, for all those who still owe me a drink).
Nope.
I paraded around touting St. Patrick's Day as the kick-off.
I hadn't done shillelagh.
So I absolutley laid out March 20th as the drop dead deadline for this here blog. I mean, if I can't get my shit together to write about booze before the birthday of the Napoleon of Prohibition, I'm a lost cause.

So welcome to The Thirstin' Howl where, if you'll pardon the occasional "yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories", we'll have a few drinks, crack some jokes and possibly learn a thing or two along the way. And don't mind the mess, we still have some decorating to do.

So just who is the old duffer above? Glad you asked. I'll be brief.
Neal Frederick Dow was one of the weirder cats ever to come out of Portland Maine, the little town where I live. He was born in 1804 of solid New England Quaker stock, the kind of New England Quaker stock that thinks Hate-Evil is a man's surname. In 1851 he became Mayor of Portland with the backing of anti-immigrant, anti-Irish, and various Temperance groups. In June of that year, Dow cajoled Governor John Hubbard to sign a bill into law that outlawed the sale and manufacture of alcohol. Thus Maine became the first state to enact a blanket Prohibition law and Dow became a movement's standard bearer.

So Happy 103rd General! And I won't forget to put Rose's (Lime juice) on your grave.