Dark days for the republic. Government overreach denying Americans their basic freedoms. The Stamp Act? Dunmore seizing the gunpowder? Not this time. It’s Prohibition, that strange period between 1920 and 1933 when a national ban on alcohol inspired lawbreaking on a nearly unprecedented scale. And it’s part of the Taste Tradition Weekend, as somewhere along these historic streets in-the-know patrons will be treated to 1920s drinks and jazz at a speakeasy.
The organizers pledge that the evening’s bootlegged offerings will be of the highest quality, not the diluted embalming fluid you find elsewhere.
It’s a glimpse of the world as it was when Rev. Goodwin and Mr. Rockefeller (both teetotalers!) were ginning up the idea of restoring the colonial town.
Speakeasies were anywhere like-minded people got together to thumb their noses at authority and imbibe. Some concocted elaborate ways to evade police busts: back rooms, hidden panels, the occasional well-placed bribe. And, of course, secret locations and passwords.
But anywhere people gathered to drink illegally could be considered a speakeasy. The practice was so ubiquitous that one New York newspaper reporter wrote, “The history of the United States could be told in 11 words: Columbus, Washington, Lincoln, Volstead, two flights up and ask for Gus.”
Patriots or outlaws? I won’t take a position, except to note that if the historical record is worth anything, the consumption of alcohol might be considered a cherished American freedom.
In pursuit of that freedom, I decided to try to figure out just where this speakeasy might be found. It really is a secret. They won’t tell. Not even me. Perhaps especially me.
So I took the street near the Capitol in search of the location. The Public Gaol seems a likely candidate. Off the beaten path, multiple escape routes, spaces hidden behind a wall. And if the police pinch anyone, they’re already there. Maybe.
I keep walking. An outdoor space? Furtive drinks behind an unassuming fence? There’s enough space. But it’s going to be dark, and what if it rains? No secrets safe there.
Time to look inside. Perhaps an upstairs room, away from street-level passersby…
This one seems a bit… rustic.
A barrel (of what?). A locked door. This seems suspicious.
There are bulkhead doors in buildings all over town. Any of them could conceal a secret gathering.
This seems possible. Beneath the Governor’s Palace a locked room with wine. But it’s a small area. And wine?
I give up. Too many possibilities. I’ll find out like everyone else. Sign up for the Speakeasy (or any of the other great events), then check your ticket for the rendezvous location. Report there by 9:20 p.m. Saturday, September 5, and show it to “Gus,” who will tell you the secret location and password. See you there.
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