MIDNIGHT FLOOD

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 76, Issue 115, 18 May 1933, Page 10

MIDNIGHT FLOOD

RETURN OF BEER LAND OF THE FREE NATIONAL TOAST NEW YOKE, April 7. Thu floodlighted features of Miss Liberty smiled convivially at midnight last night as the citizens of this land of the free prepared to slake their thirst, officially, for the first time in 13 years, and to-present a toast in beer, of 3.2 per cent, alcohol content, to their country: — To tho United States, Bounded on the North by the Aurora Borealis, On the South by the eternal procession of God’s equinoxes, On the East by the rising sun, On tho West by the Day of Judgment. President Roosevelt gave them beer — far too soon for many cities, whose breweries had not got their plants sufficiently advanced to turn out the brew that cheers. Here in New York, where patriotic brewers feared for the results, deliveries were held off till breakfast tjnie. But the celebration, reminiscent of Armistice Night, went on just the same, with the aid of synthetic lubrication provided by 33,000 speakeasies. Meantime, 60,000 soft drink parlours, drug stores, hotels, and restaurants awaited their orders shortly after daylight. Chicago was not so patriotic. The Windy City has always been famous for its beer, and there was no anxiety about breweries or supplies, for oldestablished firms, with famous names that have figured in the crime records during tho dry spell, had long since perfected their sales organisation. Milwaukee’s Amber Flood. Milwaukee, “The City That Made Beer Famous,” released an amber flood of 15,000,000 bottles as the last stroke of the local Big Ben chimed the witching hour. Beer-conscious throughout the hiatus, the famous city of breweries broadcast the happy event over the radio throughout the nation, from the St. Lawrence to the Rio Grande, from Maine to the Golden Gate. New York was keenly disappointed. Society matrons had planned diligently for days to wind up New Beer’s Eve with gay parties. Invitations had been sent out weeks ahead, and guests arrived on time. In the absence of the froth-tipped beverage, supplies of cocktails were hurriedly requisitioned from friendly bootleggers. Many Park Avenue mansions, glorified with new tap-rooms and private beer gardens, drew their supplies from neighbouring States, where the authorities were not so fearful of the pent-up emotions of a dozen years’ abstinence. In the south, Kentucky and Maryland were the only States in whichf beer could be officially sold. Old Man Mississippi is still bone dry, with no prospect of a break in the drought. The Attorney-General of Arkansas said his State would remain “as dry as a camel’s tonsils” until the law had properly been passed. Virginia, where women are courted, from the cradle to the grave, permits only one-half of 1 per cent, alcohol content in beer. Georgia will neither have beer nor permit the manufacture of malt fluids. Florida, where millionaires spent the winter, has not enacted beer legislation. Millionaires do not drink beer. Beer up in the Air. Beer will be served in passenger aeroplanes as they pass over Colorado, under the law of that State. The divorce colony of Reno had to depend on its night clubs, but the dispatches chronicled no serious shortage. Idaho, Utah, and Kansas forbid intoxicating liquors, which will disturb tho old legend of the train traveller who forgot his corkscrew; he had but to walk along the corridors until he met a man from Kansas, who never failed to carry one. Somebody sent President Roosevelt a ease of beer. Ho gave orders that it be re-routed to the quarters of the representatives of the Press at midnight. The first casualty of the wet era was a bungman in a Newark brewery, found dead on his job. His task was to knock the bungs off barrels as they passed on an electrically-operated belt. It is surmised that he was struck on the head by a passing barrel as he stooped to pick up his hammer. Broadway advertised free beer for patrons of shows after midnight. Stage stars and chorus girls acted as barmaids. “It’s a long time between drinks,” announced-a famous brewery in a full-page advertisement in the New York papers this morning, as freight cars, motor trucks, and wagons drawn by brewers’ horses prepared to move 400,000 barrels on their way. One New York paper carried 25 advertisements for midnight celebrations. Meantime, an ocean greyhound ploughed her way through the last few knots of tho Atlantic, carrying Britain’s contingent of the foaming fluid. In the ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton was a distinguished gathering of musical composers, presided over by the composer of the old-time boor classic, “Down Where the Wurtzburger Flows.” Nearby were Harry Armstrong and Richard Gerard, who composed “Sweet Adeline.” Tho oldest composer present was Theodore Metz, aged 86, who wrote, “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town To-night.” Among the 300 that lined the festive board were composers of “Sweet Rosie O’Grady,” “Bedelia,” and “Mandy Lee,’’ and Milton Ager, whose song, “Happy Days Are Here Again,” enjoyed two vogues. By contrast, among them was the youthful Annie Bonnell, who composed “Rain on the Roof.” The gentlemen of tho Press assembled in a big uptown brewery, and delivered their prounucianento on the quality of the new brew. Grey-haired sages from the great dailies and ambition.: cubs gathered round long tables, heaped high with pretzels and sandwiches. holding their steins aloft—to the “New (Deal.” The Gangsters Unload. With beer at 5 cents, the bottom foT out of the bootleg market, which has prospered on two-bit beer (25 cents). The price of all other liquors dropped 50 per cent. Liquor law offenders in penitentiaries hoped that, some armistice might bo granted them, but the Federal Attor-ney-General said it would bo impossible to determine those who wore convicted solely for beer violations. They ran out of licence forms in this city, and printed forms of the fire bri

gado were used by altering the words “combustibles” and “fire, department” to “beer” and “health department,” w’ith rubber stamps. Tho gangsters deserve a word, as they will have it before long of their own accord. They dumped thousands of barrels of unordered beer on speak easy proprietors. When the latter protested to the distributors, they were laconically informed, “We got an order from you. Keep that beer. Pay for it, and like it!” Beforp the eyes of the bewildered “speak” owners flashed a vision of the faces of Dutch Schultz, Tony Marino, and other leaders of the underworld. Will they accept the beer? It is anybody’s guess. • Au the floodlights wore switched from tho figure of Miss Liberty, the first tinge of dawn came across tho Atlantic. The roysterers prepared to go home, hiccoughing ever so slightly as they remarked, “Light, but 0.K.,” in judgement, of “United States, Three-Point-Two. ’ ’