It Lost Its Shine... Or Moonshine Days On Old Kearsarge Street, New Bedford

A devious tale of deception and derring do my father recited to a few of us while he was comfortable ensconced in his recliner drinking his oversized plastic cup of Hannaford's Diet Soda, usually Cola, although root beer was a heavy favorite too.

The French and French-Canadians were the Kings in New Bedford (or
New Beige as the Portuguese call it today) during the late Nineteenth Century to early Twentieth Century, where they had moved there from places like Quebec ("between 1830 and 1940, approximately 900,000 French-Canadians emigrated to New England...")  to become the very established middle class of shopkeepers, fishermen, mill workers and entrepreneurs.

Dad's Uncle Ernest for example was a long time barber in New Bedford, and I can remember having my hair cut at least once in the Whaling City by him, before he retired and moved to a trailer on his daughter's cottage on Lake Noquochoke In Dartmouth.

He also took his treasured barber's chair with him and I can recall when I was growing up of having several haircuts in Uncle Earnest's and Aunt Leah's trailer, sitting on that chair, while looking out on the bucolic shores of pretty Lake Noquochoke.

Well, as my father told the story, between sips of his Diet Cola or Root Beer and nibbling on some Little Debbie's snacks or the Table Talk miniature pies he loved so much, the time was around the Great Depression (which occurred in the US between 1929 and 1939) and The Prohibition (1920 -1933). The two events overlapped each other and it was a bleak period in America and New Bedford like many major cities was hit hard by a crisis situation.

Think major unemployment, people out of work begging for jobs but no gainful employment to be found, soaring prices, the closing of many factories and businesses, people forced out of their homes and apartments, living on the streets, begging for food. Many could only afford to eat apples which sold cheaply. And with the Prohibition blocking many major supplies of alcohol, people could not even legally drown their troubles.

When legal means have been cast aside, illegality flourishes and New Bedford during The Prohibition was a pure and prime port for the smuggling in of hard liquors especially the much desired Moonshine.

Shine on Harvest Moon or any moon for that matter, Moonshine known as White Lightning, Shine, Firewater, Sunshine In My Pocket or Boomshine is a very hard liquor as high as 190 Proof (95 percent pure alcohol) and it wet the whistle of many a drinker.

And it found a perfect place for its distribution in New Bedford. The city had a long tradition of smuggling goods especially during the two major wars, The American Revolution and The War of 1812 thanks to being riddled with secret underground tunnels and passages. Even today, they are still discovering hideaways and tunnels from the city's exciting and dynamic past.

In later years, New Bedford would become a hotbed of the Abolitionist Movement and the tunnels became part of the Underground Railroad, one or more of the stops of the escaped slaves path of freedom to Canada.

The Boys -- many of my father's relatives and uncles were middle-aged men but they were still affectionately known as "The Boys"  -- had their own freedom in the form of a clubhouse (the Man-Cave of its day) in the basement of their Kearsarge Street flat where no women and wives were allowed. The Boys were there to let off steam and take some refuge from the troubles of The Great Depression, so they wanted to be free from nagging and just do men things.

The French are inveterate gamblers, I know, I started playing cards at age 7 and we had many poker games at our house over the years, long into the night, involving the French and Italian sides of the family. And it was no different with The Boys. Gambling there was, lots of, and smoking, and telling jokes (the French always possessed a raucous humor)... and the drinking.

The Moonshine flowed into New Bedford from all corners and flowed in to the clubhouse at an equally exponential rate. The Boys hit the Moonshine like Joe Dimaggio or Ted Williams clobbering a fastball served right down the middle of the plate... they literally drank gallons of the stuff... and they partied... and they danced... and they sang bawdy songs... and played cards all hours of the day... and they were loud, loud, loud... and drank more White Lightning.

They were completely out of control. No work was getting done. The women took notice, were completely fed up with the men's behavior, and grew angry. It was time to put a stop to the antics for the sake of their marriages and neighborhood normalcy.

My father's Aunt Theresa was the one who came up with the devious plan. The ingenious gals collected their pee-pee, snuck down into the clubhouse when the men were away and found their bottles of moonshine. They opened the containers up and replaced the Firewater with their urine and stealthily crept back to their apartments above with a wicked smile on their faces and awaited the results.

It wasn't  long after before The Boys had returned to their clubhouse for some more wild times and cracked open the first bottle of Moonshine and sampled it. Phoooooo, yuck, pblhhhhrr... they were struck by lightning and spit out the contents. To their horror, they discovered it wasn't Shine they had just tasted, but tinkle juice.

But strangely enough, the trick worked, the men from that moment forward swore off the Moonshine and became much better behaved. Though still having their fun at times, they paid much more attention to their wives and the necessary tasks and realities of the day. And peace was restored.

My late father retold this story many-a-time over the years and we would always listen on with fascination and rapt attention...

Image Credit: http://projects.tennessean.com/craft/moonshine-country.php


Source: Richeliieu Club keeps French going in New Bedford
By Kim Ledoux

http://www.southcoasttoday.com/article/20100414/News/4140324

April 14th, 2010
Retrieved 11/24/2018 - 12:47 PM