“My uncle was the town
drunk. Most of the time that’s not so bad, but New York City?”
-
Henny Youngman
Hollywood Happy Hour
“The
movies are full of drunks,” Roger Ebert wrote in a 2006 newspaper column,
including – to paraphrase the late Pulitzer Prize-winning critic – literary
drunks (Mickey Rourke in “Barfly” and Matt Dillon in “Factotum,” both films
based on the semi-autobiographical writings of poet-novelist Charles Bukowski),
funny drunks (Dudley Moore in “Arthur,” Billy Bob Thornton in “Bad Santa,” and
the inimitable W.C. Fields, described by Ebert as “a serious drinker who was
often under a doctor’s care, checked into sanitariums between movies and died a
horrible alcoholic’s death”), frat-boy binge drinkers (John Belushi in “Animal
House,” the Broken Lizard gang in “Beerfest,” the Wolfpack in “The Hangover”),
tragic drunks (Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep in “Ironweed,” Nicolas Cage in
“Leaving Las Vegas”), and alcoholic subjects for treatment (Jack Lemmon and Lee
Remick in “The Days of Wine and Roses,” Michael Keaton in “Clean and Sober,”
Sandra Bullock in “28 Days,” Meg Ryan in “When a Man Loves a Woman,” the
screenplay for which was co-written by former “Saturday Night Live” writer and
future Minnesota U.S. Senator Al Franken).
“Like
the prostitute, the drug addict and the mentally or physically challenged,”
Ebert noted, “the drunk has provided actors with fabulous opportunities to chew
the scenery…and win awards.”
Besides
the abovementioned Academy Award winners, Oscar has a long history of embracing
drunks, so to speak, with nominations, if not wins...
On
the small screen, Dick Van Dyke (a recovering alcoholic in real life) was
nominated for an Emmy Award for his role as an alcoholic in the 1974
made-for-television movie “The Morning After.” James Woods won an Emmy for his
title role as a co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous in the 1989 Hallmark Hall of
Fame production of “My Name Is Bill W.” (Costar James Garner was nominated for
his role as AA co-founder “Dr. Bob”). Twenty-one years later, Winona Ryder was
nominated for a Screen Actors Guild Award for her performance in “When Love Is
Not Enough: The Lois Wilson Story,” another Hallmark Hall of Fame presentation
revisiting the story from the point-of-view of Bill’s (portrayed here by Barry
Pepper) wife, who co-founded Al-Anon.
![]() |
| (Left) James Woods in "My Name Is Bill W."; (right) Barry Pepper, Winona Ryder in "When Love Is Not Enough: The Lois Wilson Story" |
A Stiff Belt of History
Beyond
the evidence showing that Hollywood loves a drunk, let’s open the history books
for a glance at some of the roles booze played in American history. First and
foremost, there might not even be a United States of America were it not for
the commerce of pubs and taverns, where a number of the nation’s Founding
Fathers fomented plans for the rebellion and liberty over tankards of fermented
potations.
Martha
Washington’s grandson noted that George Washington generally “drank a home-made
beverage” at dinner, referring to beer brewed on his estate. Thomas Jefferson’s
earliest designs for Monticello included spaces for brewing and storing beer.
A
descendant of John Adams wrote that to the end of his life, “a large tankard of
hard cider was his morning draught before breakfast.” Although Samuel Adams,
the namesake of Samuel Adams Boston Lager and the Samuel Adams beer brand
founded in 1985, might have dabbled in brewing, historical evidence suggests
that he worked as maltster, not a brewer.
Although
Benjamin Franklin probably never said, “Beer is proof that God loves us and
wants us to be happy,” as is popularly printed on modern t-shirts, he did
write, “Behold the rain which descends from heaven upon our vineyards, there it
enters the roots of the vines, to be changed into wine, a constant proof that
God loves us, and loves to see us happy.”
On
December 4, 1783, George Washington summoned his officers to Fraunces Tavern in
New York City to inform them that he was resigning his commission as commanding
general of the Continental Army and returning to civilian life.
“With
a heart full of love and gratitude,” Washington said, “I now take leave of you.
I most devoutly wish that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy as
your former ones have been glorious and honorable.”
The
origin of America’s public libraries can be traced unequivocally to alehouses.
In 1727, Benjamin Franklin established the Junto, an intellectual “society of
mutual improvement,” initially consisting of a half dozen men, whose purpose
was to debate issues of morals, politics, and philosophy and discuss business
affairs. Also known at the Leather Apron Club, they met weekly on Friday
evenings in a tavern. Initially exchanging books from their personal
collections, the members of the Junto eventually pooled their resources to
purchase volumes none could afford individually. Subsequently, Benjamin
Franklin founded the Library Company of Philadelphia in 1731, America’s first
lending (or subscription) library and the predecessor of the free public
library.
During
the Civil War, political detractors informed President Abraham Lincoln that
Union General Ulysses “Unconditional Surrender” Grant (above) was a drunkard who “is
not himself half the time.” According to the September 18, 1863, edition of the
New York Herald, Lincoln replied, “But can you tell me where he gets his
whiskey?...Because, if I can only find out, I will send a barrel of this
wonderful whiskey to every general in the army.” Less than two years later,
General Robert E. Lee (immaculately attired in his dress uniform) and the Army
of the Confederate States surrendered to a disheveled, rumpled, mud-spattered
General Grant.
Alcohol
was important in settling the frontier and American West. It was used to cement
alliances between European settlers and Native Americans, as well as serving as
a facilitator of trade. Alcohol, according to one website, “served to relieve
pain, boredom, and thirst on many American frontiers.”
As
settlers expanded westward, some sold liquor from their wagons as makeshift
saloons. Saloons were often created from whatever was on hand, including hastily
thrown-together tents and lean-tos, sod shelters, hulls of old sailing ships,
and rooms dug into the side of a hill.
One
of the first western saloons was established at Brown’s Hole, Wyoming, in 1822,
to serve fur trappers. In 1871, Abilene, Kansas, with a year-round population
of about 800, had 11 saloons to service the 5000 or more cowboys who arrived
from Texas in late spring and summer with herds of longhorns to be shipped East
on rail. By 1880, the bar trade across the West was booming. Dodge City,
Kansas, with 700 full-time residents, supported 14 saloons and 47 prostitutes. By
1883, Livingston, Montana, population 3000, had 33 saloons. In Leavenworth,
Kansas, there were 150 saloons and four wholesale liquor houses. Fifty saloons
were hastily erected in the newly established community of Guthrie to
accommodate the Oklahoma Territory’s phenomenal Land Run of 1899 (also known as
President Benjamin Harrison’s “Hoss Race”).
At
first, most saloons served straight booze - rye or bourbon - raw alcohol, often
mixed with burnt sugar and maybe a little chewing tobacco to stretch profits.
The house liquor – appropriately called Red Eye, Tanglefoot, Forty-Rod,
Tarantula Juice, Taos Lightning, Coffin Varnish – was often 100 proof, though
it could be cut by the barkeep with turpentine, ammonia, cayenne, even gun
powder. When customers wanted to avoid rotgut, they might have ordered fancy
mixed drinks such as claret sangarees or champagne flips. Other popular
potables included Cactus Wine, made from tequila and peyote tea, and Mule
Skinner, made with whiskey and blackberry liquor. As towns grew, the supply of
hard liquor improved, featuring quality whiskey imported from the eastern U.S.
and Europe.
Beer
was never served ice cold but rather at 55 to 65 degrees, and patrons had to
drink it in a hurry before it got too warm and flat. It wasn’t until the 1880s
that Adolphus Busch introduced artificial refrigeration and pasteurization to
the brewing process.
Because
the saloon was usually one of the first and more prominent buildings in a
settlement, it was common that it was also utilized as a public meeting place. Judge
Roy Bean, who boasted he was the “Law West of the Pecos,” held court in his
Texas saloon, The Jersey Lily (pictured below).
In
mining settlements, saloons stayed open 24 hours a day and seven days a week. In
cow towns, the local censuses would swell with the arrival of a number of professional
gamblers, entertainers, and prostitutes, all of whom plied their assorted trades
in saloons and all of whom were subject to abrupt reductions, as gunfire was
more likely to erupt in a saloon than elsewhere in town. Folklore has it that
an Irish fiddler named Kelley, who worked at a saloon in Idaho City, asked the
proprietor to build a platform, rigged to the ceiling with a network of pulleys
and halyards, which could be hoisted aloft whenever hot lead started flying.
The
death of Wild Bill Hickok is, of course, the stuff of legend. On August 2,
1876, in Saloon No. 10 in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, Hickok, certainly no
stranger to alcohol himself, was playing poker when a drifter named Jack McCall
shot him in the back of the head.
Not so well known is a
deadly encounter five years earlier between Hickok and a gambler and saloon
owner named Philip Coe (below) that stemmed from an obscene illustration on the sign
above a particular saloon.
The Bull’s Head Saloon was
opened in the boomtown of Abilene, Kansas, in 1871 by Coe and Ben Thompson, a
onetime Texas Ranger, gambler, and deadly gunfighter. Coe was later described
by the mayor of Abilene as “a vile character as I ever met” who “sold whiskey
and men’s souls.” Thompson soon departed Kansas, leaving Coe to contend with
the town council’s objections over the bar’s sign depicting a bull, complete
with an anatomically correct, erect pizzle. The council ordered then-City
Marshal Hickok to step in and oversee the sign’s cleanup. Hickok dispatched
painters to daub over the offending genitalia, however, when the paint dried, a
distinctive outline remained.
The result is that Hickok
earned the unrelentingly bitter enmity of Coe, and in October of 1871, the feud
came to a head during a drunken spree through the streets of Abilene by Coe and
about 50 of his Texas friends when he and Hickok exchanged pistol fire. Coe
shot a hole through Hickok’s frock coat, but Hickok’s slug hit the gambler in
the gut, and Coe managed to squeeze off one last round between the marshal’s
legs before collapsing. Unfortunately, a deputy marshal named Mike Williams
rushed through the hostile crowd, and Hickok, who suffered bad eyesight,
mistakenly killed him with two bullets in the head. Hickok, who paid for
Williams’ funeral, would be haunted by the blunder for the rest of his life and
never fired another shot at a man. Coe lingered in agony for three days before
expiring from his wound.
Amid
the customary presence of cowboys, miners, townspeople, high rollers, card
sharks, sporting ladies, musicians, and vaudevillians in saloons, we should not
overlook the singular character that is known popularly as the town drunk.
Town Drunks
The
term “town drunk” seems to have originated around the 17th century. Although
technically not a “town drunk,” the inebriated character of the Porter in
Shakespeare’s “Macbeth” is a comic relief drunk who imagines himself the
gatekeeper to hell and lightens the dark mood of the play after a heinous
murder has taken place. Expounding on drink’s effect on lechery, he declares,
“It provokes, and unprovokes: it provokes the desire, but it takes away the
performance.”
In
Mark Twain’s 1876 novel The Adventures of
Tom Sawyer, Muff Potter is a likable town drunk who befriends Tom and finds
himself unjustly accused of murder. Eight years later, Twain introduced another
town drunk, Pap Finn, the mean, abusive father in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
On
television, 1959 was a peak year for TV westerns, with 26 western series on
prime-time schedules, and most of them offered actors plum roles as town drunks
– pitiful wretches, more often than not - who find redemption thanks to the
interventions from the program’s broad-shouldered champions.
![]() |
| (From top, left to right) TV town drunks have included Leslie Nielsen, Dabbs Greer, King Donovan, Henry Hull, James Gregory, Denver Pyle. |
Character
actors Henry Hull, James Gregory, and King Donovan played town drunks on
“Bonanza,” as did Guy Stockwell on “The Virginian.” Years before cracking up
audiences in the “Naked Gun” movies, Leslie Nielsen portrayed a town drunk on
“Wagon Train.” Denver Pyle (best known as Uncle Jesse on “The Dukes of
Hazzard”) and Dabbs Greer (fondly remembered as Reverend Alden in “Little House
on the Prairie”) were town drunks on “The Rifleman.” And speaking of “The
Rifleman,” actor Paul Fix’s recurring role on the series of Sheriff Micah
Torrance was written as a redeemed drunkard.
From
1956 to 1970, James Nusser, an actor with a drinking problem in real life,
played Louie Pheeters, the unkempt, stubble-faced town drunk on nearly 80
episodes of “Gunsmoke.”
Veteran
Hollywood stuntman Harvey Parry played Charlie, “the fastest drunk in the
West,” on the comedy series “F Troop.” Captain Parmenter (Ken Berry) explained,
“We were lucky to get him. Dodge City had a spare.”
![]() |
| Stuntman Harvey Parry at work in "How the West Was Won"; a prisoner alongside Clint Eastwood in "Hang 'Em High"; a referee in "Raging Bull," with Robert De Niro |
Dan
Duryea, a venerable character actor who played more than his share of
duplicitous sorts, if not, in his own words, “the meanest s.o.b. in the
movies,” including several westerns (most notably as outlaw Waco Johnnie Dean
in the classic 1950 James Stewart western “Winchester ’73”), delivered a
surprisingly sympathetic performance in an early, 1959 episode of Rod Serling’s
“Twilight Zone.”
In
“Mr. Denton on Doomsday,” Duryea played a pathetic town drunk, once a feared
gunfighter, who is miraculously offered a second chance when a mysterious
traveling snake oil salesman named Henry J. Fate arrives in town. The
particularly poignant story, scripted by Serling, featured Martin Landau as a
sadistic bully and a very young Doug McClure (who would go on to small-screen
fame as ranch hand Trampas on the nine seasons of “The Virginian”) as a youth itching
to make a name for himself as a gunslinger.
Redemption
of lost souls was a theme Rod Serling revisited a number of times in “The
Twilight Zone,” probably no more sentimentally than in a 1960 episode titled
“The Night of the Meek,” featuring Art Carney as a boozing derelict who gets
fired as a department store Santa Claus (“Santa is a lush!” a weary bartender comments),
only to discover a magical bag of gifts for skid row bums and needy children. This
episode, broadcast shortly before Christmas, was particularly moving and
appropriately heartwarming. However, one viewer was so upset by the “blasphemy”
of depicting a drunk Santa that he fired off letters of outrage to Rod Serling
and to the network.
On
the screen, Dean Martin portrayed Dude, the town drunk in “Rio Bravo,” a onetime deputy nicknamed “Borrachon” (Spanish for
“drunkard”). The 1959 western, starring John Wayne, Ricky Nelson, Angie
Dickinson, and Walter Brennan, was so popular that the director, Howard Hawks, along
with the same screenwriter, Leigh Brackett, virtually remade it in 1967 as “El Dorado,” starring John Wayne
(again), with Robert Mitchum as a booze-soaked sheriff and James Caan as the
Duke’s poetry-spouting sidekick, Alan Bourdillion Traherne, aka “Mississippi.”
By
the mid-1960s, Hollywood, as if returning to the Shakespearean roots of
depicting the drunkard as a jester, transformed the town drunk’s role from
pathos to comic relief. When the Academy gave Lee Marvin the Best Actor Oscar
for 1965’s “Cat Ballou,” it was not
so much for his achievement in pulling off the dual roles of onetime gunfighter
Kid Shilleen and his brother, a hired killer named Strawn, but rather for his
show-stopping performance as the former alone – the boozy, tipsy saddle bum
Shilleen. Marvin, who also reaped a Golden Globe Award, along with the British
equivalent of the Oscar, and a Silver Bear Award from the Berlin International
Film Festival, ended his Oscar acceptance speech by quipping, “I think I should
be sharing this award with a horse somewhere out there in the San Fernando
Valley.”
Also
released in 1965, “The Hallelujah Trail”
was sort of an “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World” set in the wild West, a big,
rambunctious, loud, long (nearly three hours in the theater, complete with a
pre-title overture, intermission, and exit music) comedy splashed across the
screen in Super Cinerama in selected theaters. Directed by John Sturges (of
“The Magnificent Seven” and “The Great Escape” fame), the jumbled plot centers
on a wagon train of whiskey bound for the booming mining town of Denver, which
attracts the interest of a tribe of Sioux led by Chief Five Barrels (described
in the movie as a “real boozer”), as well as a women’s temperance league.
Other
parties involved include the United States Cavalry, Irish teamsters – hired as
wagon drivers – who threaten to strike unless they receive whiskey rations, and
a Denver miners militia dispatched under the guidance of Oracle Jones, a loony frontier
seer whose mystical predictions can only be induced when he’s drunk. Of course,
chaos ensues and all factions converge for what the moviemakers hoped would be
comedic mayhem.
As dubious as the movie’s
stereotyping of the Irish, women, and Native Americans was the questionable
casting of white actors Martin Landau as Chief Walks-Stooped-Over and Robert J.
Wilke as the aforementioned Chief Five Barrels. (Typically playing scowling villains
in westerns – including one of the bad guys waiting for the 12:00 train in
“High Noon” and the loudmouth dispatched by James Coburn’s knife in “The
Magnificent Seven” – Wilke’s final screen role was as General Barnicke in
“Stripes.”)
Decidedly
a more low-key and definitely quieter comedy, 1969’s “Support Your Local Sheriff” was a sly and frequently hilarious
parody of western clichés, starring James Garner as a pacifist lawman who is
only passing through town on his way to Australia. Directed by Burt Kennedy from a savvy screenplay by producer
William Bowers (who scripted the straightforward 1950 western classic “The
Gunfighter,” starring Gregory Peck), the delightful satire, which, in the words
of Leonard Maltin, kicked “virtually every western cliché in the pants,”
showcased costar Joan Hackett’s rarely displayed skills at zany slapstick while
providing ample scenery-chewing for a parade of horse opera regulars, including
Walter Brennan, Henry Morgan, Bruce Dern, and Gene Evans.
Veteran
character actor Jack Elam steals the show as Jake, the town drunk – or, as he
puts it, “the town character” – who shovels horse manure at the livery stable
until Garner appoints him deputy. In a very funny coda, Elam tells the audience
that Garner marries Hackett but never does make it to Australia, adding, “I get
to be sheriff of this town, and then I go on to become one of the most beloved
characters in western folklore."
A
couple of years later, director Burt Kennedy tried to repeat the formula in “Support Your Local Gunfighter” – with
limited success (the screenplay sorely lacked the satiric wit of William
Bowers) – pairing James Garner with Suzanne Pleshette. Jack Elam reprised his
role as the “town character,” this time named Jug instead of Jake, who ends the
movie by telling the audience that he went on to become an international star
in Italian westerns. (Not coincidentally, Elam had recently played a hired
gunman in Italian director Sergio Leone’s spaghetti western masterpiece, “Once
Upon a Time in the West.”)
When
it comes to sending up movie conventions, there was never any subtlety in Mel
Brooks’ cinematic assaults on cherished genres, including the western. Indeed,
the poster for 1974’s “Blazing Saddles” proclaimed,
“Never Give a Saga an Even Break.” In a cookie-cutter frontier community where
everyone is seemingly named Johnson (including Howard Johnson, whose ice cream
parlor boasts “1 Flavor”), the town drunk, Gabby Johnson, is a mealy-mouthed
old coot, an obvious takeoff on Gabby Hayes, a bewhiskered, toothless, grizzled
sidekick to Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Randolph Scott, and John
Wane in countless westerns.
![]() |
| Jeremy Slate, Jack Starrett in "Born Losers" |
Gabby Johnson was portrayed
by Claude Ennis Starrett Jr., who, better known as Jack Starrett, acted in and
directed a number of low-budget drive-in exploitation pictures. He played law
officers in the late- 1960s biker films “Born Losers” (which introduced Tom
Laughlin’s character Billy Jack), “Hell’s Angels on Wheels,” “Angels from
Hell,” and “Hell’s Bloody Angels.”
Not surprisingly, Starrett
started his directing career with a pair of biker movies, 1969’s “Run, Angel, Run”
and 1970’s “Nam’s Angels” (a forerunner of the MIA rescue missions by Sylvester
Stallone and Chuck Norris). He directed the 1970s blaxploitation flicks
“Slaughter” and “Cleopatra Jones,” as well as a pair of cult favorites, “The
Gravy Train” (1974), an action-packed crime thriller, also known as "The Dion Brothers," starring Stacy Keach,
Frederic Forrest, and Margot Kidder, and 1975’s “Race with the Devil,”
featuring Peter Fonda, Warren Oates, and Loretta Swit.
In
“Blazing Saddles,” Starrett’s Gabby Johnson inspires the town council with an
over-the-top oratory: “I was born here and was raised her and dad-gum it, I’m
gonna die here, and no sidewindin’ bushwackin’ hornswogglin’ cracker-croaker is
gonna (indecipherable babbling)!” – a speech praised by fellow townsman Olson
Johnson (David Huddleston) as “authentic frontier gibberish."
![]() |
| Jack Starrett, up to his old law enforcement shenanigans, in "First Blood" |
Starrett,
whose best known screen role was as the brutal small-town deputy, Art Gait, in
“First Blood” (the first appearance of Sylvester Stallone’s Rambo), contended
with alcoholism, which led to his death at age 52 from kidney failure in 1989.
“Rustlers’ Rhapsody” (1985) was a “Blazing
Saddles” wannabe, an often-misfiring scattershot parody of all things western,
from the singing cowboy era of Gene Autry and Roy Rogers to violent spaghetti
westerns, written and directed by Hugh Wilson, the creator and executive
producer of the television sitcom “WKRP in Cincinnati” who scripted and
directed the first “Police Academy” film. Tom Berenger starred as Rex
O’Herlihan, the stalwart hero in a white hat who finds himself yanked out of a
black-and-white horse opera and planted in a more self-referential setting in
color.
In
a game supporting cast that includes Marilu Henner, Sela Ward, Patrick Wayne
(as a bad-guy lawyer), and Andy Griffith and Fernando Rey (as a pair of
villainous “colonels”), actor G.W. Bailey (best known as the antagonistic
Captain Harris in several “Police Academy” comedies, as well as his recurring
role as Lieutenant Provenza on the TNT series “The Closer” and “Major Crimes”)
steals the show as Peter, the town drunk who trades his drunk suit for a
sidekick suit and hitches up with a reluctant Rex, who had sworn off sidekicks
since they kept getting killed.
Of
course, the quintessential town drunk has to be Otis Campbell (above), portrayed by the
incomparable Hal Smith on “The Andy
Griffith Show” from 1960 to 1968. Likable and harmless, Otis was allowed to
sleep it off on a nightly basis in the Mayberry jail.
| Danny Thomas, Marjorie Lord, Frank Cady (as Mayberry town drunk Will Hoople), and Andy Griffith in "Danny Meets Andy Griffith" |
Smith
had earlier played a town drunk on an episode of the Danny Thomas sitcom “Make
Room for Daddy” (Danny Thomas and Sheldon Leonard were executive producers of
“The Andy Griffith Show,” as well as “The Dick Van Dyke Show”), but on the
pilot episode of “The Andy Griffith Show,” which premiered on “The Danny Thomas
Show” as “Danny Meets Andy Griffith,” the town drunk, named Will Hoople, was
portrayed by Frank Cady, best known as general storekeeper Sam Drucker on
“Petticoat Junction,” “Green Acres,” and “The Beverly Hillbillies.”
Towards
the end of “The Andy Griffith Show,” sponsors diminished the character of Otis
over concerns about portrayals of excessive drinking, although, according to
close friends Andy Griffith and Don Knotts, Smith didn’t drink in real life. By
the time cast members reunited for the 1986 TV movie “Return to Mayberry” (above), a
clean and sober Otis had been reduced to a job as an ice cream truck driver.
Smith,
who was also an in-demand voice-over artist in animated films, including the
voice of Owl in Disney’s first four “Winnie the Pooh” shorts, played
essentially the same character of the town drunk in the 1966 Don Knotts comedy
“The Ghost and Mr. Chicken" (above). In Blake Edwards’ epic 1965
comedy-to-end-all-comedies, “The Great Race,” starring Jack Lemmon, Tony
Curtis, Natalie Wood, and Peter Falk, Hal Smith had a small but memorable role
as the mayor of a western town called Boracho (a variation on the Spanish word
for “drunk”).
Hal
Smith appeared as Otis in commercials for MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving)
and, though virtually unrecognizable, in the music video for Alan Jackson’s
“Don’t Rock the Juke Box.”
Last Call
As
early as the 1840s into the late 1920s, the figure of the town drunk served as
an example and an object lesson of the evils of drunkenness in such stage
melodramas as “Fifteen Years of a Drunkard’s Life,” “The Drunkard,” and “Ten
Nights in a Barroom,” which was filmed in 1931. The sanctimonious morals were
hilariously lampooned in the classic 1933 W.C. Fields short “The Fatal Glass of
Beer.”
History
tells us that the one of the most notorious women temperance crusaders was
Carrie Nation (above), and one of the most tireless advocates of women’s suffrage was
Carrie Catt. In the moviehouse, we find little coincidence between the passing
of two United States Constitutional amendments in the summer of 1920, one of
which enacted Prohibition, the other giving women the right to vote. And what
did Prohibition lead to? Only the birth and growth of bootlegging, gangsters, rum-running,
organized crime, illegal speakeasies, and Murder, Inc. And in 1921, America
elected Warren G. Harding as President (“I am not fit for this office,” he once
said, “and should never have been here”), whose scandalous administration
earned him one of the lowest rankings ever as president (pre-George W. Bush, U.S. News & World Report rated Harding the second worst president in history).
A Drink With Something In It
There is something about a
Martini,
A tingle remarkably
pleasant;
A yellow, a mellow Martini;
I wish that I had one at
present…
Then here’s to the
heartwarming wassail,
Wherever good fellows are
found;
Be its master instead of its
vassal,
And order the glasses
around…




































1 comment:
Cheers!
Hey, you got me to read another post mostly about westerns. Sneaky!
Have to mention one favorite, semi-related western drunk scene: Terrance Hill has a fun bit in "My Name Is Nobody" where he drinks whiskey in a series of four ever-smaller glasses -- having to shoot each glass after drinking the contents. Hill gets more and more out of control as the drinking goes on. But -- ultimately -- he hits every target.
After the final shot glass is, er, shot, Hill then instantly sobers up (it was all an act!) and orders a whiskey. He says, "These games sure make a man thirsty."
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