June 20, 2004

Moonshining Uncle George

It is said that the solons of Washington, D.C., are talking about raising the revenue tax on booze to fight the budget deficit.

If so, the moonshiners of Boot Heel, Missouri – land of my birth – will be ready. More thirsty citizens will cut personal expenses by patronizing the second oldest profession.

Uncle George would have loved it!

He was a keen observer of human thirst and government greed. His credo was that “white mule” was the natural drink of man and government was man’s natural enemy.

It was to be enjoyed like spring water – though in smaller sips.

The Great Depression of the 30s just about wiped out the cotton and corn farmers of the Boot Heel. Some took off for the automobile factories of Michigan. Some moved to supposedly greener pastures out west. Most just starved it out.

Uncle George was more fortunate. He had a “recipe.”

His passport to prosperity was a formula for corn whiskey inherited from his grand-daddy and said to be of superior design.

Events confirmed the boast.

* * *

Uncle George started to attract notice by purchasing 50-pound sacks of sugar at frequent intervals from Mr. Shelton’s general store and post office – for cash.

Men, who hung around the store – for lack of gainful employment, suspected Uncle George had gone to “farming in the woods.”

“Whatcha doin’ with all that sugar, George?” someone would ask, with a big wink to other bystanders.

“Selling it to my neighbors.”

“Well, now, that’s pretty enterprising. How much are you charging?”

“Five cents a pound.”

“That’s a bargain. But you’re paying 10 cents. How can you make a profit?”

“Can’t,” Uncle George would say, “but it sure beats farming.”

This ended the joshing. Undue curiosity was double jeopardy – once for one’s personal safety, and again for the risk of being refused emergency balm when desperately needed for snake bites.

* * *

Uncle George set up his first still on his cotton farm. However, it was “cut down” by an ambitious deputy sheriff.

Federal “revenuers – much reviled by public literature – weren’t much of a problem to family moonshiners who kept their production limited. Government men zeroed in on big-time operators whose tax evasion was noticeable.

It has been estimated that during the height of the Depression, there were 20,000 stills distilling amber gold in the deep south.

Little stills were kept under control with a system of raid fees paid to local sheriffs.

Typical was $10 for busting a still, $40 for arresting and convicting an operator, and the right to sell copper fixtures for salvage. Purchasers usually were the original owners who bumped out dents, and soldered up holes, to resume production.

* * *

Eventually Uncle George set up his still on an island in the St. Francis River -- the border between Missouri and Arkansas.

In theory, the island was a no-man’s land beyond the jurisdiction of any sheriff. In reality, it was a dodge for customers in two states to share Uncle George’s expertise.

My older cousin, Charley, introduced earlier in this space, rowed me out to see Uncle George’s emporium. I was disappointed. The notoriety of Uncle George’s enterprise led me to expect a vast and complex installation.

All we found was a copper kettle, a copper coil in a wooden barrel of water and a motley assortment of lard pails, barrels and one-quart Mason jars.

* * *

Many years later, when Uncle George entrusted the family recipe to me, I learned that simplicity of a still was unimportant to the production of “corn squeezings.”

The key to quality was the sugar content of corn. He favored white corn even though it was slower growing and more expensive.

Making corn whiskey was time consuming and produced barely a gallon to a bushel of corn.

Uncle George’s secret was to “malt” his corn. This consisted of spraying corn lightly and burying in burlap bags under mule dung (for warmth) until the kernels start to germinate. Then the sprouted corn was dried and ground into meal.

After malted corn meal, sugar and water were boiled just right, a pinch of yeast was added and the mixture allowed to “fume” (ferment) and solids settle.

The liquid was siphoned into a closed, copper kettle and boiled again. The steam was channeled thorough a “worm” of coiled copper pipe cooled in a barrel of water.

The condensate of alcohol was captured in appropriate containers. The first squeezings were the most potent – bumping the maximum 200 proof alcohol.

The “proof” could be determined by adding a pinch of gunpowder to a saucer of whiskey and lighting it. The larger and hotter the flame, the more potent it was. Even the final fumes were 100 proof. Two shots were quite enough for a “buzz.”

The final product – colorless if processed with clear water and strained through charcoal or corn shucks -- was called “white mule” supposedly for its “kick.” Actually it was an inside joke for the initial malting process.

Uncle George – a stickler for quality – filtered his squeezings through hickory or white oak charcoal to remove poisonous “fusil oil.” Experts in these matters tell me the spirits distilled thereby are unequaled.

* * *

Uncle George had a 10-gallon “pure corn” concoction that produced 190-proof, colorless “high shots” -- “sipping” whiskey – that would blow your hat off.

High shots were private stock that he cut with one- third spring water. This was offered only to best friends and discrete customers.

For commercial moonshine, Uncle George added double sugar to the fermenting corn mash to make corn beer. This increased alcohol yield six times. The proof was the same but not as smooth or tasty.

My uncle conducted his business on two tree-stumps – one on each bank of the St. Francis. Customers came to the closest stump with a quart jar and a half-dollar inside. They hung a handkerchief on a nearby bush and left.

An hour later they returned to find their jars filled with nectar and the half-dollar gone. No overhead, No tax. No peeking.

* * *

Over the years, Uncle George developed sources of white corn from several local farmers. One year, he refused to buy the crop of a long-time supplier on the basis it was “smutted.”

The farmer rode into the county seat, and demanded that the sheriff stop Uncle George’s moonshining. He raised such a fuss – threatening to go to Arkansas jurisdiction -- the local sheriff reluctantly agreed to clamp down.

Next day, the sheriff rowed out to George’s island and told him the still would have to be “cut down.” Also, George would have to come to the Court House “when convenient” to let the judge fine him.

Uncle George failed to show up for trial and disappeared. They found his shoes, hat and wallet laid out neatly on the banks of the St. Francis.

It was surmised that Uncle George committed suicide rather than bear the shame of a public trial. Aunt Rose was despondent, and all the grown children came home to help her mourn.

The men of the area – equally saddened – dragged the river unsuccessfully for Uncle George’s body. The Baptist preacher delivered a fine eulogy, and the choir sang “Let Us Gather At The River.”

Aunt Rose went on living at the home place -- spending much of her time explaining to strangers who came around to her back door that George was dead, and she didn’t know how to make corn whiskey.

About a year later, an old friend went up to St. Louis and spotted Uncle George on the street. George was taken aback but admitted he had faked suicide and run away.

Uncle George returned home, and Aunt Rose set him down to a supper of biscuits and sausage-gravy like he had just came home from work.

Uncle George explained that he had been trying to retire from moonshining but just couldn’t resist the pleas of his friends to keep the still going.

“I figured the only way I could get shed of it was to skedaddle. It’s awful hard to say no to a man whose tongue is hanging out so far it looks like a red necktie.”

Author: Lindsey Williams

Oooooooo

Illustrations

1 – LEAD – 4 col. – illustration man and dipper

Illustration by Tom Baldwin

Uncle George’s premium elixir was 190-proof “high shots.”

Ooooooooooooooo

2 – 3 col. – men at still

Photo by University of North Carolina Collection.

At height of Great Depression, it is estimated that 20,000 moonshine stills were in operation in the deep south. Federal Revenue agents raided big stills (above), local sheriffs the smaller ones.