Chapter 2: Uncle Ransom vs. The Revenuers
1010 Words
My great-great-uncle Ransom was a bootlegger in the Missouri Ozarks during prohibition. Not only was he a bootlegger, but his moonshine was so good that it was prized and highly sought after in the speakeasies of Joplin, Missouri. Unfortunately, as you can imagine, what he did was not a secret. If it was, it was not one that was well-kept. This led to a never-ending game of cat and mouse with the Department of Revenue as they tried their best to stop him. They never caught him, and this is the story of one of the failed attempts, as it has been passed down in my family.
Before I begin this tale, I would like to add a small disclaimer. Like most passed down in families, this story may have been embellished over the years, but by all accounts, it is close to true.
One Saturday, Uncle Ransom was using the kitchen table to bottle a fresh batch of moonshine while his wife scolded him about doing it in the house. On Saturdays, she would usually cook a large meal and leave it on the table, under a tablecloth, for everyone to eat as they got hungry during the weekend. This was in the days before refrigeration and was the custom at the time, or at least it was in my family. Ransom filling the table with jars and jugs was disrupting her and the kids, which made her more than a bit peeved with her adoring husband and his criminal ways.
His wife was just beginning to really get to scolding him when a pounding on the door interrupted her. She and Ransom stared at each other wide-eyed, afraid to make a sound. They both knew that pounding on the door like that on a Saturday afternoon meant trouble. The pounding came again, followed by a shout.
“Department of Revenue!” a man yelled. “Open the door!”
“Now, what are we going to do?” Ransom’s wife hissed at him, trying not to be heard by the men outside.
Ransom whispered back, “Shush, and hand me that tablecloth. We’ll cover everything on the table.”
Ransom’s wife shook her head at him as she grabbed the tablecloth and helped him cover his handiwork on the table. She ushered the children into the bedroom as Ransom went to the door to open it. Ransom grabbed the doorknob and steeled himself before swinging the door open, fully expecting that that would be the day his luck ran out, and he would be going to jail.
Ransom opened the door and greeted the man, “Yes, sir! What can I do for ya?”
The man explained that he was from the United States Department of Revenue and was there to investigate reports that Ransom had been illegally distilling and selling moonshine. The agent proceeded to tell Ransom that he and his associates would be searching the house and property for the still and moonshine. Ransom knew that there was nothing he could do at that point. He allowed a few of the men into the house as others began their work outside, all searching for what was on the kitchen table.
Ransom sat down and watched as the revenue agents set to work. They started in the kitchen, searching the cabinets, cupboard, oven, and icebox. They then moved into the living room. The agents checked every piece of furniture, feeling the cushions, arms, and backs of the padded chairs. They even checked in the throw pillows. They finally moved to the bedrooms, where they searched all the dressers, closets, under the beds, in the bed frames, and even inside the mattresses. The revenue agents were stumped. There wasn’t a drop of moonshine to be found in the house.
When the agents were finished searching inside the house, they questioned Ransom, his wife, and their children. That was a dead end because they all convincingly denied knowing anything about any moonshine or a still. Frustrated, the agents stormed out of the house to go help their cohorts, who were busy trying to search the barn, cellar, smokehouse, pigpen, crawlspace, chicken house, and anywhere else they could think of.
While the agents searched outside, Ransom and his wife began to put things back where they belonged inside the house. They were careful not to get near or disturb the table where the moonshine was still sitting under a simple white tablecloth that the agents had never thought to look under. They did not say a word to each other as they went about their business and entertained their children, who had thankfully remained reasonably calm during the entire event so far.
The agents continued to scour the farm for some time, and the longer they looked for the still and shine, the more frustrated they became. Ransom found the search of his farm rather entertaining because he was smart enough never to have the still near the house. The growing frustration of the agents eventually led to them giving up. They were hot, sweaty, and dirty and had come up with absolutely nothing that would incriminate Ransom in the illegal production of alcohol.
Ransom waved to the revenue agents as they got into their vehicles and left. He stifled his laughter until after they had left his farm and were some distance down the road. At that point, he took the tablecloth off his moonshine that was still on the table and finished bottling it and packing it for the trip to Joplin, much to his wife's aggravation.
It wasn’t long after this that Ransom gave up bootlegging. His wife finally convinced him to go to church with her, and that was the turning point. He said he found God that day and was told he had to change his ways. He buried the still and all the liquor he had. He never went back to making moonshine. He never told anyone where he buried everything, and somewhere in the Ozark Mountains, it remains hidden to this day.
- Writer
