ANTI-GERMAN SENTIMENT AIDED PROHIBITION'S APPROVAL

It was the day the high life -- at least legally -- left Wisconsin.

On Jan. 16, 1920, Prohibition signaled last call for 9,656 Wisconsin
saloons, and the $67,000 the state chapter of the Anti-Saloon League of
America had spent in pushing for a ban on beer and booze had paid off.

At $6.93 per shuttered saloon, the league said, the high price of living
couldn't touch "the low cost of dying for saloons. Let 'em die while the
dying is cheap!"

Of course, rumors of drinking's death were greatly exaggerated.

Wisconsin was dragged kicking and screaming into temperance. Milwaukee
breweries employed 6,000 workers and slaked a major share of the nation's
thirst for beer. For the many immigrants from beer-drinking countries
(78.3% of state residents "had an inherited wet predilection," dry forces
calculated) beer-drinking was a cultural pleasure, not the vice opponents saw.

But World War I tipped the balance by putting all Germans under suspicion,
even those who cared only about hops, not the kaiser. True patriots argued
grain should be made into bread for fighting men and not for liquor. Still,
even as national laws made dry throats appear inevitable, the fight over
ratification of the 18th amendment was biting.

The brewing industry argued taxes on liquor were paying for more of the war
effort than liberty bonds; the Anti-Saloon League called Milwaukee brewers
"the worst of all our German enemies" and dubbed their beer "Kaiser brew."

The Volstead Act banned intoxicating spirits in June 1919 and the amendment
followed. Recognizing the noose had tightened around John Barleycorn's
neck, Wisconsin gave its assent -- but only grudgingly. Ratification took
the votes of 36 states; Wisconsin's was the 39th.

Few expected Prohibition to last, but the last night of legal drinking was
special nonetheless. Parties were also wakes; revelers, not yet dry, sang
"How Dry I Am" and of course "Taps" was heard.

But the ink on the new law was all that stayed dry. Low-alcohol beer was
available, doctors wrote so many prescriptions for "medicinal" spirits it
seemed an epidemic had broken out and home brew and bathtub gin were
everywhere. Speakeasies sprang up, moonshine stills were built everywhere
in rural areas, officials were paid to look the other way and the law was
widely ignored.

In 1925 Milwaukee state Sen. Bernard Gettelman, who vociferously defended
home brewing as legal, dared Prohibition agents to arrest him.

"Let them come in. Let them taste some of my wine," he said. "They can't
prosecute me and they won't try. . . . The joke is on the Anti-Saloon League."

"It must be terrible wine," a league official replied. "They tell me he
makes it out of raisins and yeast and potatoes. I can't imagine how he can
drink it. Such courage should be applied to legitimate ends."