KENTUCKY VOICES

I don't suppose a scientific study has been done yet to determine if
today's meth makers are descendants of yesterday's moonshiners.

Once Harvard, Yale or Princeton is mindful of this deficit, the race will
be on. Results might go something like this: children of itinerant
moonshiners found responsible for 90 percent of meth labs across the country.

Belief is in the mind of the reader.

Studies and surveys aside, our lovely triangle of the state apparently has
its share of these modern-day lawbreakers. Hardly a week goes by that an
incident isn't reported, sometimes with the heartening news that a
confidential informant helped police make arrests.

And moonshining is not extinct. We read a recent story of a still in Laurel
County thoughtfully placed out of danger to populated areas.
Prohibitionists may roll over in their graves, but moonshining seems a
quaint and benign occupation compared to methamphetamine hydrochloride
manufacturing.

A moonshine still was usually hidden in the woods with branches placed over
a hastily constructed frame. The moonshiner hoped for few visitors.
Occasionally, he scared away curious children who stumbled upon him by
following smoke on a frosty morning while retrieving the family milk cow.

Animals sometimes met the real danger. Free-range hogs loved mash and
gobbled it up. On occasion, though, the reverse happened to sows and boars
alike when they grew tipsy and fell into the barrel. The indiscriminate
moonshiner would go ahead and run the batch, thus giving real substance to
the saying that poor-quality moonshine must've had a dead hog in it.

The personalities of these offenders differed significantly, with the lone
point of convergence that each needed money. Moonshiners were a gentle sort
who cared about people, merry souls in particular. They were more apt to
kill one another than anyone else -- which was a good thing, depending on
your point of view. Sheriffs often prevented murders by their silence when
one moonshiner revealed the whereabouts of another's still.

On the other hand, the meth manufacturer doesn't care if lives are taken in
the process of illegal gain. It has been said that the fine art of
moonshining was lost when moonshiners became greedy, no longer caring about
the quality of their product.

The meth "labrador" has no gentle nature. He couldn't care less about art.
His ravenous goal from day one has been material gain with no concern for
human beings killed in the process.

Moonshine, though transported along Thunder Road, for all its colorful
reputation, was not famous for exploding and killing people in their
automobiles. But meth in crowded apartment buildings and percolating in
automobiles on streets already bubbling with risk presents another,
imminently more perilous situation.

Meth has affected our lives in ways moonshine never dreamed. My friend
Nadine and I take turns driving to go shopping. Nadine is notorious for
tailing the driver ahead of her too closely. Recently, I observed that she
had stopped doing this.

"I'm glad you're not tailing him, but this is a bit ridiculous," I said,
when she had fallen back the length of an 18 wheeler.

"It's the only sensible thing to do," she said. "He might have a meth lab
in his trunk."

The chances are increasing daily. We now have fresh credence for our
driver-training manual's instruction about leaving space between your
vehicle and the one ahead of you. As for congested lanes of city traffic,
there is no window of safety.

Whatever their background, whether descendants of moonshiners, the Hitler's
troops or none of the above, meth makers do not exist in a vacuum. They
have at least one family member or friend with enough suspicion to make an
anonymous call. That's being a responsible citizen.