DRINKING WITH THE PRESS DURING ALCOHOL PROHIBITION

I called Walter Trohan just after his 100th birthday last summer. He
answered the phone at the house where he lived by himself.

I didn't know him, but I had questions about something that happened at the
Chicago Tribune, his former employer. Trohan had headed the Tribune's
Washington Bureau in the 1930s and I had read about hemp growing on the
estate of the Tribune's publisher in the 1930s.

He remembered part of the hemp story vaguely, but he couldn't offer any new
details. As we talked, I mentioned some names he recognized, which seemed
to spur his memory. Eventually, the conversation turned to the St.
Valentine's Day Massacre of 1929.

Trohan was the first reporter on the scene 75 years ago when 7 Chicago
mobsters were lined up and gunned down in a north side warehouse. The
violence shocked a city that had been desensitized by years of gang warfare
over the illegal alcohol market. Some historians look at the massacre as a
pivotal point in public perceptions turning against alcohol prohibition. A
few years after the massacre, prohibition would be repealed.

The old journalist told me he beat the competition to the story because
some of his colleagues were engaged in "rackets" to make money on the side,
instead of looking after their beat. It was fascinating, but after I got
off the phone I realized I should have asked more questions about alcohol
prohibition in general, and what he thought of modern prohibition. I
planned to call him back in time to have a story for Valentine's Day.

Trohan died in October, leaving me with an important lesson about
procrastination. However, with the anniversary of the massacre looming, I
went back to the tape of our conversation. One interesting section indicate
how some in the press felt about prohibition at the time.

"I know one reporter who ran off with a case of liquor," said Trohan. "The
liquor commissioner was screaming. The reporter said the case was just
hanging around so he took it. What was his name? He later became city day
editor of the Tribune. But I don't think they knew he stole a case of
liquor from the government. He was city editor when I was in Washington, so
I knew him from when we were at City News together. In a way I was kind of
proud of him, running off with a case of government liquor. I didn't get
any of it."

I told him I was sorry to hear that.

"I am too. I could have used that at the time," he said.

"We had quite a bit of it of course. It wasn't hard to get for the
press. There was a warehouse in Chicago, Brum's Warwick, it was loaded
with bourbon. Lawyers and whatnot had access to it, I don't know if the
government allowed them or not, but they were taking it out case by
case. Damn good whiskey. I think somebody was getting paid off with
it. As you know, the police were always getting paid off, and liquor to
them was extra pay, so they were all on the make, and the cops would get
you a bottle of bourbon to get their name in the paper or some damn thing."