January 09, 2008
Originally published December 3, 2003
I went to Beaver Dam, Kentucky to attend my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary celebration. I believe that it was 1978, but I am not certain. I remember that I was still playing guitar for a living at the time and I had long hair. I met up with my cousin Ernie again and we went to bust a few racks at the local pool hall. Beaver Dam is in a dry county, too. At least it was back then.
I got thirsty and wanted a beer. I asked the proprietor of the pool hall if I could get a drink around here.
"This is a dry county," he replied. "You need to go to Owensboro to buy likker."
"That's not what I asked," I replied. "Can I get a drink around here?"
"You two are Clarence and Halie's grandson's, aren't you?" I affirmed his suspicions. The next thing I heard was the crack of beer cans opening and he handed Ernie and me two cold beers that he poured into plastic cups. "That'll be two dollars. You boys play on the back table and pitch those cups if I tell you to." We did as we were told and had several other beers afterward. Dry county, my Cracker ass.
Prohibition works. Oh, yes, it does.
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