By David R. Peironnet, Guest Commentator; February 2, 2020
We all know evil is, well, evil. Back in 1957, Meredith Willson’s fantastically popular Broadway musical, The Music Man addressed this point quite clearly.
A pool hall had opened in town. Not some place respectable like a billiards parlor, but a pool hall, a place of doubtful repute where mere high school boys might congregate, smoke cigarettes, and otherwise dissipate time in unwholesome activities and repeating jokes of doubtful propriety from the pages of racy publications as Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang (such a publication existed – look it up).
I had a flower garden,
But my love for it is dead,
’Cause I found a bachelor’s button
In my black-eyed susans’ bed
– Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, sometime in mid-1921
Yes, sir, there was “Trouble! Trouble! Trouble! Right here in River City. With a capital “T,” and that rhymes with “P” and that stands for POOL!
Traveling salesman and con man Harold Hill presented himself as an organizer of boy bands, in this case community marching bands, the nature of which every upstanding citizen could take pride, and which would divert young mens’ attention from dissipation and instead toward becoming accomplished musicians.
Harold Hill would then sell all sorts of musical instruments to townspeople by promising to remain and lead the new band himself. Except as a con man, he would collect funds then take the next train out of town.
Lecturer (in a loud voice)—I venture to assert there isn’t a man in this audience who has ever done anything to prevent the destruction of our vast forests.
Man in the audience (timidly)—I’ve shot woodpeckers.
– Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, sometime in 1921
But, like any good 1950s Broadway musical, Professor Hill became enamored with the town’s librarian, and with genuine love in his heart, remained to do what he promised even though he knew absolutely nothing about music.
Fast forward to the end … 76 Trombones, a rousing tune ended the play with ticketholders exiting the theater with that delightful tune on their tongues.
“Look up!” cries the optimist.
“Look upward!” shouts the revivalist.
And yet Robert Bailey was fined $1 and costs or ten days because he looked up while under the Stadium bleachers.
The police said there were ladies up above.
–Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, date unknown
Now, move forward to the late 1960s when Vern Miller, ran for state attorney general on a platform of “aggressive and visible enforcement of the state’s drug and liquor laws.” Interestingly – but not so surprisingly – he neglected to campaign on his exceptional record of prosecuting bad guys given that when elected, he had never actually tried any case anywhere in any court, including even prosecuting or defending parking tickets in municipal court.
Once elected Attorney General, Vern went on a crusade to rid the good State of Kansas from substances undermining public decency. He personally led raids on dens of iniquity, accompanied by some state troopers and as many newspaper photographers as he could find, and personally knock down doors with his pearl-handled pistols waving, arrest patrons, and bring these ne’er do wells to justice.
One just can’t be too vigilant in ridding Kansas of unwholesome influences.
Another of Vern’s highly publicized campaigns was to organize raids on men’s dormitories at the University of Kansas in Lawrence in search of “pot” and “reefer,” the then current lingo for marijuana.
If the dogs signaled that they sniffed reefer, students would be dragged into the hallway and literally stripped naked so as to locate the evil substance.
Women’s dorms were exempted from these searches as young ladies in college would not think of having anything so vile as pot in their rooms. Also, the optics of male state troopers bursting into girls’ rooms wasn’t something the press would find desirable.
Frat houses seemed to also be exempted from searches as they were private property; also parents of frat boys were more likely to be politically influential and this was a demographic which Vern didn’t want to disturb.
After the political value of these raids diminished, Vern had to look for something new and different to do which would demonstrate his unwavering commitment to moral decency, and also get plenty of press.
In 1972, Amtrak conveniently presented such an opportunity.
Amtrak decided to instruct dining car and lounge car crews to serve intoxicating liquors within the state lines of Kansas.
Historically, railroads stopped sales of alcohol in states and even counties where local ordinances forbade liquor by the drink. For example, all railroads ceased alcohol sales on westbound trains as soon as trains left Kansas City Union Station. The Kansas state line was just a few blocks away from Union Station, so dining and lounge car staff could easily understand where to cut off sales.
All of Kansas was “dry” at the time (“package” sales were allowed at certain licensed stores, but liquor by the drink was forbidden statewide).
Amtrak decided to instruct dining and lounge car staff to continue serving liquor, beer, and wine regardless of whether trains were operating within the boundaries of the Great State of Kansas. Amtrak was, after all, federally chartered and therefore not subject to the laws of any state.
Or, so they thought.
Seeing this wonderful opportunity for press coverage, Attorney General Vern got on Amtrak train 19, a 1972 summer only operation of the Chief, and waited a while. Then, he and a few deputies ordered drinks in the lounge car. Upon receiving drinks and paying for them, the attorney general whipped out his signature pearl-handled pistols and arrested the dining car steward and the train conductor for operating “an open saloon in the State of Kansas.”
The aforementioned trainmen were removed from the train by the deputies and hauled to a nearby hoosegow where they were charged and detained.
Not surprisingly, the Santa Fe, which was still operating the trains under contract (with Amtrak functioning in name only) and a gigantic taxpayer in Kansas was less than pleased to be informed two of its employees were in jail. Additionally, the United Transportation Union, which represented both the dining car stewards and train conductors at that time, wasn’t too whoopee about it, either.
At that time, the retired president of the UTU was serving on Amtrak’s board, so the displeasure of the union was presented to management.
Attorney General Vern agreed to drop charges against the two employees though the suit against Amtrak remained.
Amtrak vigorously defended itself in court against the State of Kansas, which was surprising if you take 1½ minutes to read the language of the 21st amendment to the United States Constitution. That amendment repealed federal power to prohibit transportation of “intoxicating liquors“ between the states.
However, the 21st amendment left intact the powers of states to decide what to do about liquor entirely within their own boundaries.
It went all the way to the Supreme Court which sided with Kansas.
Prohibition of liquor by the drink thus remained in effect until voters disabled that law a few years later. So, it was no hooch on the Texas Chief while it was in Kansas – or parts of Oklahoma – or parts of Texas.
Dear Captain Billy—What is the solution of the liquor problem?—A. Boozem Friend.
A solution of malt and hops containing about 5 per cent of water.
–Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, 1921 or thereabouts
This brouhaha delivered the much sought-after publicity for Attorney General Vern. Not necessarily all reported by the press was positive, but as P. T. Barnum once pointed out, “I don’t care what the newspapers say about me as long as they spell my name right.” Increased name recognition is increased name recognition.
A new question then arose: how do you top that? Once you have raided gambling dens and stripped college boys naked and arrested a train conductor for “operating an open saloon in the State of Kansas,” what is there left to do?
There have been reports from reasonably reliable sources of another event that was very quietly swept under the rug. Thus, I cannot independently confirm the veracity of the next story. But, it sounds true so I’m relating it here with a modest disclaimer that I’m not 100% certain of this. Then again, it comes from far more reliable sources than certain political groups lately which have come up with far more imaginative stuff than this.
It has been reported that Attorney General Vern decided that if he could wave his pearl handled pistols on a train, he could do it on an airplane, also. Remember, in 1972, security procedures were less stringent on aerobirds than they are now.
So, it was reported that Attorney General Vern went to the Kansas City airport, bought a ticket for an airplane ride to Denver, and, well, waited.
As an official state attorney general, he had a plausible justification for carrying a loaded firearm onto a flying machine. He and his state troopers might have been going to pick up a bad guy and escort such evil-doer back to Leavenworth or Lansing or somewhere to devote a few years to be penitent and contemplate the wrongs he had committed.
Of course, by now you’ve probably guessed what happened next.
Attorney General Vern reportedly waited until the flying machine was flung into the air. As the Kansas City aerodrome is almost as close to the Kansas state line as is Kansas City Union Station, it didn’t take long before he knew he was in Kansas. Reportedly, he and his troopers ordered a drink — of an intoxicating beverage, no less — inside the boundaries of the Sunflower State!
Ad astra per aspera! (“to the stars despite difficulties” or “through hardships to the stars”) is the official motto of Kansas. In this case it was “to the stars but not with strong drink.”
Reportedly, he whips out the old pearl-handled revolvers and displays same to the airplane girl who served the drink. The airplane stewardess then advises the pilot that there is a lunatic aboard carrying a gun and claiming to be the Attorney General of Kansas. The pilot lands the plane and the local constabulary – previously alerted – comes aboard.
It is reported that local cops discover that the man with the pearl-handled shootin’ irons is indeed the Attorney General of the great state of Kansas. It is reported that the local lawmen persuade the Attorney General to exit the plane quietly and file whatever paperwork he wishes to file while his two feet are firmly on solid ground.
If memory serves, and it may not, the entire matter of serving intoxicating liquors aboard some flying contraption had been litigated some years prior, probably when air carriers first began serving food and wine to their terrified customers. The essence of that decision is that passing above a state at the height of multiple furlongs is incidental to performing the interstate transportation of persons and articles and as such, state ordinances would not apply except to maybe flying machines taking off and landing in Kansas, and even then only while still on terra firma.
That reportedly brought the issue to resolution.
Dear Bilious Billy—Does cider really get hard enough to cause intoxication? I have a few gallons at home and do not care to indulge in strong drink?—Molly Coddle.
Hard? I should say it does get hard, Molly. I drank three glasses one night last week while in Minneapolis and before long I laid down on Nicollet Avenue and tried to pull the asphalt over me.
-Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang, who know what year?
As to Vern, the publicity did him wonders. He won re-election by a wide margin in 1972 and later became the Democratic candidate for governor in 1974, which he lost by a small margin. After his term as attorney general ran out in January, 1975, he returned to Wichita where he was elected Prosecuting Attorney for Sedgewick County. After that, he opened a private law practice in his home town where he worked quietly for many more years.
As to the trains, not too many years after the incident involving a train conductor running an open saloon in the state of Kansas, voters chose to repeal the ban of the sale of liquor by the drink, and the whole thing became moot. Now, if you want to buy a drink on an Amtrak train in Kansas, you can get one if, and only if, the train runs that day, and the attendant isn’t on break, or having dinner, or went gawd-knows-where, and you have some way of paying that Amtrak will accept, and you still want the drink after jumping through all of those hoops.
Otherwise, just wait a few years until “pot” is legalized. Oh, wait, smoking anything is not permitted on the train so you can rule that one out, also, not that I disagree with that policy. Having worked on the train, I found the stench of old cigarette butts difficult to eliminate.
Some things are better now, anyway.
Here are a few of the difficulties of the English language:
- A flock of ships is called a fleet.
- A fleet of sheep is called a flock.
- A flock of girls is called a bevy.
- A bevy of wolves is called a pack.
- A pack of thieves is called a gang.
- A gang of angels is called a host.
- A host of porpoises is called a shoal.
- A shoal of buffaloes is called a herd.
- A herd of children is called a troop.
- A troop of partridges is called a covey.
- A covey of beauties is called a galaxy.
- A galaxy of ruffians is called a horde.
- A horde of rubbish is called a heap.
- A heap of oxen is called a drove.
- A drove of blackguards is called a mob.
- A mob of whales is called a school.
- A school of worshipers is called a congregation.