Family Connections

Rum Running Page 4

 Across The International Border

All of the articles in this series are enriched by the expertise and insight of many people. I owe them all an expression of thanks, in particular, for this segment: Bobby, Gary, Laurie and especially "Ravin"

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"Bige Fox had his bar right where Customs' is today."

The irony of that escapes no one.

The speaker is from Fosterville. Laurie proceeded to draw a map showing North Lake on the right side of the page connected to East Grand Lake by a waterway known locally as the Thoroughfare.

Between the two bodies of water, the artist drew a small rectangle indicating the Abijah Fox property. The Thoroughfare has a history going back to the time of the early settlers on the International Line. In the early 1900s the turbulent waters of the Thoroughfare plunged into East Grand sluicing log booms to St Croix and Calais.

When Prohibition was introduced in the U.S. the booze began to flow along the border. A need sprang up among officials on both sides of the border to establish a restriction of the flow entering each country. Fortunately, there are still people around who remember stories told to them by our fore fathers.

At Fosterville, in the late ‘20s or ‘30s Bige Fox had a place, which straddled the border, a place where ‘spirits'—the term of the decade—could be purchased. An unnamed source, known only as "Bobby" detailed a "rolling bar." Fox had an ingenious idea of serving two countries simultaneously without either side of tavern patrons ever having to cross the border.

There are wild tales that still come out of Fosterville. Several people mentioned Abijah "Bige" Fox. His "bar" at that time, was probably termed "speakeasy" or "tavern."

The "rolling bar" we can safely assume is a table or counter on wheels.

"To serve Canadians," Bobby details, "the counter sat on the East side of the building. To serve Americans , the bar was rolled to the west side of the building. In this manner," Bobby indicates, "Bige kept everybody on both sides of the border happy."

A former Customs Officer, Gary Webber tells of an old tale, long before his time involving three characters: A bootlegger named Dave; a bartender named Jack and a coal dealer named Fred.

Bige Fox had competition. Opposite him on the American side was Wise's establishment, a place well known where a man could get a wee ‘bibe. Fred, a resident of Houlton, was into more than coal. Fred, the brave one of our story, knew where Dave kept his bootlegged booze: no surprise here—in his cellar.

Fred orchestrated a raid. The raid was unsuccessful, and Dave pursued the raiders deep into the Forest City woods. A gun fight ensued. About 20 shots were fired. When the last gun was still smoking a count was taken. There were no injuries and no casualties. All hands put down their guns and came up to the bar for a drink.

This story was difficult to substantiate. It is included here as part of the folklore of Western New Brunswick and to show the good will that existed between Americans and Canadians.

It is difficult to tell these stories, hilarious in some cases, in view of the sensitivities of surviving relatives. Suffice it is to tell the story and omit the teller.

Out of Fosterville comes tales of lax border patrol and infrequent attendance or attendance from neighbouring houses. The border officer might attend the border – much as we attend our email today – several checks throughout the day. It was quite conceivable for an officer to spend a good part of each day visiting neighbouring houses.

When a car approached the Border then the officer would amble out from whatever house he was visiting and ask his important border-crossing questions, as in, "So, Harry, where'd you and the little missus go today?"

In a time of Prohibition and smuggling, many encounters took place in full view of Customs. It was through these encounters that the runners and bootleggers invented the Rum Runner Turn. More than one person mentioned it, however Bobby and Gary explained the intricacy so well one might assume they have first-hand knowledge.

Rum runners were hoping and often expecting an unmanned border. As the rum runner approached in a big heavy Packard, the look-out man scanned the road ahead for signs of life. If the look out spotted an officer, the cry was sent up. The skill and dexterity of the rum-driver is legendary. The Rum Runner Turn was executed in a manner still talked about today. The Packard, a straight eight – "an eight cylinder engine lined up rather than vee-ed," Bobby clarifies – loaded to the gunnels with contraband, was capable of a high-powered turn performed by flooring the accelerator and standing on the brake pedal. The entire heavily laden vehicle swiveled 180, to point in the opposite direction. The driver stomped on the accelerator and the hooch laden Packard rocketed back the way it'd come, leaving Customs Officials scrambling in vehicles much less suitably equipped. It took law enforcement decades to equalize their vehicles with those of rum runners. By that time, Prohibition had ended and Customs buildings were manned on a more or less regular basis.

To return to the Bige Fox building on the border, it would seem the building came to a rather tame ending. Laurie tells this story of the decline of the infamous establishment:

"The building was still standing as a store in my very early years. As a kid I went to Fox's Store at the Border many times. I recall one occasion specifically, the year that my sister was dating (1951), so I was turning seven. They (my sister and her boyfriend) bought me a chocolate bar. Other times I went were likely in the late 40's and early 50's. I remember hearing about Bige's death. He died Feb. 11, 1941. Someone in the community was discussing the fact that he took soda to relieve his heart burn and indigestion when he was actually having a heart attack.

"When I frequented the establishment, Mary, Bige's daughter, and Tom Kinney, her husband were running it. The Fox Store was operated after Bige Fox died in 1941 by "Kinney and Sorge" (Kinney, after Austin Kinney, son to Tom and Mary Kinney; and Sorge, after Albert Sorge, Tom and Mary's son-in-law). Mary and Tom did a lot of the managing and running of the operation."

The customs officer was a topic easily researched. Ravin—a resource utilized in the Sawmill series—was again a fountain of information on customs and border enforcement. When asked who the customs officer would have been in the 1930s, Ravin' was forthright in his knowledge:

"Otto Boone went to work as a customs officer at Forest City around 1934 and lived in the old hotel owned in 1931 by Canterbury's entrepreneur, H.R. Grant.

The office was built about the same time. Where the bridge is now, once was a dam with a dirt road across the top creating a huge backwater to the west, or upstream now. Here, logs were stored during the spring drive."

Ravin muses, Otto "Ottie" Boone was probably the first of the "new" era of customs officer to work out of an office at the border. Previous ones usually worked out of their homes or makeshift office some distance from the actual border." This would have been quite convenient for both rum runner and a family-man customs officer but a great deal of booze had been slipping through so—as in other enforcement—restrictions were tightened."

Warming to his topic, Ravin continues: "Generally this new breed only had authority within the immediate area of the border office, a practice that continues pretty much today for most officers. The RCMP were responsible for the unmanned crossings and unguarded border."

Through the interview, Ravin smiled at his fond remembrances of a man who seemed a parody of today's over-whelmed officials.

"Ottie's favourite expression to the kids crossing his border was, ‘Jumpin' Jiminy! Don't you know that this here is pro-hibited?'" What he may have said to the adults is unrecorded.

Ravin's accounts voiced those of former customs officer, Gary Webber, who defined the role of the early Customs Officer: "The customs officer, y'know, was the Revenue Officer. Most was on the political payroll. I just forget when the Customs Service started up here. I know they disbanded the Provincial Police in 1933."

"Basically, "Ravin asserts," that was the primary function of the customs officer to protect the revenue. He collected duty and assessed fines for smuggled goods. The Provincial Police only lasted a few short years, less than 10." When they were disbanded in 1933 the R.C.M.P. took over the policing of the province, including attention to the border.

Though he is not of the time period under discussion, Ravin' contributed a wealth of information into the mores and attitudes of the prohibition era. Ravin' wasn't born until years later but as the story below will reveal he could not resist adding one of his own escapades, not occurring until twenty years after the Repeal Act.

"During the summer of 1954 I fired up my old car—a 1929 Dodge two-seater I had bought for $30. No driver's license and not registered, I headed to visit my girlfriend at Pemberton Ridge, some three miles from Forest City toward Fosterville. I was 16. As I stopped in front of her place, a blue car pulled alongside and two Mounties beckoned for me to get in the back seat. Somewhat apprehensive I complied."

Ravin, a cocky, aggressive kid, probably gave what he got. The driver, a recognizable constable in the York-Carleton area of that time, asked to see his driver's license and registration. Ravin could produce neither.

"You," the Officer paused, eyeballing this confident kid "are in a peck of trouble." The outcome of this story is irrelevant compared to the weight of the testimony. The reminder here is that the Mounties were a feared and mistrusted lot.

Today's counterparts co-operate on a global basis, ferreting out shipments of cocaine, foiling terrorists and reinforcing Homeland Security—eight decades ago that stood far into the future.

This article will not attempt to discuss the resulting lawlessness that would be present without the ongoing efforts of today's Royal Canadian Mounted Police enforcement that yearly maintains a diligence in protecting the existential way of life of all Canadians.

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Anne Marie Murphy wishes to thank all people interviewed for this series. Without you, this series would not have come to fruition. Thank you for your candid remarks and in return I shall put into print what I promised you: I will protect and preserve your anonymity

CAVEAT TO ALL READERS: The author grew up with a very liberal approach to booze, especially that which was transported and sold in the 1930s

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: When I became inspired to write this series I am sure there were people who, knowing my family background, must have remarked, "well, if she wants to write about this so badly, she can start in her own family."

 

I intend to do just that. In the York County installment of this series I will write about my family's participation in rum smuggling, peddling and running in New Brunswick. For in fact it was this precious piece of hidden history that later inspired me to write my second novel, The Breadwinner, set in western New Brunswick of the late 20s and early 30s.

In the writer's family, it was understood that the sole reason for dabbling in the making of, as well as the transporting and selling of illegal booze was crucial to making a living.

Times were hard and any way that a man could put food on the table and a roof over the family was acceptable. On the other hand, allow this author to be perfectly clear: my family believed in honesty, charity to fellow man and a firm faith-based belief. I've yet to meet a man who said they weren't used well by Jack and Wilbur Murphy.

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