From sometime before 1930 to mid 1934 a fairly high volume still operated on the bank of the Cosumnes River in the Mother Lode region of California not too far from my dad's ranch. The Treasury Agents got tipped off finally but fortunately my dad delayed them for several hours with a lot of obstructive tactics and misleading directions, so the bootleggers had time to dump all the mash in the river, load an eighteen wheeler up with the four big five-hundred gallon vats, kettles, plumbing and other supplies and equipment necesssary to their business and sneak out of the county on some old seldom used back roads about a half-hour ahead of the revenuers. Mind you, this was hi-grade, 180 proof pure sour mash corn whiskey and the river was at it's lowest level in years.

The next day me and my best friend went down to the river to look over anything they might have left behind and investigate the site of the big whiskey raid and you could smell sour mash for a mile or more down river. Worse than that, there was dead blue gills and small mouth bass and carp washed up on the bank every where you looked. I been pretty carefull to not drink a whole lot ever since, with one exception, and that was the night when we were getting ready to sail from Hilo for Japan to win some general a new medal and sll of a sudden the Japanese decided to say 'uncle.' And from that celebration on 190 medical alcohol, the only thing that saved me was reincarnation. No, I really don't think drinking is good for a body.

Spud