#or like how people look back at the 1920s and it’s prohibition and saloons and the dancing

[fluffypotatey]

hey anon, honestly i feel your rant but like, i am not a good headspace to really give concise thoughts to it

[citizenscreen]

It’s been the practice here to honor notable film-related anniversaries at the onset of every year – Looking back to move forward, if you will. This year there is particular excitement across social media because 2020 brings with it echoes of a century ago, the decade called The Roaring Twenties when youth threw caution to the wind and enjoyed life to its fullest. It was an era of economic prosperity and interesting (to say the least) social and artistic changes, an era of happenings and creativity. Some of that is reflected in films depicting the Roaring Twenties, which – luckily for us – happens to be this month’s theme on TCM.

In all pictures about the Roaring Twenties you’re likely to see the Flapper, perhaps the most familiar symbol of the era. The Flapper helped the decade retain a certain “feel,” one of partying and promiscuity with distinct style and energy. In movie terms you might look to Colleen Moore and Clara Bow to get a sense of what the Flapper was like.

Colleen Moore

Clara Bow

While the flapper enjoyed life throughout the decade, she gained considerable freedoms in 1920. On August 18 of that year the 19th Amendment was passed, giving women the right to vote. Due to the great economy at the time, millions of women worked in white-collar jobs and could afford to contribute in ways they previously could not. The increased availability of birth-control devices allowed for more personal choice and advances in technology helped the effort as well. Many homes in America, especially in the industrialized cities, were now powered by electricity, and effort-saving devices such as refrigerators, washing machines, irons, and vacuum cleaners, most of which were used by women, made life much easier as well.

Other inventions that came to be in 1920 include the hair dryer, invented by a women who inserted a hose in the exhaust of a vacuum cleaner. Brilliant! The traffic light was also born that year thanks to police officer William Potts who used red, amber, and green lights and $37 worth of wire to make his traffic light in Detroit, Michigan. The Band-Aid was invented by a man called Earle Dickson for his wife Josephine who cut herself often. The final invention worth noting was the automobile with the combustion, probably the most popular invention in the 1920s, which facilitated the Flapper lifestyle and led to many new jobs. The popular, reliable, and inexpensive Ford Model T made it all possible – and made it in the movies.

Harold Lloyd in GET OUT AND GET UNDER 1920

Stan Laurel in a Ford Model T 1920, which appeared in several Laurel and Hardy movies

  While previously mentioned freedoms were expanded, others were curtailed in 1920. The most famous being the 18th Amendment to the Constitution, ratified in 1919, but put into effect in 2020. The Federal Volstead Act, formally the National Prohibition Act, established to carry out the intent of the 18th Amendment, banned the manufacture and sale of “intoxicating liquors,” and at 12 A.M. on January 16, 1920, the Act closed every tavern, bar and saloon in the United States. Tragic as that may seem to some, there was plenty of booze to go around thanks to unseemly types who took control of underground “wet” businesses.

Hollywood’s fascination with Prohibition and the times during which it took place have resulted in fantastic film offerings through the decades. Sam Mendes’ Road to Perdition (2002) is one example of a great modern film dealing with the subject. But I am here for the classics and suggest you revisit the following to get a sense of how colorful the world was during the Prohibition era:

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Another right was curtailed on June 13, 1920 when the US Post Office stated that children could not be sent by parcel post. Various instances of this occurrence made the law a necessity.

More interesting facts about 1920:

The average life span in the United States that year was about fifty-four years.

The top ten toys of the 1920s were:

Teddy bears

Erector sets

Lionel trains

Lincoln Logs

Raggedy Ann

Radio Flyer Wagon

Tinker Toys

Crayons

Tin toys

Tiddlywinks

On January 29, 1920 Walt Disney started work as an artist with KC Slide Co. for $40 a week.

On May 1, 1920 legendary slugger Babe Ruth hit his 50th career home run, his first for the NY Yankees in a 6-0 win over the Boston Red Sox. How sweet it was.

On May 16 Joan of Arc (Jeanne D’arc c. 1412 – May 30, 1431) was canonized a saint. Her life has inspired numerous films starting as early as 1900 with Georges Méliès’ Joan of Arc. I must admit I’ve only seen two films on this topic, but can recommend both: Carl Theodor Dreyer’s deeply affecting The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) and Victor Fleming’s visually appealing Joan of Arc (1948).

On June 2 the Pulitzer prize for Drama was awarded to Eugene O’Neill for Beyond the Horizon.

On July 29 rebel leader Pancho Villa surrendered to Mexican authorities. As it turns out Villa who had an interesting connection to movies as this Smithsonian Magazine article explains.

On November 2, 1920 the first commercially licensed radio broadcast was heard, from KDKA in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The first broadcast was live results of the presidential election, a transmission of breaking news that was new and unprecedented. The impact of the medium of radio and the importance of this 1920 event cannot be overstated.

1920 in Hollywood

By the early 1920s, the film industry had made its (more or less) permanent move to Hollywood from the East Coast. The face of American cinema was transformed. Hollywood was now the world’s film capital producing virtually all films shown in the United States and 80 percent of the revenue from films shown abroad. Many American towns had a movie theater with over 20,000 movie houses operating in the U.S. by that year. Most Americans went to see the movies at least once a week. The movie industry became a big business. And Hollywood’s position only got stronger as many of Europe’s most talented movie players arrived.

By the end of the decade, the movies claimed to be the nation’s fifth largest industry, attracting 83 cents out of every dollar Americans spent on amusement. It’s only natural then that through this journey Hollywood also became the ideal of many things in the audience’s eyes. In particular the movies excelled at extravagance, fun, and glamour – and they were the primary distraction through tough times. Here’s more…

In 1920, Metro Pictures Corporation (with its already-acquired Goldwyn Pictures Corporation) was purchased by early theater exhibitor Marcus Loew of Loew’s Inc. In another acquisition, Loew merged his Metro-Goldwyn production company with Louis B. Mayer Pictures.

In 1920 C.B.C. Film Sales Corporation was founded in 1920 by brothers Jack and Harry Cohn, and Joseph Brandt. C.B.C. was renamed Columbia in 1924.

On March 28, 1920 the wedding of the century took place when Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford joined in matrimony. Fairbanks bought a lodge for his new bride and it was named Pickfair, a place that soon became the social center of Hollywood. In June 1920 the couple joined fellow newlyweds Frances Marion and Fred Thomson on a European honeymoon.

On April 3, 1920 F. Scott Fitzgerald wed novelist Zelda Sayre at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York.

Director John Ford wed Mary Smith in 1920.

Charlie Chaplin discovered Jackie Coogan and chose him to play The Kid released in 1921.

Alice Guy, the world’s first female filmmaker and a key figure in the development of narrative film, directed her final film, the feature-length Tarnished Reputations (1920).

Born in 1920

I am astounded by the talent born in 1920. Expect major centennial celebrations for these important people who have given us so much joy through film and television.

Vincent Gardenia

Constance Moore

DeForest Kelley

Federico Fellini

Delbert Mann

James Doohan

Toshiro Mifune

Jack Webb

Denver Pyle

Peggy Lee

Yul Brynner

Maureen O’Hara

Shelley Winters

Ray Bradbury

Jack Warden

Mickey Rooney

William Conrad

Walter Matthau

Laraine Day

Montgomery Clift

Merlina Mercouri

Hy Averback

Nanette Fabray

Gene Tierney

Ricardo Montalban

Noel Neill

Virginia Mayo

Frances Gifford

Jack Lord

Tony Randall

Ray Harryhausen

Deaths in 1920

1920 is relatively early in the life of the movies so it’s not surprising only one stood out as notable…and particularly sad. On or about September 10 of that year actor Olive Thomas ingested bi-chloride of mercury from a French-labeled bottle in a darkened bathroom, believing it to be another medication. Found unconscious, she died five days later. The death made worldwide headlines. Olive was only 25 when she died.

With Olive’s death came a flood of stories linking her to alcohol and drug use and to sexual promiscuity. The evils of “movie people” were spotlighted along with her death by moralists everywhere. Regardless of the circumstances, which I believe have never come to light, this was the tragic death of a 25-year-old woman. Olive was survived by her husband Jack Pickford who was with her in Paris when the tragedy occurred. You can read more about the life and death of Olive Thomas at Silents are Golden.

Olive Thomas c. 1919

Among the notables who made their film debuts in 1920…

Mary Astor made her film debut by way of an uncredited part in Buster Keaton’s The Scarecrow

Madge Bellamy made her debut in Edward José’s The Riddle: Woman.

Charles Boyer in Marcel L’Herbier’s L’homme de Large

Greta Garbo in Ragnar Ring’s How Not to Dress, which according to the New York Times obituary is a short sponsored by the department story where Greta worked as a sales clerk.

Alfred Hitchcock – Hitchcock submitted a portfolio of title cards for The Sorrows of Satan and The Great Day and is hired by Famous Players-Lasky British Producers Limited. (Hitchcock.zone)

Barbara La Marr , the girl who was too beautiful caught everyone’s attention when she co-starred with Douglas Fairbanks in The Nut in 1921, but she made her debut the year prior in Bertram Bracken’s Harriet and the Piper.

Victor McLaglen in A. E. Coleby’s The Call of the Road (1920) he gets a starring role right off the bat as a gambler-turned-boxer.

Nita Naldi – the story goes that her dancing was spotted by John Barrymore, who obtained her debut role for her in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920).

Claude Rains – we see him for a brief moment at the end of the film, but it’s a brilliant turn he delivers in his formal film debut as James Whale’s The Invisible Man in 1933, but as is news to me at this writing, Rains appeared in Fred Goodwins’ Build Thy House in 1920.

Notable Film Releases

Germany’s silent landmark classic, director Robert Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was released in the US in 1920.

Douglas Fairbanks’ first swashbuckler, Fred Niblo’s The Mark of Zorro (1920).

Buster Keaton made his first solo film appearance in the comedy short One Week (1920), after co-starring with Roscoe Arbuckle for the three previous years.

Legendary Broadway stage star John Barrymore appeared in the adapted Robert Louis Stevenson tale-horror film Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920) directed by John. S. Robertson.

Ernst Lubitsch’s Passion was released in the U.S. bringing attention to Polish actress Pola Negri.

Way Down East, a romantic drama directed by D. W. Griffith and starring Lillian Gish was a top grossing movie of the year.

Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton released several shorts each that are worth watching so check out their filmographies and get to it. Roscoe Arbuckle had a slow year given his star status in 1920, but that would all fall apart in 1921 following the Virginia Rappe scandal.

Harry Millarde’s Over the Hill to the Poorhouse or just Over the Hill starring Mary Carr was one of the top grossing films of the decade.

Paul Powell’s Pollyanna starring Mary Pickford was popular despite both screenwriter Frances Marion and Mary Pickford not liking it.

Shipwrecked Among Cannibals, a travelogue/documentary directed by William F. Adler, was the first Universal film to gross $1,000,000.

Cecil B. DeMille’s Something to Think About starring Elliott Dexter, Gloria Swanson and Monte Blue was popular with audiences.

Top Money-making actors

According to Quigley Polls from results of 1919 film releases.

Wallace Reid

Marguerite Clark

Charles Ray

Douglas Fairbanks

Mary Miles Minter

Mary Pickford

Clara Kimball Young

William S. Hart

Norma Talmadge

Theda Bara

Theda Bara in THE LIGHT 1919

◊

I hope you enjoyed these hundred-year-old highlights. I look forward to what I hope will be a stellar, enjoyable year of blogging and wish you and yours the very best. Now, in 1920s lingo, “Go chase yourself!”

HAPPY NEW YEAR…1920, A Centennial Celebration It's been the practice here to honor notable film-related anniversaries at the onset of every year - Looking back to move forward, if you will.

[chiseler]

AL SMITH’S LOG CABIN

The lowest East Side, between the Brooklyn Bridge (completed in 1883) and the Manhattan Bridge (1909), was once a maze of narrow streets lined with row houses, corner saloons and groceries, warehouses, pickle factories, stables. The heart of it was an Irish and Italian working class neighborhood of large families who attended the venerable St. James church and school. It was not a slum or a ghetto, and the residents would have been highly insulted to hear it called that. With the construction of the bridges, followed by high-rises and the FDR Drive in the twentieth century, many of the old streets, and the buildings on them, disappeared.

There’s not much of Oliver Street left, just a couple of run-down blocks in Chinatown between Chatham Square and Madison Street, where it dead-ends. It preserves a row of humble, three-story brick houses, currently looking rather forlorn and exhausted, showing every day of their more than a century’s existence. A brass plaque on the wall of 25 Oliver identifies it as the Alfred E. Smith House, listed on the National Historic Register. Al didn’t grown up there, as is sometimes averred. But he lived there a long time and raised his own kids there as a young politician. Had he succeeded in his bid to become the first Irish Catholic President of the United States, 25 Oliver Street could have become a site of American mythology to rival Abe Lincoln’s log cabin. But Al didn’t make it, 25 Oliver is in bad need of a paint job, and today’s mostly Chinese neighbors pass it without a glance.

His father, also named Al Smith, grew up on a block of Oliver Street closer to the river that no longer exists. Al Sr. was a brawny, handsome, wide-mustached working man, a cartman, or hauler of goods, with a horse-drawn truck. After his first wife died he married a girl who’d grown up near the stables at Dover and Water Streets where he kept his horses. (Her parents had come from Ireland on a clipper ship of the famous Black Ball Line that pioneered the Liverpool to New York run. They found rooms to let three blocks from where they stepped ashore and never ventured farther into America.) Al Jr. was born at 174 South Street on December 30 1873, above a little grocery store. He grew up as the Brooklyn Bridge was built. In old photographs it vaults right over the rooftop of the small, narrow house. That whole block has long since disappeared.

As Al remembered it later the waterfront was the neighborhood kids’ playground – there weren’t any others. The rigging of the ships at the docks was their jungle gym. They dove for green bananas that dropped over the side, and bought their pets from sailors who’d carried them up from South America and the Caribbean. At one point Al kept a goat, four dogs, a parrot and a monkey in the South Street attic. He never lost his classic New Yawk accent, salting his speech with dese, dem and youse like a true Bowery Boy.

In 1886 Al Sr. worked himself to death at the age of forty-six, when Al Jr. was twelve. His mother took a job at an umbrella factory and brought home piece-work. Al worked after school delivering newspapers and helping his sister run their landlady’s candy store in the basement where they now lived on Dover Street. He left the St. James school at the end of the seventh grade, when he was fourteen, and never went back. As a teen he worked a number of jobs, including twelve-hour days, six days a week, at the Fulton Fish Market. One of his tasks was to stand in a lookout and watch for the fishing fleet pulling into the harbor. You could tell how much of a haul they were carrying by how low they rode in the water. Later, when fellow politicians, who were mostly lawyers, bragged to him about matriculating from the U of This or That, he’d reply that he graduated from FFM. He grew up quick. By fifteen he was frequenting the neighborhood’s saloons, drinking beer, smoking cigars with the other men.

He was still too young to vote when he started hanging out at the Downtown Tammany Club, around the corner from Oliver Street at 59-61 Madison. It had something of the look of a volunteer fire hall. Men from throughout the neighborhood streamed up the wide stairs and under the double-arched entry into the meeting hall where politics was discussed, elections fixed, jobs and favors dispensed. It was later knocked down for the playground of P.S. 1, also known as the Alfred E. Smith School. Tammany was starting to purge itself of its most corrupt scoundrels, and young Al Smith fell in with the reformist wing. This led to his first patronage job as a process-server, tracking people down to hand them summonses and subpoenas.

He came under the wing of Big Tom Foley, for whom nearby Foley Square was named. Foley operated a very popular saloon at Oliver and Water Streets. In her 1956 memoir of her father, The Happy Warrior, Al’s daughter Emily remembered Foley as “a genial, smooth-shaven, moonfaced man” who was very well liked and highly respected in the neighborhood – a dude in the ward, as Ned Harrigan would have said. Although he lived uptown at Thirty-Fourth Street Foley spent most of his time in and around the saloon and was active in local politics and the St. James parish. As he thrived financially and politically he spread his good fortune around the neighborhood, the way a successful Tammany man was supposed to. When Smith was a boy he and other kids would flock around Foley on the street, and he’d hand each a nickel, which seemed like a fortune to them. (Years later, Al would frequent a popular barbershop in the ward, run by an immigrant from Salerno who played Caruso on the Victrola. Bartolomeo’s runty, homely son lathered the customers before his dad shaved them. Al once tipped the kid a nickel. Instead of spending it on a lemon ice or a Charlotte Russe, the boy, Jimmy Durante, saved it as a souvenir.)

In 1903 Foley anointed the twenty-nine-year-old Smith to be the Democrats’ nominee for what was then the Second District of the State Assembly. Smith appeared before a crowd of cheering neighbors and Tammany stalwarts in a suit he’d just ironed in the kitchen of his Peck Slip apartment. His other suit was in mothballs. As the Tammany Democrat candidate he was a shoo-in, handily beating a Republican, a Socialist, and a Prohibition candidate, who got five votes.

Smith spent the next twelve winters as an assemblyman, shuttling from the Lower East Side to Albany, where he’d live during the weeks while the legislature was in session, returning home on weekends. His re-elections were always sure things. The affable guy with the honking voice and the taste for suds and stogies was liked and admired by all his constituents, not just his fellow Micks. Besides Durante, another of his fans was a Jewish teenager from up on Henry Street, Izzy Iskowitz, who volunteered to make sidewalk stump speeches for him at re-election time. They were in effect the first public appearances by the performer later known as Eddie Cantor.

In 1907 Smith moved his family, which would grow to five kids, to 25 Oliver Street, which he rented from the parish; the rectory was next door at 23. Emily recalled that they couldn’t afford many luxuries on her father’s salary of a hundred and twenty-five dollars a month, but they weren’t poor. They took summer vacations on the beach at Far Rockaway in Queens, and enjoyed an occasional family dinner at the then-new Knickerbocker Hotel in Times Square, followed by a trip to the nearby Palace Theatre, the flagship of vaudeville houses from the 1910s until vaudeville’s end. On Sunday mornings after church they’d often walk across the Brooklyn Bridge to visit family on Middagh Street in Brooklyn Heights. Sunday evenings the Smiths would have friends over, including another young assemblyman, Jimmy Walker, and his (soon to be beleaguered) wife. Jimmy, who’d started out an aspiring Tin Pan Alley songwriter before his father pushed him into politics, would sit at the Smiths’ piano and play songs like his one bona-fide hit, “Will You Love Me in December as You Do in May?”

Along the way Al Smith began to sport the brown derby that, along with the cigars, became a familiar feature of his public image. He was elected governor in 1918. Emily remembered the children’s wonderment when the family moved from the little house on Oliver Street to the executive mansion in Albany, with its reception room, music room, library, breakfast room, a dinner table that could seat thirty, and nine bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. Plus a small army of servants who magically appeared at the press of a bell. When Smith lost his reelection bid in 1920 and the family returned to Oliver Street, the kids glumly went back to sharing bedrooms and fighting over the two bathrooms.

Smith was briefly convinced his political career was over. Yet that same year, at the Democrats’ national convention in San Francisco, his name was put up for the first time as a possible presidential candidate. As the band struck up “The Sidewalks of New York” (rather than the Ned Harrigan song Smith wanted), the entire convention began to sing along, then waltz in the aisles, and partied for the next hour as the band played one popular tune after another, finally getting to Harrigan’s “Maggie Murphy’s Home.” Ever the skeptic, H. L. Mencken thought it was the free-flowing bootleg bourbon – Prohibition had gone into effect six months earlier – rather than political conviction that got them all going, and in fact Smith was not yet a serious contender. The Democrats nominated Ohio governor James Cox, with Franklin D. Roosevelt as his running mate. Warren G. Harding trounced them.

New Yorkers gave Smith the governor’s mansion back in 1922, and the Smiths moved out of Oliver Street for the last time. In June 1924, the Democrats held their convention at Madison Square Garden. Roosevelt delivered the speech throwing Governor Smith’s brown derby in the ring. Smith and Roosevelt were the most unlikely bedfellows. Smith liked to tell a bitterly humorous story about the first time he’d called on Roosevelt in his mansion back in 1911, and the butler didn’t want to let him in the door. A vast gulf of class and breeding separated the former fishmonger from the upstate aristocrat born with silver spoons in every orifice. Roosevelt had grown up in a household where he was surrounded by German and Scandinavian servants, because his father refused to hire the Irish or Negroes. And he had the upstater’s severe mistrust of anyone associated with Tammany. Yet the two had gotten over their differences and become allies, if not quite friends, working together for reform in the state.

Smith loyalists once again erupted in a prolonged celebration at the end of Roosevelt’s speech, but in fact Democrats at the convention were deeply divided between the urban progressives who backed Smith and the rural and Southern conservatives who were convinced that the nation would never elect an Irish Catholic from Jew Yawk. Smith’s background was in fact a serious drawback at a time when Republicans still characterized Democrats as the party of “Rum, Romanism and Rebellion.” Like many other New York politicians, Smith had been against Prohibition, which condemned him with its supporters around the country. He was only a mildly liberal Democrat, but any Democrat running in the Republican boom times of the Roaring Twenties was running up a very steep hill. And finally, there was the Ku Klux Klan. The Klan had been reborn in the 1910s, riding new waves of xenophobia, racism and anti-communism, and was a much bigger and stronger presence in 1924 than it had ever been. The Klan issued a “Klarion Kall for a Krusade” against Smith should he be nominated.

The convention dragged on for two weeks and more than a hundred ballots. Chairman Cordell Hull passed out a few times from the summer heat – air conditioning was still a way off. Another Lower East Sider, Irving Berlin, was a celebrity observer. He dashed off a campaign song, “We’ll All Go Voting for Al.” It didn’t help. The more conservative John W. Davis got the nomination and went on to lose badly to Calvin Coolidge. (Berlin would soon write a more successful campaign song for Al’s friend, “It’s a Walk-In with Walker.”)

In 1928 the Democrats finally handed Smith their presidential nomination. There were some faint reasons for them to be hopeful. The Klan had peaked and was slipping back into being merely an ugly nuisance on the lunatic fringe. People were tiring of Prohibition and considered it a failed experiment. On the other hand, the nation was still enjoying unprecedented prosperity under the Republicans, except in the farm belt. Farming was a much bigger sector of the economy then than now, and farmers had effectively been in their own depression since the end of World War One. They weren’t likely to be convinced that a guy from New Yawk would do better for them than a Republican. And Smith’s opponent was not just any Republican. He was Herbert Hoover, one of the most popular figures in America at the time, an orphan from Iowa who by hard work and smarts had achieved the American dream of riches and power. He was also known as a great humanitarian, the American who had almost singlehandedly organized a massive food relief program for starving Belgians during the war.

As the campaigns rolled out, Hoover – who was coincidentally the first Quaker candidate – never played the religion card. But the Klan and other anti-Catholic fringe groups did, and so did more mainstream Protestant spokespeople, somberly questioning if a Catholic could be the leader of the country when he owed his allegiance to Rome first. In the end, though, it was probably the combination of Hoover’s popularity and the unprecedented boom times – the big crash wouldn’t come until October 1929 – that sank Smith. He ran as the friend of the little guy at a time when a lot of the little guys, except for those farmers, were doing all right. Hoover gave Smith a severe shellacking, carrying all but eight states. Most galling of all, even the state of New York went for him.

A private citizen again in 1929, Smith accepted a job as president of the corporation that would build the world’s tallest skyscraper, the Empire State Building. Construction proceeded even after the stock market crashed that October, and the building opened in May 1931, with Smith and Governor Roosevelt leading the ceremony. Listeners to the live radio broadcast heard Smith ballyhoo the edifice as “the tallest thing in the world today produced by the hand of man.” His Lower East Side roots still showed in the way he pronounced world woild. To the average New Yorker the building was a towering beacon of optimism in what had become very dark times, but as a business venture it was a bust. Unlike the successful Chrysler Building that had opened in 1930, the Empire State Building had so few tenants signed up that wags nicknamed it the Empty State Building. It would continue to bleed red ink for twenty years.

Despite the thrashing in 1928, Smith entertained hopes for the Democratic nomination again in 1932, which put him at odds with another contender, Roosevelt. Without officially declaring himself, Smith made it clear he’d accept the nomination if offered, and his supporters at the convention were as boisterous and loud as ever. But he’d had his shot. Roosevelt carried the convention, and the two patched up their differences in public so that the Democrats could beat Hoover that fall.

As Roosevelt’s New Deal policies grew more radical in extending federal power during his long presidency, Smith’s opinions grew more conservative and oppositional. He helped found the anti-New Deal, pro-business Liberty League, making him a pariah among Democrats. He even went completely off the reservation to back Republicans Alf Landon in 1936 and Wendell Willkie in 1940. Roosevelt trounced them both. Once America entered the war, however, Smith was one of the commander-in-chief’s most diligent boosters on the home front.

When his wife died in May 1944 Smith went into broken-hearted decline. He died of cirrhosis that October, a couple months shy of his seventy-first birthday. The whole city mourned his passing. Besides the little house on Oliver Street and P.S. 1, you still see his name all over his lowest East Side neighborhood, on a playground, a rec center, and a giant public housing complex.

by John Strausbaugh

[thesolesurvivors]

Man Down? || Monologue

   Prohibition hit America like an express train. In the January of 1920, the selling, distilling and consumption of alcohol had been internationally banned, creating a wave of controversy throughout the country. Some would praise Prohibition, demonstrating how much better the working lives of men and their families had been improved by the ban, whereas others would sorely condemn it, proclaiming of the lack of freedom it demonstrated.

    Of course, as with all bans, black markets began to emerge from the dark alleys, illegal bars and saloons being set up in secret in every major town and city, hidden behind secret doors or down in basement cellars. And when demand was high, so was the price. Honest businessmen were turning sour, growing to see the benefit of side deals, negotiating shares in illegal saloons or setting up their own. Malone was no exception.   Illegal saloons – or Speakeasies as they were called – began to pop up all around Chicago, enticing the adventurous youth to wild parties with cheap alcohol and jazz music that played until the early hours of the morning, drawing them away from the thrills they had once experienced in other places. Places like the Snake Eyes Casino.   A few of the older patrons continued to come and go, but over the months leading into the new year, the amount of customers continued to drop until, by February, Oliver was beginning to become seriously concerned.  “You remember what Quirky said!” Thomas yelled at him one morning before opening, gesturing broadly to Mark, who had been sitting on the sidelines in a booth. “We gotta play the game! Play Malone's game! An' right now we're ignoring one of his most valuable assets!”    Oliver shook his head impatiently. “Snake Eyes is clean!” he shouted back at him. “We gotta keep it the way Roberto would've wanted.”   “If we do that, we risk losing the whole fuckin’ place.” snarled Tom frankly, fists clenched down by his sides. “Look, I got in contact with somebody who's...in the business, and I've set up a meetin' between the two of you tonight at a Speakeasy-”  “Scruff-”  “You're goin' to that meetin',” He pointed an adamant finger at Oliver. “Because I won't see this place go down, either. It's all I got left of my uncle. Of my family.” A nerve in his jaw twitched. “An’, I know my uncle would have done whatever it took to keep this place goin'.” “Even if it meant becoming a criminal? I gave up that life, Scruff!”   He threw his arms into the air and turned to Mark, looking at him expectantly. Licking his lips, Mark adjusted where he was sitting. “He's always gonna be one step ahead of us, Ollie.” Mark noted. “And unless we get on his level, he'll snatch this place up by the end of the month.”   Oliver grew silent, Mark able to see a card – the five of clubs – flicking between his fingers, one edge dented by a fingernail. Tom was growing restless, his fingers twitching between his long strands of hair. After a lengthy sigh, Oliver conceded. “Fine. I'll go to this...meetin'. If it means saving this place.”

    That evening, the three of them were to attend the Speakeasy on Lake Street laden with the password. Mark was second to arrive, standing outside The Warner Club in a line of people all eager to join the explosive atmosphere of the club. Donning a navy, striped suit with a crisp, white shirt, a royal blue tie and a deep blue fedora to match, he craned his neck to see around the crowds. There were two menacing looking men at the door checking everyone as they entered for – what Mark assumed – to be any weapons or other contraband items. Slowly arriving to the front of the line, one of the doormen placed a hand out in front of him to prevent him going inside, asking that he show his inside pockets and turn out the pockets of his trousers. Of course, Mark gave the impression he had nothing on him but his wallet, and they were quick to allow him in. These guys never checked in the lining of suit jackets. Their mistake. Mark was taking no chances, even tonight.    Stepping over the threshold, he was surprised to find it just appeared to be a simple jazz club. People were dancing on a dark wooden floor, men and women sitting together in booths, smoking and laughing among themselves. Low lights lit the room in a warm yellow glow while jazz music poured loudly from one corner of the room, a musician singing soulfully into the microphone.    According to Tom, there should be a small door at the back of the club that would lead him to the Speakeasy. Padding slowly into the room, his brown eyes cast around the whole room. The atmosphere was almost electric, coaxing him in with the bright, shimmering dresses, outrageous dance moves and fast paced music. It was enough to bring a smile to his face. Reaching the far end of the room, he came close to bumping into a broad, taller man with dark skin and cold eyes. Looking behind him, he noted how the wood panel in the wall appeared to be slightly lighter than most of the others. Perhaps this was the 'door' that Tom had spoken of.   “This place is the bees knees.” he said, looking off to one side. When his gaze moved back up to the taller gentleman, he watched him study him for a moment before he pushed a great, paw-like hand against the wood and the panel swung open like a normal door. A clever disguise. Thanking him, he stepped through the door and into a medium sized room that was crammed with people. The room was abuzz with conversation, a stifling hot air pressing against Mark's face as soon as he entered. Over the heads of the masses, he could see bartenders handing out beverages in groups of twos and threes, pushing them into the hands of people waiting and swiftly moving on to the next person.   Mark assumed that Tom would already be here somewhere, looking again over the gaggles of people to see if he could spy a familiar face. Descending three steps, he narrowly avoided a waitress in a low cut dress handing out glasses of champagne – or, at least, something that looked similar to it.    “Taylor!” a sharp voice cut above the rest. Training his gaze, Mark saw the face of Tom across the room, his hand up to catch his attention. He was seated with another gentleman Mark could not see as well. With a grin, he pushed his way through the crowd and stood at the edge of the table.   “Evenin', Tom!” he greeted jubilantly with a tip of his hat.   “Taylor, may I introduce a Mr Richard Smith.” He gestured towards the older gentleman seated opposite him who looked up courteously when he was mentioned. “Mr Smith, this is Mark Taylor.”    “Ah, yes.” he remarked, in an accent Mark could hardly place over the noise. “Charles Taylor's boy. I've heard a lot about you, young man.”    Knowledge of that alone was enough to make Mark uncomfortable and he quickly took a seat on a plush, red chair towards the back of the booth.    “Where's Bolton?” Tom asked once he was seated next to him.    “I don't know.” he admitted. “Haven't heard from him since this evenin'.”      Tom cast a glance off into the crowd nervously, his nostrils flaring as he took a slow breath.   “So, you didn't decide to follow your father's footsteps, Mr Taylor?” Isaac probed, leaning his dark suited arms across the table. In the light, a pair of golden cufflinks shaped like eagles gently glimmered.    “Uhh...” Mark looked up to meet his expectant dark green eyes. “No.”     Richard nodded calculatingly. “Pity,” he sighed. “I'm sure Mr Taylor must have considered that a great shame.” Mark felt a nervous guilt tangle in his stomach. “Although, no matter. I'm sure your efforts towards Mr Bolton's business are far more fruitful.”     “I'd like to think so, sir.” he said nervously.      Richard nodded once again, very slowly, murmuring something under his breath. “Well, once he has agreed to the terms Mr Shelby and I have discussed, I'm sure it will be.”      Mark looked at Tom with a deep-set frown. He'd already discussed terms with Mr Smith behind Oliver's back? It was enough to make him feel even more nervous than he already did seated here, especially when Tom looked back at him with those bloodshot, dark eyes. Were it not for Mark's other concerns, he hazarded to think he should ask Tom if he was feeling well, for he looked as though he'd been unwell for quite some time. However, Mark felt there were other things that needed further discussion.   “What terms?” he asked, not moving his gaze from Tom.   “Once Mr Bolton arrives, we will discuss them.” Richard's voice was sharper now, causing Mark to turn and look at him again. He had a long, slender face with dark brown hair that was beginning to thin towards the top, a long nose and thin, prune-like lips, pursed together as though he were perpetually sucking lemons. His tie was tight around his neck, showing the pale blue veins under his cold, white skin.    Tom was beginning to tap his fingernails against the wood of the table, breaking Mark from his stare. Mark did all he could to avoid Richard's gaze from that moment on. Instead, he found himself looking towards a solitary man at the table next to them. He had been so still that Mark had barely noticed him, his dark hair neatly swept back from his brow and brushed down to a fine art. He wore a pair of thick rimmed spectacles and never once seemed to blink, staring out into the crowd with an empty glass in front of him.    Remembering where he was, Mark was about to offer buying a round of drinks to relieve the tension when, mercifully, Oliver stepped through the front door.    “There he is,” murmured Tom as he shoved Mark to one side, pushing his way through.    Richard looked over his shoulder, murmuring a few words to himself and turning back around with a look that thoroughly suggested he was not impressed.    When Oliver arrived at the table, Mark smiled. “Ollie!” he exclaimed, getting to his feet. “I was wonderin' when you'd show up!”    “As was I.” Richard drew out, his gaze flickering up to Oliver and Tom dangerously.  “Mister Bolton was held up, you’ll hafta excuse him.” Tom growled slowly, an edge to his voice.       Oliver glared back at the man for half a second, making Mark feel slightly sick. However, he seemed to be on par with his usual mischief as, a moment later, he lifted his stubbly chin and shoved his hands in his pockets.     Tom introduced them, that strange undertone still hanging on his voice, like a young boy reporting the events of a misdeed committed in a classroom.    “You’re younger than I thought you’d be, Bolton.” remarked Richard, trying a small smile but the expression turned into more of a sneer.    “An’ you’re older than I thought you’d be, Pops” Oliver retorted instantly, Richard looked indignant. Oliver smirked.     Mark shifted in his seat nervously, licking his lips and taking a deep breath. “C'mon, Ollie. Why don’t ya sit next to me?” he asked, patting a spare seat next to him in an attempt to change the pace of the conversation.    “That won’t be necessary, Taylor. Oliver will sit with our guest.” Tom stiffly insisted.   “But, don’t you-?”    “It’s alright, Mark.” Oliver interjected. “Pro'ly best I do sit with him. After all, we got business to discuss.”     Oliver shot Tom a spiteful expression, but did as he was told despite his clear reluctance. Tom allowed Oliver to sit where he had and stood aside, casually checking over his shoulder into the crowd before taking his position next to Mark, as though he was guarding him from the party atmosphere. Richard cast a glance over the crowd as well, his eyes flickering around suspiciously while Oliver looked over towards the other table at the dark haired man who was still as stationery as a statue.    “So, Bolton…” Richard's voice cut through the atmosphere like a steel knife. “I hear you have shares within a Casino.”     Mark was beginning to feel nervous with Tom constantly on guard, his face aimed towards the bar at all times and fingers tapping restlessly on his knee.     “Yes…” Oliver dragged out. “I actually own the place now that Roberto has left us.”     “Roberto Giovanni Shelby.” Isaac mused softly, shaking his head. “I knew the man well.”     “He was well known.” Oliver commented. “And a very close friend of mine.”     “Yes, he spoke of you often, said he found no better man to inherit the business than you.”       At that remark, Tom flinched to look over his shoulder and Mark could see a look of deep resentment in his eyes. He'd always wondered about Roberto. The two of them claimed that he was like a father figure to them both, yet only one of them had inherited the Casino. Of course, he'd considered that perhaps it was a feat of favouritism, but from the way they spoke of him, it didn't seem as though he was the type – so, what had led him to want to give the Casino to Oliver and not Thomas?      “But, Mr Shelby tells me that your lil’ Casino is beginning to be a lil’...old hat.” Richard presented, leaning forward further and narrowing his eyes at the other. “Especially with growing competition from places like this.” He gestured broadly to the room around him.     “Isn't that why we're here?” Oliver's words were like ice. “My business is strugglin' and I'm told you have a way of helping me.”    “That's right.” Richard tapped an index finger against the air. “Mr Shelby and I have come to a proposal. I own a distillery company that is otherwise outta work in this damned Prohibition. My guys know how to brew and distil alcohol an’ we are willin’ to teach you all how.” He shifted himself. “Mr Shelby also tells me there is an unused basement in your Casino which could provide a perfect place to do our work. Of course, if you choose to take my offer I’d wanna see this space.”       Mark looked between the two of them warily and occasionally across to the man sitting opposite. He was beginning to move a little, as was Scruff. This worried him.       Oliver leaned forward with him, their hands almost touching in the centre of the table. “What's the catch?” he hissed.       Out of the corner of his eye, Mark could see someone was emerging from the crowd and he slowly let his eyes flicker to get a better look. The man was tall and wore a Derby hat. As he walked, his shoulders rounded forwards, as though he were an animal about to strike at prey. And he was heading right for the table.     “Ollie…” he whispered, tapping his friends shoulder.     “Not now, Quirk.” he hissed back, not making eye contact with him.     Tom did nothing, clearly indicating he hadn't seen anything despite the fact he was supposed to be on guard. Mark continued to watch the man.      “There’s no catch, Mr Bolton.”      “Then, what’s your angle?”      “I have twenty men out of work with little to no future prospects, my goods have been seized and my rival is now makin’ thousands working for a common enemy of ours.”      Oliver’s brow raised. “Malone?”      Richard nodded once slowly, locking eyes with him for a time as Oliver considered that knowledge. “As I said, Mr Bolton, there’s no catch...all I wanna do is help you save your company an’ in turn, you can help me save mine. I can’t stand by an’ watch twenty guys with wives an’ kids go outta work ‘cause of some stupid ass law, an’ you won’t stand to let the likes of Malone take control of the whole of Chicago’s up-and-coming enterprise.”        The man was drawing closer, zigzagging between the crowds. Mark's heart was pounding. No one was looking.       Oliver rubbed the stubble on his chin with his index finger and thumb. “An’ how much d’you want for these services?”       “Fifty percent of all profits.”       “Twenty.”       Mark’s mouth hung open like a goldfish, eyes darting from Oliver and then to Thomas. He felt the gun weighing down his pocket and surreptitiously reached into the lining of his jacket.        “You drive a hard bargain, Mr Bolton.” Richard chuckled stiffly. “Twenty five.”      “Twenty. Final offer.” Oliver insisted. “Until you give the goods, then we’ll see if I’m feelin’ a lil’ more generous.”      Richard smirked bitterly. “Shake on it, Mr Bolton?”        The man was almost at the table. Oliver stared at Richard’s hand. His fingers hesitated.        Something metal flashed in the light. He had a gun. The man had a gun.       And he was aiming right for them.       “OLIVER, GET DOWN!” Mark screeched, grabbing his friends shoulders and pulling him down. The seconds seemed like minutes. Oliver turned. Tom threw himself over the table. Richard stared.

       Shots rumbled.        Shrieks of terror from the crowds.        Frantic, thudding footsteps.        Silence.

      By some miracle, Mark had ended up under the table with Oliver's shoulders still firmly clamped between his fingers. His heart was racing, the silence a cold muffle against his ears. His breathing was loud, ricocheting from Oliver's body. Panic settled in.       “Ollie?” He shook his friend wildly. “Ollie, are you alright?”     After a moment, a groan escaped him and Mark felt a wave of relief engulf him. Slowly letting go of his shoulders, he swallowed his fear and looked up over the table. Richard was pressed to the back of his chair, frozen in shock. Tom was scrambling up from the table. The gunman was nowhere to be seen. Ducking back down, he saw Oliver clasping his head. There was no blood, so he made the assumption he must have hit it when ducking under the table. Gaze passing by Oliver, he saw a body lying on the floor, squirming and holding a shoulder. At the foot of their table was a gun. The same gun he'd seen before, having skidded across the floor. Feeling it safe to get up, he grabbed Oliver's hand and pulled him up with him. 

    Marks gaze trained to the gunman again. His shoulder was bleeding between his fingers, the man grunting in pain. He seemed to catch sight of his gun and was making his way towards it.     “I wouldn't.” a voice warned him from their left. Looking up, Mark witnessed the skinny man who had been seated opposite them standing beside his seat, holding a revolver he didn't hesitate to click the safety from.       The gunman continued to inch forward and the skinny man fired a second shot to the left of his ear, eliciting screams from the diminishing crowds in the room, streams of people flying towards the door in blind fear and panic.      “Last warning.” The skinny man was British, and his steel blue eyes were crazed on keeping the gunman down.        All the men at Oliver's table were staring at the Englishman in astonishment, most of them well aware that the guards outside the door would soon be upon them. Taking the initiative, Oliver threw himself through the booth and reached under his trouser leg, pulling out a gun he quickly checked the magazine of.         Oliver eyed the Englishman with curiosity and he gave a grave look back, prompting Mark to get up from his seat. “Tom, take Richard an’ get outta here. I’ll meet ya at Snake Eyes. Quirk, you’re with me.”      Thomas stooped over, picking up the discarded gun and flicking off the safety before pulling Richard - whose face was as white as a sheet and his jaw slack - to his feet.      Oliver rounded the left hand side of the Englishman, looming over the gunman. Drawing closer, he grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt. “Who sent you?” he growled.      Mark drew up to the side of the Englishman. He had a razor sharp jaw and porcelain white skin, his dark brows framing his face in a permanent look of great disdain.      The gunman - a short, stout man with a half moon shadow of a beard -laughed through yellow teeth. “Go fuck yourself,” he snarled.      “Mr Malone sent you to assassinate this man,” observed the Englishman, eyes directed towards Oliver. His gun was still held out in front of him, unwavering. Oliver, the gunman and Mark were all staring at the Englishman with varying degrees of surprise. “Didn’t he?”      Oliver turned his gaze back to the gunman who looked incredibly sheepish behind his breathless, aggravated front. “There more of you?” he grunted.      The gunman smiled viciously. “There’s always more of us.”      “Ollie,” Mark warned him, eyes locked on the door. “C’mon, the guards are gonna be down here any moment. We gotta get out.”      “This way!” the Englishman called, doubling back on himself towards a door behind the bar. Sliding several glasses out of his way, he pulled himself over the wooden counter top and pushed it open. Oliver and Mark followed in quick succession, running through the door and into a smaller room filled with wooden crates and other miscellaneous boxed items. “I saw some of the staff exit this way earlier, with any luck this should lead us around the back of the club.”      Mark’s eyes were wide, shaking his head. “How the fuck does this guy know so much?” he murmured to Oliver.      “I don’t know, but right now we don’t got much choice but to trust him.” he responded, rushing after the Englishman as he dove down an aisle and ran towards the back door.      “After you, gents.” he offered, pushing the door open, a spiral of cold air breaching the warmth of the room. Mark jumped out first, checking the perimeter with restless brown eyes. As soon as everyone was safely out, the Englishman blocked the door with a rusty pipe, securing them in for the time being. As soon as he was idle, Oliver grabbed him and pinned him against the wall.     “Ollie!” Mark cried, being prompted into silence again by Oliver.     “No...” he began. “I wanna hear from him.”      The Englishman looked completely detached from the situation, even as he was being held against his will. “Who are you?” Oliver pressed.       “My name is James Clark.” he replied simply, enunciating every syllable and looking over Oliver with a careful eye.       “Do you know who I am?” Oliver asked.       “I overheard your name,” Mark could hardly believe how calm this man was, acting as though he had not just seriously wounded a stranger with a revolver and escorted two complete strangers to safety. “Mr Bolton, I believe?”       “So, you were listenin' to our conversation?” Oliver's voice was becoming more frantic.    “You were making a business deal with a Mr Smith, it was hard not to find some intrigue in your conversation.” he dismissed.    “What did you hear?” Oliver growled, the revolver in his hand rattling.     The Englishman - James - lifted his chin and stood straighter. “You need not panic, Mr Bolton. I know nothing about you besides what had been discussed in the conversation.”    “So why did you-?”    “Save your life?” He pressed his glasses closer to the bridge of his nose, seeming rather proud of himself. “If I didn't take action, it was unlikely that anyone would have had time to save you, although I suspect that your friend...Mr Taylor, I believe? Might have been trying to warn you.”       Oliver shot a glance across to Mark, his eyes full of guilt. Mark could only look between them harshly. “So, how’d you know Malone staged the attack?”       “Mr Smith mentioned a common enemy you both had, I simply filled in the cracks.”       Oliver took a deep breath, slowly releasing his hold on James. “Well, thanks...” he replied quietly, submitting. “But, I still can't understand why you did it. Is there...somethin' you want from me?”       “I require no payment for my actions.” He waved a dismissive hand.       “I gotta repay you somehow.” Oliver bit his lip. “There must be somethin' I can do for ya?”           James thought for a moment, staring blankly between the two of them. It was strange, but Mark saw how his eyes looked older than he appeared. He couldn't have been over twenty, yet his eyes looked as though he were well into his eighties. Wise and tired. “Allow me to assist you.”        Oliver slapped at his thigh and Mark could almost tell what he was thinking – why was it that everyone he met that helped him with something wanted a piece of him?         “It seems as though you are in a spot of trouble with your business, correct?”        “You really were listenin' in on our conversation, huh?” Mark attempted as a joke.        Oliver said nothing, looking over the streets outside in anticipation of there being much more trouble to come. Mark knew the police could not be far behind them, especially when the word of a gun related injury at a club was reported. “Walk with me,” Oliver eventually stated, putting out his hand to lead James out of the alleyway. “Before more of Malone’s catch up.”         “I can offer assistance in several areas.”         “Example?”         “Your business associates, for one.”         Oliver hesitated. “What would you say about Mr Smith?” he asked sharply.         “If I were in your position, I would proceed with caution. His offer is very promising in such times and it seems as though one of your associates – Mr Shelby?” Oliver nodded. “Has the best intentions negotiating with him, but I would advise that you be cautious when working alongside him. That gunman was hired for one purpose.”        “To kill me.” Oliver said plainly, running his index finger and thumb over his stubble.        “You think Mr Smith set us up?” Mark had to ask.          This was the first time the Englishman had directly looked at him. There was a sharpness much like that of a judge between his eyes, but a softness to the edges of his lips. “It is not entirely out of the question.”         “Bullshit. It was one of Malone's,” Tom appeared at the end of the alleyway, his knuckles red and his body firmly squared into a pugnacious stance. “One of the guards on the door recognised us, sent one of 'em after us. Malone can't be too far behind.”         “Thought I told you to get back to Snake Eyes,” Oliver snapped.         “Workin’ on it,” Scruff growled.           Silence crept in. Oliver ran a hand over his face, turning away from the three other men. “We're in too deep.”      “No shit,” snapped Tom, taking a couple of deep, angry breaths before he settled down and slumped. “The offer still stands, Bolton.” His voice was the quietest, most controlled that Mark had ever heard it to be. “If we don't get in this game soon, next time we'll all be dead.”      “Sound advice,” James murmured, his eyes sweeping over Tom. Tom looked back at him suspiciously.       Silence overtook them all once more, Oliver pacing the alleyway with his head down, watching his steps. Mark looked over his shoulder. The street was quiet, but he doubted it would be that way for long.       “Where's Smith now?” Oliver finally asked.       “He's in his car, it's parked a couple blocks away.” explained Tom, gesturing behind him with his thumb.       “Tell him that Mr Bolton agrees to his terms. We start tomorrow mornin'.” He moved past Mark and made his way towards the end of the alleyway. “Mr Clark, with me. Quirk, I'll meet ya back at the Casino.”       “Gotcha, Ollie.” Mark agreed, never having the chance to tell him how glad he was that they were all alive.

[medicalmarijuana-news]

4 Lessons Alcohol Prohibition Should Teach Us About Cannabis

It’s difficult to predict what the next four years will look like for cannabis users. While President-elect Trump has made a number of contradictory statements on the subject of legalization, his pick for Attorney General, Sen. Jeff Sessions, holds some radical viewpoints, once claiming, “Good people don’t smoke marijuana.”

This isn’t the first event of this nature in U.S. history. Producing insurmountable suffering and hardship, the so-called ‘Prohibition Period’ between 1920-1933 – referring to the 13-year ban on alcohol – was largely regarded as a large-scale political failure. Cannabis prohibition has yielded similar consequences, with both events leading to an influx in organized crime, attacks on minorities, and ironically, a rise in drug use.

Recognizing the parallels between these two time periods can help us make informed decisions about the future, no matter what our political alignments may happen to be. So what lessons can we take from America’s first prohibition?

1. Crime Increases 

Women turn out in large numbers, some carrying placards reading “We want beer,” for the anti-prohibition parade and demonstration in Newark, N.J., Oct. 28, 1932. More than 20,000 people took part in the mass demand for the repeal of the 18th Amendment. (AP Photo)

Despite its negative reputation, alcohol prohibition was by some measures a success. The 18th amendment was popular for the majority of its duration, and Americans consumed significantly less alcohol. The benefits, however, were not without serious drawbacks. Organized crime groups thrived in territory that legitimate businesses were no longer allowed to inhabit. Prices of liquor spiked, the federal prisoner population multiplied, and the nation lost out on valuable tax dollars.

Because cannabis only became popular after it was made illegal, it’s a lot more difficult to determine exactly how much of an impact its prohibition has on crime rates. According to the American Civil Liberties Union, over 8 million Americans were arrested for cannabis-related crimes between 2001 and 2010. To this day, half of all drug arrests are marijuana-related, with enforcement costing taxpayers around $3.6 billion a year.

The crime doesn’t stop at the border, though. Cannabis trafficking has historically been the bread and butter of Mexican gangs. According to the Washington Post, cartels reaped in a total of about $8.6 billion from the plant in 2006 alone. Mexico’s Drug War has resulted in staggering tragedy; some experts estimate that by 2013, 120,000 people had died as a direct result of it. A few years ago, illegal cannabis sales made up 20-30% of overall cartel revenue. Thanks to legalization efforts, however, these numbers have dropped significantly. A change in government policy has real potential to destroy a financial cornerstone of violent criminal organizations.

2. Racial Inequality

Authorities unload cases of whiskey crates labeled as green tomatoes from a refrigerator car in the Washington yards on May 15, 1929. The grower’s express cargo train was en route from Holandale, Fla., to Newark, N.J. (AP Photo)

The passage of the 18th Amendment was largely thanks to an activist group called the Anti-Saloon League. Though certainly not the first prohibitionist group in America, the ASL stood out by way of its single-minded approach to policy. Taking no stance on issues unrelated to alcohol, the ASL garnered support from a range of organizations with conflicting values: African labor unions, women’s rights groups, and most notably, the Ku Klux Klan.

When alcohol was banned, the KKK flourished. Overwhelmed with gang-related crime, a number of southern counties appealed to the hate group to act as additional police support, transforming them into vigilante enforcers of the law. The Klan was known to raid the homes of immigrants, illegally collect evidence, and occasionally burn down buildings in the name of abstinence. Unfortunately, their strict anti-alcohol stance and ruthless methods attracted a positive image for the hate group during the mid-1920’s. The Klan reached peak popularity during this time, with an estimated total of between 4 and 5 million members.

The enforcement of cannabis has caused significantly disproportionate damage on minority communities. In fact, John Ehrlichman, Nixon’s Chief Domestic Advisor, allegedly once claimed that the introduction of harsher drug penalties was a method of further targeting the administration’s two political enemies: the “antiwar left and black people.” Ehrlichman passed away nearly two decades before the interview was published, leaving no witnesses to verify the validity of these admissions. Federal crime statistics, however, speak volumes in corroboration with this story. Though blacks and whites use roughly the same amount of cannabis, blacks are nearly four times more likely to be arrested for possession.

3. Harm Reduction

Five members of the alcohol Prohibition Research Committee depart on the bus Diogenes, named after the man who sought in vain for an honest man, in New York City, June 1, 1932. The membership is seeking one drunk who has been reformed by the 18th amendment in their campaign against the liquor ban. From left are Stephen Duggan Jr., assistant investigator; Russell Salmon, chief investigator; Ernest Boorland Jr., member of the executive committee; Robert Nicholson, assistant director; and Paul Morris, director. (AP Photo)

Research suggests that drug choices are heavily influenced by availability – the more readily a person can access a drug, the more likely they are to use it. Applying a blanket ban on a substance, however, can produce harmful consequences. A modern look into Kentucky’s ‘dry’ counties – which still practice prohibition – suggest that while these areas experience a reduction in alcohol usage, they also experience a terrifying rise in the prevalence of meth labs.

Unfortunately, a ban on cannabis also seems to signal a rise in use of more harmful drugs. There is indication that, in areas where cannabis supply is limited, some users will begin to smoke synthetic cannabinoids – unsafe, unregulated, artificial drugs which can often be purchased legally.

Conversely, it seems as if legalizing cannabis leads to lowered rates of drug abuse. A nationwide study recently concluded that MMJ states experienced a reduction in opioid deaths by nearly a quarter. Another study found that doctors allowed to prescribe medical cannabis wrote an average of 1,826 fewer opiate prescriptions per year.

4. Economic Impact

At a desk in the cabinet room President Franklin D. Roosevelt signs the Cullen-Harrison Act, or “Beer Bill,” the first relaxation of the Volstead Act in all the years of prohibition, March 22, 1933, in Washington. With its signature, the new law will permit the sale of beer and wine containing 3.2% alcohol from midnight of April 6. (AP Photo)

Bringing back booze was ultimately an economic decision. In the midst of the Great Depression, the prospect of an entirely new, booming industry was simply too good to pass up. In 1933, the newly elected Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the legislation repealing the amendment, famously remarking, “I think this would be a good time for a beer.”

The United States is still recovering from a global economic crisis, and the revenue and career opportunities of a legal cannabis industry spell out hope for many. Legal states reported record high earnings in 2016, with Colorado selling more than $1 billion worth of cannabis, and some figures estimating that the plant would generate $18 billion in the U.S. by 2020.

Over the next four years, citizens must demand that future policy be based on informed judgment, rather than impartial bias. We have the capacity to generate a larger job market, prevent drug-related deaths, and come to the aid of medical patients, but first we must make the decision to stop repeating the mistakes of our past.

S. Desiree

S. Desiree is a freelance writer for Leafly, specializing in history. She became inspired to write about cannabis after witnessing the life-changing effects of medical cannabis on her loved ones.

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