Memory of 1934: Bootlegger’s Loss, Gunners’ Gains

The early morning weather was blowing a gale northwest, and the overcast sky gave Nov. 15, 1934, an ominous look. Len Bauer, Dad, Charles Mulford, and three other friends met at the Promised Land boat basin to go duck shooting in Len’s Jersey boat to the shoals off Cartwright Island at the tip of Gardiner’s Island. The weather didn’t look very good, and Len was afraid the duck boats and sharpies would be tossed about in the rough seas, possibly overwhelmed. So the duck hunters decided since they were up early and ready to go, perhaps they should try another venue.

They headed instead for the lee side of Hicks Island off Lazy Point, which is about two miles east of the Promised Land boat basin. They loaded their duck boats and sharpies onto Charlie’s platform truck and followed him to the Lazy Point launching ramp.

The gunning party rigged out in their sharpies and duck boats in the channel and found some duck activity, shooting a few coots and old-squaws. As they were ready to leave, a Lazy Point resident happened by and told them about boxes with two-to-three-gallon bottles of alcohol scattered along the beach by the old fish factory. Being curious, the hunters walked over to take a look and saw what looked like a beach full of new lumber.

It seems that during the evening hours a small freighter had unloaded this boxed contraband (grain alcohol) onto the old fish elevator at the end of the factory dock. (A fish elevator is a contraption designed for unloading fish from fish boats into the factory.) But this load of alcohol seems to have been too much for the old elevator, and it failed. Everything had spilled into the water and onto the beach.

The gunning party seized at the opportunity to collect some of the bootlegged liquor. Len and Charlie drove back to Promised Land, got Len’s Jersey boat, and ran back to Hicks Island. They loaded aboard 65 boxes of alcohol into the boat, and then ran back to the Promised Land boat basin and piled it on Charlie’s truck. From there, Charlie parked his truck in an empty shed that he knew about near an old seine house at the former Hayes fish factory. Len and Charlie then ran the boat back to Hicks Island and this time picked up a load of 85 boxes.

Len put the stern of his Jersey boat close to the beach. The boat was loaded to capacity with about six inches of freeboard. It was aground. All hands gathered around and shoved and pushed to get her off. When the old Hayes factory watchman finally notified the authorities, the word got out and a free-for-all began at the beach. Soon the boxes began to disappear like the dew in the early morning sunlight.

While Len and Charlie were heading back with their second load, the rest of the party secured their sharpies and duck boats and helped themselves to more boxes of alcohol to put in their cars. However, by now the competition was fierce. There was stealing from unguarded piles and rumors flying that federal agents were on their way to seize the alcohol. This made everybody nervous.

The gunners drove back to the Promised Land boat basin and helped Len and Charlie load the truck. Charlie parked his truck in the shed fully loaded while the rest of the group laid low all day listening for rumors of federal agents and took turns standing guard. That evening a suspicious car drove up and they suspected it was federal men, but they didn’t see the truck. Charlie stood by with the motor running and guessed if they heard they would think somebody was charging his battery. The suspicious car backed around and headed east. Charlie backed out of the shed and headed west.

Charlie drove the load over the back roads to dump sites in Amagansett and East Hampton where the loot was hidden in cellars and attics until the coast was clear. Dad hid his share in a little barn where he kept fertilizer and farm equipment and covered it with a tarpaulin. Since it was 1934, Prohibition had been repealed only a year earlier, and surveillance for smugglers had eased off somewhat and their efforts were not as well organized as they once had been.

Now that the contraband was distributed, the next concern was how to get rid of it. The alcohol was still a hot item and still required a plan for orderly release, lest folks begin to get curious as to its origins. Somehow this hadn’t been discussed when everyone was loading it on the boat. Suddenly, the situation seemed a bit riskier.

Soon thereafter, Charlie got a call from federal agents who had heard that he had trucked a load of alcohol to another location. Charlie knew he was in a tight spot and admitted he had indeed delivered a load to a “party” in Northport the day before. They wanted to know if he had any left. Charlie said the party had given him a leaky tin of the stuff. Naturally, they wanted to see it. Charlie said he would have to fetch it because he had hid it in his attic. While the federal men waited, Charlie poked a hole in a tin and gave it to them. They took it and left. No charges were made against Charlie.

The cat-and-mouse game continued when others of the group tried to get rid of their alcohol. As the duck hunters got organized, Tom Rose, a notorious bootlegger and rumrunner, was contacted at his Village Green Grocery and Meat Market, next to Guild Hall in the Village of East Hampton. Tom acknowledged that he had heard about the alcohol incident at Hicks Island. Further, he had talked to some buyers only a few minutes before — they had just gone east but would be back in an hour or so. Tom suggested if this buyer or any other should come along, it would be best for the group to take the offer. In the meantime, they should be looking over their shoulders and keeping a low profile.

I was still in school while all this was going on and not in the know on the whole affair. So when the school coach, Frank (Sprig) Gardner, one of Dad’s duck shooting partners, asked me if my father got any of that alcohol from Hicks Island, I didn’t know what to say. Sprig would have been in on this adventure, but this all happened during a school day while he was at work. I was surprised to hear about the alcohol, real rumrunner stuff, and my mind raced with the thought of adventure. Dad had been out with Len many times duck shooting and always talked about how good or bad the shooting was. Never was there any excitement to speak of in those outings.

As soon as I got home, I told Dad what Sprig had asked me. He said, “I’ll show you,” and took me to the little barn where, sure enough, there was a pile of wooden cases covered with a tarpaulin.

Strangers with ready cash began to show up at the house, even in those Depression days. Dad got rid of most of his little stash overnight, and the rest very soon afterward. He said his alcohol sold for enough to pay for the new rowboat Uncle Dan Parsons built for him a year or so before.

One member of the party had taken his share to Southampton. Then somebody talked, and the federal people began to ask him about the alcohol. He had to admit to having a small stash. They confiscated it. No doubt this was a plus for the feds. Fortunately for most of the hunting party, most all of the alcohol had been sold by then.

A couple of decades or so later, when the excitement had passed and the principals were no longer around and details of the gunning trip had been long forgotten, I thought about the Hicks Island alcohol. Who was heading the rumrunning operation, where did it come from, how did it get there, and where was the intended destination?

I questioned Leslie Ball, Tom Rose’s nephew, about the Hicks Island alcohol incident and asked if he knew whether his uncle had anything to do with it. Les’s answer was quite emphatic: Tom had had everything to do with it. That answered my question with respect to Tom Rose, something I had long suspected.

The next thing I asked was, how did it get there? Les explained that a small freighter had tied to the fish factory dock and was unloading the alcohol onto the old fish elevator when it failed. The contraband fell overboard into the water, with some drifting onto the beach. The freighter captain put on full power and pulled a big timber off the fish elevator that landed on the deck. The rumrunning freighter was last seen steaming full throttle to the northeast with that big timber still on deck.

When the dock began to groan and sway, the remaining gang unloading the crates scrambled ashore. They were soon picked up by a small speedboat that took them to Three Mile Harbor, where Tom had other transportation waiting. Lucky for those men, Tom had taken proper precautions and always had a speedboat stationed close by should anything go wrong.

My last questions were, where did it come from, what was to become of it, and for whose purpose? Now, since Tom and Les are no longer alive, these answers are left to one’s imagination. I suspect Tom lost a good deal of money on this deal, but I never heard he had to pay for any of the repairs to the old fish elevator.

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Edwin Sherrill lives in East Hampton Village.