How else would we learn about the ingenious schemes that moonshine whiskey makers used to hide their stills, unless either they or the sheriffs who found them talked?  I’m thinking of the smoke from a distillery routed through a hollow tree, for example.  In Limestone County, not far from where I grew up, the smoke from an underground still came out around an old black yard pot, where a wood fire was kept burning for camouflage.

No less clever were the bootleggers (whiskey retailers) when it came to hiding their goods.  In Leon County, one fellow was caught hiding his bottled booze in a grave in a rural cemetery.  In another county an outlaw stashed his pints, up to fifty at a time, in the blankets of his baby’s crib.

Two Grayson County sheriffs are cited in Sitton’s book.  After winning the election as a reform candidate in 1912, Lee Simmons answered the door at his home one Saturday night and was shot three times.  He survived to be sworn in and keep his promise to clean up gambling and bootlegging in the county. 

On a different issue, Grayson Sheriff Woody Blanton was quoted by a local newspaper (in 1963) on the importance of keeping prisoners well fed: “When food goes bad and you’ve got fifty or more people in jail, a rebellious attitude can lead to torn-up blankets, stopped up toilets, and water faucets left on to cause flooding.”

Another reason to value oral history is that some of the best anecdotes about prominent politicians are not found in their memoirs or any histories based on documents.  At the 1948 Democratic National Convention in Boston, Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn was presiding on the closing day when several dozen “doves of peace” were released.  This lame publicity stunt certainly didn’t work.

The pigeons (they weren’t doves) had become overheated by the time their release came, so they headed for the ventilation fans in the ceiling.  Cong. Rayburn was hot and sweating as well, and when the birds spotted his gleaming bald head, it looked like the perfect target. 

The next thing he knew, pigeons were assaulting him on all sides.  Flailing them away, he leaned over the rostrum and the radio audience from coast to coast was shocked to hear the Speaker utter in anger and disgust, “Get those --- pigeons out of here!”

Naturally Mr. Sam didn’t talk about this embarrassing episode, but the Truman Presidential Library has a good account of it from a former radio advisor to the Democratic Party who saw it happen.

Jerry Lincecum is a retired English professor who now teaches classes for older adults who want to write their life stories.  He welcomes your reminiscences on any subject: jlincecum@me.com