A HIP
POCKET
Blow Out
LEGENDS It was the winter of 1921. Prohibition, the ban on alcoholic
APRI L 2 0 2 0 I BOROMAG.COM 29
beverages passed by Congress a year before, shakily
started its second year. For the annual dinner of the
Police Lieutenants Benevolent Association at the Hotel
Commodore, the rank and file spread the word that it was
to be the “lividest time in years.” Among the 1,600 police
lieutenants and their guests, the name of Mr. Volstead,
the congressman responsible for Prohibition, was not on the
seating list and not in evidence on the dais.
Probably half of those who entered the dining room, both in
uniform and full-dress, carried mysterious suitcases, handbags
and wrapped bundles. The event was already in serious trouble
when a large contingent of police from Queens and their
friends arrived – many were from Long Island City, the accounts
stated firmly. Several of those who came empty-handed were
the recipients of small bottles containing a dark fluid. It was liberally
passed around the ballroom. The demand was so great
that the supply soon ran out. The “fluid” later was poured into
glass pitchers of lemonade placed on the tables. It apparently
added to the tastiness of the drink, for the waiters were kept
busy filling pitchers all evening. There was general agreement
that the “lemonade” had plenty of pep.
The program was to start during a 10-minute recess before
dinner. After 15 minutes, members of the dinner committee,
walking up and down aisles, failed to restore order. Guests with
“capacious and hospitable hip pockets filled with cheerfulness
greater than any half-percent alcohol could ever produce,” were
so noisy that speakers could not be heard even with the pleading
of strong-lunged lieutenants. The event began to fall apart.
Rear Admiral James Glennon, commander of the Naval District,
tried to shout over the din. Reporters at the end of the speakers’
table could barely hear him. He sat down grousing, “Why can’t
they shut up down there?” General George Wingate stood to
speak, then sat down. The bedlam bumped up a few notches every
time a distinguished guest moved toward the podium.
Mayor Hylan was introduced. Taking a different tack, he started
by threatening, "The police commissioner demands silence or he
will call in the police!” There was an outburst of applause. Echoing
an old political campaign chant, the spectators on the left side of
the room cried out, “What’s the matter with Hylan?” Revelers on
the right side enjoined, “Oh, he’s all right!”
Tossing his speech aside, the mayor praised the department
and wound up calling Police Commissioner Enright “the NYPD’s
greatest commissioner.” Shouts of praise. Governor Edward Edwards
of New Jersey, the next speaker, evoked more cheers by
stating, "New Jersey is the wettest state in the Union.” He raised
an empty glass to his lips and smiled. An ovation.
Governor Al Smith, Father Francis Duffy, Chaplain of the Fighting
69th, and Police Commissioner Enright followed in rapid succession.
As he was leaving, Mr. Smith got a laugh when he said,
“Lord knows, but we did what we could to kill that lemonade off!”
The Police Lieutenant’s Ball was over, and although it took another
decade for Congress to finally accept it, it was also the night
that Prohibition died too.
FROM
LIC
COURIER
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