Chapter
Three
Andrew
Stevens
January 1911
“It is unbelievable that
Governor Campbell thought he could ram that despicable legislation
down our throats by derailing the inauguration of
Governor Colquitt. Closing every saloon at six o’clock! Why three-quarters of the laborers in
Texas do not finish work before six.
“But the worst, the very worst, was that
bill to close every saloon within ten miles of a public school. That is
tantamount to prohibition itself!” Otto Koehler, president of the
San Antonio Brewing Association, is justifiably ranting about a
brewer’s worst nightmare.
“An ihm ist hopfen und malz wirklich
verloren,” proclaims Otto Wahrmund, the vice president.
Andy Stevens is waiting in the open doorway
to the
office for a pause in the conversation. Mr. Koehler motions for
him to enter.
“In case you are befuddled by the German,
Andy, Mr. Wahrmund - soon-to-be, pardon me, Colonel Wahrmund - was not
referring literally to the ingredients of beer with that phrase. The
saying means that Governor Campbell is too stupid to understand even the
simplest of matters. Hops and malt would be wasted on him.
“Not that the zealot would ever raise a
stein. Fine! Let them pass a law forbidding the sale of beer in anything
smaller than a quart. Most good Irish and German working men would be
quite pleased to be forced to polish off a quart and still be able report
to their wives that they had only one beer on the way home.
“Any word from the others, Andy?”
“My brother telephoned. He and the Goeths
are checking their distinguished guests into the
Menger Hotel. They should arrive shortly, sir.”
“Thank you, Andy. Take notes when they
arrive. The details of the prohibitionists’ underhanded political
maneuvers might inspire us some day when the tables are turned.”
“Did you close on the MacKay Building,
Otto?” asks the Colonel.
“Yes, the Terrells drew up the papers for
me. I was surprised the newspaper reported the value of my downtown
holdings as more than half-a-million dollars. It is really none of
anyone’s business. You own most of that property with me. Are we as
wealthy as they claim?”
“You might be, but, alas, my fortune pales
by comparison. I own no part of ‘the handsome brick and stone,
four-storefront building on Navarro Street’ that is rumored to be valued
at more than $150,000.”
“My dear friend, Otto, I mean, Colonel.
(It might take me a while to adjust to your new title.) Of course, I plan
to transfer interest in my new acquisition to you. You were too caught up
in the politics at hand to pay any attention to such a minor business
transaction. I merely wanted to grab it for $140,000 before old Duncan
MacKay got a whiff of the same rumor as you.”
Andy’s older brother John Stevens,
secretary of the brewery, arrives in an exuberant state. Rushing into Mr.
Koehler’s office and interrupting the conversation, he slaps the pair of
Ottos on the back, proclaiming, “We sure john-l-sullivaned them this
time. Knocked them out, we did!”
Mr. Conrad, or C.A., Goeth and Mr. Fred
Goeth are right on his heels. Mr. C.A. Goeth is in back-slapping good
humor as well. “Otto, permitting me to take the credit for your
absolutely brilliant idea was the most fun I have ever had without a drink
in my hand. The press has been all over me, wanting to know how I ever
pulled it off.”
“I am sure the pros in Austin are soon
going to make the obvious connection between Fred’s role as our attorney
and your interest in the pending legislation,” says Mr. Koehler. “By the
way, I think your advertisement, the ‘Address to the Citizens of Bexar
County’ from the Anti Prohibition Committee, was timed perfectly. Having
old Dr. Herff’s son Ferdinand serve as chairman certainly lends you
credibility. We have got to get every working man in Bexar County to pay his poll tax
before the end of this month in case the pros force a statewide vote in
June. On Sunday, that bootmaker,
Lucchese, gathered more than 300 Italians for a rally to encourage
them to pay their poll taxes. What is not working in our favor lately,
however, is the very public crackdown on
Mayor Callaghan’s Mexican voting machine.”
“He has been helping Mexicans pay their
poll taxes faster than the water from the Rio Grande drains out of their
huaraches,” adds John. “And, say what you might about Mexicans,
they demonstrate a great affection for our beer.”
“We will tackle poll tax issues after the
inauguration,” says Mr. Koehler. “First, catch us up on everything that
happened in Austin.”
Continuation of
Chapter 3
copyright 2007, Gayle Brennan Spencer
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