Hard Times

Hal gave me his card and told me to have my grandfather call him at headquarters the next day. They said they wanted Jim Dewey to come on down to headquarters for a little talk. Our phone hadbeen turned off for months, but I told them I’d sure have my grandfather call him.

The two cops in mufti took our half a case of beer with them as they trudged on down the stairs. When they walked out the door, I also noticed for the first time that one of them wore white socks with his blue serge suit and green fedora.


My grandfather spent most of one day at the Portland police headquarters. When he came home, he told us an interesting story. It seems that somebody had reported to the police that Jim Dewey was running a big bootlegging and dope operation.
Out of our little dump?After the questioning, the cop in charge sort of insulted my grandfather by telling him that our ten- gallon kettle and half a case of beer weren’t worth the paper work it took to write ’em up. They gave my grandfather a stern warning, however. They told him to stop selling home brew—period. Then they sent him on home.

So much for my budding career as a bootlegger.

Chapter 5: The Beat Goes On

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