My parents lived with my dad’s parents following the Second World War because of the housing shortage, and being the only endearing grandson in the household I enjoyed being spoiled. My grandfather frequently took me for walks around the block, and when he would head out the back door of the house without me in tow I would ask where he was going. His reply, “Goin’ to Muncie, Jake.” I was too young at the time to realize “Muncie” was a euphemism for a nearby tavern.
Since John McCormick probably poured a cup or two for the commissioners who came to his cabin in 1820 to locate the site of the new state capital, locals could easily find a place to get a drink. By 1910 there were 750 saloons in the Hoosier capital, one for every 312 men, women and children. Even during Prohibition, there were enough “blind tigers” in the city to slake the thirst of anyone hankering a quick drink. While saloons provided drink, by the 1880s the roadhouses outside of the city limits provided entertainment as well as drink.
One of the earliest roadhouses known as Brighton Beach was at the “Broad Cut,” on the west side of the Canal at 18th St. Located near a baseball park, on the surface it provided “a healthful, pleasant amusement, with few demoralizing tendencies.” However, in addition to providing “weak lemonade,” beer and whisky was available to the white and black dice players trying their luck at oontz (craps) and chuck-a-luck along with “various other devices to amuse the habitués of the place.” Later, bright lights and ragtime added to the popularity of Brighton Beach. The roadhouse became notorious for its drunken debaucheries, fights and shootings and closed in the fall of 1914 when its liquor license was not renewed.
On the National Road east of the city limits at Sherman Drive, Indianapolis City Councilor Simeon “Sim” Coy leased the home of Dick and Fannie Hollywood. The Hollywoods operated a “resort” in the two-story brick building with a bar and a smoking room on the main floor with wine rooms upstairs. On the ample grounds of the roadhouse, Coy added Sunday baseball games and an occasional prize fight that attracted hundreds of spectators. In the backyard, a beer garden with gaming tables was set up and cockfights were held in the basement. Few tears were shed by nearby residents of the Strafford and Tuxedo communities when an early morning fire on November 23, 1893 razed the infamous roadhouse.
The Oklahoma Roadhouse near Maywood, southwest of Indianapolis on the Mooresville Pike (Kentucky Ave.) at Big Eagle Creek, was known for its Sunday drinking and dancing. Chris Zimmerman, the proprietor, held side shows with women performers in the summer and hosted some of the largest cockfights and rat killing events in central Indiana. In an adjoining barn to the roadhouse, patrons could try their luck in gambling rooms and on the Dewey Slot Machine. When Wayne Township went “dry’ in 1911, the Oklahoma Roadhouse closed.
Northsiders could get a drink and seek their fortune at gaming tables in several “resorts.” Across from the main entrance to the state fairgrounds was James Scanlon’s Roadhouse “The Farm,” and nearby were Jack Christian’s Roadhouse and the Red Onion Roadhouse. Travelers on the Michigan Road could stop at the Bellevue Roadhouse before crossing White River.
In 1905 the anti-saloon forces succeeded in petitioning for Washington Township to go “dry.” The Bellevue stayed open for a time as a “private club” — a $1 membership fee got a ticket worth $1 in drinks — and the Indianapolis city council also proposed annexing an area that included the roadhouse so the police would have “greater power in dealing” with the roadhouse. However, the Bellevue’s fate came to a dramatic end when it burned in the fall of 1906 leaving only ashes.
As a Tennessee legislator observed in 1856, “There is one thing certain: as long as men want to drink and can produce money to pay for it, there will be some person to furnish it, whether the law permits it or not. You recollect the existence of blind tigers…We cannot govern and direct the morals of the world…” An Indiana law enacted in 1905 allowed for local petitions against the sale of alcohol and “dry” territory in the state increased by 44.6%. In response to this temperance crusade, “blind tigers” flourished.
While the traditional blind tiger was an arrangement where a customer wishing to buy illegal liquor would go into a room and place money in a drawer attached to a wall which was then withdrawn through the wall only to reappear with a bottle of whisky, the blind tiger in the first third of the 20th century provided the illicit alcohol in a more direct manner — the customer only had to knock on a door of a house or business room.
Blind tigers could easily be found in “dry” areas, but they were equally popular in “wet” areas where the law prohibited the Sunday sale of liquor. In addition to saloons, drugstores were often charged with operating blind tigers and Mary Evans, a druggist at 2301 Martindale (Dr. Andrew J. Brown Ave.), was the first woman arrested for keeping a blind tiger and her wagon load of beer, whisky and gin confiscated. One way around the law was to be a club, and about 25 “social clubs” could be found around Indianapolis. In 1907, temperance zealot Judge Samuel Artman of Lebanon, Indiana attacked the Columbia Club as “the most notorious blind tiger in Indiana…the gilded palace…State officers take their lunches there every day.”
For a number of years, Etta Richardson, dubbed the “Blind Tiger Queen,” operated a “rooming house” at 607½ E. Washington St. that was the classic example of what one would think of a “speakeasy.” Lookouts were stationed around the place and a double stairway — front and back — led to a closed door at the top with a peep hole. A knock would gain admittance to the rooms. Richardson was arrested and “heavily fined” $100 (2019: $2,779) and costs. More elusive illegal sales were conducted by “traveling blind tigers.” Enterprising individuals would purchase baskets of bottled liquor at saloons Saturday night and then go about the city on Sunday looking for customers.
The Prohibition Era found blind tigers operating throughout Indianapolis and Marion County. Despite relentless efforts by law enforcement, the sale of illicit alcohol flowed freely. Blind tiger operators were not deterred by a ninety-day sentence to the Indiana state farm; it was only a brief interruption in “business.”
