ROBERT GARDNER -- The Verdict

Soon after the repeal of Prohibition, a liquor store opened on Balboa. It

was on the oceanfront in the space previously occupied by Dirty George

and his hamburger stand.

For us dedicated beachgoers, this was a great improvement. When Dirty

George left, he took with him all his flies, which had become something

of a problem for us. The beach was quite narrow in those days, and the

only way you could get away from Dirty George’s flies was to get in the

water, and there is only so long you can stay in the water without

getting pneumonia.

The liquor store was open a rather short time when it came upon bad

times. Apparently, the man who owned the liquor store liked the product

he was selling because one night he overindulged and passed out on the

floor. Word got around, and in no time there was quite a stream of people

going into the store and emerging with bottles of liquor. No one touched

the cash register and its money because that would be stealing.

The man who owned the liquor store must have been a rather philosophical

sort, or maybe he just figured he was in the wrong business, because all

he did was shrug his shoulders, walk down Main Street to the Pacific

Electric, get on one of those big Red Cars, leave town and never return.

I hasten to add that I took no part in this mass burglary. I was working

that night.

This incident had a peculiar result insofar as we beach regulars were

concerned. Some of the burglars took more than they could carry, so they

buried some of their loot in the sand. When they returned, they couldn’t

find it. After all, one stretch of sand looks much like another stretch

of sand.

After the burglary, we beach regulars would, from time to time, stick an

elbow in the sand and unearth a bottle of hooch. This was before the

invention of beach chairs, so one just stretched out on the sand. I

distinctly remember when I discovered a bottle and we all drank warm

creme de menthe -- ugh!

That incident gave rise to a beach game. One would buy or steal a

watermelon, cut out a plug, pour liquor down the opening, then go out

that night and bury the watermelon in the sand. The next day you arranged

to get to the beach before anyone else, lie down over your buried

watermelon and, when the others arrived, “find” your booze-filled

watermelon, secure some straws and have a cocktail party on the beach. I

doubt that was original, but we all acted as though it were.

The only moral I can draw from all this is that Prohibition drove a whole

generation booze-happy.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and former judge. His

column is published Tuesdays.