A VAGRANT'S TALE

You have to go back to 1917 to catch up with me and the tale I want to tell you. Now I ain’t no fancy story teller, so you gotta understand that I pretty much write like I talk, which you’ll soon find out ain’t all that good. I was born in Peoria, Illinois and when the war broke out against the Hun in 1917, I think it was April, why I was a bit too young to enlist. But, my old daddy signed the papers and I managed to get into the war and over in France by 1918, when on November 11, 1918, the war up and ended. Since I was over in France on Uncle Sam’s dime, I thought that I would just stay there. Now of course, a lot of them guys was anxious to get home…but not me. I liked Peoria, that is when I was able to work in the distilleries, but when the Wartime Conservation Act in September of 1917 came along, why all the breweries and the distilleries in America shut down. Peoria had a whole lot of them so it really hurt us here in town. Prohibition hadn’t even come along yet so I thought I’d spend some time ‘over seas,’ which is what we called it then. So, I commenced to walk around over there, seeing the place, you know, havin’ me a bit of fun. I did too, for a little over a year. I signed on as a deck hand on a boat heading for the states and came on home to Peoria in the middle of 1922. I landed down in New Orleans and stayed there for a few months or so, and then decided that I’d hop some freights and come on back home. I made it up to Springfield, Illinois and commenced to walk toward Peoria, Illinois. I stopped in at a little store along the way and while I was drinking me a root beer, why a man pulled up in a 1920 Glide touring car, I think that’s what they called it. He told me that they were made by a company called Bartholomew in Peoria, Illinois and that they were fine cars. I told him that that was my hometown, and we struck up quite a conversation. He offered me a ride, and I gladly accepted.

Now in 1922 they’re ain’t any super highways so although we were riding, there was adventure connected with it, I can tell you that but it sure beat walkin.’ The man was maybe in his late sixties, maybe older, he coughed a lot, and the open car seemed like the wrong car for him to be drivin’ but he was happy as a kid. We talked about a lot of things and he finally got around to telling me about himself.

Seems he came from Alabama a mighty long time ago and toured most of the towns that had a road leadin’ to ’em. ‘Name’s Reverend Homer P. Poppins,’ he said offering me a kinda knarled right hand, but his handshake was strong and firm. He told me that he was a deckhand on packet boats and steamboats for many years, but he got the calling from God and left the rivers to preach God’s word.

I asked him what all that meant. ‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘one evening I was at the stern of the boat, smokin’ my pipe when I saw a star suddenly grow brighter, ‘course it caught my eye and I felt like it was somehow out there lookin’ for me. So, as I watched it another star off to the right shot out and down toward the Earth. Well, I commenced to get very cold, and it was a warm August night. I stared at that shooting star and then I just seemed to wake up. I knew at that moment that that was God just a talkin’ to me. Soon as we got to port, why I quit and ran to find a church. I told the preacher my story and he up and baptized me right then and there. I’ve been touring the country since then, preaching and reading the Gospel to folks and telling them the word of God.’ He never asked for my name and I just never bothered telling him until he finally looked over at me and said, ‘What do your friends call you?’ I laughed a little and told him that I don’t rightly have any friends, but my army pals used to call me ‘Deacon.’ He grinned, ‘You a preacher like me…Deacon?’ I told him that they tagged me with that name because I was always praying that I could get the hell out of them damn trenches when I was in France. The old man laughed, ‘That’s what I tell my sinners that prayer will work if you are honest with yourself and God. Say Deacon how about we stop at the next Inn up the road some? I ain’t feeling too good, and I reckon it’s time we ate. You have any money?’ I told him I had eleven dollars and he assured me that he had plenty of money so I quickly agreed. The sun was just going down when we pulled into a small roadside Inn. Along with a small restaurant, the place rented out one-room cabins. Mr. Poppins rented out two of the cabins and after we ate, he asked me over to his room to talk a bit. It was still early so over I went. He was a remarkable man and certainly a lot more educated than me and had been to every town and city along most of the big rivers in America. I asked him if he had a wife or family and he told me that as of the moment the only person in his life was me. I felt awful sad for the old man, until I realized that we were probably in the same boat. My dad had passed away while I was in France and other than a cousin or two I had nobody neither. I could see that he was getting tired so I got up to leave. ‘Deacon, let’s get on the road pretty early in the morning. Here…you take my key and when you are ready, come on in and make sure I’m awake and ready to go.’ I slept soundly and when the bright sun streamed through my window I was up and dressed and ready to go. I walked over to Poppins’ cabin and knocked on the door. He never answered so I opened the door and walked in. “Mr. Poppins, you wanted to get an early start. You get dressed and I’ll see if I can get us a donut and coffee.” The old man didn’t move. I walked over a little closer and reached out to shake his foot. “Mr. Poppins, you okay?” He didn’t say a word. I walked close to him and pulled the blanket back a bit and I knew instantly that the old fella was dead. I’d seen a lot of dead men in France so I felt no fear or remorse, just kinda sad to think that the old fella was gone. Now what? I started for the door to tell the owner to call the coroner or someone but I stopped suddenly. I pulled up a chair and sat staring at him as I thought about what I should do. Hell, I didn’t know the man, wouldn’t they somehow suspect me? I mean he died a natural death, but cops, coroners and inquests give me the willies. For five full minutes I mulled a lot of things around in my mind and finally I made up my mind. First thing I did was go over to the office to check out the situation. A woman was on duty and she asked me how I’d slept and what room I was in. I told her I slept like a baby and asked if the restaurant was open. She looked at the clock behind her. “Effie should have the coffee on by now. Where you heading?” “Me and my dad are gonna head south to see his sister. Thanks, you got a nice place here.” I went back to the old man’s cabin in the front door and unlocked the back door. I drove his car around back and entered the cabin through the rear door. I then really checked to make sure he was dead before I rolled him in the sheets like a mummy. Gathering up his luggage, and everything he had with him, I went out the front door and stood a moment smoking a cigarette, looking around. Not a soul was around. I struggled for at least ten minutes getting the damn top up on the car before I went back inside to pick up the old man. He was light as a feather as I carried him to the car. He fit fine on the floor in front of the backseat. I covered him with one of the cabin’s blankets and eased my way out of the driveway. When I got to Lincoln, Illinois, I stopped in a hardware store and bought a spade. “Gonna do some gardening are you sir?” The clerk smiled, pointing at the shovel. “Naw, got some fence posts to dig up, you wanna help me?” “No. I reckon I better stay right here.” Back in the car I headed north toward Peoria, Illinois. At a gas station I filled up the tank and paid with Mr. Poppins’ money. As a preacher he seemed to have a lot of cash…in fact an awful lot of cash. I pulled over into a large wooded area that could have made a beautiful park or a golf course. There was a lane that headed back deeper into the woods until it stopped me at a shallow creek. I got out of the car and walked around in a large circle looking the place over. It was truly a beautiful setting, and one I thought Mr. Poppins would be happy with until the Lord called him to meet Saint Peter. I picked a shady spot not far from the creek and began to dig the preacher’s grave. I stopped at about four feet and carefully lowered his body into the cool, clean earth. I scraped and pushed the dirt over his body, leaving a small mound of dirt. I pulled and dug up four small bushes and planted them over the grave. Satisfied I stood over the grave and recited a burial prayer from one of the many bibles the preacher had in his bags. I felt the ceremony went rather well, a certain dignity, if I do say so myself. HOME AGAIN!

Driving north, I arrived in Peoria, Illinois around noon. It was a Saturday and the crowds swarmed all over the streets, darting in front of cars, and going in and out of stores. Peoria was a bustling, busy town, and later I found out that the city population alone was just over 81,000 and by the census time in 1930 it was 104,969. Now that is a lot of people jammed into 9.1 square miles, which is all Peoria was. I finally found a place to park and went into a little restaurant for lunch. I stopped in a book- store and bought a map of the city and headed down to the Pentecostal Church on South Adams Street. I had a plan but I wanted to check the place out first. It was a nice little church located inside what looked to be an old house they converted. I liked what I saw and then drove up Adams to find a small hotel or a room to rent. A kind of shabby place had a sign out in front of it renting rooms by the day or week. The landlady looked me over. “You a drinkin’ man are you?” I told her I was a deacon and that I hoped to work at the church just down the street. That satisfied her as she took my ten dollars for a week’s rent. After I got everything in the house, I sat on the only chair and spread all of the reverend’s possessions out on the small bed. I almost had a heart attack once I found all of his money he had hidden in his bibles. One of them Bibles had a hole hollowed out in it and there he hid a lot of money as well. I stared at it then spread it out once again. Nine hundred and seventy three dollars! My God, that was a fortune in 1922. I had already seen the letter from the church on Adams Street to Mr. Poppins, but I read it again and again. I knocked on the landlady’s door and she kindly gave me a piece of stationery and an envelope. This is what I wrote. Dear Mr. Dillard: I would like to introduce to you my friend, companion and Deacon of the church I left to come to Peoria, Illinois to serve your flock. His name is R.E. Lee, from Peoria, Illinois. I hope that you will consider him as your new pastor in my stead. My present illness has incapacitated me, and may for the next month or so. The moment I am feeling better I will contact you further. May God be your guide. Thank you. Reverend Homer P. Poppins I forged his name pretty good from the signatures he had in his bibles. I went to a local bathhouse and got a shave and headed for a men’s store. I bought a nice, but cheap suit, some shirts and a pair of shoes. I looked pretty good, almost fooled myself, to tell you the truth. Sunday morning I got to the church early and parked the car right out in front of the church. A man was standing in front of the open door as I walked up. “Sir, I am looking for Mr. Dillard.” “You’re talking to him, Mr…” “R.E. Lee, Mr. Dillard, folks call me Deacon.” I showed him the letter and saw a smile come over his face. “Well, welcome Deacon. Let’s go to the office and talk.” Mr. Dillard called to a man to take the door as we walked inside the nice, tidy little church. It was half full even though services would not start for a half hour. Mr. Dillard was not the least bit skeptical, quickly telling me how sorry he was about Reverend Poppins. I told the man that I was there to fulfill Mr. Poppins’ role until he recovered. I even warned him that I was not half the preacher that Poppins was. Mr. Dillard was all smiles assuring me that he appreciated me coming. I would be offered a monthly sum of fifty-four dollars, a nice, but small private room, and expenses. I liked the sound of that, but I asked no questions. “Would you like to address your new flock today, Deacon?” “I have not prepared a sermon, but I would be glad to introduce myself, I surely would.” It was settled that fast. I told Dillard that I had a room already, and that I would move into the church sometime during the week. A guest preacher took the pulpit, and in a few minutes he introduced me. I am no public speaker, but I always had a flair for acting. I smiled, I told them a little bit about myself and how sorry Reverend Poppins was that he was not here. They smiled at me, applauded and I sat down. So…here I was. I had a job, a car, and a hell of a lot of money and I was in my hometown. How’s that for a vagrant? Pretty damn good, I’d say.

THE ROARING TWENTIES

Remember it is almost 1923 and In Peoria, like all other cities in the United States it was Prohibition. The Great Experiment they called it, among other things. Of course it was not only stupid there was no way it could possibly work. Take Peoria for instance. Now at one time this place was called the Alcohol Capital of the World. Why they had as many as seventeen distilleries and maybe a dozen breweries going here at one time. The employment was huge, and one of the main reasons Peoria grew like it did from 1845 until 1917. That’s when the breweries and the distilleries were shut down because of a phony conservation law, all contrived by the DRYS and led by a powerful politician named Wayne Bidwell Wheeler. Folks here in Peoria called him ‘Birdbrain.’ Then on January 16, 1920, Prohibition began and that closed all the taverns and saloons all over America. Truth is Peoria was hit harder than any other city in America because of the number of lost jobs, I mean it looked like it would devastate Peoria, Illinois and virtually shut the place down. But that is not what happened. The truth is it thrived like never before and people flocked to this town, I can tell you that. Why we had close to 200 taverns here in town, all of them within the small city limits and a hell of a lot of them out in the county. There were also restaurants in most of those taverns and I can tell you it really hurt a lot of people. But…thanks to the do-gooders, and the religious fanatics and power politics, Peoria shut down. I mean the lights went out and there was doom and gloom in the forecast. Well, it looked that way. We had a Mayor named N.E. Woodruff, and he quickly allowed the taverns to re-open if the owners bought a Soft Drink Parlor License. He didn’t like the idea that him and his town were losing all that liquor license and tax money so he did something about it. Well, that is exactly what they did here and by the end of 1922 there were 147 of those soft drink parlors in Downtown Peoria and they were an immediate success. Within a year we had almost 200 and Downtown Peoria was on the roar, and that meant booze, flappers and gambling. I fell in love all over again with good old, bawdy, lusty Peoria, Illinois. BACK TO THE CHURCH

I must admit the first sermon I gave scared the hell out of me. I stood up there at that pulpit and looked out at the packed church. Folks even stood at the back gawking up at me like I really had something important to say. With the help of a little sip of whiskey, I managed to stop shaking. Well hell, the truth is…it was easy. Poppins had at least a couple dozen bibles, sermons and talks he had given all outlined so even a dummy like me could follow them. I would rehearse them during the week and give my performances twice on Sunday. On Saturday and Tuesdays the ladies would take over with activities and all I had to do was show up, smile, and tell them how wonderful it was to watch them do God’s work. Every month I would show Mr. Dillard a letter from Poppins telling him he was feeling better. Life was awful good to me...but of course I had another life as well that the good folks at the church could not even imagine.

THE LUSTY SIDE OF TOWN

Let me take you on a Saturday Night trip to Downtown Peoria…wanna go? I told you how many people packed this place and within a ten-block square, there was every kind of store you could imagine. The motto was ‘If you can’t find it in Peoria…you don’t need it.’ Farmers came into town to sell their products, livestock and everything else they could grow, and I mean it was a lively place. Now the distilleries opened, some made medicinal alcohol, and some distilled white vinegar and other foodstuffs and they hired men…a lot of them. The breweries went into the soft drink bottling business, and they hired a lot of their employees back. Something called ‘Near Beer’ was popular and we had thirteen different kinds of that colored water here in Peoria. Men soon found that a little bit of whiskey mixed in a beer makes for a lively drink…if you get what I mean. I like statistics, and get this one. During the first ten years of Prohibition, Peoria’s population grew by 28,848 people, and that is just the city population. Now that is a very impressive number.

The old taverns were gone and every sign of booze and beer were put into storage. The taverns opened up with cute little tables and they sold all kinds of soft drinks and goodies, they called them Soft Drink Parlors. It looked like a damn toy house to me, but that is just exactly how it was supposed to look. Millions upon millions of gallons of Canadian whiskey flowed down to the United States by truck, car, boat and push cart, I mean it was a torrent. Peoria got its share and then some. Now this was not rotgut booze, but good old Canadian whiskey. Peoria’s distilleries made whiskey that was used for the military, and believe it or not, some of that booze doctor’s wrote prescriptions for. It was a joke… the whole damn thing was just a joke. The Volstead Act was supposed to have been the law, you know, stopping all the bootlegging and stuff, but it was just a damn farce. Local cops were not paid to enforce the dry laws, so I can tell you that Peoria was as wide-open as a city could get. Of course you could get arrested, and some did, but that was a chance some of the big wheeler and dealers were willing to take.

All a fella had to do was drive some kind of vehicle up to Canada and buy all the booze he could pack into one of those rickety 1920’s vehicles. They had trucks and cars, and autos of every description making regular trips from America to Canada and back again. They would cut that booze and sell it faster than hot pancakes in the winter. Of course, Peoria got its share and most of it ended up being sold through these soft drink parlors. It was a great set-up and a lot of folks got rich, while the rest of the people got drunk.

A man could sit with his family in a parlor and order soft drinks for everyone for a nickel or a dime. His, on the other hand, cost $1.35 because in his he got a shot and a half of good old booze, and some of it was distilled right here in Peoria. Of course down by the river where the real drunks lived, they got to drink rotgut whiskey from the horrible ‘Hootch-Houses’ which were hidden here and there all along the river. Those poor guys died from that stuff. Often they would be lifted up and carried up to Adams streets by their friends so the local coroner could see that they got buried. They ended up out near Bartonville, Illinois in the public graves called ‘Pauper Graves.’ There were no AA programs or anything at all to help those men and women, I can tell you that. A few missions in the south end of town helped them once in awhile, but it was a losing proposition. We here in the city just called them bums and that is exactly how they got treated. ME AND THE NIGHT CROWD

Now Peoria was big by 1923 in the entertainment business and that meant whores, gambling, booze and Vaudeville. We were the center of the State of Illinois, and believe me the nightlife started at dusk and went on until at least four in the morning. That’s when the all-night restaurants served those that survived the wild night. I was always one of them. I took off my preacher clothes and most nights dressed in a fancy suit, wore a hat, some wild shoes, and headed for the newest soft drink parlor, and believe me it seemed that a new one popped up every week. The men were looking for the women and vice-versa. Now this was the time of the new music called Jazz, and the new woman, called the Flapper. Might surprise you to know that some of those women were just kids, you know, girls. They dressed in a silly hat, wore long beads, and many of them had a flask strapped to their inner thigh. They were wild, loved to smoke and cuss, stick out their hips and dance like insane people. Of course, that’s exactly why we loved them and chased after them.

Now on occasions I took a nice lady from the church out on a picnic, drove with the top down on Grand View Drive, and went to church socials. I was considered a very desirable, eligible bachelor and the ladies were awful nice to me. I went to member’s homes for dinner and even a few fancy suppers and parties. I was nice, polite and always the ‘Deacon.’ I lived a marvelous life all thanks to my friend Homer Poppins. But…when it came to Friday and Saturday nights, I was downtown, dancing, drinking and raising hell along with a large part of the population of Peoria, Illinois.

Finally, I wrote a letter to Mr. Dillard from Mr. Poppins telling him that he would not be able to fulfill his obligation. The letter also told Mr. Dillard how happy he was to hear that I was filling in for him. But…that Homer would never be able to come to Peoria. I handed the phony letter to Mr. Dillard and immediately told him that I felt obligated to resign. Thank goodness he disagreed and not only asked me to stay, but gave me a five dollar a month raise. Now how could I refuse such an offer? Well, I didn’t and entered my second year as the pastor of the friendly church down on Adams Street. Folks held a little party for me at the church, and life was good.

So here it was, well into 1924, and I was living the life I used to hear some guys in the army talk about. Of course, I didn’t believe much of what they said, but I sure loved hearing about it. My life was spent basically in downtown Peoria, in an 8 to 10 block area. I rarely drove the car, I lived where I worked, and all I had to do was wait until dark, walk a few blocks and there I was in another world. It was fantastic. I was careful who I talked to or hung out with, because Peoria could be a tough, dangerous place if a fella got a bit too cocky or rubbed the wrong guy the wrong way. I soon learned who to avoid, who to be nice to, and who to play poker or drink with. I saw plenty of guys get roughed up and at least three died from injuries they suffered. The cops were called roundsmen early on and they were always walking into the soft drink parlors checking everyone out. Of course they knew there was boozing going on, but like I said they were city cops, not Federal Dry Agents. Most of those cops knew every bad guy in town and sometimes they would come in and round up a whole damn bunch of them guys and just haul them off. Naturally I got to know the cops and two of them came to my church. I was able to act like a nice innocent gentlemen, yet I was far from it. I told you before, I was pretty damn good at acting, believe me.

His name was Ortez, but everybody called him Mexican Joe. He was a Mexican guy, but told everyone that he was an Aztec prince. Early in the evening he was a fun guy, kidding the women, making jokes, but by nighttime he was a dangerous, ugly drunk, and guys who knew him went some place else to drink. I saw him knife a guy that was holding a broken whiskey bottle to his face, and it was a horrible thing to witness. He heard me tell the cops that the guy looked like he was trying to kill Ortez, and they didn’t even arrest him. Old Joe never forgot that, and he went out of his way to look after me. One day he was in his shack down by Morton Square in the north-end of town. That used to be a Mexican Colony. He was in love with a seventeen-year old Mexican girl that did not even know Joe existed. But…he loved her anyway. One day he saw her talking to a white kid, so Joe went after him and shot him in the face. The girl, instead of thanking him, called police on him. Well, he was tried and convicted of murder because he shot her four times. The kid lived…she died. Joe was hanged right here inside the Peoria County Jail. I actually witnessed that hanging, and I don’t want to see any more of those things. Actually Peoria executed eight men by hanging and two were killed in the electric chair in Joliet, Illinois. So much for peace and quiet huh?

Peorians loved live acts of all kinds and if there was ever a home for Vaudeville it was right here in Peoria, Illinois. Actually there were at least two hotels that catered to all those actors, dancers and comedians, and I got to know most if not all of them. Hell, during the twenties this was the place for them to come and people from all over flocked into town to catch all the acts. On top of that we had seventeen theaters in town that showed a variety of movies from nickelodeons to silent film. In case you didn’t know it was 1928 before the Talkies really took over, but we still had a ton of great theaters. Places like the Majestic, Orpheum, Palace, Madison, Hippodrome and the Princess just to name a few, and many of them were elegant places, I can tell you that.

Well, folks I am just beginning my third year back home and still working at the church. I got a surprise last Sunday just as I walked up to give my Sermon. One of the elders in the church waved me off and spoke to the congregation. He told them that starting today, Deacon R.E. Lee, that’s me in case you forgot my name, was now to be called their permanent Pastor. They all stood and clapped and I was just flabbergasted. I got a nice raise and it was right then and there that I told them that I was getting married to one of the members of the church. I embarrassed her by asking her to stand, and they gave her a nice hand. Looking back, I think that may have been the happiest day of my life.

Early that week, I hopped in the car and drove down toward Lincoln, Illinois to see if I could still find the grave of Homer Poppins. I had no problem locating the area but the property was now fenced in with a couple of ‘No Trespassing’ signs posted on the fence posts. I drove down a hundred yards or so and walked back and climbed over the fence. I followed the narrow pathway back to the creek and stood there looking over at the four bushes I’d planted on Homer’s grave. It was beautiful there and the bushes concealed the outline of the grave, which was surrounded by tall, beautiful trees.

I had to take off my shoes and socks and waded in the water to get to the grave. For a full ten minutes I stood there talking to Homer, mostly thanking him for saving my life. I told him how great the church was and that I had found the woman I wanted to marry. As I turned to leave, thanking him again, I told him that I would name my first son after him.

All the way home I thought about my life, and old Homer Poppins. It was a peaceful, thoughtful ride, and once I got home, I vowed to make my church the best little church in the City of Peoria, Illinois. I think history will show that I did just exactly that. Thanks again Homer, I feel certain that you are resting in peace and wishing me well.

Editor’s Note: Norm is a true-crime writer and author of 12 books that are now only available in Peoria’s library. This is a special work
Norm calls Historical/Fiction. norman.kelly@sbcglobal.net