In 1920, Prohibition came to the United States like a scourge, bringing with it the earliest traces of organized crime, creative uses for bathtubs, and a massive uptick in insurance claims concerning barrels. For a Grand Lock living during this time, however, things weren’t all that different.

Unless, that is, they were working as a cooper. Barrel business was booming for everyone in the twenties.

The fact of that matter is that as a Grand Lock then, just as now, it is quite difficult for the government of one nation to dictate the habits of a secret society that has hubs strategically placed around the globe. American Grand Lock lodges flowed freely with Canadian gin, Russian vodka, French champagne, and poorly-made German taquilla.

In spite of it’s reputation for fixing things, the abundance of alcohol resulted in several difficulties for the Grand Locks that did not exist before. Inquiries for membership rose dramatically. The Order being an intensely secretive organization known only to its members, this increase resulted in a .002% increase in interest, generally in the form of immediate family members asking politely to attend meetings. Something had to be done.

Then we add into the mix a few “enterprising” Locks who served as bad apples in danger of spoiling the broth. Two electronic engineers, Tumbler C. Thomas and Locksmith E. Santana decided to spin their Lock status into gold by taking home alcohol “doggie bags” from their local Lodge potlucks which they would then use to fuel local speakeasies. What began with refills of flasks escalated to claims of “ankle bloating,” as full bottles were put into especially baggy sweatpants. By the time the pair attempted to attend a meeting with their new crate-sized backpacks, their local Lodge’s collective blind eye refocused on Thomas and Santana. The Punishment Committee swooped in and put their electronics knowhow to use, putting them to work on the construction of  a prototype music computer.

Though they generally maintained a laissez-faire attitude towards the United States’ wacky alcohol rule, by 1933 it was wearing a bit thin. Private shipments of spirits across oceans were occasionally seized by soon-to-be-fired police officers who didn’t know any better. Members of the Order who continually encountered difficulties getting their DeSotos home damage-free began to raise the eyebrows of their straight-laced, non-Lock neighbors. And the smattering of Locks who had filed the proper paperwork to work in the bootlegging field generally stated that they “didn’t like it,” finding crime “too scary.” Something had to be done.

Unfortunately, this section of the story is rather difficult to “sex up.” Leadership called Shadow President Locksmith F. Roosevelt who notified Real President E. Roosevelt that Prohibition was repealed. The perfunctory Congressional debate was scripted and performed and just like that, the 21st amendment was ratified.

Though the storm was weathered relatively easily from the perspective of our Order, Prohibition did make its influence felt. Let us all salute Prohibition with the same gesture that the Grand Locks of 1920 did upon it’s arrival: raise a glass of your drink of choice, and then promptly forget about it.