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WHISKEY STREET - Fourth Avenue East (page
99)
The name isn't on any map, but old-timers know that 4th Avenue used to be called Whiskey
Street. They also know how many saloons were located there, any number from 15 to 25. In
1896 it was known as Morris Avenue, a name that fell out of use along with those of its
neighbors Christlieb, Delano, and McKenzie. Today the only businesses on Whiskey Street
are a financial institution, a coin laundry, and a bar of such sedate reputation that the
proprietor probably can't remember the last time he uttered the words, " . . . and
stay out!" But in the days of Prohibition and even before, Whiskey Street had a
slightly shady reputation.
In 1920, Congressman Andrew Volstead of Kenyon,
Minnesota gave his name to the law that would strike fear and loathing into the hearts of
bar owners and patrons alike. The 18th Amendment, well-intentioned but unreasonable and
unenforceable, begat moonshiners, mobsters, runners, and a general atmosphere of
lawlessness. It was said that during Prohibition people who had never taken a drink in
their lives rushed out in search of one because it was suddenly illegal. If anyone in
Washington D.C. thought that the farmers and working men of Melrose would settle for a
glass of soda pop after a hard day's labor, they were wrong. Illegal liquor was made,
smuggled, sold, and consumed. Sugar arrived by the boxcar load and the unmistakable smell
of cooking moon frequently filled the air. Mysterious classified ads for
"rutabagas" or "feather pillows" meant the batch was ready.
Thirsty railroaders, who had been some of the bars' biggest patrons, were met with
satchels of whiskey when they got off at the depot. Respectable basements and back parlors
became distilleries overnight. An ordinary "soft drink place" might hide a
multitude of sins. Barrels of moon were cut with distilled water, colored with burned
sugar, transferred into pint liquor bottles, and corked. No labels were necessary. Small
lads on apparently innocent errands might well have any number of these bottles hidden in
special pockets which their mothers had sewn into their coats. Model A's equipped with
deep containers under their back seats rumbled down country roads at night. Rumors
abounded of a fleet of them sunk forever in Big Birch Lake.
The feds raided regularly, with varying degrees of
success. In July 1925, a spotter or undercover man was dragged from his car and beaten. At
least one Whiskey Street establishment was equipped with a trap door. A pull string let
the bottles fall into a deep cistern, where they smashed on granite walls and spilled
their contents into the sand at the bottom. Frustrated agents listened in vain to the
sound of shattering glass, but without hard evidence, they couldn't make an arrest. Some
of them sat patiently for someone to sell them and illegal beverage. But "long
shoestring" meant a beer, and in a bar where everybody knows your name, nobody serves
a stranger. The Melrose Fire Department once turned their hose on a fed who had emerged
from the hotel to watch a fire.
By 1933, 3.2 beer was legal. A convoy of trucks
arrived in Melrose from Cold Spring Brewery that April. "Beer back in town and all is
well," read the Beacon headline. "There have been no disturbances
caused by the return of beer and all feel this is going to help make times better."
By then, the Great Northern division had pulled out, the stock market had crashed, and the
political situation in Europe was looking grim. How much more harm could a little beer do?
JOYCE'S CAFE - 401 East Main (page 42)
In 1887 Edwin Clark built a solid block of two-story brick buildings (401 - 411). He
used this corner as a bank. In 1891 James Helsper and Frank Mohs bought out William Siem's
drug business and moved it here. By 1909, Helsper and his wife Bernadine were the sole
owners. Born in Krain Township in 1870, he left the family farm to become a laborer at age
14. Then he worked in a Melrose drug store, earning money to attend St. John's University
where he became a registered pharmacist. Helsper's Corner Drug, described as "a model
of neatness", sold assorted goods including sheet music, animal feeds, jewelry,
cigars, and Haviland and Dresden china. In 1913 Helsper added a soda fountain, probably to
compete with rival Fred Zuercher, whose soda fountain was reportedly "running full
blast".
In 1915 Helsper's sponsored a free trip to the
Panama-Pacific Exposition in San Francisco. The winner, announced at a social occasion at
the town hall, was Miss Alma Loosbroek, who later reported she had had a wonderful time in
California. The Helspers moved to St. Paul later that same year.
The store's new owner was H.L. Prestholdt, who
bought the whole block. He installed a new front and awnings, built-to-order shelves, new
showcases, and "English wall cases" of mahogany, glass, and marble. He sold out
two years later, after remodeling the soda fountain. Perhaps he was discouraged by a
recent break-in. Two men, "probably dope fiends", rifled the poison cabinet and
took $30 or so worth of drugs "to satisfy a friends craving". Since they weren't
caught, it isn't clear how anybody knew there were two of them.
The next owner was Orrin Thompson of Whitehall,
Wisconsin. He was described as "a pleasant gentleman, comparatively young in years,
but thoroughly experienced in the drug line. He is energetic, capable, and
ambitious". He was followed by Albert J. Kohl, who ran Kohl's Corner Drug from 1918
to 1935, at one point selling fishing tackle. In 1928 he offered Ansco Box Cameras for
$2.19. In October 1935, Kohl sold the store to pharmacist John Igers who moved across the
street in 1948. Then Gambles, which was selling automotive supplies, hardware, groceries,
appliances, and clothing in the adjacent buildings, brought in a men's department.
Hamlin's Cafe came next. This cafe was run successively by Roy Fanum (Fanum's), Gene
Petermeier (Gene's), Delia Marty (Del's), Lowell Meyer (The Cup and Saucer), and Marty
again (Del's). The cafe became an official Greyhound bus lunch stop in December 1972.
In 1977 Marty remodeled Del's, adding 36 feet of
dining area to seat 100 and opened the private dining room. Melrose native Mary Ellen
Gebeke, who had worked at the cafe when it was Gene's took over on February 1, 1978. She
sold the business to Joyce Winter, the present manager, in 1994. Winter remodeled further
and enlarged the restaurant.
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