Shaking the Jar: As My Daddy Did

By D.C. Salisbury

Across the U.S. when the air cools and the leaves change and in Montana the elk bugle, Friday nights are for football. After the games are over, players, cheerleaders, and students gather to drink.

Plains, Montana, is no different, except the party turns deadly. With bodies piling up, the newly-appointed Sheriff Coker asks his friend Henry for help. They stumble across a family tradition and something purely wicked.

Henry struggles with his feelings for the desirable doctor, Marie St.Croix. Will Henry give in to his feelings for Marie, or will the grip of Her still hold him tightly?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468594140

D.C. Salisbury

Dean was born and raised in Pennsylvania. He is a graduate of Penn State. He currently lives in Post Falls Idaho with his two sons Jake and Ethan. Dean is an avid outdoorsman. Dean has been a police officer for twenty-nine years. He currently works as a Lieutenant for the Coeur d' Alene Tribal Police Department. He started his career as a Military Policeman in the U.S. Air Force. During his career Dean has taught Arrest Techniques, Taser and D.A.R.E. He has been a K-9 Handler, he also has been on Tactical and Dive Teams.

Book preview

1

Jimmy Joe Snyder struggled with the fifty-pound sack of sugar as he pulled it off the 1941 Ford truck bed. The weight on his shoulder seemed to drive him into the ground. He struggled to keep up with his father, Jimmy Joe Snyder - whom everyone called Little JJ - and his grandfather, Jimmy Joe Snyder, who was called JJ. Jimmy Joe, whom everyone called Jimmy Joe, followed his father and grandfather down the foggy trail. The early-morning fog was thick in the Kentucky mountains.

The hike seemed to go on forever, back deep into the mountains. Jimmy Joe hoped that his dad and grandfather would stop. Jimmy Joe had just turned twelve the last week, on June 5, 1950. He was surprised at how fast the two older men walked. His legs were tired, and he kept moving the sugar from shoulder to shoulder, then carrying it in front of him, trying to find a comfortable way to haul it. Every position made his young muscles ache. The air was muggy, and sweat ran down his back, tickling him. He heard a stream running in the distance, and he knew they were close to the still.

Jimmy Joe dropped the sugar onto the ground, undid his bibs, took off his shirt, and wiped his face. It felt good to get rid of the extra fifty pounds he had carried. His grandfather and dad, both dressed in jean bibs, knelt down and drank from the fresh mountain stream. Next to the stream sat a copper still with copper coils. The Snyder boys always used copper for their stills. Copper was the best material to use; it was a good heat conductor, and it eliminated sulfur’s unsavory characteristics. Sulfur was a natural by-product of grain. The copper would react with the sulfur to produce copper sulfate, which would bind with the grain’s fatty oils and eliminate the sulfur side-effects. Other moonshiners would use anything - steel, brass, aluminum, clay - but they would have the sulfur side-effects. Some even put methanol in their finished product, raising the alcohol content. This was faster than running the same batch through the process several times. Each time the same shine ran through, it increased the alcohol content. The Snyders wanted to produce a good product. Some moonshiners didn’t care about their product and used car radiators for their condenser, which would result in lead in their shine and could cause blindness or even death.

The twelve-year-old boy sat in the shade of the beech and shag bark hickory trees, watching his grandfather and dad mix up the mash - corn meal, sugar, water, yeast, and malt. The Snyder family had been making moonshine in Knox County, Kentucky, since the early 1800’s. The county had been named for Henry Knox, a general in the Continental Army and later the first U.S. Secretary of War.

People had started making shine when the U.S. put an excise tax on whiskey in 1791 to help settle the Revolutionary War debt. Thomas Jefferson repealed the tax when he became President in 1802, and the repeal lasted until 1862. In the 1920’s, with prohibition, moonshining became even more popular.

Gray squirrels were busy getting acorns from the forest floor and the oak trees, while Jimmy Joe gathered wood for the fire. He carried load after load of hickory, maple, and oak, good hardwoods that would burn long and hot. He wished he had brought his shotgun; he could have shot some squirrels for lunch – better than the baloney sandwiches his dad had brought. JJ and Little JJ tended the still, while Jimmy Joe kept the fire going. Jimmy Joe knew the whole process of making shine; he had been coming up into the mountains and helping since he was five. It was a way of life for the Snyder family and families throughout Kentucky. The extra money helped, but it came with risks – from the Feds and at times other moonshiners moving in on a person’s territory.

Hey Jimmy Joe, fetch some more wood. We’re going to run this shine through a few more times, JJ said as he tasted the fresh shine.

Ok Grandpappy, Jimmy Joe replied and headed upstream to look for more wood. He brought more wood and piled it next to the still.

Grandpappy, is Grammy going to make chicken tonight? Jimmy Joe asked, stacking the wood.

Chicken, fried okra, and mashed potatoes, JJ replied.

My favorite, Jimmy Joe said.

The three generations of Snyders piled into the Ford truck. JJ was in his mid-sixties and a little over six-feet-one; he carried a little extra weight in his mid-section. His hair was almost completely gray. Little JJ was right at six feet, in his early forties, a muscular build, and blonde hair with a touch of gray. Jimmy Joe tipped the feed store scales at just under one hundred. His blonde hair was cut in a flattop like his dad and grandpappy’s.

Dust trailed the old Ford truck as it bounced down the dirt road. The wind cooled Jimmy Joe as he sat in the truck bed and listened to his dad and grandfather talk through the broken-out cab window. Grandpappy drove as Little JJ sat in the passenger seat. The men in the cab made idle chat, while Jimmy Joe watched the dust disappear into the forest’s oak and hickory trees.

Nat King Cole’s Mona Lisa played on the AM station as the Snyders made their way down the dirt road. With his hand keeping beat to the song, Jimmy Joe saw an old gray Packard coming into view through the dust, like a creature coming out of the darkness. The roar of the Packard’s big engine drowned out Nat King Cole as it came up on the Ford truck’s bumper. A driver and passenger motioned with their hands for the truck to pull over; then the engine revved, the horn sounded, and the Packard shot around the truck. The car blew down the road, while the passenger extended his arm out the window and raised his middle finger.

Jimmy Joe wiped the dust from his face, spit out the dirt in his mouth, and leaned into the cab. That Packard is sitting low; I bet she has a load of shine, Jimmy Joe said, resting his hand on his dad’s shoulder.

Yeah, it’s the McKeon boys, JJ said, turning down the radio.

We need to do something about them; they have been running their mouths about how they want to control all the shine in Knox County, Little JJ said.

Old Man McKeon will keep them under control, JJ said.

I hope so. They got run out of West Virginia for being asses and making bad shine, and now they are doing it here, Little JJ said, rolling up the window to keep out the dust.

Well, they will have to stop half the people in the county from making shine. It’s a part of life here, making shine and working in the coal mine, JJ said, rubbing his grandson’s head with his hand.

I think we are going to have problems with them, Little JJ said.

Let’s get home and have some of Grammy’s chicken, JJ said, pushing down the gas pedal.

2

JJ pulled the Ford truck under the shade of the big white oak that grew in front of their forty-year-old two-story house. The cream-colored house had a big front porch and a wooden railing that needed a coat of paint. It took JJ and Little JJ to buy the house. Selling shine, they were able to move out of the coal company’s house and away from the company store’s inflated prices. Chickens worked the grass on the side of the house, taking care of the bug population.

Jimmy Joe heard the snapping of green beans as Grammy sat on the porch breaking the ends off and splitting the beans in half. Grammy was a small woman with long gray hair; she always wore a dress covered with an apron. In her rocking chair, she was dressed the same now, taking care of the green beans, when her boys got home.

Grammy worked from dawn to dusk, caring for her husband, son, and grandson. Laundry, meals, packing lunches, cleaning, and anything else necessary occupied her days and nights. Sunday was her day - church in the morning and the church ladies’ auxiliary in the afternoon, then Sunday dinner. She loved her life here in Kentucky.

Hey Grammy, Jimmy Joe said, leaning down and kissing her on the top of her head.

Sit next to me, Grandson, and help me with these beans, Grammy said, pulling another rocking chair next to her.

Ok.

Those men didn’t work you too hard, did they? Grammy asked, still working on the beans.

No Grammy; I had fun.

JJ and Little JJ unloaded mason jars full of shine from the truck bed to the barn out back. When they finished, they sat on the porch’s front steps. The evening breeze felt good in the oak’s shade. Music from crickets and bullfrogs drifted up from the pond and joined Jimmy Joe and Grammy’s tuneful bean snapping.

You boys hungry? Grammy asked, rocking in her chair.

I am, JJ answered.

Me too, Little JJ said, following his dad.

I know this little guy is hungry for my fried chicken. Let me get inside and start the frying; you boys sit out here and relax, Grammy said, getting out of her rocking chair and carrying the beans into the house.

Thanks honey, JJ answered for all of them.

After a dinner of fried chicken, okra, and mashed potatoes, everyone sat outside and watched lightning bugs flash in the darkness, listened to the frogs, and let their supper settle. Jimmy Joe turned the ice cream maker crank until his arm was tired, but it was worth it. Nothing was better than homemade peach ice cream.

The fog was thick as Jimmy Joe followed his dad and grandfather up the hollow. It was so foggy, Jimmy Joe couldn’t see his dad in front of him; he could only hear the crunch of his dad’s steps. It would be a warm day when the fog burned off later; they would miss the fog then. You still back there? Little JJ yelled.

Still here, Dad, Jimmy Joe answered.

Good; Grammy would tan my hide if I lost you, Little JJ said, still walking.

I bet.

After another ten minutes’ walking blind in the fog, they broke out of it. They were surrounded by big oaks and hickory and beech trees. Chipmunks chipped and the birds sang along, now that they were out of the fog. Jimmy Joe noticed that his dad had his 30-30 Marlin slung over his shoulder with a rope. He hadn’t seen his dad grab the gun from the truck and wondered why he had brought it today. Maybe they would shoot a deer later, after they were through with the shine. Jimmy Joe hoped so.

The two men and boy walked a little farther up the trail; when JJ stopped for no reason, Jimmy Joe almost ran into his dad’s back. Jimmy Joe smelled smoke, and a smoke cloud was filling the hollow from the direction of their still.

You stay here, and if we’re not back in a little while, get your ass off this mountain, Little JJ said to Jimmy Joe, unslinging his 30-30 rifle.

All right, Jimmy Joe replied, still not knowing what was happening. Jimmy Joe watched his grandfather and father move slowly up the trail and break off the path, headed toward the still.

––––––––––––––

The two redheaded brothers, Joe Earl and Silas McKeon, moved back from the burning sacks of sugar, yeast, and malt. The day was warm already, and the growing fire made it worse. They had piled everything they had found at the Snyder still onto the fire. They even threw in the copper still after shooting holes in it.

Both Joe Earl and Silas were World War II vets. Joe Earl, the older, had been in the Army, had been involved in D-Day, and had gone through France and Germany. Silas had been in the Navy in the Pacific. Joe Earl had received a Purple Heart from taking a Luger round in his thigh in France. He still limped on cold mornings. After the war, they went back home to West Virginia, working in the coal mines and of course running shine. They had moved to Knox County, Kentucky, two years ago and now were trying to control the shine business. The McKeons had a reputation for making bad shine; it was easier and cheaper than making a good product. The only problem was trying to sell it, when other people were making a better product. The Snyders were the only other people making shine in Knox County; with them out of the way, the McKeon family would monopolize the shine.

Silas, get the rest of the sugar sacks and throw them onto the fire, Joe Earl said to his little brother.

What do I look like, your slave? Silas barked back, wiping his sweaty forehead with his arm.

Just do it. I’m hot as hell and want to get out of here, Joe Earl said, picking up his M1 Garand rifle.

Joe Earl felt like he was back in the German forest; it must be the smoke in the air and his M1 Garand cradled in his arms. He began searching the hilltops for Germans. When JJ and Little JJ broke over the hill, Joe Earl’s finger flicked off the safety in front of the trigger guard. Joe Earl never thought about firing; he just did it. He dropped to one knee and fired. His first round dropped JJ in his tracks; JJ’s back exploded as the bullet exited. In disbelief, Little JJ watched his dad fall to the ground, and the next second, he took a round in his stomach. He hunched over and staggered backward to the other side of the hill.

Jimmy Joe bolted to his feet when he heard the shots over the hill. He watched his dad staggering back down the trail. Blood covered the front of his dad’s bibs. Little JJ managed two more steps and dropped his rifle to the leaf-ridden forest floor; he followed his rifle, landing on his knees. Jimmy Joe sprinted to his gut-shot dad.

Daddy! Jimmy Joe said, staring at his dad. Little JJ searched for his 30-30 with his left hand. Finding it, he dragged the rifle across his lap.

Take this and get out of here, Little JJ managed to whisper, resting his right hand on his son’s shoulder. Jimmy Joe grabbed the gun, and Little JJ fell forward, his right hand sliding down his son’s bibs and leaving a blood streak smeared on his son’s chest.

Daddy! Daddy! Jimmy Joe yelled, shaking his dad. He shook and shook his dad. It was no use; Little JJ was dead weight. Jimmy Joe hugged his dad and started to cry.

Men’s voices and rustling leaves caught Jimmy Joe’s attention, and he lifted his head from