January 16, 1919 - The Day America Went Dry

The cold wind pushed against the frosted windows of Harrigan’s Public House, rattling them like restless spirits. Inside, the midday crowd sat unusually quiet, every eye fixed on the small radio perched behind the bar.

A crackle. A pause. Then the voice of the announcer rang out:

“The Eighteenth Amendment has been ratified. The nation is officially… dry.”

A glass slipped from someone’s hand and shattered. But the only sound Michael Harrigan heard was the pounding of his own heartbeat.

He wiped his hands on his apron and whispered, “So… that’s it.”

Across the counter, old Mr. Daly pushed his cap back. “Michael, you all right? You look like you’ve been hit with a brick.”

Michael let out a hollow laugh. “I’ve been hit with worse. But this one… this one’s gonna leave a mark.”

The door swung open, letting in a gust of icy wind—and Michael’s younger sister, Clara, breezed in with her curls bouncing and a newspaper gripped tightly in her hands.

“It’s true!” she said breathlessly. “The papers are selling out on every corner. Look at the headline.”

She slammed it down:

AMERICA GOES DRY. PROHIBITION RATIFIED.

Michael leaned on the counter. “Clara, what am I supposed to do? This bar has been our family’s bread and butter since Dad came over from Cork. Now the government expects me to just… shut it all down?”

Clara lowered her voice. “You could turn the place into a restaurant. Or a café.”

“A café?” He scoffed. “Selling coffee and scones won’t pay the mortgage. Folks come here for whiskey, not muffins.”

At the corner table, a group of regulars muttered among themselves. One of them—Sam Turner, a wiry dockworker with hands like rope—called out:

“Mike! Word on the street is some folks are already planning… alternatives.”

“Alternatives?” Michael narrowed his eyes. “Say what you mean.”

Sam glanced around and lowered his voice. “Speakeasies, backdoor operations, private clubs. There’s money to be made—big money—if you’re willing to bend the rules a little.”

Clara gasped. “Sam! You’re suggesting my brother become a criminal?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m suggesting he stay in business.”

Michael felt a tug deep inside—part fear, part temptation.

He turned the radio up. Another announcer added:

“The amendment will go into effect one year from today, after which the manufacture, sale, and transport of alcohol will be prohibited nationwide…”

“One year,” Michael muttered. “Twelve months until this place turns to dust.”

Clara stepped closer, gripping his arm. “You don’t have to do anything illegal, Mike. You can adapt. You always have.”

He looked around his bar—the shelves of bottles, the polished mahogany counter, the carved wooden sign his father made. Every inch of it whispered memories.

Then Sam said quietly, “If you close down, there’ll be plenty of others who won’t. Someone will supply the city. Could be you.”

Michael swallowed hard. “So what? I turn my family’s legacy into a secret criminal enterprise? That’s not what Dad wanted.”

Clara touched the carved sign above the bar. “Dad wanted us to survive.”

A long silence followed.

Outside, a small crowd had gathered, shouting, waving newspapers, arguing about the end of liquor in America. Inside, Michael reached for a bottle, poured himself a slow, steady shot of Irish whiskey, and raised it to the empty air.

“To the last legal year,” he said.

Sam raised his glass. “To survival.”

Clara raised hers reluctantly. “To… finding a way.”

Michael drained the glass, feeling the weight of the future settle in his chest.

As he wiped the counter, he murmured, almost to himself:

“If the law turns honest men into criminals… maybe the criminals weren’t the ones behind the bar after all.”

Clara looked at him sharply. “What does that mean?”

Michael gave a small, dangerous smile.

“It means I’ve got twelve months to figure out whether I close these doors… or simply hide the keyhole.”

The pub stayed quiet long after most patrons shuffled out into the cold. Only the ticking clock and the faint hum of the city broke the silence. Michael stood behind the bar, staring at the rows of bottles as if they were old friends he was about to lose.

Clara slid into a barstool. “You’re thinking too hard,” she said gently.

“I’m thinking just enough,” Michael replied. “If this place closes, half the neighborhood loses their gathering spot. Old Daly will sit alone in his room. Sam and the dockworkers won’t have anywhere to warm up after their shifts. And me…” He sighed. “I’ll lose the last thing connecting us to Dad.”

Clara softened. “You won’t lose him. He’d understand the times changed.”

Michael gave a slow shake of his head. “Maybe. But he taught me something else too.”

“What’s that?”

“That people will always want a warm drink, a warm room, and a place where someone knows their name.”

He reached under the counter and pulled out an old brass key—tarnished and heavy.

Clara blinked. “What’s that?”

“The key to the cellar,” he said. “Dad had it reinforced years ago. Always said, ‘You never know when you’ll need a private place for your best stock.’”

Clara’s eyes widened. “Michael. Tell me you’re not actually considering this.”

“I’m considering staying alive,” he said simply. “And making sure this place does too.”

Just then, Sam poked his head back inside, breath puffing white in the cold.

“You two still here?” he asked. “I just came to say—there’s already talk. Real talk. They’re planning underground routes, hidden rooms, everything. If you want in, you gotta start preparing early.”

Michael exchanged a long look with Clara.

Then he stepped out from behind the bar.

“I’m not promising anything,” Michael said. “But I won’t let this place die quietly.”

Sam grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Clara folded her arms. “And what happens when the police come knocking? When the Feds show up? When the neighbors talk?”

Michael’s expression turned fierce, determined. “Then I make sure Harrigan’s isn’t a bar anymore.”

Clara frowned. “What will it be?”

Michael walked to the front door and flipped the wooden sign from OPEN to CLOSED, but didn’t lock it.

“A bakery,” he said. “A soda shop. A small restaurant. Whatever they need it to look like.”

He turned the key to the cellar slowly, the metal clicking.

“But underneath?” he whispered. “It’ll be what it’s always been.”

Clara sighed, both defeated and admiring. “You’re really doing this.”

Michael gave a half-smile. “Not yet. But by the time January 1920 hits… Harrigan’s will have two faces. One for the law.”

He tapped the front counter.

“And one for the people.”

A rumble of approval came from Sam. “Now that’s the Harrigan spirit.”

Michael straightened his sleeves, like a man preparing for war.

“Then let’s get to work,” he said. “We’ve got one year to build a business… and a secret.”

Historical Synopsis

On January 16, 1919, the United States formally ratified the Eighteenth Amendment, marking one of the most transformative—and controversial—legal shifts in American history. The amendment prohibited the “manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxicating liquors” nationwide. Its ratification was the result of decades of activism led by temperance organizations such as the Anti-Saloon League and the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, which argued that alcohol was the root of social ills ranging from poverty to domestic violence.

Upon ratification, the amendment included a one-year delay before going into full effect, giving states, businesses, and federal agencies time to prepare. During this period, Congress passed the Volstead Act, officially known as the National Prohibition Act, which defined intoxicating liquor as anything containing more than 0.5% alcohol and established enforcement mechanisms. Prohibition officially began on January 17, 1920.

Rather than eliminating alcohol consumption, Prohibition led to dramatic unintended consequences. The era saw the rapid rise of bootlegging, speakeasies, and organized crime syndicates, such as those led by Al Capone. Public disillusionment with the policy grew, and enforcement became increasingly expensive and ineffective. Ultimately, Prohibition was repealed on December 5, 1933, with the ratification of the Twenty-First Amendment, making it the only constitutional amendment ever overturned by another.

^{This story is based on documented historical records and contemporaneous accounts}

Works Cited

Kyvig, David E. Repealing National Prohibition. University of Chicago Press, 1979.

Okrent, Daniel. Last Call: The Rise and Fall of Prohibition. Scribner, 2010.

Pegram, Thomas R. Battling Demon Rum: The Struggle for a Dry America, 1800–1933. Ivan R. Dee, 1998.