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The Life of Father Joseph Weber


THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

1933



Revival Tornadoes;

OR,

LIFE AND LABORS

OF

Rev. JOSEPH H, WEBER, Evangelist,

The Converted Roman Catholic.


BY
REV. MARTIN WELLS KNAPP,



COPYRIGHT BY  R. G. CHANDLER & M. W. KNAPP.



"Revival Tornadoes; or, the Life of Rev.
J. H. Weber," by Rev. Martin Wells Knapp, has my
endorsement as being the only book in v/hich my life
and labors have been written in full. May Heaven's
smiles illuminate the readers, and when the Light of
lights we stand before, may each one be ushered into
His presence, where there is fulness of joy. Amen.

Yours under the blood,

J. H. WEBER.



AUTHOR'S PREFACE.



The writing of this book is a surprise to myself. 1


had planned for a year of aggressive revival work, and


had also another book on my mind to write as soon as


circumstances would permit.





Unexpectedly my health, for a season, failed, and I


was compelled to give up public work altogether.


Then the question of writing this book was presented


so forcibly, clearly, and repeatedly, that I was made to


feel sure that it was of God, and have undertaken it, in


Jesus' name, with that assurance.





The opposition of tiie enemies of the cross to Brother


Weber's work, and the misconceptions of it by others,


even of God's children, the extraordinary features of


his labors, his marvelous success even in the most for-


bidding fields, and the fact that in the few years of his


ministry thousands have professed conversion, make


the publication of what God has wrought in him and


through him of intense interest both to friend and


foe.


 


INTRODUCTION.

Revivals are essential to the spiritual prosperity of
the Church. What spring is to the year, what showers
are to the thirsty earth, the seasons of spiritual refresh-
ing are to the life of God's people. Men may talk
about the (iesirability of continuous revivals, as com-
pared with revival seasons, but save in rare instances
such does not seem to be the experience of the Church.
The religious life has its variations. There are periods
of growth and development, of steady progress and ordi-
nary activity, but these are generally interspaced with
occasions of rarer displays of power and blessing, quick-
ening the spiritual vitalities, arousing the dormant relig-
ious energies, and enlisting all the powers of the soul
in an effort for conquest and an experience of victory.
Such occasions are called revivals. The Church feels
their power and profits by their fruits. Without them
the life of many professed Christians would wane and
die. Revivals keep them alive, feed them, strengthen and
encourage them, bring others to their support, brighten
their surroundings, clarify the atmosphere, tone up the
lives of fellow Christians, and help things generally.
All live Christians desire revivals, and all dead Chris
tians need them. Therefore, whatever helps to the pro-
motion of revivals should be encouraged and welcomed.
We believe the present volume will prove to be such a
help. The life and labors herein chronicled have been
blessed of God in the salvation of many souls. The
writer of the book, like its honored subject, is an effi-
cient toiler in his Master's vineyard. He understands
revival methods and conditions, and can distinguish a
genuine " revival tornado " from a sound of wind and
fury signifying nothing. Let his work be read. Let
the facts become known. Let the world understand
that there is power in our holy religion not only to
convert sinners from the error of their ways, but to
rescue deluded souls from the ignorance and supersti-
tion of popery, and make them burning and shining
lights in the free and joyous service of God.

JAMES H. POTTS.


BIRTH AND ANCESTRY.

Of the eleven children given to his parents, Louis
and Elizabeth Weber, Joseph Hulse Weber was the
second. He was born Oct. 12, 1855, in Cincinnati,
Ohio. The state so prolific of Presidents, and others
famed in the annals of political renown, has the honor
of being his birth-place.

If souls won for Christ is in a great degree to deter-
mine man's glory at the judgment and through eter-
nity, then, doubtless, of Ohio's sons this consecrated
worker will be among the most illustrious of them all.

His father was born in Alsace, and was a German.
His grandfather was a brave soldier under the first
Napoleon, and an educated man. His mother, whose
maiden name was Elizabeth Oatman, was born on Blen-
nerhaset Island, situated in the Ohio river. Her father
was born in New York State and her mother in
Virginia.

With the Wesleys, Mood, Bishop Taylor, and the
Booths of Salvation Army fame, he liad the honor to
spring from a large family, having five brothers and five
sisters with whom to share his sorrows and his joys.


He loves homes in which the happy voices of many
children mingle, and sometimes gives sharp thrusts at
those false standards of society that have led her
votaries to resort to criminality to keep their families
small.

With the worthies mentioned above, Lincoln, Grant,
Garfield, John Bunyan, Bishop Simpson, Spurgeon and
hosts of others who have reached the topmost round of
earthly fame, he also was privileged with being born in
the vale of poverty and in a humble home.

His father was a cooper in the earlier part of his life,
and is now a farmer. He, himself, in his boyhood and
youth, was first a bar-tender in a saloon and then a
laborer in a paper factory.

Hence Mr. Weber adds another to the long list of
worthies that have sprung not only from homes of
poverty but from the haunts of vice and have by God's
help risen to be a boon to their fellow-men and thus a
blessing to His kingdom.

The names of such will shine on the pages of history,
and many of them in the annals of eternity, when the
memory of myriads of the children of luxury and ease
shall have dissolved like the morning mist. Such ex-
amples ought to nerve every child of poverty and toil,
yea, of ignorance and vice, with an impulse to follow
in their footsteps.

They ought to rebuke every proud and haughty
Pharisee, who, with averted face and tighter grasp of
robe, passes such persons " on the farther side," and also
stimulate the Christian worker to everywhere be look-
ing for these '' diamonds in the rough," that, polished
by saving grace, shall shine in the new Jerusalem when
the names of the proud and haughty of earth, however
exalted here, shall have rotted in oblivion.

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH — EARLY FORMATIVE

INFLUENCES.

"Heredity and early environments determine the
currents of the after-life," ''As the twig is bent the
tree is inclined," are in a sense very wise and truthful
sayings, but the hero of this book is a marked exception
to the sentiments therein expressed. Herein is one of
the many mysteries that shroud his eventful life.

Among his ancestry, as nearly as we can learn, prior
to his own conversion, there had not been one really
spiritual person. Therefore, whatever may be found in
him as a Christian must be traced not to his first
birth but to his second. On the advent of a soul into
this world two forces seek to mould its character, right
and wrong. Two beings, Christ and Satan, seek to
place around it influences that will so impress it in its
earliest years as to determine its destiny. In Mr.
Weber's life wrong and Satan seemed from his earliest
moments to possess great vantage ground, and early
deprived the boy of safeguards such as Christ seeks to
throw around the young, and swept him, well-nigh
defenceless, into a current of subtle and mighty influ-
ences which, if not counteracted, would secure liis
certain ruin for time and for eternity. These were :

1. The example of unconverted parents. His father
was a slave to strong drink. His mother religious in
her way, but that way was the way of Catholicism.

2. Roman Catholicism. His ancestry on his father's
side for centuries had been stanch Roman Catholics.








His mother on her marriage espoused her husband's


faith and became one of the most ultra of the adhe-


rents of the Roman Church. Hence the children were


reared at the feet of priest and pope and baptized into


that faith. Thus by the minions of popery in the


susceptible days of childhood he was bound with influ-


ences which proved chains such as only the "Lion of


the tribe of Judah" would be able to break, not to Jesus,


but to the icy altars of Ritualism and Formality. Lest


he should early see his sad condition his eyes were


blinded by a bandage rightly named "Popish Error,"


and thus from his earliest impressions he was in dark-


ness, error, and superstition. Satan laughed and felt


his victim sure. Rome said triumphantly, "I've got the


first ten years of the child's life, I now defy Protestant-


ism to win him back." The challenge was afterwards


taken up, and with what results the coming pages will


declare.





3. Indulgence. The parents, through false views of


training children, perhaps thiiikiug that indulgence was


an index of parental love, allowed the boy to usually do


as he pleased, and so the poisonous plants of disobedi-


ence and kindred vices grew almost unchecked in his


young life. Oli, when will parents learn that such


indulgence is keenest cruelty to the child, and that


prompt obedience to the father and mother is to be the


foundation, in after-life, of obedience to the Government


and to God, and of a life of purity, happiness and use-


fulness, both in this world and the world to come !





4. Strong drink. In his very early boyhood it was


regularly given him by the hands of his own parents,


and a love for it, doubtless in part inherited, soon took





possession of him. What a marvel it will be if any


power in tlie universe shall rescue and save from this


demon, who has ruined millions in his murderous


career.





5. Dancing. Under this deceptive syren he soon


learned to love society and the indulgences connected


with such gatherings, and all the baser elements of his


nature being thus appealed to through circumstances


entirely beyond his control, what wonder if, as one has


written of him, '4ie naturally became very wild and


hard ; he was, like Bunyan, a ' ring leader ' in all kinds of


wickedness and sin," and knowing as he does all of the


seductive wiles that this enchantress uses, first to charm


and then to ruin the young, no wonder that at times he


exposes them in tones that startle her defenders, and


cause hundreds of the young to flee from her murder-


ous thraldom. He was a great lover of music and


became owner of a violin. He then was invited to


play for the dances. He took great delight in this


and went from bad to worse. Thoughts of these


scenes of revelry, and the dissipations connected


with them as he grew older, have never ceased to


cause him pain. No wonder that he shudders, for


thousands at the dance-house have left virtue be-


hind, and arm in arm with lust have followed swiftly


in the steps of her whose *' house is the way to hell."


Some one whispers, '' But I know church members who


uphold dances." The church member who upholds


them in all the light of the way they have led and are


leading thousands, is either a fool or a farce, or both,


and is preparing an awful reckoning for the judgment.





6. Saloonmn. Twin brother to the ball-room is the


saloon. Each have blighted thousands and sent them


reeling under the cruel lashes of black despair to the


grave and an agonizing eternity. Both are paid servants


of Satan, and well do they work for him. Both are greedy


whirlpools, whose outer currents at first amuse, then ex-


citcf then startle, then, as they near the gargling centre,


affright and then engulf. On their fatal currents is


borne modesty, virtue, honor, industry, innocence, hope,


love and life itself. Both are fiends who seek to lure


with cunning wiles their victims, until they have slain


their guardian, Self-control, and then they bind them


with huge chains in the dungeons of despair, from


which none but Christ can deliver. This agent of the


enemy sought the boy who, as we have seen, though but


a lad, was already terribly tangled in the meshes of sin.


It is said that, " One day, while selling brooms, he


went into a saloon to 'drive a bargain,' when he was


accosted by the proprietor with, ' I don't want a broom


but I want to buy you,' at first the boy was somewhat


startled, but upon explanation, and further conversa-


tion, a bargain was made that he should attend bar.


He was done- with brooms, matches, shoe-strings, and


fans, for he would actually be a salesman, which struck


him as being something rather elevating. He returned


home in high glee, and informed his parents of his pro-


ject. They were both unfavorable to the move, but he


prevailed on his father to go down to the saloon and


see the man. The father's better nature and judg-


ment prevailed, and Joe was informed that he must


attend school rather than tend bar. He was not to be


so easily frustrated in his coveted honors. When the


following Monday came, his mother said, 'You must


go to school,' but he desired to become a rich man,


and so went to the saloon and began work as a bar


tender. He was so small that the proprietor had to


erect a rack beliind the bar so that lie could stand to


deal out ' hell and destruction,' as he now terms it. He


was with this saloon-keeper for five months." Here his


love for liquor was further strengthened, and as if all of


these influences were not sufficient to secure both the


present and future ruin of the boy, another agency


was brought to aid those already doing all too well


their work in insuring the permanent downfall of the


youth.





7. Theatricals. It would seem as if enough agencies


were already devoted to his ruin without the last men-


tioned. Well did Satan understand, however, that, un-


less captured and kept, that his kingdom would be a


tremendous loser, and so he plied all of his most cun-


ning arts. Theatricals appeared to him as to many


others in the stolen robes of innocence, and so like many


others he thus was easily led astray. At her suggestion


an amateur minstrel troupe was organized, of which


he soon became the leading spirit, and with him, as


with many others, this was a stepping stone to that


which was even worse.





The dance-house, the rink, the saloon, the circus, and


the theatre are Satan's churches, in which he seeks to


ripen spirits in their alienation from God and in their


fitness for the penalty beyond tlie grave. Their associa-


tions chime with the chords of an unregenerate heart,


whether it beat in the breast of the openly profligate or


of the false professor. As men in poisoning rats hide


the poison in much meal, so Satan mingles the poison


with which he seeks to ruin, through these agencies,


with the meal of music and much else that is pleasing


and in other relations would be unobjectionable.





" The Sabbath to him was a day of evil and high


carnivals. His associates were all evil, as bad as he,


and together they broke all of the commands of the


Decalogue." Such was Joseph H. Weber in his early


life. Young in years, but old in vice. Quaffing iniquity


as if it were some delicious nectar, and loving the


deadly draught. Manacled by evil habits, yet caressing


the very irons that bound him ! Chained to evil com-


panions, which, as Satan's sheriffs, stand ready to bear


his spirit to the cells of hopeless doom, yet revelling in


such associations. Like Bunyan, he was a master-piece


of what sin could do. Evidently Satan has done his


work so well that it never can be undone, unless a


miracle shall interpose. By these seductive influences


" Joe," as he was then called, was pushed out into the


Niagara of sin and dissipation, and yet there were many


traits in the boy that, if redeemed from sin's service,


would be of more value than gold or precious gems.





He was horn to he a leader. At home, at school, in


sports, at his work, and wherever he moved among the


youth of his acquaintances, he was the center. This


trait, consecrated to God in after life, has done much


to help him lead on to spiritual victories.





He easily made friends. One has said of him, " He


was not without friends, for he always won them where-


ever he went. His warm heart could only invite ; he


was himself friendly."





He had mental grip. He could apply himself to his


studies, quickly master them, and then have plenty of


leisure time in which to play the rogue.


He was possessed of an iron will. Whatever he un-


dertook he persisted in. Doubtless this element was


one thing that led his parents to oppose him as little as


possible. His will was like an engine under high pres-


sure upon a down grade with no brakes, every thing


had to get out of his way or suffer. Referring to this, a


former biographer writes, "We notice here an ele-


ment of firmness cropping out, which is a requisite of


success in his present work ; this is seen prominently


in all his meetings. He has a will, and that must


govern."





He was benevolent. By nature, he knew not what it


was to be' stingy. He loved to make money, and had,


even when a child, unusual faculties to succeed in busi-


ness, but it was not that "gold fever, " which loves to


hoard, but a desire to get for the pleasure he might


have in its using. It is said of him, that he would


share the last farthing, and always delighted in giving


to the needy. It may be that we shall finally find


that the Master's teaching, " Give, and it shall be given


unto you, " found verification in his life.





These, and other traits, characterized his early life


and, like gold dust on the surface, speak of what may


yet prove a rich mine underneath. If it be there, it is


bedded so deeply beneath the adamant of sin, that no


one with less than Almighty power will ever be able to


reach it*. Perhaps he yet may come in contact with


such an One. Be patient.



Jailed outlaw John Dillinger mentions Father Joseph F. Weber, at the Church of the Assumption Indianapolis, in a letter to his father.



Mr. John W. Dillinger


R. R. 2


Mooresville, Ind.





Dear Dad.


A friend of mine is mailing this for me so I thought I would outline a few things that I want you to do without fail. Mr. Wade can do me a world of good so ask him to write a letter to the board specifying that Singleton only done two years and that in his opinion and the courts opinion I have been punished sufficuntly and that in there opinion I would make good if given the chance, also be sure and have Mr. Wade to get the Judge and Prosecutor that sentenced me and the present Judge to sign my papers. Dad things are so unsettled that there may be a few changes on the board before April. I want you to get a big petition up ((8 or 10 hundred names)) and have it all ready but don't turn it in until about the 8th or 10th of April no later than the 10th for the papers have to be in fifteen days before the meeting, in the meantime have Dr. Comer or some other of your friends to see Frank Sheets and ask him to help us. He is a friend of Mr. Moorman, and he is the main guy on this board so you can realize how much good Mr. Sheets can do me if he will write Mr. Moorman in my behalf. Get after Emmett to see that fellow or any one else that has a political pull.


Ask Emmitt if he knows Father Weber from West Indpls. if so see him for he has more power than Mussolini. You watch the papers and if the Governor makes any changes in the board you will have to see if you can locate someone that has a connection with one of the board members and ask him to give us a boost.


Dad it is imperitive that you appear up hear for me when the board meets and make a plea for me. Tell them you have bad health and you are getting up in years and you need my help on the farm as you are unable to do much and Hubert isn't strong enough to help you much and in view of the fact that Singleton only done two years you think I have been sufficently punished and you are sure I will make good if given a chance. Have Dr. Comer and two or three prominent business men to write to the board testifying to your ill health and poor circumstances. If you and some of your friends can get Mr. Morgan to help me it will throw a lot of weigh to the board in my behalf. All he would have to write is he thinks I have been sufficently punished and that he would like to see me have a chance to make good. Get Bud to help get my petition fixed up. I wish you would make a trip to Indianapolis and see Rev Fillmore and Howard Phillips and any other of your former business aquaintances you never know what connections they might have and any of them will be willing to help us if they can in any way. A fellow in here owes me $15 and will send it to you this way. Tell Hubert to send me an address of one of his boy friends and this party will send him a check for $15 and he can cash it and give the money to Hubert for you to pay your expenses up here. The reason I have to have someone else's address is this party cant send money to you in your name for its against the rules so we have to go about it in around about way. Tell Bud to only give me the address and say so and so is living at the following address. Well Dad so long and get busy and be sure and do all I ask hope I will see you and some of the rest in April.


Johnnie.



The Indiana Klan

In the late 1920s, Roger Touhy, or more likely his brother Tommy, burglarized the KK headquarters office in Indianapolis, blew the safe and released the names of the membership to Father Joseph Weber. Touhy was offered $25,000 to return the list but turned in down.  



   The Indiana Klan was a branch of the Ku Klux Klan, a secret society in the United States that practiced racism and terrorism against minority ethnic and religious groups. The Indiana Klan rose to prominence beginning in the years after World War I when rising levels of eastern and southern European immigration began to increase. They continued to rise in power under the leadership of Grand Dragon D.C. Stephenson who led the Indiana Klan to break away from the national organization in 1923. The organization reached its highest point of power during the years that followed, and by 1925 over half the members of the Indiana General Assembly, the Governor of Indiana, and many other high ranking members of the government were all members of the Klan. Scandal erupted that year when Stephenson was accused and convicted for the rape and murder of Madge Oberholtzer. When the governor refused to pardon Stephenson, he began to expose many of his fellow conspirators in the Klan, destroying their reputations and effectively destroying much of the Klan's power.


    In 1920 Joe Huffington was chosen by Imperial Wizard William J. Simmons of Atlanta, Georgia to start an official Indiana chapter of the Ku Klux Klan. Huffington left for Indiana and setup his first headquarters in Evansville, Indiana. In Evansville, Huffington met D.C. Stephenson who quickly became one of the leading members of chapter. Stephenson was a leader among the local Democratic Party and ran in the Democratic Congressional primary of 1920 as an anti-prohibition candidate, but lost. Stephenson quickly became wealthy from the position in the Klan and his influence became very important to the organization. Entrance in the Klan cost $10, plus dues, and the recruiter personally kept $4 of each registration. It is estimated that Stephenson made between two and five million dollars from his position in the Klan. Indiana had already had significant vigilante activity among White Cap groups dating back to the American Civil War, and many former white caps entered the Klan.


    Stephenson was a very active recruiter for new members. He did not preach racist rhetoric, and rather left that to subordinates. He instead spoke of the society as a brotherhood and focused on what he considered the noble aspects of the organizations, such as helping the poor and defending morality. His stance, especially on morals, helped him gain the support of many churches in the state. His populism led to a rapid growth in the Klan's membership.


    In 1922 a new Imperial Wizard came to power with the support of Stephenson. As a reward, Stephenson was granted the position of Grand Dragon of the Indiana Klan, and twenty-two other northern states. His success further emboldened him and in 1923, he led the Indiana Klan in breaking away from the national organization and forming a rival group. The Klan became influential in the politics of the state, and an endorsement from the organization could practically guarantee victory at the polls. This led to many politicians at all levels of government to join the Klan in order to gain their support. The Klan became so powerful, and Stephenson so influential, that by 1925 he began to brag, saying "I am the law in Indiana."


    The Klan's primary enemies were Catholics who the Klan alleged were behind secret plots to overthrow the government and exterminate Protestants. Another enemy was people of foreign birth, especially those from Catholic countries. A third, and lesser enemy, were blacks. Blacks in Indiana were not heavily targeted, as in the south where segregation was more rigorously enforced. On the lower end of their list of enemies were adulterers, gamblers, prohibition violators, corrupt politicians, and undisciplined youths.


   Through the government, the Klan's primary goals was aimed at eliminating parochial schools, and removing all Catholic influence from public schools. The Klan was unable to attain either goal, but attained support for their agenda from key leaders. Samuel Ralston delivered an anti-Catholic speech in 1922 which the Klan reproduced and spread across the state. With their support, he was elected to the United States Senate in 1923.


   At the height of its power the Klan had over 250,000 members, which was over 30% of state's white male population. The highest concentration was around the central part of the state. Klan membership was discouraged in some parts of the state, like New Albany, where city leaders denounced the Klan and discouraged residents from joining. Other cities, like Indianapolis, were almost completely controlled by the Klan, and membership to public office was impossible without their support. Multiple street fights occurred in Indianapolis between the Klan and minority groups. The statewide native white male population who belonged to the Klan ranged from 27–40%.


 The Klan had a large budget in its years of operation. With more than 50,000 dues paying members in Indianapolis alone, the Klan had access to tens of millions of dollars. A large part of these funds went to helping the poor, but millions were also poured into bribing public officials, paying off enemies, purchasing weapons, and contributing to political campaigns.


   In 1922 Klansmen in the Indiana General Assembly passed a bill that created a Klan Day at the Indiana State Fair, complete with a nighttime cross burning. Governor Warren T. McCray vetoed the bill beginning a conflict between him and the Klan. The same year Edward Jackson, the Secretary of State, granted the Klan a state charter. McCray demanded the charter be revoked because the leaders of the Klan did not reveal themselves to sign the document. Jackson refused to revoke the charter. Stephenson ordered Jackson to offer McCray a bribe in hope that McCray would end his anti-Klan stance. McCray was personally wealthy and he refused the bribe. Unable to bring McCray to their side, the Klan leaders set to work to uncover dirt on McCray to force him out office. They uncovered loans solicited by McCray in a questionable way. Because the solicitations were sent by mail, they were subject to federal mail fraud laws. The Klan leaders used their influence to have McCray tried, convicted, and imprisoned for committing mail fraud, forcing him to resign from office in 1924.


   In 1925 Stephenson met Madge Oberholtzer, the head of the state's commission to combat illiteracy. The night of the inaugural ball of Governor Edward L. Jackson, she was abducted from her home and taken to an Indianapolis train station. On the train ride to Hammond, she was repeatedly raped by Stephenson. Once in Hammond, she was taken to a drug store where she secretly ate mercury tablets and bi-chloride. Using the illness brought on by the poisons as an excuse, she begged Stephenson to release her so she would not die. He took her back to Indianapolis, and after she refused to marry him several days later, he had her taken back to her home and secretly placed in her bed. When she was found by her parents she was nearly dead and taken to the hospital where she died a short time later, but not before telling her story to several witnesses. The cause of her death was determined to be either the poison or severe bites and cuts received during her rape. Witnesses claimed Oberholtzer appeared as if a cannibal had been chewing on her. Stephenson was immediately arrested and charged with second-degree murder and was convicted and remained in prison until 1956.


   Stephenson expected Governor Jackson to pardon him for his support in his election. But by 1926, it became evident that Stephenson was not going to be pardoned. In response he began to talk to reporters from the Indianapolis Times and expose many of the high profile members of the Klan. It was difficult to pin major crimes on members of the organization, but Stephenson told reporters many of the individuals that the Klan had bribed, and who had accepted the money. The mayor of Indianapolis, John Duvall, was jailed for thirty days and later convicted of bribery. Commissioners and other local leader across the state were all forced to resign on bribery charges, stemming to acceptance of support from the Klan. The Governor, Edward Jackson, was also brought up on bribery charges related to his participation in the plot against former Governor McCray. The court found the charges against Jackson true but judged him not guilty: the statute of limitations had expired on his crimes. He ended his term and did not seek reelection. Many other leaders of the Klan were arrested and tried on charges of conspiracy to bribe public officials.






   It was quickly revealed that over half the member of the Indiana General Assembly were Klan members. The results of the scandal destroyed the Klan's image as the defenders of justice, and the shakeup left the Klan nearly powerless as members abandoned the organization by the tens of thousands. Historian James Madison says that the Klan "cannot be dismissed as either an aberration or as simply the insidious appeal of a fanatical few. Nor should the Klan be seen as thoroughly dominating the state and accurately reflecting racist, violent, or provincial beliefs shared for all time by all Hoosiers."


   Attempts to revive the Klan were made in the 1960s and 1970s, but the organization was never able to regain the membership or power it held during the 1920s.









Weber's brewery


Roger Touhy’s friend, Father Joseph Weber was part of the wealthy Cincinnati brewing family.  According to Touhy, the family disowned the Weber when he became a Catholic, not an uncommon thing to happen in those days.  The original family name was Webben and started in business as the Marhofer and Webben Brewery, one of the many German families that dominated the business in the Midwest, particularly in Cincinnati.  The brewery, eventually known as the Western Brewery, was located on what is now Central Avenue (Then 572 Western Avenue) from 1865 until 1856.  Frank Weber later opened the Frank Weber Brewery at 648 Main near Schiller Street from 1859 to 1860 and Louis Weber operated the Louis Weber Brewery located at the northwest corner of Busch and Wheeler Streets in Covington, KY for one year, 1872.  In 1873, George Weber gained control of the Jackson Brewery after the death of the Kleiner Brothers and operated it until 1884.  On July 4, 1887, the brewery was destroyed by fire when a Roman candle accidentally ignited the malt house and the brewery burns to the ground.  George Weber declared bankruptcy later that year and sold the brewery.  In 1887, the George Weber Brewery was purchased by Leo A. Brigel, E. W. Kittredge, and Lawrence Maxwell and reincorporated as the Jackson Brewing Company until it was closed in 1919 due to Prohibition.


Chapter 5 My Beer Was Bootleg-But Good

My Beer Was Bootleg
-But Good
Charlie Wilson said that the way to be a success was to
make a superior product. He made a giant out of
General Motors that way. Henry Ford said it before Wil-
son, and his business became pretty gigantic, too.
I had the same idea when I went into the bootleg beer
business. I didn't become a giant in the racket, but you
might say I was one of the biggest midgets who ever
scoffed at the Volstead Law.
Matt Kolb's beer was awful. One time it would be as
flat as pond water with a green scum on it, and the next
batch would have enough gas to blow up the Empire
State. It could be as bitter as biting into a green persim-
mon, or as sweet as the smell of a Greek candy kitchen.
In only one characteristic was it consistent. All of it was
bad—nasty bad, usually.
I set out to make a superior product, and the first per-
son I consulted was a chemist who worked for the City
of Chicago, counting the germs in test tubes of sewage
water and such delicate tasks. I asked him how to makegood beer and, after giving me a lot of long words about
enzymes and such, he said:
"Good water, you want first of all. Fine pure water.
Water is the big thing in all good beverages, from soda
pop on up."
I told him to go find the right kind of water, and he
did. He tested water all over northern Illinois. Samples from
my home town of Des Plaines were pretty good. There was
better stuff in a creek out at St. Charles. But the elixir of
all beer-base water was from an artesian well near Roselle,
he said.
I built a wort plant out there and put my brother Eddie,
who years later came through with the $2,500 while I was
on the loose, in charge.
Wort was an entirely legal product. It is used for making
rye bread. Before I was through, I was producing enough
wort for all the bread baked in a dozen states. It was a
big enterprise, and I paid fifteen cents tax on every gallon
I made.
Into the wort I persuaded Matt to put the finest malt,
white flakes of corn, rice and hops, domestic and im-
ported, that we could buy. And I went to the American
Brewmasters' Institute and hired the best man they could
recommend.
"Matt, we're not going to need any salesmen," I told
my partner. "We're going to put out the best beer in
America. The saloonkeepers will come to us begging to
buy it."
To make beer, all we needed was to put the wort into
vats, under proper temperature control, add brewer's yeast
and water. What happened then was like introducing a
pretty, eager girl to a handsome lad and handing them the
key to a motel room. Nature took care of the rest.
The mixture stood in open vats for twelve days to fer-
ment while the brewmaster pottered around sniffing, sip-
ping and testing the stuff. If it didn't come up to the highest
standards, he dumped it. That was my order. We never
peddled a poor-quality barrel of beer.
After twelve days, the brewmaster dropped the tempera-
ture to thirty degrees and let the brew mellow. The last
step was putting it into barrels, with carbolic gas carbona-
tion added as it went in. Chill it, tap it and fill up a foam-
ing glass—my, my, it was fine beer!
This was an illegal operation, in violation of a federal
law which everyone regarded with the same fondness as a
swift kick with a Number 11 boot. Clergymen, bankers,
mayors, U.S. senators, newspaper publishers, blue-nose re-
formers and the guy in the corner grocery all drank our
beer. They enjoyed it, and I was proud.
In addition to being outside the law, our enterprise was
a big one. At peak production, we had ten fermenting
plants, each one a small brewery in itself. It was too big
a gamble to have the complete works in one place, which
the federal prohibition agents might raid and chop to
ruins with axes.
Each little brewery had to have refrigeration and an ice-
making machine for proper temperature control. Every vat
and other piece of equipment had to be laboratory-clean
or else the beer would be rancid nasty. I had $50,000 tied
up in the business before the first stein of beer gushed out
of a tap.
It was an efficient, well-run business; not a matter of
messing around in basements or bathtubs to run up a few
gallons or hundred gallons of sickening stuff.
Barrels were a big trouble, with leaks springing to re-
lease the carbonation and, sometimes, the beer itself. So
we set up our own cooperage in Schiller Park, hiring all
union-labor craftsmen to handle that end. It paid off big,
because saloonkeepers who bought from us weren't carping
about "leakers" from our deliveries.
I bought a half dozen tank trucks, and had them painted
like those used by the Texaco Oil Company, to haul bulk
beer. The trucks could load 100 gallons a minute, with
the engine throttled down and operating a pump from a
six-inch feed.
At the top of the season—beer really was a six-months-
a-year proposition, with many people turning to rotgut
whiskey during cold weather—we peddled 1,000 barrels a
week. The price was $55 a barrel to the saloon owners, and
it doesn't take much arithmetic to figure our weekly gross.
As for net profit, the brew cost us $4.50 a barrel to pro-
duce, using the finest ingredients, plus wort tax and de-
livery expense. Water is cheap, and there's a lot of it in
beer.
We sold beer to about 200 roadhouses, night clubs and
saloons, all outside of Chicago, to the west and northwest
of the city. Our boundaries were from the city line west to
Elgin and from North Avenue to the Lake County, Illinois
line. We could have expanded, but Matt and I never were
hogs for money.
One question always comes up when people talk with
me about bootlegging. How much graft did we pay? How
many policemen and politicians did we have to bribe, or
put on our payroll?
The payoff, surprisingly, wasn't big.
First and foremost, Matt and I were working the suburbs
and Cook County towns. We didn't have to fill the pockets
of money-hungry Chicago cops. The small-town police
were happy with a ham, a turkey or a $20 bill at Christ-
mas time.
Our business was scattered over a lot of mileage. A bar-
rel here and a barrel there. Nobody realized that Matt and
I were grossing about $1,000,000 a year from beer alone.
That's right, a million dollars. So the politicians and the
fuzz didn't expect big handouts.
The federal agents stuck pretty well to big towns like
Chicago, and our local law was mostly the Cook County
Highway Patrol. I figured out an angle to keep the roads
open for us, with top priority for our beer trucks.
Whenever we had a job open as truck driver or what
not, I hired a cop away from the highway patrol to fill it.
The arrangement was a splendid one.
We paid no man less than $100 a week, which was
more than triple what the patrol guys got for longer hours.
There soon was a waiting list of applicant cops to drive our
trucks. A cop looking for a good-paying job wouldn't in-
terfere with us any more than he would pinch a former
fellow-cop working for us.
As for the politicians, the payoff for them was largely
in beer. A small town mayor or justice of the peace would
be as happy as a juvenile delinquent with a pile of rocks
and an empty greenhouse for a target if we rolled a barrel
of brew up on his back porch every few months.
The big-time boys at the trough wanted more, to be sure.
Tony Cermak was an example. He was then chairman of
the Cook County Board of Commissioners which made
him a powerhouse in the county outside of Chicago, where
our beer trucks rolled. Later he became mayor of Chicago,
and was killed by a bullet fired by a nut as he stood be-
side Franklin D. Roosevelt in Miami.
Tony put on a big picnic, to raise political campaign
funds, every summer in the Forest Preserves. My contri-
bution would be 100 barrels of beer. The cost of the beer
didn't lose me any sleep, but Tony's boys made a good
thing by selling it at a buck a mug.
I built up good will that way, like Gene O'Connor with
his wheelbarrow at Stateville.
Beer bought you more sunshine friends than money did,
I realized, so we set up a bottling plant, and it wasn't
cheap. The bottle washer alone cost $4,500, I recall, and
the pasteurizer was even more expensive.
We bottled 750 cases, or 18,000 bottles, of brew a week.
That was all the pasteurizer would handle. And we never
sold so much as one bottle of that beer. It all went for
friendship, jolly friendship. A case of that stuff, and it was
good, meant more to some pols and cops than a $500
bill.
"Try a bottle of this," the guy lucky enough to have some
of it would say to his big shot friends on a Saturday night.
"Finest beer in America. Roger Toiihy sent it along as a
token of his friendship. Fine fellow, Rog."
I lived quietly with my family during those big money
years. I put a workshop, office and bar in my basement.
There was a playhouse for the kids in the backyard. My
wife got along well with our neighbors. There wasn't any
stigma to selling beer. It was a great public service, most
people thought—and the U.S. government finally agreed,
you'll recall.
My hobby was making fishing rods from split bamboo
in my shop, along with lures and baits. Fishing, from my
days along the Denver & Rio Grande as a telegrapher, was
my sport. Northern Wisconsin, Minnesota, Canada, Florida,
and Montauk Point, Long Island, for weakfish and blue-
fish, were my vacation spots. I hunted, too, and was a good
shot. Which reminds me. . . .
One afternoon in a Wisconsin lake, I hooked a thirty-
pound muskie. I tried working him up to the boat, but he
fought like Jack Dempsey in the last round of a tough
bout. The fish pulled away, broke water, danced on his
tail and shook his head. My reel jammed and left me with
only one thing to do.
I took a .25 revolver from my pocket, kept there for the
purpose, and shot the muskie through the head.
In the boat with me was an Indian guide, Joe St. Ger-
maine, who was better than a green hand with a gun. He
was amazed when I boated the fish and showed him the
bullet hole. "Nobody can shoot that good," he said. "You
were lucky."
We had drunk a dozen bottles of beer in the boat, and
now he started throwing the empties out on the choppy
waves twenty-five or thirty feet away. I sat there in the
rocking boat and smashed all twelve bottles with thirteen
shots. Which brings up, to me, an important point:
If I had been aiming to hit, would I have missed that old
guard in the Stateville tower, from a range of thirty-three
feet, on the day of the escape? Nonsense! He was a lot
bigger target than a muskie or a beer bottle, the range was
shorter and the firing conditions were ideal.
But those two shots through the tower window had a
big part, back in a ridiculous trial in 1943, in getting me
tagged for an additional 199 years for aiding and abet-
ting. . . .
Getting back to the late '20s, Matt and I had another
bonanza going, in addition to beer. Ah, those lovely slot
machines!
They were against the law, technically, but they stood
openly and invitingly in practically every roadhouse, drug
store, saloon, gas station and grocery in outlying Cook
County. The only places you wouldn't find them were in
churches, schools, hospitals, post offices and public libraries.
My partner and I had 225 of them in choice locations,
and the only way to make money faster is to have a license
to counterfeit the stuff.
The businessman in whose place the machine was set
up got forty per cent of the coins. Matt and I split the
remaining sixty per cent. My cut would add up to about
twenty dollars a week for each machine, or $4,500 weekly,
and the costs of upkeep and replacement of machines were
far from high.
I met Al Capone about a half dozen times back then,
mostly in Florida on fishing trips. He offered to let me use
his yacht or stay in his big house, surrounded by a wall
about as thick as Stateville's, on Palm Island in Biscayne
Bay, between Miami and Miami Beach. I didn't accept.
Capone wasn't my kind of person. People around him—
or against him—were all the time getting murdered. He
surrounded himself with gunsels. That wasn't right in my
let-everybody-make-a-living way of thinking. I never car-
ried a gun, except on my hunting or muskie-fishing trips.
And I had a rule that none of my employees could tote
arms.
Back in about 1927, I had two business deals with Ca-
pone. The prohibs had knocked off a couple of his Chi-
cago breweries and he had trouble getting enough beer
for his Chicago and suburban Cicero speakeasies. His
brother, Ralph, was in charge of beer for the syndicate, but
Al himself telephoned me and asked me to sell him five
hundred barrels.
We had a surplus at the time, so I agreed. I told him to
send his trucks, with five hundred empties, out to our Schil-
ler Park cooperage. We exchanged five hundred barrels of
good beer—a lot better than he ever made—for his empties.
I gave him a discount price of $37.50 a barrel because of
the big order.
The brew must have sold well. He called me a few days
later and asked for three hundred more. I said okay and
told him that Tuesday—the day I collected from all my
customers and paid off my help—would be the day I
wanted my money.
On Monday, he called me with a beef. "Fifty of those
barrels were leakers," he said. "I'll pay you for 750.
Okay?"
I laughed at him. I knew there couldn't be so much as
one leaker. Not with the crew of craftsmen I had in the
cooperage. They tested every barrel under powerful air
pressure before it was filled. Al was trying to chisel me out
of fifty barrels, and I let him know that I knew what his
pitch was.
"You owe me for eight hundred," I said, "and I expect
to get paid for eight hundred."
His voice was a little lame as he replied: "Well, the
boys told me there were fifty leakers. I'll check on it."
Check on it? Pfui! He knew what he owed me and he paid
it—$30,000 in cash. He could afford to have paid three
times as much, with the prices his speakeasy clipjoints
were getting in Chicago. If there had been even one leaker
among those eight hundred barrels, I would have gotten a
new crew in the cooperage.
He called me again in a week or so and asked to buy
another five hundred barrels. I told him no, that my regu-
lar customers were taking all my output. That wasn't ex-
actly true, but what was the use of needling him by saying
I didn't do business with weasels?

The Dells burning down in 1934