A Crazy Quilt of Liquor Laws

Little drinks of brandy,

Little sips of gin

Swell the mighty torrents

Of disease and sin

Three generations have passed since the temperance crusaders who marched to such verses were at the peak of their power, and 45 years have gone by since repeal of the 18th Amendment. Yet vestiges of Prohibition are still visible in many state and local liquor laws, and they stir heated passions.

In the Charlotte, N.C., area one day last week, hundreds of happy tipplers crowded into restaurants to toast a hotly debated new state law allowing such places to serve drinks for the first time in 70 years. Hank Stoppelbein, 23, a part-time waiter who fired down the first shot (a $1.50 Bloody Mary) at Benedictine's Restaurant at 8:04 a.m., pronounced it not just an eye opener but "history, right there along with George Washington crossing the Delaware." Said the one-word banner headline on the Charlotte News front page: CHEERS!

What made the cheer possible was a bitter struggle in the state legislature that gave local jurisdictions the right to legalize the sale of liquor by the drink. Before, North Carolinians were limited to beer, wine or whatever hard liquor they chose to "brown bag" (carry with them) when they went out on the town. With North Carolina's shift to local option, there are now only two states where sales of drinks at public places are banned outright. One is Oklahoma, where the temperance law is widely ignored. The other is Kansas, which ran into legal difficulties with its attempt to go wet.

The Kansas legislature passed a local-option bill last spring, and 15 of the 45 counties where the question was put on the ballot subsequently approved sales of drinks. But the Kansas Supreme Court threw out the law, ruling that the legislature had no business enacting it while an explicit prohibition against "open saloons" remained in the state constitution. Although it may take time for the legislators to clear up the confusion, Kansans will not go thirsty. As in many other states with restrictive liquor laws, almost anyone can get served at so-called private clubs. They are scarcely difficult to join: memberships can be had for as little as $2, and the ten-day waiting period is only spottily enforced.

In some places, liquor laws are being tightened. Montana voters decided that wine could be sold in grocery stores, along with beer, but they also raised the drinking age to 19, though they had dropped it from 19 to 18 in 1975 (reasoning that if young people could vote at that age, they could also be trusted to drink). Explains Tom Mulholland, a state liquor official: "The age for underage kids trying to get served went down. They used to be 16 and 17. Now they're 14 and 15."

For the same reasons, New Jersey, which lowered its drinking age to 18 in 1972, may also raise it: the state senate has voted to push the minimum age up to 19. Concern about youthful boozing is similarly an issue in Massachusetts, which went to 18 in 1973. Bay State legislators voted to go to 19 last July, but then-Governor Michael Dukakis refused to sign the bill into law. His successor, Conservative Democrat Edward King, believes that his tough stand in favor of raising the age helped him get Dukakis' job.

In Alaska, by contrast, public drunkenness among adults is the big and growing problem, especially in remote communities. In Nome (pop. 2,585), a Methodist minister led a drive to close the town's seven bars and three liquor stores, pointing to the fact that two other similar-size Alaskan towns had chosen to go dry. Nome's voters rejected the idea 3 to 1, but the town council passed an ordinance closing liquor stores early, which in Nome means midnight. Bars, however, can still serve customers until 5 a.m. on Friday and Saturday.

Elsewhere, prohibition sentiment lives on in a variety of peculiar rules. In Washington State, an obscure law bans the word saloon in the name of any beverage or place of business. Last April the Olympia Brewing Co. made the mistake of launching a new brand called Buckhorn Saloon: it had to destroy 1,751 cases and ship another 4,000 to other states. In Utah, restaurants can only provide setups. A customer can either bring his own bottle or he can buy his liquor from a state-licensed bar at the establishment; the law says the customer must walk up to the bar himself and buy his booze in bottles with unbroken seals, which usually means he walks back to his companions juggling an armload of miniatures.

Some states have slapped extremely high taxes on liquor and created state-run monopolies to sell it, at a stout profit. A prime example is Pennsylvania's Liquor Control Board, which has become the nation's biggest buyer of alcoholic beverages (last year's total: 11 million cases, worth $280 million wholesale). Before a bottle of liquor goes on sale at any of Pennsylvania's 750 "state stores," the board jacks up the price 48% for its own profit, then adds an 18% "emergency" tax levied decades ago to help victims of the 1936 Johnstown flood, and finally tacks on a 6% sales tax. When these taxes upon taxes are compounded, they amount to a markup of 85% for the state. Not surprisingly, Pennsylvanians try to purchase much of their liquor in neighboring states like Maryland, where a half-gallon oi whisky sells for about one-third less Pennsylvania officials complain that out-of-state purchases cost the Pennsylvania treasury some $25 million a year in lost revenues, but the hefty profit ($151 million last year) that the Liquor Contro" Board turns eases the pain. -

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