Lou’s View: A TOAST TO PRINCE FARRINGTON

By Lou Bernard

So there was this guy. Farrington. Prince Farrington, can you believe that? Was his real name—Prince David Farrington. He was named after the Doctor Prince who delivered him. Saved his life as a newborn baby. Doctor Prince told his parents to warm the kid up by putting him behind the furnace for a few minutes. The kid lived, and his parents named him Prince, after the doctor. Did I already say that?

Anyway, Farrington was a bootlegger. Brewed whiskey during Prohibition. What? No, that’s not mine. That could be anybody’s monogrammed alien flask. Ah, allright, you got me. It’s my flask. Since I’m writing about a bootlegger, I thought I’d fill up my flask and have a little whiskey while I write. I been good; I deserve this. What?

I’m not drunk!!!! YOU’RE drunk!!!!

Ah. That tastes good. Where was I? Right. Farrington. Born in North Carolina in 1889. He came to Clinton County, and set up all these stills like all over the place. I mean, everywhere. And he brewed whiskey during Prohibition. The thing about Prince Farrington is, he made a really, really good whiskey. I mean REALLY good. Not this rotgut crap that would blind you. Everybody always said the only reason he ever got arrested was the cops were gonna throw a party and needed refreshments.

So I’m writing about Farrington. Bootlegger. Kind of a Robin Hood guy. Gonna write a good column. Show that hotshot Chris Miller. That’s right. Who’s the king of Page Four NOW, Miller, huh?

Okay, maybe I’m just a little drunk.

See, the thing about Farrington was, he had style. I mean, he was cool. He sometimes used the money from his bootlegging to build a new roof on a church, or buy shoes for poor kids. Cool guy. There was one story, from that book—You know the book. That white book. Published in 1983. You know which book. Don’t say you don’t. Anyway, the book says that Farrington needed to hide out from the feds once, so he hid his car in some guy’s garage in Lock Haven. Then the next morning—The Sesquicentennial Book! That’s the one! Anyway, the next morning, the guy got up, and found a nice little keg of whiskey on his porch swing.

Farrington even used geology to brew his whiskey. Man, that’s more than I’ve used geology for. Why’d they ever make us learn that in school? And algebra, what the hell was up with that? I never use algebra. What? Oh yeah. The feds were destroying his whiskey stills, which needed water to operate. The feds knew the stills would be near springs, so they just tasted the streams downstream to see if they could taste whiskey. The process left a whiskey taste in the water, so that’s how the feds located the stills.

Anyway. Geology. Prince figured out that limestone would filter out that taste. So he set up his stills in limestone areas, to hide them from the feds. I mean, genius, right? Who knew?

There was a book about him. Farrington. No, not that book, another book. “Prohibition’s Prince.” By Guy Graybill. My favorite page is page 125. I’m on that one. Told the story of the Coira family, who knew Prince.

Mary Coira and her family. Lived on North Fairview Street. They knew Farrington. Did I say that? Mary made meatloaf with whiskey in it—Was her own secret ingredient. Mmmm, meatloaf. I could go for some meatloaf. Does anybody else—ALLRIGHT! Where was I? Oh yeah. Mary. She made the meat loaf with the whiskey for her neighbor, who was having a meeting. An anti-alcohol meeting. I mean, seriously. Mary Coira served whiskey meatloaf to an anti-alcohol club. You gotta respect that.

The Coiras also bought Farrington’s getaway car, after he was done with it.

So they repealed Prohibition. The government, not the Coiras. And Farrington couldn’t get a licence to brew legal whiskey, cause he was an outlaw. He said he wished they’d outlaw whiskey again so he could make an honest living. Anyway. Great column, huh? Anyone have a cup of coffee and an aspirin? Don’t drink and write, folks.