Bob Batchelor - The Bourbon King - The Life and Crimes of George Remus, Prohibitions Evil Genius

Advance Praise for Bob Batchelor's
THE BOURBON KING

An aggressive, ambitious foray into the brutal life and times of George Remus, an archetypal figure emerging from the sordid tapestry of life and crime in the Prohibition Era. This historical portrait is presented not in traditional, dry prose exposition, but rather in lucid, hard-hitting, tight writing interlaced with striking dialoguea form of storytelling that is effective, efficient, and transporting.

Phillip Sipiora,
editor of Mind of an Outlaw:
Selected Essays of Norman Mailer

A captivating portrayal of the Roaring Twenties, The Bourbon King shows how George Remus built and lost a bootleg empire, only to be entangled in a love triangle that led to murder. Bob Batchelor brings the seedy underworld of the 1920s fully to life.

Richard Steigmann-Gall,
author of The Holy Reich

Bob Batchelor is at the top of his game in this fascinating study, which combines the thrilling and often disturbing story of George Remuss life with penetrating insights into the history of Prohibition, corruption, law enforcement, and the business of American bootlegging. A pleasure to read for historians and bourbon aficionados alike.

Thomas Heinrich,
author of Ships for the Seven Seas: Philadelphia
Shipbuilding in the Age of Industrial Capitalism

This is another contribution from a leading scholar of popular culture. He brings to life a colorful character from the Prohibition era in a style worthy of his subject.

Lawrence S. Kaplan,
University Professor Emeritus,
Kent State University

Also by Bob Batchelor

Stan Lee: The Man Behind Marvel

Mad Men: A Cultural History

Gatsby: The Cultural History of the Great American Novel

Bob Dylan: A Biography

Copyright 2019 by Bob Batchelor

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

For more information, email

Diversion Books

A division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

443 Park Avenue South, suite 1004

New York, NY 10016

www.diversionbooks.com

Book design by Aubrey Khan, Neuwirth & Associates

Cover design by Tom Lau

First Diversion Books edition September 2019

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-63576-586-1

eBook ISBN: 978-1-63576-585-4

Printed in The United States of America

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Library of Congress cataloging in-publication data is available on file.

For Suzette, Kas, and SophieI love our team!

Contents

Awash in Red

Lock me up. Ive just shot my wife.

Emmet Kirgan, chief of detectives, looked back at the man in disbelief. George Remus bounced back and forth in front of the desk, then sank into a chair and surrendered. At one time rich, famous, powerful, and feared, he had been King of the Bootleggers; and Kirgan recognized him right away. Frank McNeal, another Cincinnati police officer in the room, stopped for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Kirgan stood quickly, grasping what Remus had admitted. Murderers usually had to be caught

Earlier that day, George felt the blood slick on his hand and looked down in horror. His white silk shirtcrisp and unsoiled only several minutes beforewas now awash in red. The pearl-handled pistol heavy in his grip, Remus glanced up, turning toward the street. Cars careened to a halt and bystanders cried out in disbelief. He scanned the area for the dark blue Buick and his driver.

The car was gone.

Just then, Remus heard the womens screams and the cries of children who had been playing nearby. He searched for an escape, his eyes darting left and right in the morning sunlight that washed over Eden Park. Turning away from the red and white rotunda at the heart of the park, Remus disappeared into the thick trees lining the area. He could still hear shrieks echoing in the air.

Emerging from the woods minutes later, Remus surfaced on Gilbert Avenue. He wandered south toward downtown. He continued to look back over his shoulder. A local Studebaker dealer named William Hulvershorn spotted him. He pulled over, offering a lift. Swinging open the dark green coupe door, Remus poked his head inside and then took a seat next to the man, thanking him profusely. George kept up a constant patter.

At times the driver struggled to follow his passengers stream of thought. The stranger spoke in bursts with a German accent quite strong at times.

Take me to the central station, he repetitively muttered between flurries of conversation. At first, Hulvershorn thought Remus was a traveling salesman, so he drove off toward the Pennsylvania Station train depot at the corner of Pearl and Butler Streets, Cincinnatis downtown hub.

When they arrived, Hulvershorn pulled the car up to the curb. He wished the man well. George popped open the door, stepped out, and realized he was at the train depot downtown.

Why, you dont know who I am, do you? Remus asked the car salesman.

No sir, I dont, he replied.

Well, my name is George E. Remus.

Mr. Remus of fame? Well, I am glad to meet you.

Then is when he told me he had done some shooting in the park, Hulvershorn would remember later.

With the confession, Remus closed the door. As the Studebaker pulled away, George turned. He saw a group of cabs and hailed one over, frustrated because he thought hed told Hulvershorn to take him to the police station.

Still, it was only thirty minutes after he had fled Eden Park when Remus calmly walked into Cincinnatis First District Police Headquarters. Within that time, law enforcement across Cincinnati and northern Kentucky had been alerted to the heinous crime. As Remus approached Kirgan, the stations officer on duty, police were combing the area for the former bootleg baron.

I will never forget the expression on her face when I was pulling her to me and she realized I had gotten her. She turned that hypocritical face to me and said, Oh, dont hurt me, Daddy, you know I love you, George said, exhausted.

Napoleon of the Bar

George Remus leaned in close to his client, whispering into his ear. He glanced over at the jury, turned away, then took a longer look. The attorney noted their faces, the slightest reactions. He stared ahead, stopping on each juror for a split second. They saw his steel-blue eyes home in on them. Then, swinging up from the table, he bounded to his feet. George tugged at his shirtsleeves and smoothed out the thin wrinkles in his jacket. Ready to pounce, he pushed toward the jury box.

Remus stopped short. He smiled, letting them see his confidence, letting it wash over thema singular moment to plead for his clients life.

Behind him, the accused man sat stone-faced. Another in a long succession of defendants who faced the gallows. The murderer felt the weight of the proceedings push down on his shoulders and chest. His wife was dead!

Doomed, observers thought. The prosecution had built a thorough case proving that he had poisoned her. It was a sinister thing, killing ones spouse. A guilty conviction meant sure death. Investigators had even found the bottle he used in the plot. Thoughts of the electric chair hung in everyones minds.

Doomed! Everyone could see it.

After a momentary pause, George turned fast and snatched the bottle from the table. He spun the container around so all the jurors clearly caught a glimpse of the label. He raised it to them, as if toasting them at the end of a raucous night out on the town. Each person determining the fate of this wife-killer saw the familiar, dark skull-and-crossbones that adorned those types of toxins.