Floating Booze Boat on Delaware River Calls up Questions of State Boundary

In the summer of 1916, the well-known “Charlestown Booze Boat” made waves in Penns Grove, New Jersey, becoming the talk of the dry town. Anchored just off the New Jersey shore in the Delaware River, this floating speakeasy from Maryland quickly became a popular destination for those seeking to tipple the forbidden indulgence. Dinghies and small boats ferried eager patrons from Penns Grove, providing them with access to beer and whiskey.

booze sold barroom erving, ma
This photo illustrates a typical tavern from the second half of the 19th century: the Erving House Barroom in Erving, Mass in 1865.((“Erving House Barroom.” Photograph. [ca. 1865]. Digital Commonwealth, from the Erving Public Library Archives, (accessed April 03, 2024).))

The lucrative market for a booze boat opened in 1915 when temperance crusaders in Salem County spearheaded a fight to keep the borough dry.((“To Keep Pennsgrove Dry,” Penns Grove Record, Nov 20. 1915, 1.)) Local churches rallied alongside organizations such as the Salem County Woman’s Christian Temperance Union and the Penns Grove Camp Meeting Association. Even the Mother’s Club of Carney Point, the home to Du Pont Powdermakers, opposed the opening of barrooms. They feared the degradation of their “pretty little model village,” a newspaper reported.((Evening Journal Sept. 25, 1916)),((Dry’s Strategy Beats Wets, Daily Local News, February 25, 1916.)) Speculation also circulated regarding the involvement of the Du Pont Company in this anti-alcohol campaign, as too many workers showed up drunk.   

Penns Grove, a Dry Town

After the borough went dry, the “floating beer ark” from Cecil County, MD, anchored in the river, dispensing drinks to the thirsty “who were sober enough to walk the gangplanks,” the Penns Grove Record remarked. The craft’s captain claimed he operated beyond New Jersey jurisdiction as he did business on the river beyond the low water mark with cables and anchors cast loose every time they sold a drink.((“Illegal Sale of Liquors,” Penns Grove Record, May 4, 1917, 1.))

The captain’s assertion was based on land claims going back to 1682 when The Duke of York leased land—that would eventually become Delaware– to William Penn. Years of simmering, argumentative negotiations involving complex legal concepts followed as Delaware claimed the boundary line went right up to the shoreline on the New Jersey side. However, a compact hammered out in 1905 helped calm the litigation as the states affirmed the boundary at the low tide on the Jersey shore while also granting the Garden State riparian rights on the river.((Cornell Law School, “Certiorari to the United States Court of Appeals for the Eleventh Circuit,” Supreme Court of the United States.)),((Harvard Law Review, “The Supreme Court – Leading Cases,” 505-506)),((Roger E. Nathan, East of the Mason-Dixon Line, A History of the Delaware Boundaries (Wilmington: Delaware Heritage Press, 2000), 53-59))

Nevertheless, this operation did not evade the watchful eyes of Penns Grove dry advocates—a vigilant group determined to keep the town legally and literally dry by stamping out speakeasies. Pushed by this growing public outcry, Deputy Sheriff J. O. Banks, along with Constables William S. Ray and Arthur Racher, responded to the disgruntled citizens’ chorus.

Undercover as thirsty customers, the officers boarded the vessel, successfully purchasing beer and witnessing whiskey transactions. Armed with this incriminating evidence, they arrested the two-man crew, charging them with the unlawful trade of alcohol. The authorities were determined to put an end to this profitable venture.

Jurisdiction Debate

As the case unfolded in the Salem County Court, the crew admitted to selling spirits but argued that transactions occurred while the anchor was hoisted, suggesting they were outside local jurisdiction in the Delaware River. However, their plea was promptly dismissed. The prosecutor reminded the court that New Jersey law mandated licensing for liquor sales, and the state’s authority extended to the river’s midpoint. To support his argument, he pointed to the accord between state officials, granting them the power to pursue and detain culprits until they reached the shores of Delaware. 

The Verdict: The jury delivered a guilty verdict following a thorough trial. Judge Edward C. Waddington imposed a fine of $1,000 and costs on each of the two Maryland men. Their attorney, however, served notice of an appeal, challenging the court’s jurisdiction over selling booze in the Delaware River. Additionally, they argued that Baltimore customs authorities licensed the boat, and no sales occurred while the boat was at anchor. The outcome of their appeal remains a mystery, as nothing more was heard of the case in the Salem County newspapers.

The “Charlestown Booze Boat” case reignited age-old boundary disputes between Delaware and New Jersey, underscoring the complexities of territorial jurisdiction amidst the nation’s growing prohibition movement.

The Radium Water Craze: A Curious Chapter in Health and Marketing

Around the turn of the twentieth century, Marie and Pierre Curie’s discovery of radium sparked a frenzy of interest in its potential health benefits. Companies from various industries eagerly incorporated the radioactive element into their products, touting its supposed healing properties. Radium found its way into everyday consumer goods, including cosmetics, toothpaste, hair creams, over-the-counter medications, health restoratives, bottled water, and watch dials.

radium water bittke
Great Radium Spring Water (personal collection)

Adding to this surge, researchers detected natural radioactivity in springs across the United States. Physicians suggested that there was a health benefit to “taking the waters” at these springs. according to the Bulletin for the History of Chemistry. By the middle of the 1910s, thermal springs experienced a renaissance as places not merely to “take the waters” but to receive the benefits of radioactivity.((Matthew Lavine, “The Two Faces of Radium in Early American Nuclear Culture,” Bulletin for the History of Chemistry 39, no. 1 (2014): 56.)) However, most Americans lacked the time or means to visit spas. The solution? Bottling and shipping radioactive water.    

In 1914, seizing upon this trend, the Pine Crest Spring Water Company of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, rebranded itself as the Great Radium Spring Water Company. Under the direction of Fred M. Osteyee, the owner, the company offered bottled water and flavored drinks. The amount of radium in the product is unknown – it could have been a minuscule trace or a clever marketing ploy.((“Great Radium Spring Water Co. Bottles,” Museum of Radiation and Radioactivity, accessed March 18, 2024.)),((Robbybobby64, “Great Radium Spring Water Co.,” Antique Bottles, accessed March 18, 2024,))

As scientific research started shedding light on the hazards of radiation exposure, the once-thriving radium trend began to fade in the late 1920s and early 1930s. The Great Radium Spring Water Company ceased its operations in 1931. (Of course, the Great Depression probably impacted business, too.) Concurrently, tragic cases like that of the “Radium Girls” – young factory workers suffering from radium poisoning after ingesting the luminous paint used on watch dials – cast a shadow over products.

Great Radium Spring Water advertisement
Great Radium Spring Water Advertisement (Berkshire Eagle, Aug 14, 1926)

Furthermore, stricter regulations emerged to combat misleading health claims associated with products. The pervasive advertisements promoting radium’s purported healing properties came under scrutiny because of this, prompting regulatory authorities to intervene and rein in the excesses of corporations that had capitalized on the radium craze.

Resting on a shelf in my office is a relic from this bygone era: a century-old aqua-blue bottle adorned with the Great Radium Spring Water Company logo. This artifact is a tangible link to a time when corporations eagerly promoted radium-infused products as miracle cures.

I sometimes incorporate this bottle into my lectures on the history of public health and use it to illustrate the complexities of consumer products during the emerging nuclear age. It is a reminder of an era when companies made promises of health and vitality but left behind a legacy of tragic consequences. Inspired by a recent viewing of the play Radium Girls, I retrieved the old bottle from the shelf to share its story on the blog.

Fighting for Equality on Route 40

A few months ago, I received a call from a producer working on the Audible docuseries Shadowball. This series delves into the history and experiences of Black athletes in the context of social justice and racial equality. Their interest was piqued by my 2013 research, which focused on the movement to segregate Route 40 in Cecil County and Delaware. While investigating this, I encountered the arrest of the civil rights activist Erosenna “Rose” Robinson, and they are profiling this talented athlete in one segment.

Rose Robinson civil rights protester arrested on Route 40 in Cecil County.
Rose Robinson of Philadelphia was taken to the Elkton magistrate’s court. (Cecil Whig Photo, Sept. 14, 1961)

Robinson gained recognition in the 1950s for her talent in track and field competitions. In 1958, she won the National Amateur Athletic Union (AAU) high jumping championship and joined the United States Track & Field Team. She then declined to compete with the U.S. Team in the Soviet Union despite the Cold War tensions. The athlete told Jet Magazine, “I don’t want anyone to think my athletics have political connotations. In other words, I don’t want to be used as a political pawn.”((Maria Lee, “The Pioneers: Two Black Women Whose Legacies of Sports Activism Live on,” Just Women’s Sports, Feb. 10, 2022))

This public refusal was significant as Black athletes, musicians, and other notable figures were often used by the State Department to counter the image “Jim Crow cast on America” around the globe, Women’s Sports writes.((Lee, “The Pioneers: Two Black Women Whose Legacies of Sports Activism Live on”.)),((Ryan Shepard, “Remember the Name: Rose Robinson Paved the Way for Athlete Activists”, Black Information Network, Apr 26, 2021.))

Robinson’s activism with the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) led her to the Route 40 campaign in September 1961. While traveling on the dual highway alongside fellow activist Wally and Juanita Nelson, they stopped at a diner in North East, MD. When the three Freedom Riders refused to leave the restaurant, the state police intervened and arrested them. Once booked into the Cecil County Jail, the “sit-downers” staged a hunger strike and refused to cooperate with the court.((Mike Dixon, “Freedom Riders Arrive on Route 40 in Northeastern MD as CORE Works to Integrate Route 40,” Window on Cecil County’s Past, August 1, 2013.))

After fasting for several days, the sheriff sent Robinson and the Nelsons to Crownsville, the state psychiatric hospital for African Americans. However, the mental health clinician at Crownsville found them to be mentally sound, promptly returning the protestors to the Elkton Jail.((Dixon, “Freedom Riders on Route 40.”))

Freedom Riders trial in Elkton after arrest on Route 40
A crowd gathered outside the courtroom of Magistrate Leonard Lockhart, but the defendants refused to leave their cells. (Morning News Photo, Sept. 12, 1961)

This unfolding situation gained attention from city dailies and the African American press, and the group came to be known as the “Elkton Three.” Shortly after, their $50 fines were suspended, and officials quietly released them.((James D. Williams, “One Way to Get In A Mental Hospital,” The Afro-American, September 30, 1961.)),((Rufus Wells, “Guilty of Being Colored,” Afro-American, September 30, 1961.)) The movement to fully desegregate Route 40 gained momentum, and under pressure from President Kennedy, Maryland Governor Millard Tawes signed a public accommodation law in 1963 prohibiting discrimination in restaurants and hotels.((Maryland State Archives, “Executive Records, Governor J. Millard Tawes, 1959-1967,” Archives of Maryland Online.))

The Audible docuseries segment focuses on Rose Robinson’s life of long-lasting activism, and the Route 40 incident was one of many for the exceptional athlete.

A Newspaper Mourning Practice: Turning the Rules

In the 19th century, mourning practices in the United States were deeply structured and ceremonial, governing social interactions, fashion, and grieving customs. Amid these strict norms, newspaper editors adhered to a unique mourning tradition.

During periods of public bereavement–such as the passing of a notable politician, military officer, or publisher–the editor engaged in a practice known as “turning the rules.” Although this tradition is no longer observed, it often grabs the attention of researchers studying old publications, and its historical significance remains intriguing.

every evening, wilington newspaper, composition room
The composition room of the Even Evening in September 1905

When a prominent individual passed, the newspaper sought to announce the death and convey collective sorry. The work to make this happen occurred in the composing room, where the pages of the paper took shape as the compositors turned the rules. These column rules typically created white space between columns of text on a page.

But once the paper was in mourning, they displayed their grief with dark printers’ ink between the columns by reversing the rules. As the pages came off the press, the normal rules—white spacing separating columns of text– framed with heavy black bands of ink, creating a visual tribute to the departed. These dark bands conveyed grief, signaling to readers that the publication mourned the loss of a significant figure.((Edmund C. Arnold, “Designing the Total Newspaper,” 1981, Harper & Row Publishers: New York.))

newspaper mourning, turning the rules, west-jersey pioneer, bridgetown, NJ
Reporting on the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln, the editor turned the rules on the April 22, 1865 issue of the West-Jersey Pioneer in Bridgeton, NJ, framing the paper in black mourning ink. (Source: Chronicling America at the Library of Congress)

Don Herring, a newspaper editor who began his career with the Indianapolis Star in Indiana after the Korean War, introduced me to this old practice. The turned rules, once an expression of mourning by journalists, now reside in the annals of newspaper history–a journalist’s tradition from a bygone era.