Free Prohibition: Thirteen Years That Changed America by Edward Behr Page B

future is the burden of every philanthropist’s soul!
But let us for a moment turn to Germany. The representatives of the fourteen leading powers of the world have met in Berlin. They are considering the future relations of the Congo with the outside world.
The earnest petition to keep rum from the savages is scarcely noticed. The rum dealer who represents Germany urges absolute free commerce on the Congo. Holland heartily approves and in spite of the slight objection of the U.S. and England, the resolution is carried. Their object is accomplished. Henceforth the Congo will be prey to the ravenous trader! ... Its only purpose is to increase commerce, no matter at what expense, even of innocent life.
    Wheeler went on to paint an idyllic picture of the Congo “before the liquor traffic was legalized,” with lucrative trade in ivory palm oil and coffee. “A commerce was fast developing which might have been the richest in the world, had it not been for the iniquitous rum dealer.” Richest for whom? Wheeler did not pursue this line of thought. Given the brutal aspects of Belgian rule in the Congo, later stigmatized obliquely by Joseph Conrad in Heart of Darkness and more openly by André Gide, the beneficiaries would certainly not have been the native Congolese.
    Be this as it may, the Congo was paradise no longer, for “The stupefying climate of the Congo renders men an easy prey to this evil of drink. . . . The Caffirs and the Hottentots have been reduced by this poison, until they are no longer distinct tribes.” Wheeler cited missionary reports of
four hundred blacks lying drunk in the streets. . . . Thirty girls under sixteen lay drunk, even parts of their clothing bartered for drink. . . . Germany and America export eight million gallons of rum to the Congo yearly, with the result that the Negro has degenerated morally and mentally. . . . remember as you go next Sunday morn to church that the Congo native, his wife and children lie in their hovels drunk.
    There were no references to heavy-drinking Belgian colonial settlers.
    When the ASL turned to Oberlin College to recruit a full-time worker to help bring about “an era of clear thinking and clean living,” Wheeler was an obvious choice. At first, he demurred: the pay was low, and he had “another business proposition.” But the ASL’s Ohio League was headed by the Reverend Howard Hyde Russell, himself an Oberlin alumnus and a powerful, persuasive preacher. “When I pointed out to him,” Russell later wrote, “that a man to fill the other position could be much more easily found than one for this complex and strenuous service, he agreed to treat the matter carefully and prayerfully. We bowed together — Oberlin’s training had made it easy for us to do this — and we asked God to be the guide as to the duty involved and to inspire the right conclusion.”
    Russell got his way. Wheeler, however, committed himself to ASLwork for “one year only.” His duties as a full-time “dry worker” were twofold: as a church preacher on Sundays (he was already a regular speaker, his passionate delivery much appreciated by congregations of all types) and as an “Organizer of legislative districts.” The issue was the Haskell Local Option Bill, allowing counties to become dry if a majority of voters so decided. There had been 200,000 dry petitioners in favor of the bill, but only 36 state legislators had voted for it. Whether the idea came from Wheeler or from Russell is not known, but the Ohio ASL took a step that would establish the pattern for Wheeler’s later lobbying tactics: it informed the legislators who had voted for the bill that the ASL would throw its weight behind them, and at the same time do its best to discredit the bill’s most vocal opponents.
    Wheeler was assigned the task of ensuring the political demise of John Locke of London, Madison County, a virulent anti-Prohibitionist who had told the House: “If you want to dig your political grave,