The ceremony in Rome, New York was impressive. Fanfare, politicians, locals. Probably a big pair of scissors. Maybe a buffet. They were undertaking a radical proposal, one that Thomas Jefferson called ‘little short of madness’. The same sentiments cast at his radical proposal 42 years earlier. But he was sort of right. They were about to build a 363 mile canal that would connect the Atlantic Ocean to the Great Lakes. It was America’s first great infrastructure project.
When it was finished eight short horrifying years later, the canal would change everything. It would connect the western interior, make shipping much easier, and open the world to midwestern farm products. It would increase national trade, usher in migration to the West, and cut by half the two-week journey from the Hudson Bay to the Great Lakes. Like an early America version of a lazy river ride, but with fewer dads sipping on cans of Pabst. It was a marvel that would exponentially improve lives and change America.
But for that to happen, someone had to actually build the thing. In the beginning, local farmers and homesteaders dug the canal. But the work was painfully slow and as they moved into the mosquito-rife Montezuma swamps, which exist somewhere between Dante’s fourth and fifth circles of hell, those workers suddenly developed bone spurs. Almost overnight, Irish immigrants were enlisted to take over the digging. Other than locals passing the buck, this change of duty made sense. First, there were loads of Irishmen around. Not only had they been immigrating to America for decades, 1816 was a particularly big year. And they had all come through New York City, where they now lived in great communities adding salted beef to cabbage. They were also in high demand for this kind of work. Irish laborers had built canals, roads, and cities in the French and British isles; they had experience, skills, brawn, and knowhow.
They also had guts – and this was key. The conditions were dangerous and difficult. The work took place over an elevation rise of over 500 feet and there was no such thing as excavation machinery. Men used picks and shovels, and gunpowder was used to blow up miles and miles of stubborn rock. Accidents and deaths were common. Killing more men than tools and explosions were microbes. Malaria in the swamps was rampant. Men wore sludge-filled ‘Montezuma buckets’ around their necks meant to ward off insects. These did not work. Needless to say, the conditions aspired to miserable. And yet, the Irish immigrants worked on. Why?
The answer: whiskey. Part of the immigrants’ salary was paid in whiskey. The advertisements hooked workers with ‘meat three times a day, plenty of bread and vegetables, with a reasonable allowance of liquor’. Men were granted a shot at 6 am and again at 4 pm, and a sip every hour in between. If a man took all of his allotted whiskeys he drank from 12-20 ounces a day. Even one who drank half that was pretty well tipsy. When you add whiskey to gunpowder and sharp tools, you tend to end up with guys with nicknames like lefty, one-eye Sean, and Jimmy no-hands.
Paying people in whiskey was like paying them in air. Whiskey was brought to America by the Irish and Scottish, it was abundant, and everyone loved it more than their mothers. Before the Revolutionary War, rum was the big booze on colonial campus. However, during the war Britain cut off the molasses and rum supply, so America had to improvise for its liquid buzzes. This proved to be zero problem, as Americans had shown real ingenuity for getting tanked since the Mayflower dropped anchor. Apples, carrots, corn, turnips, and pumpkins had all been utilized to catch a buzz. When the Irish and Scottish showed up in the 1700s, they said, ‘Hey, you’ve got all this corn and barley lying around and it just so happens we’ve perfected a way to make those into a super liquid that will make you invincible, attractive, and waterproof.’ And America was in with both hands. By the 1800s, whiskey was the American drink. All of the ingredients (i.e. corn, rye, barley) were domestically grown, it was cheaper than beer, coffee, or tea, and it was considered more patriotic than Dutch gin, French wine, or (God forbid) anything British. As people moved west, there was more land to grow corn. More land to grow corn meant more whiskey. It was America’s first Coca Cola until it would be added to Coca Cola.
The whiskey drinking of the canal diggers took place on two levels. These might be described as controlled and problematic. The problematic drinking was done in the afterhours at the shanties and the grog shops in the evenings and weekends. It often led to fights and brawls between men of different Irish counties. At times, even murder. The other kind of drinking was worktime drinking. This was organized by team leaders and was used for a variety of ends. First, it was literally payment. A man’s pay was partially in whiskey. Second, having a pint of whiskey a day would sap a man of his will so he could extend enough energy to work but not enough to, say, bludgeon his boss to death with a pickaxe. Third, it was incentive. You made progress, you got a shot. The promise of whiskey made it easier to convince a man to work, especially when a Montezuma bucket was dangling from around that man’s neck.
Drinking at work was not only common in early America, but expected. In the world before clean water, employers had to supply employees spirits throughout the day. This was a precursor to the coffee or, if you’re a sociopath, tea break. At 11 o’clock each day, American workers got a whiskey break called elevenses like good little drunken hobbits. These breaks allowed employees just enough happiness and energy to work but not to, say, bludgeon his boss to death with a clipboard. In the near future, work in factories and with heavy machinery would convince employers that booze at work wasn’t a great idea. But until then, the workers had their elevenses, America had a new canal, and whiskey was part of both.
Today we celebrate the Erie Canal and the 4th of July with whiskey (duh). But what whiskey? Fortunately distillers throughout Pennsylvania have been busy recreating early American regional whiskeys just so you and I can quaff authentically. We choose Kinsey’s 10-year American whiskey (out of New Liberty Distillers in Philly). It’s made from 100% corn and oak-aged. At 43.4% ABV, a few snorts will make you forget all about your troubles, a few more snorts will require use of a Montezuma bucket.
Ingredients
- 2 oz (to start) Kinsey’s 10-year American whiskey
- One glass
- One Montezuma bucket
Recipe
Pour the whiskey into the glass and drink it. To be as authentic as possible to the Erie canal diggers, don’t use ice, drink a shot at 6 am and again at 4 pm, and a sip every hour. Oh and drink it while digging a hole in your backyard.
