A man he is, inclined to drink, but he had reformed and sworn to lay off the wicked stuff. He had won for himself the respect of his neighborhood and was generally well lliked and prosperous. Then—he lost his balance, fell off the water wagon, hit the blockade trail again, and hit it hard. It was directly responsible for one of the saddest events ever (word obscured) in that neighborhood. While in a fit of rage, he murdered his own wife, and now is held by the authorities on the charge.
The effects of the mean licker gone, Kincaid himself again, there is no one sadder than he, himself. He feels disgraced and ashamed, and he regrets his act, for which he was not responsible. He knows that if he had only known this, he would not have touched the whiskey. Even the mother of his dead wife has no hard feelings against the man, is pleading for him, and knows that he was not himself when he did the awful act.
The sad and tragic affair only impresses on us the time worn story—better leave it alone. Around Dunn, right here in this section, a lot of illegal distilling and blockading is going on. Recent raids have brought the fact to light and then there is a whole lot that hasn’t yet been brought to light. The sooner we get it out of the county the better it will be, and the more we lay off the mean stuff, the better off we will be. Drinking is one of the worst habits that a man can acquire, and now that its blockade and blockade only that’s obtainable, drinking is a worse habit that ever, for such tragedies as the Kincaid murder are too often the result.
From the editorial page of The Dunn Dispatch, July 19, 1921
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