When Harris Lee returned from prison he found the various family businesses in disarray. The gambling had been shut down and the stills had been busted. What little beer was being sold barely justified the cost. There was a Federal investigation involving corruption going on in Madison County at the time and most people wanted to avoid being caught up in it. Political figures, who had once eagerly taken his money, wouldn't even return his phone calls.
Harris Lee solved the problem in the time-honored way.
"I met one of our elected officials at a restaurant here in Huntsville and told him my businesses were hurting. If I couldn't get permission to operate, I was going to have to shut everything down. He said he was really sorry but there was nothing he could do."
"I had this paper bag stuffed with hundred dollar bills and I laid it on the table. Just think about it,' I said. Then I got up and walked out, leaving him staring at all that cash money. I didn't have a whole lot of trouble after that."
"I think that second stretch in prison changed Parcus," said a retired law enforcement official. "He had always kept a low profile before but now he didn't care. Everybody was accusing him of being the Godfather and I think he just decided he wasn't going to hide it anymore. He dressed in flashy clothes with diamond rings on his fingers and carried a wad of money big enough to choke a horse. When he walked into a room there was no doubt he was someone important. He was the Godfather."
"He knew we were after him but he didn't care anymore. He would have cookouts at his place in Triana and invite the sheriff's department, the District Attorney and even the FB.I. I told him one time he was going to get caught but he just grinned at me and said, 'Catch me if you can!"'
In 1968 the Organized Crime Division opened an investigation into racketeering in North Alabama. They were determined to close the Godfather down. Based mostly on circumstantial evidence he was indicted, found guilty and was sentenced to five terms of five years each, to be served concurrently.
"I didn't have any hard feelings against the deputies," said Harris Lee. "They were doing their job the same way I was doing mine. I've always said if you do the crime you have be ready to do the time."
By the time he got out of prison, times had changed. People no longer minded driving a few miles to buy beer or liquor. The demand for moonshine was drying up and it had also become expensive to manufacture. High rollers could hop a plane to Las Vegas or play in some private club in Huntsville. For the first time in his life Harris Lee Parcus was getting completely out of the business.
Old habits die hard, however. Within a few months of being released from prison, old customers (in dry counties) began calling, asking if he could supply them with beer. Before long Harris Lee and his son were back in the beer-running business. This time it was not the law that closed him down.
After returning home, Harris Lee began working at a country store in Triana his father had purchased several years earlier. He intended to sell groceries and maybe a little moonshine on the side. The grocery business in Triana, however, was terrible. "Sometimes a whole week would go by," Parcus remembered, "and we wouldn't have a single customer."
With little income from the store, Harris Lee found himself depending more and more on moonshine to make a living.
"I bought a 1941 Ford Coup from Tom Farley." Parcus said, "It had a fake trap door and I could haul 100 gallons at a time. I was paying $5 a gallon for it and selling it for $10 a gallon. This was back around 1947."
"Parcus was always extremely close to his family, especially his son who helped in the business," remembered a friend. "When that boy got killed, Parcus just lost all interest in the business. It wasn't exciting anymore and the money didn't mean that much. He just let the business fold up."
Harris Lee Parcus has been retired from the business for more than twenty-five years. The days when he had fleets of cars and trucks hauling moonshine and beer all across North Alabama are far in the past. The River Club is closed and one might be hard pressed to find even a checker game to gamble on in Triana.
And it's been years since he has made any moonshine. Although occasionally, perhaps at Christmas, somebody might bring by a gallon jug.
"Parcus Eggnog" they call it. Forty dollars a gallon.
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