In the 1930s Prohibition era, Newark, Chicago and New York were known as bootlegging hubs. But small towns across America played a part — even Blooming Prairie, where one of the largest stills in the state was eventually raided, becoming a piece of the county’s rich history.

As the Steele County Historical Society’s history center nears its target goal, history lessons and the talk of just how rich the county’s culture really is, have heightened.

Like many small towns, Blooming Prairie has a long and colorful history, but the blossoms aren’t the only thing striking awe in the town of 2,000 — it has a connection and place in national history as well.

Nancy Vaillancourt, a researcher of Steele County history and Blooming Prairie resident and librarian said it’s a subject lightly approached.

“From what I have heard, it’s not talked about very much,” Vaillancourt said. “There were some people that were fairly well-known involved in them.”

Indeed, some residents are still hesitant to speak openly about those involved in Prohibition. Walking through the streets of Blooming Prairie, many smiled and sheepishly told stories handed down to them by friends and relatives, but most still refused to go on record.

“Prohibition is overall an interesting period because it was the government trying to regulate something that was free and open before,” Vaillancourt said.

Blooming Prairie’s history with alcohol rebellion actually began before Prohibition. In 1918, Blooming Prairie made state headlines when three saloon owners refused to comply with Order No. 17. The order was handed down by the Minneapolis Commission of Public Safety and required saloons to close by 5 p.m. each day. The three owners, P.F. Coggins, George E. Thomas and W.R. Carroll complied for a time, but the order was causing heavy revenue loss for them.

According to published reports, the men returned to their own business hours, resulting in a standoff between them and Gov. J.A.A. Burnquist’s office. The governor issued a rule to close the three saloons indefinitely and he sent the county sheriff to enforce the closings.

The saloon owners then brought suit against the commission, sheriff and mayor of Blooming Prairie. On July 1, 1918, the governor sent 15 uniformed and armed National Guardsmen to block the doors, sending the town into martial law. Claims were made that the saloons were closed because they were depots for the distribution of liquor into dry territory.

Blooming Prairie was later deemed “dry” in October 1918.

The tug-of-war between businessmen and the state would not be the last around-the-law occurrence of Prohibition rebellion in the community. Eventually, federal authorities would familiarize themselves with the Blooming Prairie name after arriving in town on the night of Dec. 4, 1932.

Federal authorities raided a major still operation just west of town, according to the late Gerald Peterson, a Blooming Prairie resident and high school teacher who researched the stills.

“That still was a rather sophisticated layout,” Peterson wrote. “It was all underground, there were tunnels all over in it, there was always a lookout posted and there was a straw stack outside to let off steam.”

The still, nicknamed the “Liquor Fountain,” was located on the Levy farm, just west of the Czech National Cemetery.

“To me, the best story is there is a cemetery nearby and they’d pretend to be taking bodies there when they would have the alcohol,” Vaillancourt said.

When the still was raided, the barn contained a gigantic mixing vat with 10,000 gallons of mash and five other vats with a capacity of 12,000 gallons. It fed two stills 23 feet high. Reportedly the still could produce 1,800 gallons of alcohol a day and employed at least 12 men.

Vaillancourt said Blooming Prairie had the second highest rate of sugar consumption next to St. Paul during that period in history. That was a sign of the liquor production.

Albert Wanous was one of the Blooming Prairie men tied to the liquor business during that time. Wanous died in 1958 and is now buried in the cemetery located next to the spot where the still used to stand.

Although underground a popular figure, few residents still choose to tell his story, but few ratted him out during his time.

“The feds would come into town and people wouldn’t say anything because he helped a lot of people out,” said Blooming Prairie resident Loren Resmussen.

Tunnels still found in downtown Blooming Prairie businesses today were allegedly used for transporting some of the alcohol.

When Tamzen Johnson and her business partner, Amy Doerhoefer, moved into their new office building on the main street of Blooming Prairie, they soon discovered history beneath their feet.

Following a hallway down the stairs of the modern decorated accounting firm, on a baby blue wall, brown tar stains from tobacco reach toward the entry way to what used to be one of two bowling alleys of Blooming Prairie.

Johnson said after talking to longtime Blooming Prairie residents, she found not only the bowling alley but a barber shop and small lunch counter where residents communed were all housed in the downstairs. She also found a tunnel that runs to the business next door, part of a system that ran throughout a majority of the town’s main streets.

“I wish I knew more about it really,” Johnson said. “When I got here, all of my clients told me about it. Fact or fiction some of it has to have a kernel of truth.”