Ernest Schilling (1878-1975) is buried in the Gracelawn Cemetery at Van Buren, Arkansas. On his tombstone is the likeness of a billy goat and the name by which he was most known: “By Golly”. He was a sign painter by trade, but also a talented artist. His trademark was the “By Golly” signature on all of his work.

Though he lived out the end of his days in the Van Buren area, he was a resident of Eureka Springs off and on for many years. He would set up at the side of the road with a sign that read “By Golly, The Sage of Pine Log.” I’m told that tourists would stop to have their likeness drawn or to take his photograph. Though an educated man of Swiss-German heritage, By Golly could look like a stereotypical Arkansas hillbilly with his long beard and floppy hat.

McKinley Weems remembers By Golly being in Eureka Springs in the middle 1930s working on the painting of the big Onyx Cave sign on the building downtown. In those days, By Golly worked out of a cart pulled by a jenny.

McKinley worked in the radio shop in the lower level of the building and outside were barrels full of junk. One cold day, bundled up in winter clothes to keep warm, By Golly was high up painting the Onyx Cave sign when he fell and landed on the barrels below. It is said that the only thing that saved him was the many layers of bulky clothes that he was wearing.

I’ve heard the story that he lived in Seligman, Missouri for awhile and a church hired him to paint a sign. He painted the name of the church and other  information as instructed and at the bottom he signed it “By Golly.” The church was unhappy with the signature and demanded that it be removed. Without a word, By Golly climbed the ladder and painted over the signature. The next time it rained, however, the paint that he used to cover the signature washed away and his “By Golly” signature reappeared.

Sometimes I overindulge in the luxury of preconceived notions and it takes an outside force to nudge the trajectory of my thinking. In this case, it was my short association with Ned Shank in the Eureka Springs Rotary Club.

I was working as an accountant in town and my boss was the incoming president of the club. He said he’d put me up for membership (or however it worked) and as I do occasionally try new things, I hesitantly agreed. I didn’t know the first thing about civic clubs at the time and though I had agreed to join, I was a little skeptical about it all.

The Rotary Club met weekly downstairs at Myrtie Mae’s. I showed up at the appointed early hour bleary-eyed but curious. After an omelet made to order, the meeting got down to business and I was surprised at how closely the proceedings mirrored some church services, with music and singing led by Alan Epley and his horn, introduction of guests and a weekly speaker. It all ran smoothly despite some good-natured grumbling by those in the back seats.

I don’t remember if it was the first meeting I attended, or the second, but when things drew to a close, Ned Shank made a bee-line for me. We shook hands, and he loomed over me (he was quite tall) and he enthusiastically endorsed the work of the Rotary Club, both local and world-wide. That was 15 years ago and I don’t recall the exact words Ned spoke, but I’m thoroughly aware of the impact those words wrought. What struck me as interesting is that he seemed well aware of my skepticism, but used reason to make his case. We had a good conversation and I looked forward to more.

It wasn’t too long after I joined the Eureka Springs Rotary Club that Ned Shank was killed in a tragic bicycle accident just west of Eureka. The Ned Shank Wikipedia article states that he was posthumously made a Paul P. Harris Fellow, which is an award given by the Rotary Club.

While in college, we splurged and celebrated our anniversary at the nicest restaurant we could afford in Russellville, Arkansas. I remember the croutons were good. At the table next to us was another young couple and they ordered wine with their dinner. The waitress apologized and said, “I’m sorry, we’re dry.” When the waitress departed, the couple put their heads together in lively discussion. At the return of the waitress, the young lady said, “We’re from California. Can you explain to us what you mean about being dry?” The waitress cheerfully enlightened the travelers about alcohol sales in Pope County and much of the state.

Arkansas has more dry counties than any other state in the nation. Of the 75 counties in the state, 63 are dry or partially dry. Many locals don’t seem to realize that most of our own Carroll County is dry. There are 21 townships in Carroll County and 14 of them are dry or partially dry.

Since it was decided by a vote of the people, some say it was democracy in action. Others cite big government or the influence of certain church denominations. Others have a simple argument about freedom. I don’t care myself, although I am prone to occasional fits of perverse pride when Arkansas is out of step with mainstream America. It is, after all, an issue settled by most of the United States before World War II.

I’ve read that Arkansas liquor distributors are not necessarily in favor of repealing the ban, though one might wonder why. Some believe it will not change consumption or total sales, but will increase costs of doing business (transportation and paperwork costs, I suppose.)

Of course, Eureka Springs is not dry. My understanding is that it never has been, not even during prohibition. Since supply follows demand, local hill farmers with entrepreneurial ambitions sprang into action. I won’t name names, but I had kin who profited because of prohibition. And some did a little jail time, too. In the 1920s and the early 1930s the federal courts in both Fayetteville and Harrison did a booming business prosecuting and processing many small business owners.