Was there a man among them who wasn’t disgusted by the immigrants brewing beer or fermenting wine in their basements? Was there a father or husband who wasn’t appalled at women in their short bobs and tapered dresses drinking bootleg gin and dancing to Black jazz—these morality-flaunting, uncorseted flappers? Was there a family protector not alarmed by the sexual promiscuity of the young in their parked machines?
