It was close to midnight. The darkness hid the flowers and neatly trimmed shrubs that lined the driveway from the sight of the 16 men in the four cars that quietly approached the brick building.

According to one observer, the building was "lit up like a battleship." The four cars, filled with law enforcement officers, blocked the cars of those inside the building so they couldn't leave.

The people inside the building were eating chicken, drinking alcoholic beverages, dancing, and in general enjoying themselves. In today's world, nothing would be considered wrong with that. This, however, was 1921, and the 18th Amendment, which banned the consumption and sale of alcohol, was in effect.

From the description of the scene, one might believe that the action was unfolding in Chicago or some other major American city. But the action on that warm night in June occurred in Johnson County, Kan.—on land where the Shawnee Indian Methodist Mission once existed, in the original East Building, erected on the Mission's grounds in 1841.

Yes, the nation was "dry." And Kansas, thanks to the influence of temperance advocate Carrie Nation, had been dry for about 10 years.

Because of a crackdown by the Kansas City, Mo., police on drinking and gambling establishments, Jack Copelman, who ran such a place at 12th and Grand in the city, felt he would be safer just across the state line in Kansas.

At that time, the Shawnee Mission site was in private hands and had not yet been purchased by the State of Kansas. Copelman, said to be part of a tough crowd, set up what he called a "Chicken Dinner Farm." A sign on an arch leading to the historic structure advertised the building as such.

There visitors could order chicken, and chicken gizzards and livers, from neatly dressed black waiters. It was reported that it took a long time to receive the chicken. But while guests waited they could spend a dollar and get a small teacup filled with Old Taylor's Best.

If whiskey was not one's choice of drink, a bottle of beer was available for 75 cents. Gin was available, too. The waiters were trained to circulate, keeping the teacups full and the bottles coming.

The large room on the first floor, where American Indians once received religious lessons, served as a café, the center of the floor reserved for dancing. A live orchestra played popular jazz. The second floor provided private rooms for those who may have wanted to hide activities such as gambling.

June 1921: As evening moved into late night, the guests become noisier, drunker, and more varied in personality. Revelers from Kansas City and tough-looking men in small groups arrived. According to The Kansas City Times of June 20, 1921, "Girls in ultra-modern dress sit about in unconventional poses, eating and drinking, jesting and dancing."

After the four cars filled with lawmen had parked, the officers spilled out. Under the direction of Johnson County Sheriff J.S. Steed, the building was quickly surrounded. Two men were assigned to each of the structure's several doors to block any escape efforts.

Steed, with a few other men, made a surprise entry; and even though it was a Thursday night, several people were imbibing in alcohol. Steed assured the partiers that an attempt to escape would be futile. He found Copelman in the kitchen.

Once Steed convinced Copelman of the seriousness of the offense, and the size of the raiding party was apparent, Copelman, who had displayed belligerence at first, calmed down and cooperated. Copelman ordered the orchestra to play "Ain't We Got Fun" and fed the lawmen a dinner of chicken, biscuits, gravy, blackberry pie, and coffee. Meanwhile, the lawmen's search revealed whiskey, gin, beer, wine, home brew, and piles of empty bottles.

At about 2:00 a.m., some thugs from the 12th Street area in Kansas City arrived to liberate Copelman from the officers. But after Copelman pointed out the lawmen at the doors and windows, armed with revolvers, sawed-off shotguns, and billy clubs, any thought about putting up a fight soon vanished.

Copelman was arrested and driven to the county jail in Olathe, where he was released the next morning on $1,000 bail. The doors of Chicken Dinner Farm were nailed shut.

Six years later, the state acquired the three main buildings on 12 acres of land as a historic site and refurbished it, making it as close to the original as possible.

Sources provided by Howard Ziegenhorn, volunteer librarian with the Shawnee Mission Indian Museum.

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