In the spring of 1931 I was a member of a “couples’ club” in Syracuse, New York, composed of both married and single men and women. I was one of the unmarried—the youngest of all at twenty-six. We got together every other Sunday evening to discuss various topics that interested us. There were sixteen of us, and scarcely anyone ever missed a meeting.

That year for the July Fourth weekend we decided to rent a cottage on Lake Ontario. We found what we wanted near Sandy Pond, a house large enough to allow separate sleeping quarters for men and women. We all arrived on Friday afternoon, and the women cooked our first meal. The men did the kitchen chores afterward.

That first evening produced a lovely sunset, which gave way to a bright half-moon and a quiet breeze on the lake. We sat outside until it grew dark, but before long everyone was ready to go to bed. I wanted to go for a walk along the beach, but no one would come except my best friend, Bob Van Wagenen.

The two of us walked along the deserted beach, which at that time had no cottages beyond the one we had rented. The moonlight made everything very clear. After a mile or so Bob decided to go back, but I continued on for another half-mile. I was really enjoying myself.

Finally I came across a big piece of driftwood and was sitting down for a rest before starting back when a dot of light out on the lake caught my attention. It steadily moved closer, and every now and then it blinked. I assumed it was men doing some night fishing.

As I watched it, I heard the muffled sound of an engine somewhere behind me, and a truck pulled up perhaps fifty yards away. It was joined by a second and maybe a third truck. I looked back at the lake and saw a large boat moving slowly toward the beach, its light now blinking constantly. It anchored a little distance offshore, and two small boats with heavy contents began crisscrossing between ship and land, coming ashore loaded, returning to the ship empty. I knew then what I was witnessing: a rum-running episode between Canada and the United States. At first I felt a sense of alarm at being there, but it didn’t last long.

Men had gotten off the trucks without making a sound. Apparently they were waiting for a signal, and when it came, they went down two by two to where stacks of crates were being brought ashore. Each pair carried a heavily loaded crate from the beach to the trucks and then returned for another load. There was precision in every movement—no talking and no noise except a low grunt or a cough. The men passed within twenty yards of me, but no one looked in my direction. Altogether I guessed there were