It's a tale as old as mistrust in authority figures: Hotshot cop with a quick intellect shoots through the ranks, becoming a sergeant within three years and the youngest lieutenant on the force.
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He's got a knack for police work and though he's not physically imposing (earning the nickname "the baby lieutenant"), he impresses superiors with his professionalism and intelligence. He dutifully participated in busts and raids of rum-smugglers, and noted when members of the "Dry Squad" were arrested for stealing from the confiscated goods or taking bribes.
And he was running the biggest bootlegging operation in the Pacific Northwest.
Roy Olmstead went from rising star to "King of the Puget Sound Bootleggers," helping to smuggle alcohol during the Prohibition period in the early 20th century. And he was able to build up an empire thanks to the inside track he had of observing how both sides of the law operated.
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And it worked for a while – until he got caught, 96 years ago today.
Olmstead, who was born in Nebraska, moved to Seattle in 1904 and became a police officer in 1907. It would take him ten years to become an acting lieutenant, with Washington residents having already voted to become a "dry state" by that point, with a margin of 52 percent. By 1919, when the 18th Amendment of the Constitution imposed Prohibition nationwide, he was a full lieutenant.
And having observed how the booze market was being underserved by well-funded but disorganized bootleggers (with an emphasis on the well-funded), with a whole bunch of quality liquor right across the border in Canada, Olmstead figured he could be the businessman for the job.
That is, until March 22, 1920. Two months after Prohibition went into effect, Olmstead's operation was caught in a bust. Though Olmstead was in the car that managed to evade the road blockades, he was spotted and recognized by the agents.
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The young hot shot was promptly fired, arraigned in federal court (where he pled guilty), and fined $500. After that he was free to go ... build up his bootlegging empire full time.
Which is exactly what he did: His business soon became one of the largest employers in the region, according to HistoryLink. His crew of "office workers, bookkeepers, collectors, salesmen, dispatchers, warehousemen, mechanics, drivers, rumrunning crews, and legal counsel" would deliver about 200 cases of Canadian liquor to the Seattle area daily, grossing about $200,000 a month (something close to $3 million in today's money).
Olmstead commanded a chartered fleet of vessels, trucks and automobiles to run the booze, and he even "purchased a farm to cache the contraband liquor." In true Seattle fashion he preferred doing his work in terrible weather (to avoid Coast Guard interference). His cargo ships would bear a manifest for Mexico, to avoid the $20 tax per case of liquor being shipped to the U.S. – which helped him undercut competitors by 30 percent.
He wouldn't allow his team to carry firearms, and told his men he would rather lose a shipment than a life. Coupled with his inclination for bribery rather than violence, he earned the nickname as "The Good Bootlegger," and rubbed elbows with plenty of Seattle elite. He bought local officials "wholesale," as Ken Burns' documentary on Olmstead puts it; it made his whole operation an open secret among everyone on his payroll.
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Which would only help his empire grow more powerful: His second-wife Elise would read children's bedtime stories on their radio station (which they operated out of their house), in which the Olmsteads would code messages to the rumrunning boats.
He would eventually get caught in 1924 by the Prohibition Bureau in Washington, thanks to surveillance, informants and wiretap information. By January 1925, the Federal Grand Jury had returned a two-count indictment against Olmstead and 89 other defendants.
The "biggest trial for liquor violations" in country's history wouldn't end until February 20, 1926, with the conviction of 21 defendants, including Olmstead and his attorney. The former-baby lieutenant would be fined $8,000 and sentenced to four years, and though he tried to overturn it on a wiretap technicality (a case which traveled all the way to the Supreme Court) he would serve his full term.
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A year and a half later Prohibition in Washington state was repealed. The country would follow suit a month after that.
Olmstead would stay in Seattle, becoming a Christian Science practitioner after converting in prison. He received a full presidential pardon from Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1935, thanks to the efforts of Elise (who would later divorce Roy). He died at age 79, after 35 years on the straight and narrow, as an active member of the Seattle community member.