Whiskey Men Who Died in Auto Accidents

Foreword:   As a police reporter on an Ohio daily newspaper years ago I was regularly on the site of automobile accidents.  Often drinking was involved and occasionally there was a fatality.  As a result I can understand it might be thought ironic by some people that liquor dealers themselves have been killed in car crashes.  Presented here are vignettes of three such whiskey men who under very different circumstances lost their lives in motor vehicles. 

In an 1866 letter, Mark Twain called Sacramento the “City of Saloons,” claiming they were so numerous that: “You can just shut your eyes, march into the first door you come to and call for a drink, and the chances are that you will get it.”  George Wissemann ran one of those establishments and also sold whiskey to others saloons with significant  success — until his untimely end.  

A 20-year-old immigrant from Germany, Wissemann spent three years in an Ohio quarry digging rocks before heading to California where he found employment in a Sacramento saloon.  Showing a real talent for the whiskey trade, he eventually owned a prosperous liquor house and a number of saloons.  Financial success brought him social recognition as a leading member of the local Masons and Elks Lodge.  Shown here, Wissemann was an active Republican, engaged in both local and state politics although never seeking office himself. 

Wissemann was a member of the Canvasback Gun Club, about 12 miles from Sacramento.  In early November 1909 he decided to ride out to the club with his son for some duck shooting.  His wife Mary advised against it, worried that their son was ill;  George thought the fresh air would do the boy good.  They hitched up the horse and buggy and set off.  Wissemann is shown here with a team of horses in front of his establishment.

As they approached the gun club, a friend who may just have bought his first automobile, urged them to leave the buggy and join him in the motor car.  The driver lost control somewhere on or near the club grounds and crashed, throwing both Wissemanns out of the vehicle.  George may have been killed instantly.   His body, badly bruised and cut, was taken to the club headquarters where, at the age of 52, he formally was declared to be dead.  George Jr. was rendered comatose for several days but recovered.  

Call it the ultimate irony: A saloonkeeper killed by a drunken driver. Sadly, that was the fate of Martin Lynch of Bristol, Virginia and Tennessee, shown left, a man who owned two saloons in that dual-state city and was the source of regionally popular whiskey brands. He first surfaced with his own establishment about 1908, at age 31 owning and operating a saloon on Bristol’s Front Street, the first of several.  

Lynch also became a “rectifier,” that is, blending raw whiskeys and perhaps other ingredients in back room in order to achieve desired taste, color and smoothness.  He bottled this liquor under his own labels and marketed it regionally through mail order sales. Among Lynch brands were “Green Spring Corn,” “Blue Diamond Corn,” and “Parkwood,” the last sold as a bourbon but likely was a blend.  His flagship brand was “Cherokee Corn.”

When Virginia went “dry” in 1916, with profits from his liquor trade, Lynch purchased a large farm just off U.S. 11 where he produced dairy and beef cattle, opening a market in Bristol.  The photo right of Martin as a proud grandparent may have been taken only shortly before his death. In August 1953, Lynch, now about 75 years old, was driving onto the highway near his farm when he was struck by a speeding automobile.  Rushed to Bristol Memorial Hospital, he was declared dead, the cause a “concussion of the brain.” The other driver was found to be intoxicated.  

A Southerner whose life revolved around the “deep water” of the Gulf of Mexico, Harry Hoyle was a successful liquor merchant, who persisted in selling liquor in the face of prohibitionary forces that forced him from Mississippi to Louisiana.  In New Orleans Hoyle found tolerance and success for his whiskey trade but suffered an untimely fate that ultimately orphaned his children.  

By 1910, Hoyle was recorded in New Orleans business directories operating saloons and liquor stores at 326 Magazine and 174 Rampart Streets and an outlet in Slidell, Louisiana, from which he was sending liquor legally by railway express back to his old customers in Mississippi.  His flagship brand was "Deep Water Route Whiskey." He also bought a major share of the National Brewery of New Orleans and became a director.

Events would soon change everything for Hoyle and his family.  In mid-February 1914, after attending a party where alcohol likely was served, Harry with three friends was taking what the press called an after-midnight “joy ride” on the Chef Menteur Road along a New Orleans bayou.  Hoyle was in the rear “rumble seat” when the car went out of control, hit the incline of the canal and turned over.  Although others were only slightly injured in the crash, Hoyle was killed. 

According to a press account:  “The men who had been extricated managed to draw the body of Harry Hoyle out from under the machine.  As they pulled it out the head fell loosely about the shoulders and they feared the worse….It is the opinion of the medical authorities that he died instantly when the heavy back of the machine pinned his neck to the ground.”   The whiskey man was only 34 years old.  

The newspapers noted Hoyle left six children, all under 14 years old.  Moreover,  his widow was pregnant with twins, born the June after her husband died.  Tragedy followed tragedy.   In mid-January 1919, one of the twins died.  Four days later the baby girl was followed in death by her mother, leaving the Hoyle children orphaned, the youngest only two.  An email from Hoyle’s great-granddaughter indicates that the surviving seven children were taken into the homes of aunts and uncles who raised them.

Note:  These incidents were drawn from more extensive biographies of each of the men that previously have appeared on this blog:  George Wissemann, July 18, 2016;  John Lynch, October 12, 2015; and Harry Hoyle, June 26, 2019.

The “Deep Water” Life and Death of Harry Hoyle

A Southerner whose life revolved around the “deep water” of the Gulf of Mexico, Harry Hoyle persisted in selling liquor in the face of prohibitionary forces that forced him from Mississippi to Louisiana.  In New Orleans Hoyle found tolerance and success for his whiskey trade but suffered an untimely fate that ultimately orphaned his children.

Hoyle, shown here, was born in Whistler, Alabama, a small community seven miles from Mobile.  Two apparent early influences were the waters of the Gulf of Mexico forming Mobile Bay and the arrival of railroads.  The Mobile and Ohio Railroad, an early land grant railway, had established its shops in Whistler.  After receiving his early education there, the young man saw better opportunities in Gulfport, Mississippi and moved the 78 miles.

Now Hoyle had the Gulf of Mexico right at his doorstep. Shown above, the lively port city with its many thirsty sailors, fishermen, and roustabouts rapidly took him into the liquor trade.  With many saloons to service with whiskey, he built up a large wholesale and retail trade in Gulfport and opened a branch office in Slidell, Louisiana.

At the age of 23 Harry also found a wife in Gulfport. She was Rosa Lillia (“Rosie”) Seals, a 21-year-old woman from a prominent local family.  Her brother Florin Seal was sheriff of Harrision County.  According to the records, their marriage followed by several months the birth of their first child.  Over the course of the next fourteen years their union would produce six more children. 

Hoyle’s acquaintance with railroad followed him to Mississippi when Gulfport was chosen as the central hub for The Gulf, Florida & Alabama Railway, known as the “Deep Water Route.”  The liquor dealer immediately saw a good name for his flagship brand of whiskey and created a container for his “jug trade” that celebrated the line with a ceramic container labeled “Deep Water Route Fine Old Whiskey.”  

Hoyle was receiving whiskey from distilleries by the barrel via the railroad, likely blending it, and decanting the result into small smaller containers that would be sold to his customers.  He trademarked the name in 1905 and issued a celluloid advertising match safe   With its unusual, ornate label, a Hoyle jug recently sold at auction for $800.

Ultimately, however, Mississippi was to disappoint Hoyle’s ambitions.  So-called Temperance forces were flourishing in the state, first passing a “local option” law that allowed individual counties to outlaw alcohol.  Although counties along the Gulf Coast and Mississippi River remained “wet” for a time, in 1907, thirteen years before National Prohibition, Mississippi voted to go “dry” statewide, penalizing liquor sales with fines and jail terms.

Forced to close his saloon and whiskey trade , Hoyle’s initial response apparently was to go underground.  In January 1909 the Biloxi Herald reported a raid on what was known as a “blind tiger,” an illegal drinking establishment, located near the “Deep Water Route” railroad tracks.  Police seized thirty-two barrels and twenty-three cases of liquor — all of it belonging to Harry Hoyle.  The raid was not without incident.  A shot was fired by a watchman.  Implicated too was Roderick Seal, Rosie Hoyle’s cousin.

While Hoyle does not appear to have been arrested, the loss of the equivalent of $44,000 in liquor apparently convinced him to abandon Gulfport and relocate his business 80 miles west in New Orleans.  The move must have been wrenching for him and his family.  Said one account:  “Harry Hoyle was one of the best known men in Southern Mississippi.  His business affiliations extended to persons in almost every town of any size….”

Hoyle’s success in Louisiana seemingly was as rapid as it had been in Gulfport. By 1910, Hoyle was recorded in New Orleans business directories operating saloons and liquor stores at 326 Magazine and 174 Rampart Streets.  He kept his Slidell location and was sending liquor legally by railway express back to his old customers in Mississippi.  He also bought a major share of the National Brewery of New Orleans, shown here, and became a director.

The Alabama transplant’s ascendancy apparently alarmed established publicans in “The Big Easy.”  When Hoyle sought a license from the city to open a saloon at 135 Royal Street, his competition in the neighborhood raised “spirited opposition” to his request.  After a protracted struggle, Hoyle won out and was granted the license by New Orleans authorities.   The site is shown here as it looks today — now a French Quarter souvenir mart.

Events would soon change everything for Hoyle and his family.  In mid-February 1914, after attending a party where alcohol likely was served, Harry with three friends was taking what the press called an after-midnight “joy ride” on the Chef Menteur Road along a New Orleans bayou shown below.  Hoyle was in the rear “rumble seat” when the car went out of control, hit the incline of the canal and turned over.  Although others were only slightly injured in the crash, Hoyle was killed instantly.

According to a press account:  “The men who had been extricated managed to draw the body of Harry Hoyle out from under the machine.  As they pulled it out the head fell loosely about the shoulders and they feared the worse….It is the opinion of the medical authorities that he died instantly when the heavy back of the machine pinned his neck to the ground.”   The whiskey man was only 34 years old.

After a brief funeral service at the family home at 4713 Iberville Street, shown here as it looks today, Hoyle was buried in Greenwood Cemetery.  In addition to his widow,  the newspapers noted he left six children.  All were under 14 years old.  Moreover, Rosie was pregnant with twins, Lorena and William, born the June after Harry died.

Over the ensuing two years, the liquor business including the Royal Street saloon and a liquor store at 521 Bienville was continued under Hoyle’s name, managed by Roderick Seal. Rosie's brother.  Within two years, however, tragedy struck the Hoyle family once again.  In mid-January 1919, the toddler, Lorena, succumbed (see below).  Four days later she was followed in death by her mother, Rosie, leaving the Hoyle children orphaned, the youngest only two.  As mother and child were laid to rest beside Harry in Greenwood Cemetery, the enterprises that bore the Hoyle name came to an end. 

Afterword:  Since writing this post I have received an email from Denise Coste, a great-granddaughter of Harry Hoyle, who lives in Mandeville, Louisiana, not far from New Orleans.  She was able to give me additional data about the family.  Among items:  1)  The care of the Hoyle children after the death of both parents, she believes, was accomplished by taking them into the homes of aunts and uncles.  2) Rose Hoyle was known by the family as “Lily.”  3) The youngest daughter, Lorena died of burns when her nightgown caught fire from an open furnace.  She also sent documentation that Lorena had a twin, William, who does not show up in Ancestry records. She most recently (January 2025) has added other family information that resulted in changes in the text.  Thank you, Denise.

Denise also provided the newspaper photo of Harry Hoyle that opens this post, a good addition to his biography.  My thanks to her for all this helpful information. 

Afterword 2:  In April 2024 I received a note from Shane Mears that using a metal detector he had unearthed a Hoyle bar token while prospecting on Clio Street in New Orleans.  He gracious has allowed me to include the images in this post.

Note:  The material for this post was taken from a number of sources.  The information on the accident was from the St. Tammany Farmer newspaper of February 14, 1914.  Other key information was from Hoyle’s obituary in the New Orleans Times-Picayune on February 15, 1914.