‘John Maxwell for years operated a ‘government still’ on the other side of the creek from our house. Once he had a government gauger who was so strict in measuring whiskey for taxing that the still had to be shut down in a week ‘for repairs.’ Much of the product in some way got disposed of by retail on the spot, and there were occasional wild times over there. One of the Maxwell sons was shot dead one working day by his brother-in-law. There was a community story that originated before John Maxwell became a distiller and lived in a painted house. The story was that John Maxwell and a neighbor, Wash Smith, met unexpectedly one night, each going home with a basket of stolen cotton from the other. The Maxwells were goodhearted, if far from virtuous. They were good about helping with the sick and sitting up with the dead.’
-Herman Clarence Nixon, Possum Trot, 1941
