I am deeply amused by the recent post by Tom at Fermentation. He inveighs against the hypocritical and special-interested vote on the recent ballot, which continued the ban on wine sales everywhere except in liquor stores. As you may know, the Bay State (my native state) is one of the relatively few that restricts wine sales to liquor stores; wine is widely available in food stores in most of the states.
Tom, baby, it's a Massachusetts tradition. Don't you Westerners understand our quaint old ways? This is where America was born.
Two personal recollections will illustrate what I mean about the Commonwealth of Big Drinkers.
#1: Queensberry St., Boston, 12 noon, April 1966. A time and place like a song from Astral Weeks.
I'm at my girlfriend's drinking with her and one of our profs from BU. We run out of beer or gin or whatever we're drinking. The prof goes out to get more. Back in five minutes, dejected and almost sober he's so pissed off. "Where's the booze?" we ask.
"Oh for God's sake it's Good Friday. They closed the packies for two hours so all the lushes could go to Mass."
"Well, Jaysus Mary and Joseph," I say. The Hibernian reference gets a glum, wry laugh. We drink instant coffee and don't say too much until 2 o'clock.
The rest of the day did play out like a Raymond Carver story.
#2: S___y, Mass., 1956-1957
This is a working-class beach town of about 3000 people, dependent on bars and clubs for the tax revenues that pay for its good schools and excellent snow removal. Some high-minded Methodists, upset by the summertime incursions of low-life Italians from the upriver mill towns, lead a moralistic campaign against booze in the town, first against the issuance of new liquor licenses, and then against all booze. 
To the satisfaction of some and the astonishment of all, the town votes dry.
The town, led by the selectmen, a number of whom own nightclubs and package stores, holds special election after special election until at last the vote goes wet. Handing out bottles of rye on the town hall steps at election day doesn't hurt, and neither does the promise of bargain-basement liquor licenses to residents who will flip them for a quick profit to out-of-towners.
A triumph of democracy. Bought and paid for the old-fashioned way.
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