Note: A prologue from my upcoming autobiography, Life’s Too Short to Smoke Cheap Cigars (Or to Drink Cheap Whiskey.)
Booze
We all know about it. Many of us partake, and many of us have related funny stories that resulted from our partaking; there’s an old joke that goes “…no really great story ever began with ‘a bunch of us were sitting around eating some salad when…’” Booze may in fact be one of the wellsprings of civilization. It arose out of the beginnings of divisions of labor, it helped make water from questionable sources safe to drink, and it went on to produce fine wines, great whiskeys, and extraordinary beers.
Every silver lining, however, has a great big cloud, and it’s the cloud, not the lining, that produces the fantastic stories referred to above.
At First:
Not the actual can, but much the same.
I think I was twelve or so when a buddy of mine met me in the woods and produced a can of beer he had smuggled out of his Dad’s refrigerator. Mind you, this was a July day in northeast Iowa, with temps well into the nineties. My buddy met me in the upper meadow on my folk’s place after a three-mile walk from his family’s farm, and from his knapsack produced one – only one – can of Schlitz.
The can wasn’t warm to the touch. It was hot. “Are you going to try some?” my buddy asked. My bravado kicked in. “Sure!”
The can foamed over when we opened it. After shaking off the foam, we each sampled the brew. Schlitz isn’t really a premium beer in the best of conditions and serving it at a simmer isn’t the best way to experience beer for the first time. Both of us gagged a little, realizing suddenly why some folks referred to cheap beers as “horsepiss.” We dumped the rest of the can in the grass and went on about our business.
Later on, though, as I went through my teens, I developed a keen appreciation of beers served properly – that is, in a red Solo cup, filled from a keg laying in a box of ice set on the open tailgate of a pickup truck. My friends likewise developed a fondness for the stuff.
That led us to a number of questionable adventures.
In Those Days:
It was common for my buddies and I, in the years right after attaining our majority, to take what most people called “the weekend” and turn it into a mobile earthquake of drunken excess. Not just beer, mind you, but often a cheap blended whiskey like the old Black Velvet – or occasionally some clear stuff bought in Mason jars from two elderly members of the extensive Duffy clan who had been engaged in the corn-squeezin’ trade since Prohibition. Beer was whatever was on sale – the great American classics like Schmidt, Hamm’s, and Falstaff, among others. Our taste was tempered by poverty, and we were more than willing to sacrifice quality for volume.
As time went on, most of us got real jobs – that is to say, town jobs, where we actually got a regular paycheck – and we started being able to do things like drink cheap beer and bad whiskey in bars, instead of sitting on the tailgate of a pickup down along the river someplace.
That led to some of the usual shenanigans teenaged boys got up to in those days. A few fights, a few ejections from bars by big farm kids just a year or two older than us who signed on as bouncers. In fact, there were two guys who owned almost every bar in the area and, ever summer, hired a bunch of big, tough rural kids who had just graduated high school to work as bouncers. One summer I did a stint at that job myself and began to feel a little sympathy for the guys who had ejected my drunken form from a watering hole or two. So did most of my pals.
Not that we let that interfere with our own forays. It may have calmed us down, though – a little.
Then the summer I was nineteen, something happened that suddenly brought a little sanity into the entire program.
And Then This Happened:
It all started in the nearby town of Decorah on a Thursday night. I had three days off work, and so left my Cedar Falls digs and decided to spend the weekend back in Allamakee County, hanging out with some friends, but as you’ll see, that wasn’t to be. That fateful Thursday evening, after spending the afternoon helping the Old Man with chores around the place and downing one of Mom’s wonderful suppers, I hopped on my motorcycle and headed into town to have a few cold ones – as I saw it, that being the only appropriate way to start a long weekend. As I rode away, I heard the Old Man call after me: “Be careful on that thing!” I waved and gunned the gas for town. I wasn’t worried. No nineteen-year-old ever is.
Parking my bike in the alley that ran behind the businesses along Water Street, Decorah’s main drag, I proceeded into the Corner Bar, one of my regular haunts. I went in, cozied up to the bar, and ordered a draw of something cheap.
And that’s where my memory ends.
My memory returns with waking up. My head was pounding as though a steam locomotive had taken up residence therein; my tongue felt as though the Red Army had just walked over it in their stocking feet. When I sat up, my stomach did a slow roll to starboard, settling back down only reluctantly. There was a dresser with a mirror across from me. I could see myself and winced at the view; my face had a distinct pallor, my eyes were yellow veined with red, and I had picked up a beautiful shiner at some point or other.
A quick look around the room: I didn’t recognize it. I didn’t recognize the bed I was in. I didn’t recognize the young woman snoozing blissfully beside me, reeking of tequila.
I found my jeans, pulled them on, and went into what was obviously the small living room of a cheap second-floor apartment, where I had a quick look out the window. I didn’t recognize the town I was in.
“Well, shit,” I said quietly to myself.
Turning at the sound of bare feet padding across the floor, I saw the young lady from the bedroom walking towards me, pulling on a cheap bathrobe that managed to conceal very little. She greeted me and I realized she knew my name; that was awkward, as I couldn’t remember hers. “You want some breakfast?”
“Sure,” I replied. “You know, this is going to sound funny, but…” I indicated the window.
Some of this was probably involved.
“You were wondering where you are?” she giggled.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Minneapolis,” she said.
“Where did we meet?”
“Rochester. Friday afternoon. Before you ask, it’s Sunday morning now.”
“Rochester?” My stomach did another slow roll. I suddenly realized I had ridden my motorcycle from Decorah to Rochester, a seventy-mile trip, when I was too drunk to remember doing so.
“Yeah. You were pretty smashed when we met.”
“I bet.” I took another look out the window. “Where’s my bike?”
“Outside. In the back of my pickup.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I had been coherent enough not to abandon my transportation.
“Ham and eggs OK?”
I figured I’d better try to eat something before attempting the ride back to Allamakee County. “Sure.”
Determined to make a difficult morning of it, my stomach protested at accepting food, but I managed to browbeat it into submission. As the young lady, still in her bathrobe, was clearing away dishes, I said, “I guess I’d better be heading home. Got a long way to go.”
“Expected you would,” she said. She strolled back to the kitchen table and put her hand on my arm. Leaning over, she said softly, “sure you don’t want to take another spin before you go?”
Leaning forward in front of me as she was, the bathrobe concealed even less. Being miserably hung over, I was slightly surprised to find myself responding – physically. Nineteen-year-old bodies are, after all, very resilient. “Sure. Why not?”
I left an hour later, still hung over but relieved to have at least one pleasant memory from the weekend.
Oh, and I never did find out her name.
I arrived back at the folks’ house in a contemplative mood. The Old Man said nothing; he just gave me one of those paternal looks, with the raised eyebrow. The folks were accustomed to my being absent for several days at a time and, as the Old Man told me years later, figured they were better off not knowing what I’d been up to.
Even so: Even at nineteen, I realized that I was lucky to have survived that trip from Decorah to Rochester. For the next year or so, my drinking settled on a much more reasonable level.
Some lessons don’t last, though. A couple of years later I found myself in the old U.S. Army Field Medical school at Ft. Sam Houston, Texas, training for my 91A MOS. On the first weekend we were allowed to go into town, our tough old First Sergeant gave us a fifteen-minute “safety briefing” which included such Army classics as “flies cause disease, so keep yours closed!” At the end of the briefing, he shouted at us, “now, I’ll tell you this – there are at least a hundred big trucks that bring beer into San Antonio every weekend. There’s no way you sons of bitches are going to drink all of it.”
That didn’t stop us from trying.
As It Ended Up…
These days my imbibing is definitely modest. I enjoy a beer or two with my lunch on Saturdays, and on some occasions, I’ll kill a six-pack over a weekend. I also enjoy a nip of good whiskey now and then.
Age does take its toll, after all, and these days it takes a lot longer to recover from a binge than it used to. But, once in a while, the old Animal, the one from those long-ago days, grows restive, and I find I must let him off the leash for a bit, and those sessions usually involve beer and plenty of it. Mrs. Animal knows this, is tolerant of it, and on a few occasions has even joined in – including a notable bout in the Japanese city of Utsonomia, where we went afield with two of my colleagues and ended up staggering back to the hotel at 3:00 AM – when we had to catch a 6:00 AM shinkansen for Ueno and the airport.
Yes, booze has played a significant role in human history. I’m just doing my part to add my own little chapter to the story.
“now, I’ll tell you this – there are at least a hundred big trucks that bring beer into San Antonio every weekend. There’s no way you sons of bitches are going to drink all of it.”
That didn’t stop us from trying.
🙂
I like Beer, good story Animal!
Great story, Animal.
While we weren’t together I’ll swear to the accuracy of your experiences, other than the motorcycle.
I’m personal non grata in Australia since November 1968, for the reasons you outlined. Black Velvet, Hamm’s and the rest were Onescore’s go to libations. Thanks for a sharing an Allemakee week end and more. We’re were together in spirit anyway.
Another biographical sketch by Animal
, Thanks for the trip
Sounds like my New Orleans trip right after I found out I would be getting a divorce. I was on training down in Biloxi, well, basically a 3-month spring break. Group of friends just outside our rooms in the smoke shack had posted up what we ended up calling the ‘magic cooler’. It was magic because each day after class we would lug it down stairs and fill with ice. As other airmen, marines and seamen got off their classes and back from PT, the cooler would come alive and be filled with beer by 5pm.
Those friends knew I was in a tough spot so took me on a whirlwind trip – Mobile, Pensocola and then to New Orleans. This was a year after Katrina hit so places were sparse. Luckily one of the girls had family that ran a hotel. We arrived at night in New Orleans and unpacked all our booze for the evening and ventures for the next day. We woke up and had plans on breakfast and general partying in the city the next day. I stupidly grabbed a bottle of vodka and downed about half of it. I don’t know if it was the 2 days prior drinking or what, but next thing I remember was getting woken up on a bench by the heel of a cop’s boot and a voice that said “You can’t sleep here, get up or you are getting hauled in”.
I stumbled up. Feeling for my valuables, which luckily I didn’t get robbed, I found a note that said “If you find this asshole, call xxx-xxx-xxxx”. So I gave the number a ring and it was one of the members of our rag tag group and they started laughing. We met up and I had to get a run down of what exactly happened? What time is it?
Turns out I was quite the drunkin gem of the party. We ate breakfast, I yelled at some bible-thumper that their God was dead and general assholery. Even the one girl that I was hoping to hook up with said she made a move on me but quickly realized the lights were on, but no one was home.
Still drunk, the tossed me into their car to sleep it off. Next thing I know we were on the road again but instead of back to the base, was going up across the lake to one of their friends houses. It is a scary feeling to think, “where am I and what is going to happen next”. The friend took us to his house to get some good home quality meals in us since I was obviously worse for wear.
I do not regret having that fun, but definitely found there is a limit that needs to be respected.
As long as no cheap whiskey was drank, I guess the title is still technically correct.
Also
https://youtu.be/tkXNEmtf9tk
There was a thread about Tolkien stuff, this video was in my recommended videos. I watch some of this guys videos some times, but I don’t agree with everything he says, but they are usually interesting.
i missed the earlier stuff. Unsurprising, but still sad.
Australian news taking down our media regarding their adoration for Biden and now putting out footage of live bats at the Wuhan facility after Daszak lied and said no bats were ever at the facility.
Good on them.
https://www.zerohedge.com/covid-19/video-live-bats-wuhan-lab-reveals-daszak-lied-now-deleted-tweet
Daszak appeared to retract his earlier denials and admitted the Wuhan Institute of Virology may have housed bats but admitted he had not asked them.
The guy in charge of the investigation didn’t ask that? Where’s that clown emoji?
He’s lying.
His ass is on the line and he’s lying to cover it, and has been since the beginning.
They have all been lying since day one. They haven’t told the truth once yet. Fauci signed on funding the research and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he or some other evil malthusian shithead did not release the thing on purpose. That or some communist POS did it in a deliberate attempt to crush what little free market we had.
It really is starting to look like a concerted effort to weaken the United States and weaken it did.
Questions that we know we will never see or get answer to:
Who lobbied that states follow the plan of shutting down economies and locking down populaces?
What data was used to justify it? Or was it just politically motivated weakness that drove it?
Why is Fauci lying about GOF research?
Why was tech companies allowed to censor information? Who wanted that to happen?
And so many more that we will never know until the country collapses and some future civilization is digging through archives and find out we were our own worst enemy.
Almost none. The “social distancing” was based on a high school science project. The data on masks were ambiguous at best, and they were mandated based on Fauci’s argument by assertion that “it’s just common sense”. Lockdowns were recommended by a guy whose models have been spectacularly wrong and were wrong once again with COVID.
That is true, almost forgot about the high school project that was followed at the alter of SCIENCE! I am speaking even beyond that though. I know its tinfoil hat stuff to think there is a guy behind the guy and maybe I just don’t want to fully realize that no one can possibly be that stupid to say “let’s follow this!”
I have said it before, but I doubt there was anyone guy behind this, it was simply a reaction, worldwide, to populism rearing its head.
Brexit, Trump, Bolsinaro, Modi in India, Yellow Jackets in France, AFD in Germany; too many people were looking around and saying “what hell, damn guy! This shit ain’t working!” And the gov’ts, full of do-gooders who, as a one believes in the power of those gov’ts to do things, big things, like the NHS or all of FDR’s BS, fell in line like dominos.
Gov’ts exist to do things. All the interventions were things.
Who lobbied that states follow the plan of shutting down economies and locking down populaces?
The media, academia, most of the government, and their corporate cronies, AKA, the cathedral. All the people who benefit from the lock downs are the ones pushing the lockdowns.
The timing of this is interesting…
https://globalbiodefense.com/2020/02/04/shutdown-of-predict-infectious-disease-program-challenged-by-senators-warren-and-king/
It does seem that way but it was at the end of its 10-year funding cycle. Good move? Maybe not. Nefarious – who will ever know.
At this point in it all, I do not discount Trump or someone whispering in his ear that he would be a national hero if a virus hit our shores and he was a president that fought it back.
Dont ever let them forget that Trump tried to block travel from countries trying to actively do Americans harm.
Democrats screamed and traitor judges allowed the travel.
Once our Trump allies in government positions could not slow the tide of infected, the infection was inevitable. Diamond princess cruise showed us that this virus is not more deadly than influenza but can spread by asymptomatic infected.
The kungflu hysteria was a purposeful effort to control destruct our economy which Trump was riding to election victory and attempt to slow down the end of the Democrat Party being competitive in national politics.
Just like America went after Nazi leaders after WWII, American patriots should go after Nazi leaders of the democrat party after civil war 2.0
https://redstate.com/sister-toldjah/2021/06/14/the-babylon-bee-scores-a-huge-victory-against-the-new-york-times-n396491
The Bee has stung and got the Paper of Record to back off and issue a correction. Too much of a turn-the-other-cheek for me though, but they do them. The NY Times will just do it again next time and the next time and the next time.
Anyone who isn’t clear on the definition of ‘misinformation’ can do a DDG search for ‘Walter Duranty’, or just read any article in the NYT.
That’s about as good I would think you could hope. I would think damages would be much more difficult.
Back in high school we would wait in the parking lot of a liquor store and ask some random person to buy us a six pack (drinking age 21). Surprisingly most strangers were willing to perform this favor for us. A 6 pack was cheap back in those days, $2 was more than enough. A 6 pack to split between the 3 of us – 2 beers each, enough to catch a slight beer buzz.
During the summer we tried to follow beer delivery trucks around and wait for the driver to leave the rear door open when making a stop. Rarely happened…. only once was this technique successful. We gave that up once we discovered that nearby Illnois (Land of Drink’in) you only had to be 19 to get served and few places checked ID. No more slumming in liquor store parking lots!
Speaking of Falstaff I remember when you could buy “tappers” of Falstaff. A “tapper” was a small, easy to transport mini-keg that held 1 case of beer. We tended to look down our noses at Falstaff but the draft was drinkable when chilled. I don’t recall any other beer brands that came in a tapper – only Falstaff.
Heineken has mini kegs,
The Coors Party Ball – 5.5 gallons of Coors Light or Coors Extra Gold.
Little King’s Cream Ale was available in a synapse-devastating 64 oz glass jug.
Ol Dizzy Dean, baseball commentator, introduced me to Falstaff.
“Wrap your fist around a cold Falstaff and sit down here next to me”
Saturday Baseball Game of the Week, black/white tv, about 1960. Me’n old Diz watched a few games together that summer.
A great Minnesoda radio commercial…
Man 1: We’re out of beer!
Man 2: No Schmidt?
When I was a youngster there were no Sunday beer sales in Minnesoda. An alternative to driving over to Hudson, WI to stock up was to go to St. Paul and take the Schmidt brewery tour. After a half hour of listening to the guide you got to go to the hospitality room where you could drink a couple Schmidts.
I live about 10 miles from one of only two places in the state of Arkansas where libations are sold on Sunday. Those stores are particularly busy every Sunday.
I once worked at a drive-through beer store in Tallahassee, FL. Georgia forbids alcohol sales on Sunday, so we were always packed with border hoppers then. Problem was, Georgia and Florida have rather different laws about sizes; 40 oz. are not available in FLA (you’ll drink your 32oz. and like it), nor are the ever popular deuce-deuce of Heineken.
Fyi: we got rid of most Georgia alcohol laws
About $3 grand for a Mauser.
WOW!
I smell a rat. The seller made that bid to keep it from being sold.
I remember when y ou could buy those out of the back of comic books for ten bucks.
I’ve seen some folks on some collectors’ boards wondering if he uses shill bidders.
I have done business with him once before. I acquired one of my Finn Mosins with an antique receiver from him. I did pay a little more than the then-going price for that model Finn Mosin, but I expected to have to pay a premium because of the pre-1898 receiver. I had no problems dealing with the seller.
As far as I can tell, Bolivia never surplused its Mausers. A handful got out of the country, probably sold on the black market, and worked their way into the USA. So Bolivian contract VZ-24s are quite rare in the USA. As far as I can tell based on the references I have, that is a legitimate Bolivian contract VZ-24.
Was there a shill bidder involved here? I don’t know. I considered bidding on this Mauser, but after the bidding went over $1600, I said, “Too rich for me”.
Unless you are a Mauser collector the Yugo 48As were a decent price and good shooters. 400 bucks last I checked (it’s been a while)
I have a Mauser collection.
I have almost as many Mausers as Lee-Enfields.
I thought I had a Yugo 48A. I checked. I’m wrong. I have a Yugo 24/47 which I think I paid about $450 or so for.
It’s possible this is some rare variation with collector value. Unfortunately my copy of Ludwig Olson’s Mauser Bolt Rifles is in a box someplace, so my #1 Mauser reference is out of reach.
I dug up my copy of Olson’s book. There is very little in it about Bolivia’s Mausers. It mentions Bolivia used VZ-24s and there was a “B-50 series” Mauser used in the 50s.
Ball’s book on military Mausers has a bit more information.
Just getting around to reading this.
Great story Animal.
I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk, and if I had been, I wouldn’t have handled it as well as you fortunately did. Great tale (tail?)!