In 1967 February 12 also fell on a Sunday, and was also snowy. I was hoping to go out that day with my girlfriend at the time, but she stood me up. Being the dumb young teen that I was, I decided to get drunk and gross out others at a parish dance. So after a couple of quarts of Colt 45 malt liquor, I showed up at the church basement and went inside. After a few numbers I went outside (bad move) and when I returned the chaperones nailed me. Police detectives were there and with the assistant pastor questioned me. Then they took me to the store that sold me the booze, and I guess they got into some deep shit. As for me, I was off the next day for Lincoln's Birthday and suffered dearly with a hangover. I am certain that my parents suspected what I was doing but did not say too much. So I thought that I was out of the woods until Friday, when my dad ws ready to kill me. It turns out that he was at the store and the father of a friend who was at the dance told him what happened on Sunday (and embellished, of course). So between the hangover and being threatened with the Army and then Vietnam, I laid off excessive beer drinking for a very long time.
Today, since I have expensive tastes and a limited bank account, I stick to quality instead of quantity.
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