Random thoughts on alcohol

Here’s another story from my mom.

June 1984. Every news media blasted out the story. Young man (early 20s) killed on motorcycle. Driver of other vehicle drunk.

December 1984. Young man killed in one car accident. Drunk.

It isn’t always a young man. One day it was my friend – a woman my age. Morning, bright sunny day. A day to live. It took a long time to cut her car away from the tree. Drunk.

My dear friend was sick. The doctor had found no remedy to help her. Day after day she grew weaker. One day he prescribed beer. I don’t remember the amount, but whatever, she drank it. She hated beer, but day after day she drank it. Then one day she died.

Our neighbor made wine (a great many people did) even during Prohibition. I never saw him drunk or even tipsy. He taught his son to drink “responsibly.” The last time I saw the son he was playing Santa Claus. He didn’t need any pillows for stuffing. The room was warm and “Santa” made some remark about the heat. The fumes from his breath reeked with more than wine. I was not the only one who was glad when he could get out into some fresh air. I heard stories of his frequent bouts with the bottle. ‘Til one day he died. Not young. Not really old either – in his 50s.

It was lunchtime when I had to stop at a neighbor’s house. Food was on the table along with a tall bottle (over a quart but I don’t know sizes) of wine. “This will last me a long time,” he said. Later we went to a party at their house. The women sat in one room and even the ones I knew drank did not that evening. But the pitchers of beer that went into another room for the men? Well, I wondered what kind of party we were all “enjoying.” Not too long after our neighbor became an alcoholic. I remember how sad his mother was. Some way he eventually got straightened out. I’ve heard an alcoholic cannot drink at all. I do not know whether he does or not.

A few mornings ago we met a friend in a restaurant. There were the usual greetings. How are you, etc. He said he felt rotten. “Ever have a hangover?” he asked, then answered his own question: “No, you’re too young.” We laughed. He’s considerably younger than we. Not so bad – he felt rotten but was sober. At least to all outward appearances. However, just a few days before I had read about a late study in hangovers and driving. People who have hangovers make many more driving errors and cause many more accidents than they do under normal conditions.

Wish I had saved the clipping.

If I had not been a teetotaler in 1955 (or was it ’54?), I would have become one. We are alive (four of us) (mom, dad, Verna, and Raymond) because dad was sober, no hangover, and a good driver. On a Sunday morning, we headed north on 27. I recall wearing a beige wool suit and a matching transparent velvet hat, so it was a cool day. As we came up the hill at Willow Run, dad saw someone headed south and driving erratically. With no signal and not enough time, he cut in front of us, making a left-hand turn. We were headed, so it appeared we would smash into the right side of his car. The man had no passengers. Dad and I were in front.

Instinct would probably have caused me to pull to the right if I had been at the wheel. Still a certain crash. Dad pulled sharply to the left and got completely off the highway.

A third car was headed south. The driver got excited, although by the time he got there, he had two clear lanes on the highway. He pulled off the pavement and struck our car on the right side.

Two children in the back seat were shaken and scared. Dad had a bruise or two. I had a small cut which had to be sewed up and a knee which bothered me for a few days.

(Mom’s head was cut on a window that was halfway down and to this day I will not drive a car with a window part way down.)

The man who caused the accident still smelled of liquor. The man at the filling station would not testify because the two of them were drinking buddies. Not so long afterward the filling station man was driving after drinking. In a one-car accident he killed himself. He left behind mother, a wife, a teenage son, and his son not yet in his teens.