I can pinpoint where my life began its downward spiral. It was my third year of college at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, PA. That’s when I discovered that beer tasted great and that my dick could talk.
It started innocently enough; going to the local watering hole during a two-hour break in classes. We’d hit Frank and Wally’s at noon then head back up for a 2 o’clock class. The following semester it graduated to hitting F & W’s at noon and saying, “Fuck the 2 o’clock, let’s spend the afternoon here.”
And the more I drank, the better the coeds looked.
From there it progressed to hitting the bar at 9 a.m. and spending the day at least twice a week. Where were we getting the money for all this alcohol you ask? I’m really dating myself, but at that time we could get a shot and a beer for 50 cents. Try that now.
The first time we walked in that early in the morning Henry, the seven-fingered bartender, said, “You guys ain’t gonna start drinkin’ now, are ya?”
“Shit no, Henry,” we answered. “We just need some coffee.” But after one cup of Joe, it was straight to the Iron City and Windsor Canadian.
Yep. More booze equaled better looking chicks. And my dick just kept saying, “Look at ‘em, man. You can do it – you can do it – you can do it!
So, I flunked out of college, but not after getting my girlfriend, a devout Catholic, pregnant. That slowed my drinking down drastically and stopped that infernal talking for a while.
We got married, and settled down in her hometown of Rome, NY. Since I had been a broadcast journalism major, I got a job at a nearby radio station in Utica as a full-time salesman and weekend disc jockey. When a full-time DJ position opened up at their sister station in Geneva, NY, I jumped at the opportunity and we made the move west.
After a second kid, a couple of affairs and moves to Niagara Falls and Binghamton, NY, the drinking and the incessant talking dick started again. The marriage fell apart. Actually, I pried it apart.
Now, married a second time for 30+ years, all is quiet.
Time for a beer.