When I was in high school, the legal age for drinking beer and wine in Illinois was nineteen and to drink hard liquor you had to be twenty one. My friends and I began social weekend imbibing at age sixteen.   Some of us, myself included, started shaving so it was easy to look nineteen and buy beer at liquor stores in neighboring towns. We rarely got into the hard booze. A few cans of Old Style or Olympia beer at weekend parties would do just fine thank you.

My parents had a liberal attitude towards alcohol. They told me to call them if I was ever too liquored up to drive, get a ride home from someone sober or just stay over where I was until the morning. By age seventeen they allowed me and my friends to drink at our house. My mom would fill us up with snacks and keep an eye out to make sure nobody went too nuts with the suds. The idea from the folks was, “He should learn how to handle drinking at some point and if it happens under our roof, so much the better.” And yes, there were a couple of times when I had to bunk at a friend’s house due to being over-served and on occasion I hosted buzzed pals at my house for the same reason. One friend filled up half a laundry sink with beer and pizza puke then passed out on a cold basement floor with his head resting against our cat litter box.  Hey, we were young and sometimes stupid.

Senior year, during our Christmas break, we had a huge kegger bash in my basement and one of my teachers and his wife came by to say hey. One guest was the daughter of the assistant superintendant of our school district at the time. In our underage drinking days, if you got caught by the police with alcohol, it was rarely a big deal. Elmhurst cops just made you pour out all your beers and if you weren’t drunk they’d send you on your way. No arrests or police reports, no tickets, no court dates or alcohol counseling. Back then things were much looser than today.

Some weekends, I had baseball teammates over for poker and beers. One time someone stole a ham that my mom planned to serve us for Easter. That was the same weekend when our cat Squeaks delivered a freshly killed rabbit to our back porch on Easter Eve. The next morning I awoke to find no basket of candy waiting for me. My first basketless Easter! My parents thought I outgrew the whole treats thing but I hadn’t. So I asked my mom why I didn’t get a basket full of candy. She calmly answered, “Sorry Mick, Squeaks ate the Easter Bunny.”

Outside of the beer guzzling, the rest of my partying history wasn’t anything too out of control. Put it this way, the late Glenn Frey of the Eagles was asked about his band’s past drinking and drug use habits. Glenn said, “We weren’t the Stones but we weren’t the Osmonds either.” Well for me personally, I wasn’t straight like the Osmonds but I wasn’t as crazy as the Eagles either.