Whoopee!

I think it was the second or third bar and we’d already had quite a few. Friends toasted me all night and now I was floating. We were at my bachelor party for my first marriage (I didn’t have one for my second) we drank and bar hopped. Finally, we took over the Ukie bar on seventh street and stayed there for the rest of the night.

Bars kick you out at 4 AM in New York. At least, they used to. I don’t know if they do anymore. Haven’t been back or drunk that much, in a lot of years. But 4 AM isn’t so late when you’re young. I always wanted to keep going.

One time, a group of us left the bar at four and went to an after hours joint. You know, the kind of place where they check you for weapons at the door. Lost my best butterfly knife that night. The place had three floors and six bars. All different music, blues, rock, jazz, and even country which was popular in New York for a minute that year, everyone dancing till they sweat through their clothes. I had a vague recollection of making out with someone at one of the bars. I’ve never figured out if it was a woman or a man. Anyway, the sun was up when we left.

At my bachelor party, an ear worm from My Fair Lady was bugging me. “Get me to the church on time.” But it was a temple that I had to get to. Married a Jewish girl, like my brothers. I’m the oldest, but I was the last man standing. They all had kids by that time.

Everyone was smoking (it was a long time ago) even me, cigars. Stupid, thinking about it now. Made myself sick with that shit. My second wife made me go vegan. It’s probably a good thing. I’d already be dead, otherwise.

The bar was packed. My crew grabbed the inside corner of the bar. We sang bawdy songs and shouted our jokes. My friend Charlie brought these whoopee whistles and we blew them making the air whiz with our boozy breath. The bartender didn’t say anything. She asked what the party was and poured me one on the house when we told her.

We were pounding them down pretty good. Nobody I know still drinks that way anymore. Not my friends, not my siblings (well not most of them), not my children. I guess life got easier, so not as much need for the alcohol cushion. Or no, that wasn’t it. We just aged out.

In those days, I used to say, “I never drive sober.”

In my group, three cars got totaled in wrecks (none when I was driving) and we had many near misses (some of those were me). One night, I saw the road in front of me rise up in the shape of a huge dragon, scales came to life under my tires. It turned to face me, and breathed fire at my windscreen. I slammed on the brakes. Scared the shit out of me. So real.

My uncle had alcohol psychosis. My brother Chris had blackouts. I blacked out too often. How we laughed! We thought it was funny until Charlie drank himself to death. Booze makes you stupid. Some of us decided (a lot of us decided) that we didn’t want to go that way.

But I was talking about my bachelor party.

Chris was sitting across the angle of the bar from me. We were blowing our whoopee whistles. We were loud, obnoxious really. A man stepped up behind my 6’3” brother and made him look like a child by comparison. He towered over my little brother.

The guy put his hand on Chris’ shoulder.

“Lose the whistles.” He said.

Without missing a beat, Chris looked over his shoulder with half lidded eyes.

“What’s the matter? Only dogs can hear them.” Chris said.

I don’t know how much I’d drunk by that point, and I don’t know if I hallucinated, but you know that film technique where the camera zooms in real fast and time slows and you know something bad is going to happen? That happened to me in real life. My brother was a bruiser and we were about to get into it, in a tough bar, in New York City.

I was immediately sober.

Get me to the church (temple) on time. I wasn’t going to make it. I was going to end up in jail or the hospital. I saw a group of the big man’s friends come up behind him. They all looked big, too.

We were fucked.

I’m not a fast thinker. I get flustered and I stammer. Sometimes, I freeze like a clockwork with a stuck spring. I saw the big man scowl and pull his hand back from my brother’s shoulder. I knew what was going to happen next. But between one breath and the next, something snapped in me. My mainspring spun wild and I moved.

“Yeah!” I shouted. (I have a loud voice.) “Have one!” I gave him my whistle. “Barkeep! Get this man a drink! What’s your name, friend?”

He looked at me like I was crazy, but he took the whistle.

“Ben.” He said.

“Barkeep! Get Ben whatever he’s drinking. And a round for his friends!”

Ben looked confused for a minute. Then he smiled and blew the whistle. I asked Charlie to give Ben’s friends whistles. We all blew whoopee! My bachelor party doubled in size. Chris looked disappointed that we weren’t going to have to fight. I ignored him.

Ben turned out to be a great guy.

We drank until they kicked us out at 4 AM. We shook hands with Ben and his friends and went our separate ways. On the way home, Chris said he would have kicked that guys ass. He said it would have been quite the donnybrook. Then, he blacked out and we had to carry him into his apartment. My beautiful, funny, creative, little brother, Chris got MS years later. He’s dead now. I really miss him.

In the morning, I made it to the temple on time and started my first marriage. With a hangover, but I made it.

I often think of that moment, of Chris and Ben at the point of blows, of me in that frozen second, that space between heartbeats where inspiration lives. Do soldiers have moments like that? Do prophets? Was it some innate and unknown emotional intelligence kicking in that saved us from disaster?

The ancient Greeks would say that the Goddess touched me and commanded me to action. Aphrodite favored me and saved me from spoiling my nuptials. She possessed me. Enthousiasmos, having a god within. She gave me her voice and moved my hands. Maybe that’s what happened.

Yeah, I like that story.

That’s the way I’ll tell it from now on.