|Posted on Thursday, July 26, 2001 - 10:40 am: |
Winter, 1963-64. 700 Prentis Street. I'm on the fourth floor drunk and flunking out of my first semester at WSU. Down the hall is my friend Ron Wilson. I have many good neighbors but the Asian building manager lady hates my guts because of my parties. I love parties. Ron Cobb loved my parties too, he always brought dozens of denizens to drink and dance. At 17 I could go right around the corner and purchase all the alcohol I could afford. I was in stupefied independent heaven, emphasis on the stupefied. The worst moment was when I scored some almost pure bottles of ethyl alcohol on the black market and drank it like beer and got totally blindly drunk to the max. I was alone and broke all my dishes in the sink and then broke half of my record collection (which was awesome) before I passed out. I was not then nor ever since a mean drunk. I am a nice, respectful gentleman but I have a tendency to take my anger out on inanimate objects, especially the ones I love or created. As my friend John Ka said, "The power to create is also the power to destroy". I hit a bottom around my 18th birthday in 1964. No where to go, no thing to do.