Back in 1975, Tom T. Hall sang, “I like beer, it makes me a jolly good fellow. I like beer, it helps me unwind and makes me feel mellow. Whiskey’s too rough, Champagne costs too much, vodka puts my mouth in gear. This little refrain should help me explain, as a matter of fact, I like beer.”
Up until then, Tom T. and I agreed on almost everything. We both loved old dogs, watermelons, little baby ducks, and pickup trucks. But we parted company on beer.
Beer has been in the news a lot lately. Beer sales soared during the World Cup soccer competition, reversing a recent downward trend. At the same time, the Teamsters Union is urging the Trump administration to impose significant tariffs on Mexican beer, arguing that more of it should be brewed by American workers.
Oddly enough, yours truly, who worked in the wild world of rock ‘n roll radio, is not a beer guy.
My doctor can’t believe it. During my annual physical exam, he asked the usual questions. “Do you smoke?” “No.” “Have you ever been addicted to drugs?” “No.” “Do you drink?” “No.”
There was a long pause, as the doctor looked up from his computer screen. “Come on, seriously.” Me: “Nope, I don’t drink.” He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, even a beer now and then?” Me: “Not even that.” Now it’s getting uncomfortable. He said, “But you’re in broadcasting, where everybody drinks!”
Somehow I missed the beer wagon. I’m not playing holier-than-thou, because I have my share of bad habits. Nor do I look down on anyone who loves a cold one now and then. It’s just not my thing.
First off, my parents weren’t beer drinkers. Nor could we sell it in our country store in “dry” Jackson County, Alabama. I put that word in quotation marks because it wasn’t really that dry.
Just across the county line, maybe 12 miles away, there was a little store that sold beer, and I’d say half their business was from my side of the county line.
Those who didn’t have the means to cross that line had to be creative to get their occasional high. A nearby community known as “Happy Holler” reportedly got that name because of moonshine stills. Presumably the finished product made some folks mighty happy, at least until the feds showed up. Among the popular items on our store shelves were the cold medication “NyQuil” and Vanilla Extract, both of which had high alcohol content. As a kid, I just figured some of our customers either baked a lot of sweets, or always had a cold. I guess you could say my biscuits weren’t done in the middle.
Later, as a teenager entering the world of radio, I was exposed to more booze and drugs than I had ever seen. Some of my bosses and many of my colleagues chugged a lot of beer. They took me to “Wet T-shirt” contests where the beer flowed, and the t-shirts didn’t stay on for long. One night, a music promoter with a new Bee Gees record invited my radio friends and me to a premiere party at the Chattanooga Choo Choo. I saw cocaine for the first time with “Jive Talkin” blasting in the background.
So why didn’t I indulge? The peer pressure was certainly there. I was considered the most un-hip deejay in the history of top-40 radio. The reason for my abstinence was actually quite simple. Unlike most of my colleagues who lived near the radio station, my home was 35 miles away. I was still in my teens, and my dad had laid down the law. “Stay out of trouble, and you can drive this car. But if you get in trouble, I’ll take away the keys.” I had learned that radio was more fun than working in a store, so his warning provided an interesting option.
I could get paid to play rock ‘n roll records and talk to girls on the phone, or I could spend my days mopping floors, changing oil, and repairing chainsaws. I made my choice. But as for the beer? No, thanks, I’ll sit this one out.
