In the era of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, you might assume that alcohol played a minor role in my wild escapades of the 1970s. However, if you subscribe to the notion that alcohol is not a drug, you would be mistaken on every level except for its legal status. For a significant portion of my time in the 70s, alcohol was illegal because I was underage while consuming it.
Now, there was a 19-year-old drinking law in the neighboring state of Illinois for beer and wine that existed from 1973 to 1980. By the time they amended the law, I had surpassed the legal drinking age. Interestingly, I began purchasing beer and wine in Illinois when I was 17. This was because I had cleverly carved out the embossing of my birthday year on my driver’s license from 1957 to 1952. I suspect that other cunning and like-minded youth engaged in a similar practice, as embossed driver’s licenses were discontinued not too long after.
It’s important to note that I was not an expert in the craft of identification forgery. My methods were crude and amateurish to the extreme, yet they seemed to work effectively in most instances.
A popular hangout spot for me was a small package liquor store called Ed’s, located just over the Jefferson Barracks Bridge. Ed’s had about 4 acres of parking on a gravel lot and became a go-to destination for both socializing and obtaining beer.
Among the more unusual beers I enjoyed were Hamm’s Draft, which came in a can shaped like a beer barrel, and the miniature Little Kings. (Use images to illustrate these beers.)
The popularity of Ed’s continued to grow, and being astute entrepreneurs they eventually opened a nightclub in an adjacent building. This nightclub catered to their young and, in some cases, underage clientele, providing entertainment in the form of 70’s rock music. I don’t recall being a regular at this club until I finally reached the legal drinking age, but I did attend once before that.
Using my exceptional license modification, I managed to gain entry to a nightclub one night. Attending a nightclub for the first time without parental supervision as an underage person can lead to overindulgence, and that’s precisely what I was doing. The band was playing, and I was swaying to the music. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.
At some point, I stepped outside and struck up a conversation with the person checking IDs. Eventually, some women arrived at the entrance, and for some reason or another, they captured his attention over my witty banter. It was evident that the women (or girls?) and the doorman were hitting it off, and I believe they wanted to go to their car to smoke weed.
Being a helpful sort, I volunteered to man the door so that the romantic magic could work its spell. He was most appreciative of my offer and left with the women.
As mentioned earlier, this was a very popular bar, and soon, I was faced with a steady stream of people coming up to the door to get in. I sat on the barstool, exuding a professional demeanor, and demanded that they produce their ID for entrance. They would look at me sheepishly and come up with various excuses for not having it at the moment. Before allowing them to continue their sob story, I waved them into the club regardless and basked in the warm glow of their appreciative eyes.
Pretty much two out of three people who approached the door did not have IDs. I had already established a precedent of allowing for hardship exceptions and waved one underage drinker after another into the bar. Finally, in my life, I had gained power, and I was using it benevolently.
Finally, the doorman returned to relieve me of my temporary assignment, and I returned to the inside of the bar. Shortly thereafter, a buzz began to build in the club—it was a police raid! Everyone was instructed to present their IDs, and as the police worked through the crowd, they started arresting underage drinkers. For some reason, they were finding that a significant portion of the clientele were indeed underage. One of the nightclub security guards looked through the crowd and started approaching me, thinking I might be underage. Things were looking dire. It was highly improbable that a person whose life choices had led them to obtain a prestigious position as a security guard at a teenage nightclub would be fooled by my deception. And he was imposing. Like an NFL linebacker who had let himself go after his career and he looked angry. Something about a large number of underage drinkers in a club that you’re responsible for overseeing would do that to you.
He approached me with a scowl on his face. Perhaps he remembered seeing me check IDs earlier. I couldn’t say for sure. He seized my ID and examined it closely. You could see his small, angry brain focusing on the birthday on my ID. I was already mentally preparing excuses for the phone call that my parents would receive, forcing them to come and bail me out in the middle of the night.
As I envisioned what activities I would use to occupy myself for the next year of my grounding, he returned my ID and moved to the next underage person. It worked! My deception had succeeded!
I suppose I’ll never know the number of young people who were incarcerated that night due to my poor performance as a doorman. Nor do I know if the doorman who I had given a break to lost his job. I genuinely hope that his life turned out positively and that this incident didn’t lead him down a path of crime, imprisonment, and vows of revenge against the little prick who was supposed to be checking IDs. If it did, I sincerely hope that he is not one of the individuals who will read my stories. And if he is, then it was not me. I am merely stealing this story from someone else, and I will reveal the identity of the person if you let me live.