In April of 1981 I bought a ‘71 Pontiac Le Mans from Paul Malloy’s older sister. It was dark brown with a black top, had a 350 engine, and a 2 barrel carburetor. I was on my learner’s permit at the time and it only took two or three days for me to start driving drunk. Many nights I didn’t even bother to have a licensed driver with me.

During the all too brief time I had that fine machine I must have been pulled over a couple of time’s a week by the local police. In those days a local kid that spoke courteously and whose deceased father had been a Fireman rarely got ticketed. They mostly told me to get my ass home.

That spring was the end of my junior year at Rahway High School. I hate being left out of things, so when the seniors began celebrating their impending graduation I decided to decorate my car as well. In soap I implored my fellow young people to “Drink a brew for ‘82.” I didn’t wait to see what they thought of the idea before raising my glass.

My friend Jim Dietz had dated a girl named Jeanne Zimmerman for a while. She was a senior and we had been looking forward to her graduation party for some time. My first job was at the West Scott Deli around the corner from my house. I had to work the Saturday of her party but, even as I labored, my heart was glad with the prospect of that night’s drunken revel.

Nothing was worse in those days than going to a party and finding an insufficient quantity of beer. To avoid the crushing disappointment that circumstance produced, my buddies and I always “warmed up.” That is we met for some drinks before going to a party. That night we started to do so at Paul Malloy’s house. Even as I cracked my first Molson he commented that I looked high already. I laughed heartily and drank deeply.

In quick succession I drained 5 more. Shortly after this about 9 of us piled in the Pontiac and went up the street to the McDermott’s house. I consumed another six-pack there, Budweiser this time, and the warm up drinking reached its end. It was time to go to the party!

When we arrived at the Zimmerman’s, the first thing we saw was a garbage can full of ice and beer on the front stoop. We each helped ourselves to one on the way in. I went and congratulated Jeanne on her graduation while I could still speak, then got down to drinking.

Jeanne’s mom never minded the bunch of us hanging out at the house. I never got to know Mr. Zimmerman too well as he was a taciturn fellow. But over time I got to know Mrs. Zimmerman and Jeanne’s two little sisters. Jeanne’s maternal aunt often stopped by as well and it turned out that her family lived down the street from me. Mrs. Hoos had two sons and the older one Michael and I became friends. So I looked forward to seeing family at the graduation party.

Unfortunately it never occurred to me that Jeanne’s extended family might want to celebrate her graduation. Silver haired great aunts and little babies were everywhere. It didn’t take long before I found myself teetering on the edge of a blackout. My fondness for Jeanne and her family produced a strange response. Rather than risk embarrassing them, I decided to leave a place where free beer was available.

I announced that I was leaving and asked if anyone wanted a ride. Paul Malloy took me up on the offer. He had just started dating a girl who lived in my direction and told me where to drop him off. Paul was a serious drinker. He could drink me under the table easily. But he also had a baby face so he asked me to stop somewhere and get a six pack for him.

Paul reported later that as we drove I repeatedly threw my head back and laughed “like a mad scientist.” That laugh was accompanied by the sound of screeching tires each time I rounded a corner or took off from a stop. We arrived at Rocky’s Bar and I went in to get Paul’s beer. Rocky’s was a small bar in a very sturdy brick building. The mason’s work failed to contain my laughter. Paul could hear it clearly from the car when I was told I wouldn’t be served.

Next stop on this harrowing vehicular adventure was Koza’s, my home bar. I was never too young or too drunk for them. Paul clung desperately to his cargo as I pulled out on to West Scott Avenue. I stopped briefly before running the red light at Whittier Street then proceeded to St. George’s Avenue. There I made two quick rights and found myself at the intersection of Rodgers Court and Kmak Place, two cul de sacs. This was Paul’s destination so he got out and came around to my side of the car. He bent down to look me in the eye, shook his fist, and uttered five encouraging words: “Do wheels, Wilbur! Do wheels!”

Some of you may have wondered and I will now confirm that Paul did have a driver’s license. Being on my learner’s permit that made him my licensed driver. I had to do what he said. So I did wheels right into a white ‘68 Chevy parked about 40 feet away. The Chevy rolled about 30 feet and the hood of my car popped all the way up. I fell forward onto the steering wheel and slid toward the driver’s side door. My last conscious act was to try and hit the brake. Instead I hit the gas.

The steering wheel slid to the left with me so the car now sped across the street, up a curb, just missed a tree and hit a 7 foot hedge. The car then came crashing down on to the front steps of a house. Keep in mind the hood was up the whole time.

The residents of the home were watching television in their basement when the house shook. At first they ran to look out back because some neighbors there had been setting off fireworks earlier in the evening. Seeing nothing they ran to their front door. The screen door only opened about a foot and a half before striking my bumper.

The sight of my car, and of me trying to start the vehicle and make good my getaway despite having no wheels on the ground, boggled their minds. The porch light was dim and they could not see the bent hedge but could see the undisturbed 6" high plastic picket fence that surrounded the stoop. They couldn’t figure out how I got up their without disturbing the fence! Eventually they went out the back door and came around front. When I went to their house days later to apologize they said I had done so repeatedly while still stuck on their porch. That made me feel a little better.

But they also complained that over the last few days an unending stream of vehicles had been making the loop around their cul de sac. Carload after carload of gawking teenagers just had to see the carnage for themselves. Many were heard to exclaim “Wilbur pulled a Dukes of Hazard right over the hedge!” All this scrutiny added insult to injury. Unfortunately the curiosity of my contemporaries was yet another thing over which I was powerless.

When the matter came before a judge my cousin represented me gratis. I was fined $250.00 and my “privilege to drive” was suspended for 60 days. I was fortunate another way too. I was suspended for the first three days of my senior year. (They got me on the last day of school if you can believe it.) That way Paul Malloy handled the first fifty people who just had to hear the story.

I lived in Rahway for another 11 years after that. Even in the last year before moving to Pittsburgh I couldn’t walk through a mall without hearing “Hey Wilbur, crash into any houses lately?” If someone asks me that now I am thankful the answer is still no.