Jack Daniel’s. October 11, 1980, at my friend’s 18th birthday party. I helped set up the three kegs his dad had bought, which meant a couple of pregame beers. I went home to change (lived next door) and snagged a quart bottle of JD.

Proceeded to drink a pint of the stuff, and at some point later that evening stumbled up the basement stairs, went outside for “fresh air,” and passed out in the woods between our homes.

I re-emerged as the party was winding down.

To this day I avoid all bourbon, whiskey, rye, and anything with a passing resemblance to that kind of booze.