#1: "I'm Driving!" c.1965
We drove our Ford Falcon wagon from our small center hall colonial on middle-class Mackey Avenue, to the beautiful large house in affluent Beacon Hill. We scarcely knew a soul at the cocktail party other than the hostess, who was an acquaintance of Corrie's from Forest Hills days. I was soon bored silly but Corrie was having a good time catching up with old friends. Time crawled by. With no one to talk to, I wandered about, switching between trying to appear preoccupied or blissfully content. I also made several trips to the punch bowl of delicious Manhattans.
Every few minutes I cruised by Corrie, giving her looks that became less and less subtle. Finally, she bid friends farewell and left for the car. As we were walking, Corrie asked how many manhattans I had downed. I pursed my lips, shrugged my shoulders, and said "I forget – just a couple." She looked me in the eyes when we got to the car, and said, "Give me the keys; I'm driving!" I retorted, "Oh no you're not!", grabbed the side of the roof rack, and swung myself up on top of the car.
#2: Manhattan Marinade c.1968
It was a sunny afternoon in June, perfect for a drive to Twilight. I didn't have the kids that weekend, so a lady friend and I stopped on the way up for cocktails and dinner at friends of hers in Kingston. The host greeted us warmly and showed us two steaks we would have for dinner. I had never seen such steaks! They were a foot and a half in diameter and had to be 2-3 inches thick. Amazing!
He put the steaks on the grill, located out of sight in the garden, and offered us drinks. He boasted that he made a hell of a Manhattan. He held up a silver shaker, said he and wife had already sampled this batch, and found it superb. So the four of us sat to enjoy the view of the Hudson, and sipped the cocktails. They were sooo good. We had another round and our already sparkling conversation, became brilliant.
Later on, I or my friend mentioned the steaks. The steaks! We quickly rose as one and hurried down to the grill. Our host lifted the cover. Black smoke and toxic fumes spewed out. When it cleared, we saw that the two giant-sized sirloins were reduced to mere lumps of coal. Victims of manhattan magic.
#3: Swaying Down the Expressway c.1975
In Huntington, I loaded the Honda 70 minibike into the rear of the light station wagon. On the way out of town, I stopped to attend a cocktail party at friends of Carol and Buz'. The host made delicious Manhattans and I downed a couple while chatting with people. I then departed for New York.
On the Long Island Expressway, I found the rear end of the wagon wanted to sway from side to side. I figured out that the weight of the minibike, located so far back in the car, was the cause of the problem, and was able to moderate the motion by counter steering, but could not eliminate it. A half hour later I was pulled over by a police car. After studying my license and registration, the officers asked if I had been drinking. I told them I had downed a couple earlier in the afternoon. The cops scratched a 20 foot line in the dirt and said "Walk it." Although I could feel a light buz from the booze, I knew I could do it, unless I choked under the pressure. Crunch time!
I slowly walked over to the line, carefully turned, took a deep breath, and paced its length without faltering. When I returned to the car and continued on my way, I vowed to never again carry the motorbike so far back in the car. I also recognized that a third manhattan would have been my comeuppance; I never drank another.
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