|Erin O'Brien (bottom left) and associates circa 1981 in the Cleveland Metroparks.|
The first time a park ranger caught us drinking 3.2 beer, it went something like like this:
After driving by one time slowly, he pulled back around and parked next to our collection of Monte Carlos and Vista Cruisers and Galaxies. He got out, pulled up his trousers and walked over.
"I see 'em hidden there," he said. "I see every one of 'em. Now bring 'em out and pour 'em out, my little friends," he directed. "Every one of 'em."
"Next time," he said as we upended the last can, "you kids get yourself some plastic cups. You put the cups in the car. You put the beer in the car." He looked at each of us purposefully. "You want a beer? You go in the car. You pour your beer into your cup. You get out of the car and you go on with your party." Another pause. "I drive by, all I see is kids with cups and no one's got any problems. Right?"
"Right," we said.
And that's the way it was, my little friends, back then, when I was young.
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