When we got wheels there were no limits to our wanderings. We ranged all over Long Island. One place we loved to go was a pond in Brookville, I think, that froze solid in the winter. It was of course on private land, but we found a place to park and a way in. There were a lot of us that knew about this spot and when the word went out that there was going to be a skating party a bunch usually showed up. Good clean fun. Freezing cold. No fire. So, well, we had to have something to keep us warm.
Now you remember the deli by the record store? Well he sold something called "Apple Jack" that had a tiny bit of alcohol in it. Low enough so it wasn't regulated. You needed gallons to get the slightest buzz, but we were ready for the challenge. And we were suggestible. And so, we hoped, were the girls.
Ah the girls. We went to a small school by today's standards so most of the kids had grown up together. The girls knew us very well and were alert for anything that looked like we were up to something.
One night we were skating and freezing and drinking Apple Jack and getting nowhere. Well one of our "older" friends was there, one grade up from us, and he said he was going to get some beer from somewhere. He walked off into the darkness. Next thing we knew he was back with no beer but a good sweat. He had walked into somebody's open garage and was rummaging around for some beer when the owner came out to see what the noises were.
Our friend thought fast and before the guy could say anything he said "Don't the Whitenhours still live here?" They had a brief conversation about the mistaken location of the Whitenhours and our bud left.
No beer that night. The Apple Jack didn't work either.
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