There was a honky tonk down the road from us in Wellsburg, West Virginia. According to my father, whose lips never touched a drop of booze, the place was a haven for loose women, moral degenerates, and worthless drunks. On Friday nights a local rock group called Screaming Roy Copus and the Night Crawlers tore the joint up. The first Friday night after turning 18, I found myself in this ginmill sucking on a quart of 3.2 beer. My father would have disowned me for imbibing the Devil's brew and associating with the town's lowlifes. But what the hell, he had hanged himself there years earlier. I guess what he didn't know didn't hurt him.
Thornton P. Knowles
Thornton P. Knowles
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