THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 24, 1994 TAG: 9407220244
SECTION: SUFFOLK SUN PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Frank Roberts
LENGTH: Medium: 69 lines
Turner Classic Movie aficionados got their share of inebriation Sunday night with this double feature: ``I'll Cry Tomorrow'' and ``Days of Wine and Roses.''
The first, the true story of singer/actress Lillian Roth, starred Susan Hayward. The second featured Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick. All three performers had the opportunity to chew the scenery as ``out-of-their-gourd'' drunks.
Both pictures gave much credit to Alcoholics Anonymous for turning lives around, although Remick's character could not be talked into attending, so she went on imbibing.
``Days of Wine and Roses'' sort of hit home. In the movie, Lemmon was the drinker, eventually talking his wife into joining him. Later, he straightened up. She would not.
The situation paralleled the experience of some people I knew once.
Back then, they were trying to raise a family. At first, she had to play the role of both Mom and Dad, because he was usually pretty well sloshed.
When she got to the point where she could not handle it alone, she joined him in hitting the bottle. Visiting the two of them at home was quite an experience. Who was higher?
Eventually, he got his life back in order, but she was completely out of order - a reversal of the situation they were in when I first met them.
Fortunately for the children, who were usually cared for by friends, he came from a wealthy family, and for a long while, his dear old dad kept sending him money to replace the dollars his son was contributing to the liquor industry.
He needed still more money.
Politically, he was to the right of Attila the Hun. What money he did not spend on drink, he contributed to his favorite cause of the '60s - the ultraconservative John Birch Society.
Eventually, he had to sell his business. Dad was finished bailing him out. I'd seen weekly checks amounting to $1,000 each.
When they moved to another city, she went to work; he had to tackle something more menial than managing his own business.
Incidentally, once they divorced, she also got her life straight.
My dislike of liquor, though, stems from my childhood, when Mom, Dad and myself occupied a small co-op apartment near New York City.
We were one of two bottom-floor occupants. A couple who lived directly above us were, like my later friends, heavy drinkers.
They would leave the door open. What an ad for the bottle that was. When you went past the apartment - I had some friends on the top floor - you could see the mess inside.
Every now and then, they'd call out to one of us kids, offering us some money if we'd buy them a bottle. They couldn't stand, much less walk out the door.
We were too young, of course, and, truth to tell, scared of them. But we'd peek in. They were usually lolling around in a couple of ratty chairs, the only furniture we could see.
The thing I remember most was the smell, a mix of body waste and liquor. I also remember how pleasant they were the few times we caught them sober.
Eventually, they were forced out of the apartment. No one knows where they went. At that time, cold as it may sound, no one gave a damn.
If that couple contributed nothing else to society, I can say that they at least performed a public service for one 9-year-old.
I swore I would never drink, and, except for a quick sip of some very light daiquiris once or twice a year, I've stuck to that.
Drink to my resolve - an iced tea toast. by CNB