Column: Thoughts from Dr. Joe: A New Year’s Eve bottle of whiskey — and new beginnings
I remember the first time I was drunker than a skunk. It was New Year’s Eve, 1968, and I was home from college. Before the night of celebration unfolded, I headed to JFK International to pick up my buddy Jimmy Cunningham.
Jimmy had been in Vietnam a year with the 173rd Airborne. I couldn’t imagine what he’d been through. My biggest worry was maintaining academic honors in spite of senioritis.
Jimmy was not the same guy I had driven to the airport a year earlier. He was sullen, distant. When he saw me, his most salient emotion was exasperation. I didn’t understand his ailments. Not a word was spoken of his ordeal. Instead, there was mostly small talk about Judy, the girl he used to date. I assured him that she had not married and, as far as I knew, was not dating anyone.
As we drove back toward Manhattan, the silence was deafening. Intuitively, I realized that silence was what he needed. The road home is often paved with stillness, for the rest taken between two deep breaths is critical.
Jimmy broke his silence as we approached the Queens Midtown Tunnel. “Joe, Vietnam is such a waste; we’re losing our best over there.” I knew I’d have to find that out for myself.
We crossed over into Manhattan at 34th Street and headed up the West Side Highway toward Jimmy’s parents’ apartment at 168th and Amsterdam Avenue.
“Get off at 40th!” he shouted. I pulled over at Hell’s Kitchen, 41st and Second Avenue.
Befuddled and curious, I said, “You OK?”
A long pause ensued. Finally, Jimmy said, “Let’s go to Times Square and celebrate the New Year!” I thought it was a strange request for someone who had just returned from Vietnam, but nevertheless, I parked the car, and we walked the nine city blocks to Times Square to hang out with a million new friends.
As we walked toward the “bow tie” of Times Square (42nd to 47th streets, between Broadway and 7th Avenue), Jimmy expressed the importance of a new beginning and that he thought the New Year would hold a deeper significance. He explained that he’d had a year to evaluate his life and that if he survived the war, he was resolved to make his life meaningful.
A New Year’s resolution carries a philosophical meaning. Every resolution we make implies that we are in control of ourselves and that we are not victims fated by circumstance, controlled by stars, or owned by luck. Instead, we are existentially capable of making our own choices. We make resolutions because we want to be happy, and happiness evolves from doing.
In Vietnam Jimmy saw that life marches on through a series of inevitable transitions, “… a time and a season for everything under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build up, a time to weep and a time to laugh…” (Ecclesiastes). Jimmy’s 1968 New Year’s Eve was indeed a new beginning.
With a bottle of whiskey, we arrived at 46th and Broadway before the New Year. Passing the bottle and screaming like lunatics, we welcomed the New Year drunker than skunks. Maybe it was just the booze, or maybe it was the resolution he made, but it was now 1969, and somehow Jimmy was different.
We worked our way back toward Hells Kitchen and talked about Judy, the girl he used to date. As I dropped him off at the projects on Amsterdam, Jimmy said, “I’m gonna ask Judy to marry me. Happy New Year, Joey Boy!”
Jimmy has been married to Judy for 48 years. They have four children and 12 grandchildren. I guess it was a new beginning for Jimmy.
JOE PUGLIA is a practicing counselor, a retired professor of education and a former officer in the Marines. Reach him at doctorjoe@ymail.com. Visit his website at doctorjoe.us.
