I was a young studly Private in the Army working my way through Advanced Individual Training at Fort Meade, and it was winter exodus (Christmas break). I had already returned to the barracks from my festivities, but there was no training to be had for nearly another week. As long as we checked in regularly, the Drill Sergeants were being generous with off-post privileges.
A few of us, Theemling, Baumgartner and myself, decided to take a day trip to the inner harbor area in Baltimore. They had been a couple times before. I hadn't. It was this young Soldier's first time in a big city. It had snowed lightly on and off for the past week. The serene beauty of the snowfall had at this point given way to the unsightly slush that plagued pedestrians of all walks. Steam rose from the sewer grates where the homeless would congregate. The sun did shine that day, I remember I could not look over the water for long without feeling blinded.
We walked more blocks than I can count and joked of the Army and our Drill Sergeants in particular, letting loose observations and imitations we dared not repeat in their presence. A hobo crossed the street with us and warned us that Jesus was everywhere. A prostitute invited us in to warm up. Another homeless man eloquently described a terrible situation involving his daughter and a hospital and a bus ticket and how he needed ten dollars to make things right. I lent an ear to each new fellow we encountered while my comrades wisely tugged my arms and kept us walking toward our destination. (I met one of them later on by sheer coincidence. He had apparently not sorted out his bus ticket situation by that time)
As I continued taking in the sights and sound and unfortunately the smells of Baltimore, we had finally arrived at the inner harbor. The aquarium was to our right, the Power Plant left, and there in front of us stood an ESPNzone. Cold and a bit winded from our perilous trek, we entered the establishment and made our way toward the bar.
Mind you, I was a young Soldier. I had unfairly turned twenty one in the middle of our Basic Combat Training cycle and, for the first few months of our advanced training we were strictly forbidden from the consumption of alcohol, and those months had now passed. Although such temptations had never entered my mind previously, as I took my seat on the stool and took notice of the arrangement of taps lining the bar, I was overcome by the sudden realization that I could order a beer if I wanted to. Legitimately, legally, willfully, and there wasn't a goshdarned thing anyone could do about it.
Freedom! After months of the initial sacrifice that I gave to my country, finally freedom! No Drill Sergeants to tell me no! No snooty bouncers telling me I'm not old enough! I waved down the barmaid and in my most confident tone announced to the entire bar "I WOULD LIKE ONE BEER, PLEASE".
"Fantastic. Which one?" She replied, nonplussed by my display. It had not occurred to me that, unlike in the movies or television programs, one does not typically order "beer" in such an establishment. I turned to my friends.
"What are you guys getting?"
"Idunno, Sam Adams. Seasonal."
"That's cool. Me too."
In short order the ever-apathetic bartender presented our trio with three Sam Adam's Winter Lagers. We raised our pints and toasted the city, we toasted the Army, we toasted ourselves, then at last that first drop of sweet ambrosia met my lips and hung there as if time had slowed. Though I was certain of my freedom, I was momentarily not so certain that I would even enjoy this swill.
Fortunately, I did.
Samuel Adams Winter Lager. My first beer, my first taste of freedom.