Time Machine: The day the drinks stopped flowing
Editor’s note: Step back to Dec. 4, 1985, with help from The Daily Orange’s archives, when the big news on campus was the change of the drinking age from 18 to 21.
Students saddened by new drinking law
By Matt Tucker
It was 11:40 p.m., and Jeff Jones knew his time was running out. It was Saturday, Nov. 30, the last night before New York State’s minimum drinking age increased to 21.
Jones, a 19-year-old Morrisville College student, was trying to enjoy his last night of legal drinking for almost two years, and was not doing a good job of it.
“Is it quarter of already?” Jones asked. “This sucks.”
He promptly headed off in the direction of Suburban Park’s bar to buy as many drinks as he could before midnight.
But it seemed other patrons had had the same idea, though, and Jones had no chance of getting a drink in the near future.
So far that night we had been to Maggie’s, Hungry Charlie’s, Sutters, The Lift and Club 37. Now our mad flight to “find the whiskey bar” had stopped at Suburban Park, a bar just off Erie Boulevard in East Syracuse.
Our plan was to hit as many spots as we could in one night, but this seemed to be the last stop. We suddenly noticed the time. It was 12:10 p.m., but no one had kicked us out yet. What was going on?
Suddenly, Jeff came back with a drink in his hand. “Where did you get that?” we wanted know. “I guess they’re letting us stay until closing,” he said.
The tension that had been mounting all evening suddenly eased. We started to have fun again.
“You know, this is a good way to do it,” said Maria Jubinville, who had come along with us. “If they just stop it and kick us out, it seems like we’re really losing our rights. This way, it’s just like any other night, except we won’t be able to get in tomorrow.”
When we were up at Syracuse University, the chief topic of conversation had been the football game. Now the chatter had turned to the new law, and what effects (if any) it would have on drinking.
“I don’t think it’ll have any effect on most of us,” said a member of a nearby group. “It’ll just make us break the law.”
“Yeah, anyone who wants to drink will still be able to,” his friend agreed.
“One good thing is that there won’t be as much drinking and driving because most of the places kids can drink now will be close to home, like parties and stuff,” Jones said. “We won’t be driving around to a bunch of bars, like tonight.”
Some people did not have anything good to say about the new law, however.
“This f****ing sucks!” complained someone trying to get a space at the bar. “We can vote, get married, drive, get our asses shot off in El Salvador, even buy a gun at Sears, but we can’t drink! And you know why? Because those guys in Albany know we can’t do anything to them. It just isn’t fair!”
By this time it was getting close to 2 a.m., and an air of desperation had formed around the bars. We decided to skip the last round, (things were getting a little fuzzy at this point anyway), and head down the road to Nowhere City, an all-ages, non-alcoholic dance club in East Syracuse.
“This is a wicked good place to go to after all the other places close,” Maria said. Being non-alcoholic, Nowhere City does not have to close at 2 a.m. and on Fridays and Saturdays, it stays open until 5 a.m., she added.
***
At 5:07 a.m., I walk out of Nowhere City into the parking lot. Wind whips across the ground, scattering scraps of paper. The sun is just starting to think about coming up, bringing the dawn of a new age of drinking.
I turn around and look at Nowhere City. Then I put on my sunglasses, get in my car, and drive away. Behind me, I hear cries of “Wait up!” I look back. I left everyone else behind. Some things never change.