The eight-track tape machine in my buddy Bill's Monte Carlo always seemed to have one of three albums playing — Frampton Comes Alive, Boston's first or Fly Like an Eagle — whenever we were headed to that one convenience store on Sunrise Boulevard where an unquestioning clerk didn't care that we were only 16 years old as we bought six-packs of Miller beer in clear bottles.
It wasn't known as "Miller High Life," as its retro ads today brand it. The object of our desire was called "Miller in a bottle," with its far-too-sugary aftertaste for many adults that was just right for a teen's first covert alcohol. Our final destination was Holiday Park in Fort Lauderdale, after high-school football games. The beer was cold and forbidden — just right. Even better, you could convert — with careful strategic tearing along this line and that — the six-pack's pressed-paper container into a rudimentary hat.
And we wore them. With pride.
This article appears in Oct 17-23, 2007.
