The Debate Team – the second they told you it was Live TV.

Color you confused. Your head is splitting – your breath is awful – your tongue could do pushups in the Mojave.

Somebody left a radio on.

You have no idea where you are – you have no idea how you got there – you can’t think straight. You have a brain – it’s currently on empty.

You pull yourself together and manage to find the bathroom.

You stagger in and can’t decide whether to sit on the toilet or stand over it.

You catch a glimpse of your face and let out a yell.

One of those yells you get when your grandmother leaves the door open.

You see a face – you just don’t recognize it.

You stare – long enough to forget why you’re standing over the toilet, but the warm beer-scented drizzle hasn’t, it splashes on your feet reminds you it’s Burgermeister and you drank a lot of it.

Oh, you’re a mess alright. Nuclear accident in a town you haven’t been to since you were nine.

You make a haphazard attempt at cleaning up the floor and then dunk your head in the sink, opening the faucet of cold water – straight over your head. 

It starts coming back – bits and flashes.

You finally pull yourself together long enough to put clothes on, stand up straight and slowly walk outside to figure out where you are.

Travelodge – Fisherman’s Wharf. The overwhelming odor of fish mixes belligerently with your now-queazy stomach and you want to gag.

You turn and start back to your room when you hear your name being called from the parking lot.

The other members of your debate team, the reason why you’re in San Francisco. The reason you can’t remember anything – the reason you have a hangover. They were packed and waiting for the bus. You weren’t. You were still negotiating sea air and the aroma of fried shrimp. They were loaded down with souvenirs – you were loaded down with a soggy brain. They don’t seem particularly happy to see you awake. Now you’re perplexed on top of everything else.

You had this idea when you were rushing for classes in January – join the Debate Team. It would be fun – you could argue your point – people would be impressed. Your English teacher said something about you being a natural communicator. You wondered, but you ran with the compliment.

Little did you know your team got picked to represent your school in a big-deal debating contest taking place in San Francisco. You all took the train – you felt like celebrities. 

Well, you were until you got off the train. That’s when you found out this big deal debate was really a big deal debate and it was going to be on live television.

Worse; live television all over the country.

To say you were petrified would be an understatement. Grey-ghost white – sweating gallons – if someone shook your hand it would shatter in a million pieces. That kind of petrified.

It didn’t get any better when you were called to the podium.

Under lights that would scramble eggs and an expression on your face more frequently seen at a morgue than a televised debate, you were asked what your position was on the current state of Civil Rights. Were you in favor of School integration or not?

She got “in favor” – you got “not”.

She was cute – she oozed personality – she was destined to become famous. 

You were not. You went blank – darkroom blank. Your teammates were in a borderline panic. What happened to you?

What happened next could only happen on live television – you attempted to open your mouth to form a sentence. The best you got was a low-pitched groan, followed by a dramatic collapse into the podium, sending it and you crashing to the ground – the podium splintered and broke apart. You just lay face-down while the audience gasped, your teammates screamed and the stage crew bolted to scoop you and the broken podium up while the TV cameras pointed at blank walls and the announcer scrambled for an excuse. 

Disaster – You would become a Photo Op on Page 3 of the San Francisco Examiner the next morning.

 It all got fuzzy after that – but the last thing you remember were two six-packs of Burgermeister Beer, a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps and you listening to the radio in your motel room – feeling truly-truly rotten. Where the beer came from was a mystery and whoever thought Peppermint Schnapps was a good idea obviously never drank it.

Apparently you did and waking up the next morning feeling like The Walking Dead let you know bad ideas are everywhere and your fake i.d. worked.

However, your career as a public speaker ground to a screeching halt.

Probably a good idea, considering.

And to give you some idea of what that particular day sounded like, here’s a half hour of Carter B. Smith at KSFO, San Francisco on July 24, 1963.