In true Alfred E. Neuman fashion: “What, me worry?”

Well, you really always wanted to be liked – but you were shy – you were awkward and, in retrospect, you had terrible timing.

Summer School – half days, trips to the Bookmobile and a Summer Cold.

The worst – stuffy head – 90 degrees – smog – miserable.

And a cough – a bad cough – a cough that had bones in it.

Your mom went the whole Hot Tea, Lemon  and Vick’s Vaporub route.

Nothing worked – you sounded like you were harboring a grudge at death’s door.

After a week your mom went to the local Rexall where they were having their “buy one, get one for a penny” sale.

The Pharmacist – a guy who looked like he could be Ben Casey’s double and who was eyeing your mom like a party favor, made the big pitch for this magical elixir; Romilar CF.

Swore up and down and staked his life on the assurance it would get rid of the world’s worst cough in less than an hour.

Mom eyed you – eyed the imposing bottles, over to a dewey eyed Ben Casey and grabbed two; in case one didn’t work out there was always a backup.

It tasted hideous at first – a sort of gummy atomic syrup that could dissolve paint if it had half a chance.

Despite Ben Casey’s testimonials, an hour went by and you were still hacking like a consumptive.

With your mom out of the room and the open bottle sitting on the dresser with no place to go, you grabbed it and took a swig. One big gulp.

While it was busy burning a path down your throat and turning your stomach into a lava pit – a strange sensation introduced itself to your brain – it came complete with giggles and an out-of-body experience. Life jammed on the brakes and started creeping along in-slow motion. You don’t remember too much but you do remember saying “oh wow” a lot.

Cough? What cough? It worked.

Next thing you knew it was dark – you were tucked in bed and the muffled sounds of Johnny Carson floated into the bedroom.

First thing – you wanted more – second thing – you had to bring a bottle to school in the morning and share it. You were going to make lifelong friends with that stuff.

The next day you were still woozy but the cough was gone – the stuffed nose was gone and you were barreling down Pico on your Schwinn Corvette.

During lunch you were busy passing the Romilar bottle around to your friends. They all took big gulps, recoiled at the rotten taste and after a minute or two, busted out laughing. First giggles, then chuckles and then outright guffaws.

Just before the bell rang things got a little out of hand. Call it horsing around – the teachers monitoring the lunch room called it “strange behavior”. Nothing strange about staring at the ceiling, but pointing at it and laughing about something no one could see were something else.

The humorless and thickly built Phys Ed teacher retrieved the empty Romilar bottle from the trash and started the inquisition.

Naturally, none of your newly made friends were going to deny anything – they all pointed their fingers directly at you. So much for loyalty.

Oh great – first semester of 10th grade and you were already a hardened criminal.

It didn’t help matters any that half your gang of attempted hoodlums were now puking their guts out all over the cafeteria floor.

The fine print on the box read “do not operate heavy machinery” rapidly followed by “intense and sudden nausea if exceeding recommended dosage”. You missed those two precautions. You were too busy feeling wonderful to worry about retching in public.

But the School Principal wasn’t amused. Didn’t find a speck of humor it in – didn’t appreciate the well-worn phrase “boys will be boys” and chalk it off to kids being knuckleheads.

Nope – he took a dim view and ran straight into a wall with it. Your friends were let off easy with parents being called to fetch their budding drug-addict kids and get a lecture in the process. You managed to get suspended for Summer School and be on probation when school started in Fall.

Your mom added you weren’t going to be leaving the house anytime before September.

Dad was a man of few words but he did pack a wallop and the smack the side of your head received was enough to convince anyone within eyeshot that he was not one of the warm and fuzzy people.

You were tossed in the backseat of the family Dodge and shuffled home. Dad not being too thrilled over the episode, having taken off work because of your mom’s panic-stricken phone call. You were busy gazing dopily up at the car ceiling, while your mom and dad got into it, tossing around phrases like; “well, if you spent more time with him” and “Why don’t you read labels?”

You got home just in time to make it to the bathroom, throw everything up you’ve eaten since you were five and get sentenced to bed to “sleep it off”.

Two aspirin – instant Chicken soup, a throbbing headache and your mom leaving the radio on in your room. She was a big believer that music had the power to heal – and that a hefty dose of Mantovani or Percy Faith never hurt anyone.

Aside from your friends, your parents and the Principal, you had a great time. So great, that you swore up and down you would remember the magic words for next time:

“Do not operate heavy machinery while taking this medication”.

And to give you some idea of what you might be listening to, this day in 1959, here’s a half hour of KMPC with Johnny Grant, July 2, 1959.