'Every Man Is to Judge for Himself'

A man named Elmer parked his car in front of the house and honked the horn. It was December 28, 1978, early evening and already dark. I was living in Montpelier, Ohio, and Elmer had driven from the county seat, Bryan, to take me to a church basement in Wauseon, about twenty-five miles to the east. Elmer drove a big Buick. He was probably close to seventy, roughly my age today, well-dressed, with a thin mustache, the sort I associate with John Barrymore. I was sick and sweaty and have no recollection of our conversation. I remember little of the meeting except for Ted, a former migrant tomato picker who later became a friend. I was shaking so badly I slopped coffee out of my Styrofoam cup and burned my hand. Ted cleaned up the mess and gave me a new cup holding a small, unsloppable portion of coffee.

 

Three years earlier I had read two novels by Donald Newlove, Leo & Theodore (1973) and The Drunks (1974), the story of alcoholic Siamese twins who are prodigious drinkers and musicians playing traditional jazz. A little more than two years after the meeting in Wauseon, during a visit to New York City, I bought an autographed copy of Newlove’s newly published Those Drinking Days: Myself and Other Writers. In it he writes: 

 

“Great writing about alcohol is an ocean without shoreline and I have a thick notebook of excerpts from world literature to attest to it, a sheaf of quotations to help me keep sober. One of the most stirring recoveries from excessive drinking was made by Dr. Samuel Johnson two centuries ago.”

 

I had suspected this was the case after reading W. Jackson Bate’s 1977 biography of Dr. Johnson. Along with his other physical, emotional and financial troubles, the younger Johnson tended to drink immoderately. Boswell reports him saying:

 

“Sir, I have no objection to a man's drinking wine, if he can do it in moderation. I found myself apt to go to excess in it, and therefore, after having been for some time without it, on account of illness, I thought it better not to return to it. Every man is to judge for himself, according to the effects which he experiences.”

 

To some this will sound finicky -- or worse, inspiring -- and it was not true to my experience, but I’ve heard others confirm what Johnson is saying. Closer to what I know is this: “Boswell: ‘I think, Sir, you once said to me, that not to drink wine was a great deduction from life.’ Johnson: ‘It is a diminution of pleasure, to be sure; but I do not say a diminution of happiness. There is more happiness in being rational.’”