Times have changed from when most reporters had bottles in their typewriter wells, employers tolerating as long as they were out of sight, having themselves survived the hard-drinking so much a part of the craft. I quit cold-turkey in 1966.
Seriously, if you were doing your job properly you were going to jail, mostly for political indiscretions: on the wrong side during a labour dispute, in the wrong place during riots, revolts and revolutions, even for talking to the wrong people.
But 50-50 for just raising hell. I remember being in No. 11 with a great reporter, a former hard-rock miner who was shaking the bars and yelling for his lawyer. From the back of the cell came a familiar voice, "I'm here, Norrie."
Liquor was a big part of my education; I'm lucky to have survived it.
