National 40 Day
Monday, February Ninth, the Fortieth Day of Two Thousand and Six
In Memoriam Willie D.
Countdown to 40oz Day 2007
I drank my first 40 when I was 17, feeling like a badass in the warm, crowded basement of some long-haired dude from school's house: my first no-parents-home party. I remember fondly the pride that came from unscrewing the cheap metal cap and raising the heft of the bottle to my lips, and somewhat less fondly the laughter of my friends who, sipping from their 12-ounce aluminum cans, didn't have to worry about losing hold of a heavy glass container made slick by condensation and dribbling liquid onto themselves. Deep inside, though, I was sure their cavalier facades were only a pitiful attempt to mask the new and profound respect they felt for me, so I wiped off my face, tightened my grip, and took my first swig.
When I first heard rumors about a National 40 Day earlier this winter, it had been years since I last enjoyed the pungent brew of a ripe Colt 45 or Crazy Horse, but the memories flooded back in an instant. I choked back a retch and demanded to learn more. There was a story here, I was sure of it, about some courageous soul's attempt to solve one of the country's many forgotten problems, ignored by a complicit media: our lack of holidays celebrating powerful intoxicants. If our elected officials wouldn't touch it, who would?
My inquiries led me in and out of poorly-lit bodegas, to Korean grocers fallen on hard times, and to halfway homes and precinct drunk tanks across the city. The man I sought was not easy to find.
Finally, one evening, acting on a tip I got at an AA meeting in Astoria, I visited a seedy diner in Bushwick, where, manning the dishwashers, I found at last the man daring enough to spit in America's stern, prohibitionist face: Willie D. He was of indeterminate age; the lines on his dark face said fifty, but his powerful build and air of easy mobility said twenty.
At first he played dumb when I asked him about National 40 Day ("Forty? Forty what?"), but then I offered to fund his next bottle. He told me to pick up a Haffenreffer Private Stock at the deli next door and meet him out back in ten minutes.
I did as I was told and soon he joined me in the filthy alley behind the diner. He eyed me as I took out my notebook and flipped to the page where I had written down all the questions I needed answered. Sensing his impatience, and because I was having trouble in the dim light reading what I had written, I used my razor-sharp journalistic instinct to ad-lib the perfect opener that would put him off guard and get him talking: "So, uh, what's the deal with National 40 Day?" But he was having none of it. He looked me in the eye, his face blank, until I pulled the bottle out of the bag and handed it to him. I watched as he leaned back and casually drained the top third.
Then he spoke. "National 40 Day was an idea I had a long time ago. I hardly told anyone about it. What the hell business is it of yours?"
"This idea is too great to keep to yourself," I told him. "It's a born winner. It deserves to be shouted from the tallest rooftops. Don't withhold the greatest new holiday in a generation from the drinkers of America!"
He considered this. "OK, here's how it is. National 40 Day is on the fortieth day of the year. That's February 9th."
I did some mental arithmetic. "But this year that's a Sund--a Monday! That doesn't seem right."
"Chances are, if you drink 40's then you aren't really too concerned with things like what day of the week it is. Personally, I find Mondays perfectly appropriate for cheap malt liquor -- I'm usually broke from the weekend. Also, getting drunk helps me forget that I still have Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday ahead of me." He belched. "Thursday, too."
I thought I saw something scurry around the garbage cans in the darkness. "But what exactly is involved in celebrating National 40 Day?"
"Well, when you try to drink malt liquor on the street, you learn pretty quick to keep it in a brown bag. So, just like St. Paddy's got the clover and Halloween has a Jack-o'-lantern, 40 Day has the brown paper bag, and on February 9th, you get a 40, put it in your National 40 Day Bag, and find someplace to drink it. Street corners, stoops, and parking lots are the best place to celebrate 40 Day." He took dragged on the cigarette he had somehow taken out of his pack and lit while still holding onto his bottle.
"Since it's a special goddamn day, you should ask to trade sips if you pass other people drinking 40's out of a paper bag, and try to guess what they're drinking. But if you're uncomfortable sharing a bottle with someone, just tell 'em, Sorry, I only got one inch left. Even the grittiest hobo won't touch another man's 40 swill."
"But what if it's too cold to drink outside on February 9th?"
He took another long pull on the bottle. "Well, shit, I don't care. Drink in the damn basement."
I'd found the story all right, and now I needed to know what was behind the man behind the story. "What's your preferred brand of malt liquor?"
"Man, 40 Day isn't about brands and shit. One time, I was drinking with these college kids, and for some reason they thought they were all macho. This one guy in a white baseball cap with a frayed bill was saying his St. Ides was the best. Then some dude in cargos started going off about his Night Flight. Another guy walked in with a 40 of Bud Light and they laughed at him like his beer was weak. You know, drinking a 40, any 40, is not about being hardcore. It's about getting wasted.
"It doesn't matter what kind you buy. If you're a Country Club fan, go ahead and get one. If you prefer Hurricane, God have mercy, tear it up. No brand should be associated with 40 Day. That's why brown-bagging is so important. It's all about celebrating the camaraderie -- February 9th is no day for brand loyalty or malt liquor snobbery."
I tried to scan my notebook surreptitiously for another question. "40s have seen a falloff in popularity since the mid-90s. Why is that?"
"40's have always been popular among, shall we say, certain circles. For the rest of the people out there who piss more in toilets than alleys, I guess it's all about the rappers. When Ice Cube told people that St. Ide's would get your girl in the mood quicker and get your jimmy thicker, they liked the stuff, and now that Busta Rhymes says pass the Courvesier, that's their thing. Nothing's changed for me."
"What can people do to increase awareness of this much maligned yet fiscally-responsible beverage?"
He was looking me in the eye again. "Buy some." I turned away and back. Still looking. "And share it."
I squinted to make out the last question. "Can you describe the boutique, the j'nais c'est qua, the quality that keeps you coming back to this immortal nectar?"
"Dude," he said, handing me the bottle, "You need this more than me." And as I sipped, I remembered. The subtle, intricate flavor of malt liquor is an acquired taste, like bagpipe music or pepper spray. Though it can come across as excessively piquant to the novice drinker, you never lose your taste for it the same way a scar never heals.
Malt liquor has all but fallen off the cultural radar, but thanks to the tireless work of unsung heroes like Willie, it can rise again. Certainly, anyone who has once experienced its power could set aside one night a year in tribute to the drink that doesn't ask much and never judges.
The morning after my first 40 was also the morning of my first malt liquor hangover. As I stoically rode it out by swearing never to drink the stuff again, I was informed with much amusement that my night had ended on the second-story back deck, from which I had leaned over the railing and vomited like a seasick sailor into the ocean of partiers below. I laughed, secretly proud of myself for such excess and debauchery, until I was presented with the bottle, three inches of warm malt liquor swishing in the bottom.
Epilogue
When I returned to the diner to confirm Willie's quotes, the busboy told me he hadn't shown up for work in two weeks. He's missing and presumed inebriated. But his baby has been adopted, and so the first annual National 40 Day will be held this year in his honor.