nobody asked…

There was no way I could have even suspected that an evening involving chianti, brandy, and a cheap cigar would result in a feat with such a WOW! factor and a world record. It was January, 1962. I was 19 and in my sophomore year at The University of Tennessee, but out of school for the winter quarter on an Engineering Co-op work assignment. Jim, with whom I shared an apartment, had gone home for the weekend, and my fiancee was 400 miles away, working in Memphis at the other end of the state. So when a friend called and invited me over for a spaghetti dinner, I was quickly into it. Jack was a fellow inmate in the Electrical Engineering college at UT. He and his wife Fran looked out for their single friends who might be in need of actual food and understanding companionship. So this Friday night, I allowed them to look out for me.

Fran’s spaghetti was excellent, at least for my southern taste back then. They had a couple of bottles of cheap chianti, that we sipped while unraveling the philosophical concepts behind the woven straw jackets on the oddly shaped bottles until we were certain that our Italian accents were passable in Tuscany. Later, Jack went to the closet and broke out a bottle of brandy he had been saving for a special occasion. He had somehow decided that this was such, what with it being Friday and all. After a couple of snifters of that nose-hair singeing nectar, accompanied by one of Jack’s always present cigars, I knew it was time to go and hit the sack. We opened the door of their apartment onto a winter wonderland. While we had been engorging ourselves, snow had quietly blanketed the neighborhood in a couple of inches of fluffy white. No problem. My pad was only a couple of blocks from their place. I was an expert at driving in snow, having done it once without mishap. And besides, I spoke Italian. So I drove home and fell into bed around midnight.

I was awakened either by the bright sunlight streaming in the window or by a bladder screaming to be set free. I was damn fortunate the bathroom was not another 5 feet away or the bladder might have taken on a life of its own along the way. After peeing a barrel full, I splashed hot water on my face to wake up. That’s when I realized how stiff and creaky I was. Every joint was almost frozen. Oh, well, I’ll turn the heat up and make some coffee and all will be well, I thought.

As the coffee perked, I peeked out to see that most of the snow had already melted. Strange that it would go so quickly. A glance at the clock as I poured the first cup showed almost noon. Oh my god, I had slept almost 12 hours! No wonder my joints were creaky. Next time I need a good long sleep I need to remember — cheap chianti, brandy, and cigars.

With heavy head and achy bones, I didn’t want to do anything except warm up, drink my coffee, smoke a cigarette, and maybe stare at a test pattern on my new 19″ black and white TV. Hoping for some inane Saturday morning cartoons, I turned it on. A church service? I adjusted the rabbit ears and changed the channel. Another church service. That’s why we have three channels — to satisfy our discerning personal choices. Flip… What th’… Another church service. What the hell is going on here? After a couple of minutes of scratching around, growing more uneasy by every tick of the twilight zone clock in my head, I found the telephone, yanked it up, and dialed Jack’s number. He sounded out of breath, so I asked if he was OK. He said yeah, all was fine, he just got winded running up the stairs. They were just getting back from church.

“Church?” I asked. “What were you doing in church this morning?”

“Oh, just the usual Sunday morning service. Why?”

“Well… ah, uh, I was just trying to get my watch set and wondered if you have the correct time.”

“Sure. The old Hamilton says 12:17.”

“And the date?”

“You don’t even know the date? You OK?”

“Yeah, fine. What’s the date?”

“January 14th. Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s all. Talk to you later. Bye…”

My hand was shaking as I searched for the calendar, half hidden under an accumulation of magazines and newspapers. OH. MY. GOD. January 14, 1962. This is Sunday! I lost a day out of my life… And as it sank in, I realized I had slept almost 36 hours without waking up. From Friday midnight, right through Saturday, and until almost noon on Sunday. Make it 35 hours, 45 minutes. OH. MY. GOD. My mind went into overdrive trying to remember what I had missed on Saturday. I lit a cigarette and poured another cup of coffee. Before long I had calmed down enough to start enjoying my accomplishment. If Jim had arrived just then, he would have been most certain that I had gone quite mad, sitting there on the floor in my underwear, smoking and drinking coffee, and belly-laughing until I thought I would burst. Thirty-five and three-freaking-quarter hours without waking or wetting the bed. Winston Rand: World Record Sleeper…