Biology, physiology, psychology and all those other “ologies” are fine, I guess, up to a point … or “Happy Father’s Day”

I’m a night person. I obviously wasn’t born a night person but I became one professionally upon my relocation to Dallas 43 years ago and now because of one, two or more of those “ologies” my body is conditioned to that fact of nature.

Helen Thomas with What's-His-Name

I came to Dallas in 1968 to go to work at the Southwestern Division headquarters of United Press International which, at that time, was the Associated Press’ chief competition. Walter Cronkite, among other great newsmen, cut his chops at UPI, which was also the home for many years of the legendary White House reporter Helen Thomas. I was what was known as a desk man for UPI, which meant simply I was a writer. The other half of the UPI news team were the reporters, people like Thomas, who would cover news events, get to the nearest telephone (no cell phones back then) and call their notes in to the nearest UPI office. The desk men like me would then take these notes and transform them into a coherent news story. The reporter always got the byline and I used to joke (although it was an accurate statement even though I meant it in a humorous, certainly non-malicious, manner) that I wrote far more stories under Helen Thomas’s byline than I did my own. The normal working shift for a desk man at UPI was 3 p.m. until midnight, with an hour off for dinner. Basically, hours that will turn you into a night person.

Six months after I arrived, I was appointed the Southwest Division’s Overnight News Editor. That meant I was working Sunday nights from 10 p.m. until 6 a..m., and Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays from 6 p.m. to 3 a.m. That’s when I learned about a phenomenon that existed then called “T.I. parties.” State government strictly regulated the hours commercial adult beverage watering holes could operate, but a loophole allowed saloons to operate outside of these hours for private parties. Many workers at T.I. assembly facilities worked the same wacky hours as newsmen and women, cops, short order cooks, etc., and, so the story goes, these T.I. personnel would secure many of these bars for after-hours private parties exclusively for their workers. Actually, this was the story concocted by the bars to stay open late. The late night grapevine always knew where the “T.I. parties” were being held, so even though I got off work at 3 a.m., I, like any worker, knew exactly where to go to get the dust out of my mouth, if I cared to do so, after work. Those hours will definitely turn you into a night person.

After I left UPI, during which time I was also doing a lot of freelance writing for Rolling Stone and Circus magazines, I took a full time rock ‘n’ roll gig with the Dallas Morning News. Now, as anyone who’s in the business will tell you, rock ‘n’ roll lives at night. The only people who could make a living in the rock ‘n’ roll business when the sun was up were disc jockeys and record company executives. The rest of us lived for the nighttime. It was also around this time that I met the great Joe Miller. Joe, at the time, was the bartender at The Den in the Stoneleigh Hotel. Greatest bartender I ever knew. He could make a Manhattan that went down more smoothly than water on a typical Texas summer day (I won’t bore you here with the story about the night I drank around a dozen, more or less, of those smooth Manhattans than I really should have). Joe eventually opened his own bar on Lemmon Avenue between Cole and McKinney. Often, after covering a rock concert, I would venture over to Joe’s to “wind down” before going home. Now you would think I would become suspicious when I asked Joe for a drink and he would reply “Get it yourself,” but we were usually too engrossed in conversations aimed at solving all the really most important problems of the world for me to pay that much attention to the slight inconvenience. That’s why it was often a shock when I left Joe’s windowless bar and the sun was shining. Yes, I was definitely a night person to stay. To me, getting out of bed early meant waking up at what I called “the crack of noon.”

I bring all this up because I am convinced all the “ologies” condition your body at an early age and there is nothing that can be done to combat it. Take tonight, for instance. My work schedule was recently, although thankfully only temporarily, altered in such a manner that it required me to rise on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays right around the same time the sun peeped over the horizon. I quickly discovered that the combination of the “ologies” conditioning with the ravages of old age rendered me close to exhaustion on Saturday evenings and falling over the brink on Sunday nights. But today (OK, technically it was yesterday now) was Father’s Day, of course. So after my post-work romping around with my puppy, I quickly showered, and my son and I headed out to our favorite Tex-Mex joint for a Father’s Day dinner and much-desired Father’s Day margaritas. I figured I could put off the exhaustion until I got home. Which I did. But by 9:30 p.m., much to the bewilderment of the puppy who had never seen me hit the sheets that early, I was between the covers and off to dreamland. That’s where the “ologies” took over. The “ologies” dictate to any night person attempting to go to sleep at 9:30 p.m., that this is only a nap. It’s not like you’re going to sleep for the night, even though that was really — I mean really — my intention. So, as a result, the “ologies” woke me at 11:30 and here I am, writing the night away.

I don’t suppose anyone knows a good “ology adjustment bureau”?