On my second pot of coffee, I curled up on the couch, covered myself up with a blanket and fought the horrendous, inevitable heaviness of my eyelids.

Horrendous, because I had been looking forward to this night all week. Inevitable, because it had been a very long week and I was usually unable to pump myself up with enough caffeine to keep awake.

Gulping my coffee and getting up for another refill, it was finally time. I hurried back to the sofa and plopped down.

The black and white image flashed on the TV screen and the opening music for “What’s My Line?” began.

Always, at that moment, I was excited to watch my favorite show and irked that the Game Show Network played it at three in the morning.

I sat, transfixed, watching Dorothy Kilgallen and Arlene Francis battle it out to guess the mystery guest or to hurry up and figure out the last line.

After the last goodbye by John Daly, I dragged myself upstairs, climbed into bed and listened to the early-early-early morning newscast on the radio. Good times.