The Drug Years

I first tried marijuana when I was a Freshman in High School. It was Christmas vacation in the basement of my friend Chris' house. Chris got some grass (marijuana) from a friend of his brother, and being novices we decided to mix it with tobacco and stuff it in filtered cigarettes. We hung over his fireplace with the fire lit so that his parents wouldn't smell the odor when they came home. We quickly inhaled and exhaled the cigarettes rapidly, not knowing how real tokers held in the smoke for as long as possible thus becoming world record breath holders.

My friends were whimps. They each gave me what they couldn't finish. I sat by the fireplace long after everybody else had quit, not realizing how high I was getting, until it was time for me to go visit the High School guidance counselor because I was flunking a class.

As I walked to school the street curb by my feet didn't seem normal; the curb and the street seemed much farther away than usual. In fact, nothing seemed normal, I was stoned out of my mind. When I got to school I pretended to listen to my counselor, but had no idea what he was saying. I sat in a chair across from his desk while my mind wandered; turning totally inward. While I heard blah blah blah I wondered if he could tell I was stoned. He must have noticed. I thought about it over and over, but in the end, he said nothing and I concluded that he didn't have a clue.

Six months later my friend Al held out a hand full of Mescaline (the stuff that makes peyote do what it does). I took a pill and nothing happened for several hours.

At the time I worked as a bus boy at a famous Milwaukee restaurant and that night I went in to my shift. Unfortunately, just as I was about ready to start work, the mescaline hit me with full affect. For the next few hours, I did my best to hold my life together, unable to stop grinning, and hoping nobody would notice.

During Easter vacation of my Sophomore year, I and my friends met some others and decided to break into and party in the house of a vacationing friend. We found the door unlocked, so we went in, stole liquor, smoked pot and partied. The next night still working as a bus boy, I got a call from my parents saying there was an emergency in the family.

My dad picked me up saying nothing. We picked up my mom and went to the local police station. Somebody had turned me and my friends into the police for what we did the night before.

In the police station I made up a story about what I did the night before, but they seemed to know everything already, so bit by bit my alibi fell apart and bit by bit I admitted to everything that happened the night before.

When that was all said and done, they asked me about how I got the marijuanna. I told them everything, still thinking that alibis were useless. I told them how my other friend's brother sold it to me. It never occured to me that there were no other witnesses at the selling of marijuana. I also had no idea that my friend and his brother were scrambling around their house, looking for stashes of drugs to throw away and vacuuming the entire house to dispose of any drugs. Their mom hired the best lawyer in the state and they were preparing for the worst.

Weeks later I was taken out of class by the local police and driven downtown Milwaukee to a judge. It was a small room that looked more like an office in some federal building. The police were in the room as was the D.A., the judge and my friend's lawyer.

The D.A. tried to convince the judge that we should go to trial to convict my friend's brother, but the D.A. wasn't convinced that anything could happen without a witness. That's when the D.A. responded, "But we do have a witness, someone who was there when the marijuanna was sold."

At the time I was caught, marijuanna was a Felony second only to murder. I was up to some serious stuff and the state was looking for some solid news worthy drug breaking case.

When I heard the lawyers talk it dawned on me for the first time. A light went off in my head - When I bought the pot I was the only person who was there who could testify! Nobody else was there except my friend and his brother!

The judged cleared the room for my testimony. It was just me and the lawyers and the judge in a very small room that looked like it may be the judge's office. The judge looked at me and told me to let him know what I had to say about the night I bought marijuanna from my friend's brother.

Without even a second to breath I said, "Well, I don't really remember." The D.A. was irate. "We have your written testimony!" That was easy to answer for me, "I was under pressure from the police that night." The judge threw out the case, and because the D.A. spent so much time on the pusher, he lost his opportunity with the rest of us, or maybe he just decided it wasn't worth it. Whatever the case may be, I was scared for about a year that I might end up in some sort of juvinile prison.

I heard that several of the guys from the older grades found the guy who turned us in and beat him quite badly.

I got superstitious during that part of my life. I seemed to get caught a lot during Holy Days. This event happened during Easter vacation, and during a previous Christmas vacation I got caught stealing toys I was going to give as presents from a local store. I decided to tone down during Christmasses and Easters after awhile.

LSD

January 1970 I don't remember the first time I took LSD. I do know that I only took a half of a tablet for fear that I may go insane. I heard somewhere that there were people who went on permanent trips and ended up in insane assylums, so I entered the world of LSD with caution. Because I took only partial tablets for the first couple of times, I never hallucinated and therefore began to believe that hallucinations were just myths passed around by the media. I also learned from the media that LSD users often claimed to have religious experiences talking to God, which I didn't know what to think of. Everything I knew about LSD changed in January 1970. I sat in the basement of my friend Pat. There were about 6 or 7 of us there and I had some Acid (LSD) I obtained earlier. I took the whole pill, smoked a lot of pot and sat at a table staring at a candle flame. On the verge of hallucination, just before things got crazy, something or someone claiming to be God inwardly talked to me, telling me someone very big was going to die a few months from then. I knew the person mentioned to me but didn't take it seriously until the death occurred at the given time. I didn't really take this "God event" seriously, until the death took place. 

Seconds after I heard "god" tell me the future, I reached over to get a cigarette, my arm broke into a dozen slices up and down. "Wow," I exclaimed. My conclusion about acid being non-hallucinagenic changed in a moment. I loved it. All around me the colors and sounds began to distort. After four hours of fun and feeling great, a heavy paranoia settled in. I was still climbing, getting higher and higher. The hallucinations and the feelings inside were getting more intense. I began to wonder, "Am I going to get down at all? Am I going to go on a permanent trip? Are they going to have to put me away in some mental institution for the rest of my life because I am insane... permanently high on LSD? The fear was intense - more than I ever felt fear before. For two hours I walked back and forth in a panic feeling tremendous paranoia, until after six hours of hallucination I began to come down. I was relieved but still wanted to stay high - just not hallucinating anymore. 

 It was the first of many trips I took on Acid. I used to keep a journal about my drug days. By Senior year of High School I was high 28-30 days a month. I never had any more God talks on drugs, and it took a couple of years for me to be able to discover who I was really talking to.

Mr. Gunderson and the Jesus Freaks

In High School English class I told the guy who sat in front of me in English class of a death coming. I don't know why I said it. When the death took place, he turned around in his chair and asked, "How did you know?" Without answering I put my head on my desk and went to sleep, after all it was English class. I slept in History class as well. 

 Every day I came in right after lunch, so I was freshly high from whatever I swallowed or smoked for lunch. Unknown to me was the girl who sat next to me praying every day, day after day, burdened for the guy next to her that was without a doubt stoned. One of my favorite drugs was PCP or also known as the Horse Tranquilizer. I first took it in my Senior year. I took it early morning before school began but didn't feel its effects until about 3 hours later in between classes. I only remember holding tightly onto the stairway rails to avoid falling. 

 My favorite teacher was Mr. Gunderson. He was not well liked by other faculty and many of the other students, but some of us loved him. He was openly bi-sexual and taught New Age thought even before New Age was popular. His was a communications course and I spent every possible free hour in his room listening to him teach. I thought he was the greatest. There was one day 2 Jesus Freaks came to our school - they were long haired hippies who became born-again Christians. They witnessed in the hallways until some teachers grabbed them and put them in front of the auditorium where several classes met to hear them. Now realize at this time born again Christians were not well known like they are today. At that time they were a novelty. As several classes sat in auditorium seats we listened as one of the Jesus Freaks told us how God got a hold of him and changed his life. While he was talking the other one sat behind him mumbling to himself looking as if he were in some kind of trance. Somebody next to me said he was praying in tongues which made no sense to me. 

 They were a novelty and nothing more to me until the speaker said something that hit home with me. He said, "We don't worry about tomorrow, because Jesus takes care of all our needs." As he spoke those words, I felt something different... something that compelled me to find out more about what this guy was talking about. For the next few hours I felt different, I felt like there was something special to find with these guys - I felt like some sort of Christianity was calling me and this was a taste of what was to come. I went to Mr. Gunderson's class in the afternoon still hungry to learn more about what these guys had. It filled my thoughts and seemed to fill Mr. Gunderson's as well, but he evidently felt differently than I did about it. He attacked the message of the Jesus Freaks talking about how wrong they were. He looked for every fault he could. While the class nodded their heads in total agreement with Mr. Gunderson, my great feeling of hunger turned to intense hatred for Mr. Gunderson. 

 It was an odd feeling - I was mad at Mr. Gunderson because he was speaking bad about something I wanted to pursue. The feeling was very strong- unusually strong. And the feeling was followed up with a question within me..."If I can hate someone for the first time like this, then this feeling about Christianity has to be wrong." I listened and I agreed for I somehow related that hunger feeling with Christianity. So I abandoned my quest for what the two guys were talking about. The Jesus Freaks left my thoughts and I went on with my drug filled life. The last thing Mr. Gunderson said that class was, "You know what really bothers me? What if they're right?"

Mr. Hiken and the Firecrackers

May 1971

My favorite High School teacher besides Mr. Gunderson was Mr. Hiken. These two teachers were as different as night is from day. Mr. Gunderson was openly bi-sexual and taught New Age Philosophy. My Hiken was a devout Jew who headed up a Jewish boys camp during the summer and taught Math during the school year. Mr. Gunderson's classes were filled with discussion and talk. Mr. Hiken's classes were strictly lecture. Mr. Gunderson allowed the students free reign, Mr. Hiken was a no-nonsense teacher.

Mr. Hiken won me over the first day I had him in Math class Sophomore year. During my Freshman year of Math, the teacher was an adult nerd; the students controlled the class with spitballs, tacks on chairs, ripping the window blinds, cussing, swearing and anything else we could do to keep the class under our control. I was the worse in the class gaining the most detentions and leading the class in bad behavior.

On the first day of Mr. Hiken's class I resorted to my previous year's antics. I cannot remember what I did, but I do remember Mr. Hiken's immediate response. "There will be no horseplay in this class!" I could tell immediately that he meant every word of that. From that day forward I respected Mr. Hiken and gave every bit I could to study and learn Math. It was the only class in all of High School that I tried to do well in. By the end of my Sophomore year I had two A's and two B's. I also began thinking that I would be some sort of accountant in life because I loved Math so much. That summer I visited Mr. Hiken at his camp.

Two years later I was close to graduation. I had firecrackers and had been lighting them off from time to time in the bathrooms of the school. Nobody could figure out who was doing them because I tied the firecrackers around a lit cigarette and left them behind the toilet of any one of the bathrooms. Ten minutes later the firecrackers rang through the halls. The entire school was abuzz trying to figure out who was lighting firecrackers and how I could get away so fast - after all there were teachers who ran into the bathroom as soon as they heard the fireworks only to find that I was gone. Nobody suspected a cigarette, because the boy's room always smelled like smoke from kids like me who snuck cigarettes in during breaks.

I kept up with the fun for several weeks until one day, one week from the last day of school Senior year. Classes were just getting out so boys were lining up at the urinals and toilets. My good friend Sean happened to be there, so I showed him a pack of firecrackers I had. Faster than I could think he grabbed them, lit them with his cigarette, and tore off. The bathroom was filled with the popping of 40 firecrackers filling the room. Curiosity drew everybody in the hallways to the boys' room while I walked away trying not to look guilty. It didn't work.

Being the only teacher in the hall at the time, Mr. Hiken stopped me. "So you're the one." I think he had mixed feellings. Glad that he and he alone (among teachers) knew who lit the firecrackers, but not wanting to punish me so close to the end of my school year. He looked at me for awhile and then said, "You owe me one."

I slept through every History class and the teacher never said anything until the last week of school. I was called to his desk and he told me that I had to pass the final exam or I would flunk History. I didn't know what to do because I never read the homework or listened to any lecture. If I flunked History, I would not get my diploma and there was no way I could possibly pass. I studied 3 hours for the test knowing it was all in vain. I took the test and nothing seemed to go my way. As I usually did, I BSed my way through the writing section and guessed on the multiple choice questions.

Several days later I came into school during my day off, during teacher's grading day- and asked my teacher how I did. He said I passed. "What grade did I get?" He just repeated himself, "You passed." I knew that he was only passing me out of mercy for the kid who showed interest for the first time the whole year.

Busted in the Coast Guard

September 1971 I thought about suicide a lot during High School, I just never got real serious about it until one day as I was sitting on my bed. I was not really creative about it at all but had decided I could throw myself in front of a moving bus. I don't know if I would have really gone through with my ideas, because as I was pondering, something inside said, "Why kill yourself? You might find the answer to life later." From that day I never thought about suicide; I lived with hope that some day I would find the anwer to life. 

 Two or three years later in boot camp for the U.S. Coast Guard, John (a friend) and I got caught with stealing paint thinner in desperation to get high. We had to go before several commanders in order to face our fate. John and I both decided that we would travel to San Francisco, never to talk to our families again. I don't know why John would leave his family, but for me, I couldn't handle facing my parents after disappointing them again. They were so thrilled I had joined the Coast Guard. 

 For money John thought we would sell ourselves as male prostitutes / gigolos. Upon reflection, I was not too thrilled with the idea. Nevertheless, we had settled on San Francisco. The officer taking us to the commander told us we were getting kicked out of the service and as I waited outside of the commander's office John was taken in for what seemed like an eternity. When he came out he was smiling, showing me a sheet of paper. "We're out!" It was a bit surreal as I walked into the commander's office waiting for my papers. The commander asked me about my drug history. I told him everything because I just didn't care. He asked me why I joined the Coast Guard. I told him, "To find the answer to life." "Did you find it?" I looked down, "No." "You don't know what you're talking about," he replied. "Yes I do." "No you don't." "Yes I do." He stopped the bantering. I felt like we were like two kids, but then I was only 18. He was in his middle ages. "We have decided to toss out your friend on a medical discharge - he has a soft spot on his temple. And if we get rid of him, you won't be a problem."  In fact, we're going to put you in 'Red Belt' camp for a couple of weeks to get you in line." Red Belts was where the losers and troublemakers went. Boot Camp was torture for everybody except Red Belts; it was pure hell for them.

Busted part 2

In 1971 most teenagers wanted nothing to do with VietNam. The war was still going on strong and enough families had to deal with dead or maimed sons. Soldiers who fought and came back to the States were vilified, spat upon and considered child killers. Plenty of demonstrations had taken their toll on the country. By the time I got out of High School, most teens wanted nothing to do with signing up for the military. I was no different, but I had nowhere to go. I knew I would flunk out of college and I feared the draft. If my draft number came up low, I would be forced into the service and dragged into an unpopular war. My parents had been harrassing me about seeing a recruiter for quite some time, so to get them off my back I went to a Coast Guard recruiting station. There were two men who tried to tell me how wonderful it was to be in the service. They told me about all the benefits and opportunities and on and on. I knew they were exaggerating everything, but they did say that the Coast Guard was not in VietNam. In fact, the Coast Guard gave all their ships to the Vietnamese years ago. That caught my interest. I could join the Coast Guard and get out of Wisconsin, not worry about the next four years and avoid getting drafted into the Army. 

 Unfortunately, before I could be accepted in the Coast Guard I had to pass a multiple choice test with 70% or better. I had two chances to pass. The first day I went I got a 68%. The second day I handed the test to the teacher and he graded it - I got a 66% which meant I had failed and would not be allowed into the Coast Guard. But strangely, that day the teacher had decided to give 3 answers to anybody with 66% or 68%. I passed with the lowest possible score. 

 I officially joined the Coast Guard in the summer of 1971. Boot Camp started in August 1971. I flew to Cape May, NJ, met John, another long haired guy who joined me as we travelled to the base. During our first couple of days we all got a kick out of the people who had long hair, because we all got our hair cut down to the scalp. Only one other guy had longer hair than mine. John and I spent the first week working in a Dental office cleaning up for them, boot camp didn't start for me until the following week. Toward the end of the first week John and I got caught stealing paint thinner as I mentioned in my last blog. He was thrown out of the service and I was to be placed in 2 extra weeks of Boot Camp in the Red Belts - designed to break even the strongest of wills. 

 I walked out of the Commander's office rather disappointed. I had hoped I would get kicked out and was geared up for that. I also told the Commander all about my drug life. But something happened to change everything. The next person I was sent to had more authority than the Commander of the base, because he wanted to put me into a company immediately and keep me out of Red Belts. He called the place where the next company was being formed... they had just finished. So I worked dish detail with the exiting company for 16 hours a day for one week. After one week of dish detail I was placed in a company and began 10 weeks of chaos. People around me complained about being in the service, "I'm going to kill my recruiter. This isn't what they told me." But I never bought half the stuff the recruiters told me, so I was not caught off guard. In fact, I expected it to be difficult for the weeks I was in Boot Camp. What I didn't expect was being threatened constantly with Red Belts. 

 Every day I saw the Red Belt camp running around the base being punished about something. Even in the torture of Boot Camp they stood out as the place nobody wanted to be in, and I most certainly did not want to be in there. Worst of all whoever went into Red Belts had to stay extra weeks in Boot Camp. During Boot Camp whoever gets 30 demerits is put into Red Belts for at least a week and I kept building up demerits; I didn't shave one day - demerits. My shoes were not up to speck - demerits. I was caught not being at full attention - demerits. I amassed 33 demerits and yet the Drill Sergeant never said anything. The Drill Sergeant was a young Mormon Priest. Sure, just about every Mormon male over the age of 12 is a priest, but I didn't know that then. I guess Mormons like to give out blessings like the Patriarchs of Genesis; at least it seems that my Drill Sergeant liked to. So on the last day of Boot Camp as we all graduated in our nice new uniforms the Drill Sergeant went one by one telling everybody how cool they were. "You have been a strong man, and you will lead well into the future." he told one guy. Another was complimented in a different way until all of us received some sort of compliment/blessing. When he came to me he said, "You gave me heartburn." That was all he said. 

 Something was going on in my life that was very weird; my Math teacher (Mr. Hiken) letting me get away with fireworks in school, my History teacher giving me an undeserved passing grade and now my Drill Sargeant overlooking my demerits. Until that year, I didn't get away with things like that. It was weird, almost like I was being led by something bigger than me...led to where, I didn't know, nor did I think about it at the time.

A Ship in Charleston

October 1971


I got out of Boot Camp by the skin of my teeth. After seeing my friend kicked out and after exceeding the amount of demerits necessary for putting me extra weeks in Boot Camp, and after passing a Coast Guard test I should have flunked, I somehow got out at the end of October with only one extra week.

I had 10 days of furlough (vacation) before I had to turn up for duty in Charleston, SC. During those 10 days I bought enough hash to keep me stoned until I made connections in SC for further supplies. I brough two grams of hash with me.

Charleston was a pretty Southern City with a great downtown area in which was one head shop (where I hung out looking at the newest pipes, and drug paraphernalia). I got to know the owner and his friends pretty well in the next few days. The owner was a Beatles fanatic. He loved the Beatles and had two copies of the Butcher album for sale - it was an album by the Beatles that was banned in the U.S. and England because it had the Beatles holding decapitated baby dolls with raw red meat strewn around. They were hard to find because they were either trashed by the record companies or rarely one could find the album covered up with a newer and nicer version of the Beatles known as "Yesterday and Today."

My stay at Charlston was only 10 days. During that stay while I painted, cleaned and did odd jobs around the station, the Coast Guard was going to let me know where I was going to be permanently stationed. I knew that it would be either NC, SC or FL, but I didn't know which state until the end of my 10 days.

There was a ship docked at the Charleston base that was called the U.S. PawPaw. It was a buoy tender that went out almost daily to clean and repair buoys. On one of my days on the base station one of the workers from the PawPaw ran up to me, and shook, saying, "Get me off that ship, trade with me, I'll go anywhere." I heard his tale about the ship that nobody wanted to go near. The Coast Guard district used it as a ship on which they could put their biggest trouble makers, and worse workers. Morale on the ship was as low as it gets. It was the punishment camp of the district. This crazy guy's haunting stories about the PawPaw saved me from a world of trouble in the days ahead.

Near the end of my time in Charleston two officers from the base came with a hat with four names in it. There were four of us who were to be transferred to permanent stations and the officers told us the names of the four stations. Two were on board a small ship in Tampa, FL, one was on a buoy tender in Jacksonville, FL called the U.S. Sweetgum and one was the PawPaw in Charleston, SC. We were told that after we had chosen our destination from the hat we could exchange with each other if we wanted. So we picked one by one. The first guy picked Tampa, the second picked out Jacksonville and then the third guy and I opened ours at the same time.

When I saw the one I chose a wave of terror came over me... It was the PawPaw in Charleston, SC. I thought of that guy who grabbed me and panicked. I looked at the guy who had chosen the Sweetgum in Jacksonville, FL. I knew he lived in NC and hoping he would prefer being closer to home asked him if he would trade with me. He said yes. I was relieved, I would rather have had Tampa, but was quite happy getting out of the PawPaw. While we exchanged the names of our destination, the officers both looked at us and said to the guy who took the PawPaw, "You will regret that one."

Six months later he was reported AWOL.