Marijuana..the first time

 In 1967 while watching a CBS Reports Documentary on Haight-Asbury and the burgeoning hippie movement with my mom was when I received my first warning regarding marijuana. The correspondent remarked that in these hippies eyes,their use of marijuana contributed to their peaceful mannerisms and outlook on life. My remark to my mom was marijuana must not be as bad as they wanted to portray it if meant bringing about peace.

            " Woe be unto you if I EVER catch you using marijuana!"

When mom meant business,she would invoke Biblical imagery and when she used the word "Woe", it was with the full intention of the fear of God or mom to sink in.

Now it might have seemed strange in 1967 for my mom to give me any warnings about deviating from the path that was set out for me. At the time I was generally a well behaved kid who mostly played by the rules and had been an A student to boot. Mom believed in my potential and she wholeheartedly supported my intention to become President of the United States one day. To that end,she enrolled me in Kingswood School, a rather exclusive college prep school in West Hartford Connecticut.I received a scholarship to attend to boot. If one graduated from Kingswood,one had a better than 50/50 chance of attending an Ivy League college,and according to Mom,that would be my ticket to the White House.

Almost from the time I first stepped foot on Kingswood's campus I hated it.  I had always been teased and ridiculed throughout my school life,but here it took on different undertones. In elementary school,I'd be teased for things like being ugly and being a bookworm. Now kids were waving dollar bills in front of me asking if I had ever seen one before and daring me to pull out my switchblade (which I never owned)  In elementary school,I always my good grades to fall back on even if the social element was terrible,however at Kingswood,the adjustment to a new school proved to be difficult and for failing Math,I was asked to leave the school. By the time I was kicked out, I didn't care . I began to think if assholes like these were the ones who grew up to run the country,maybe there needed to be a different way.

The one good thing about that school year was becoming a volunteer in my first Presidential campaign. Every Saturday,I'd take the bus to a section just off of downtown Hartford to the Headquarters of the Eugene McCarthy for President campaign. I had to be the youngest volunteer in the office,but it didn't seem to matter to them. I always felt welcomed when I showed up and whether it was stuffing envelopes,making phone calls or leafletting,my efforts seemed appreciated by the other volunteers.

Mom being a political activist herself didn't discourage me from volunteering for McCarthy (although she was working on behalf of the LBJ and later Humphrey campaign) However, reports began to surface about hippies cutting their hair "Clean for Gene" but spending hours at headquarters smoking pot. It wasn't long after those reports began to surface when I began to get interrogated anytime I returned from McCarthy Headquarters. At that time I couldn't tell you what marijuana looked like and I never saw anyone smoking anything while I was there (Note:Years later when I got to meet McCarthy he told me he did indeed have to spend money bailing out volunteers who had gotten busted) 

                                     "Woe be unto you! "

Although I would attend for one year the Mark Twain School in Hartford wearing a jacket and tie to school like I was still in a prep school and carrying my books in a briefcase,there was one student Deborah Caskey who seemed to see through my facade. We were the only ones in my 8th grade class that liked the music of Jimi Hendrix,Cream,and the Fugs,music I had been turned onto at McCarthy headquarters. One day,she asked if I would come to her house after school to "smoke grass". I turned her offer down,but now I'm beginning to wonder why people are thinking including my mom that I'm the pot smoking type??

Fast Forward..I'm at another prep school, this time it is the Watkinson School in Hartford. For the first time in my school life I'm feeling accepted and I'm not being teased ruthlessly. While Watkinson was a prep school,it was not an Ivy League feeder and in fact had a reputation for being the school where "rejects" from the likes of Kingswood would attend. By my sophomore year,I am becoming aware of various classmates of mine who were smoking marijuana. While none of them were my closest friends,at the end of that year, I determined going into my my junior year I was going to do extensive research on the subject.

I went on a campaign to obtain books and literature on the subject while also being aware of who seemed to like or dislike marijuana. Jack Webb on Dragnet busted people who looked like my friends at McCarthy headquarters and would speak of marijuana's evils. The music I liked seemed to be linked with marijuana usage..Then there was this book "Child's Garden of Grass" Deborah Caskey told me about that book in 8th grade but now I see it in a book store and I use the cash I had saved from doing odd jobs to buy it. It was funny serious and cool to read. At the end of my junior year,I decided I would try marijuana the next time it was ever offered.

In the fall of our senior year,the Watkinson School senior class along with some faculty members went on a camping trip in the Adirondack Mountains in Upstate New York. This was my first real experience with Nature and that in itself was serving to widen horizons and change perspectives. 

I had nothing to lose in experiencing new perspectives. I knew that in a year's time I'd be in Alaska.

The faculty at Watkinson knew there would be alcohol during this camping trip,but despite their attempts to limit its use,there was widespread drinking starting from the first night. I had begun drinking during the summer between my junior and senior years but I was a lightweight and had only allowed myself to get tipsy at that point.

That first night,I drank white wine..lots of white wine..too much white wine.  Class and faculty were all sitting inside a cabin and I realized I wasn't doing too well. Most were too drunk to notice 

One student did seem to notice my predicament. Her name was Roberta Marcowicz  Roberta told me I could use some fresh air and offered to walk with me. Her gesture stood out to me. She was new to Watkinson and we didn't share any classes. While I felt embarrassment for being drunk she seemed to hold no judgement. She walked with me till I felt well enough to take care of myself. I appreciated her efforts.

The next day in the Adirondacks featured a lot of firsts..first time hiking..first time canoeing,first campfires. None of us were in great shape for the morning campfire. (That picture is captured in the 1973 Watkinson Yearbook) but life as I knew it was changing and expanding.

The next night was not spent inside a cabin but rather farther away from the main cabin and lean to's where most students crashed with their sleeping bags. A few students brought tents,but I knew nothing about tents at that time. The only thing similar to the night before was student and (some) faculty drinking. While I switched from wine to beer that night,the memory of the night before was vivid and I was having trouble drinking the beer I had.

I was about to hit the trail and return to my lean to when I was approached by Roberta. She was accompanied by her friend and classmate Lori Redfield.

Roberta to me "We have something that is much better for you than alcohol. Would you like to come back to our tent and smoke marijuana with us?"

Me:"I've never smoked before"

Roberta: "Would you like to try?"

Roberta,Lori and myself quietly crept away from the rest of the gathering and followed our flashlights on the trail to where Roberta and Lori's tent was pitched. On the way to the tent Lori mentioned the book Child's Garden of Grass and how I needed to read that book. When I told her I had read it already,she remarked "You'll appreciate it better now"

I remember immediately liking the aroma.There was something about it that matched the aroma of nature that we were surrounded with.

Inside this tent we managed to form a circle. Roberta was the first to light her joint. She took some and passed it to me.

I was instructed to inhale and to hold the smoke in. Though I wasn't a tobacco smoker at that point,I had tried so I knew what to do. I held it in. I exhaled and passed it on to Lori.

I didn't know exactly to feel and when Roberta and Lori asked if I felt anything I had to say no. They both assured me that sometimes it takes two or three times before one notices anything.

Lori was the next one to light a joint. She took some and passed it to Roberta.The circle was complete.

Again I was asked if I felt anything,again I said no.,but somehow I knew this was a different and better experience than I had the night before.

When we returned from the Adirondacks,I re read Child's Garden of Grass,it did make more sense than before

It took another few times before I felt the effects of marijuana. The first time I did was at a rock concert..

..But that's another story for another time.