Monday, July 15, 2013

TALE OF A POT SMOKING BULLDOG



THE SUMMER VACATION OF JUSTIN HALE – PART 1

Temecula, CA – Fellow Male High ’63 grad Terry Davis* called me just the other day to report that another ’63 grad, John Thomas*, a Memoirs book patron from the Franco’s dinner, gave the work
a glowing review. That prompted Terry, a retired Vietnam vet who keeps the flame for the black student body of Class 1963, to dive right into his copy.
Now the voice on the other end of the phone expressed a surprised note of admiration for the variety of my dalliances since I wasn’t taken as a slut puppy in high school. I wanted to be but this was before the advent of the birth control pill. Yeah, I’m that old. Lol.

Getting off the phone I paused to wonder what my old family/school friend and fellow Male High Bulldog will think once he reads just a little further. From the references that he used, he, as a reader, stands at the gateway to learning about a world unseen by him. This is the gateway chapter called, ‘Start of the Magical Mystery Tour’, and though featuring the running thread of cannabis [pot], it details when my life path shifted onto a road less traveled.

Though first heard of somewhere in middle school English Lit classes, an actual life path that is ‘the road less traveled’ exists. This road is populated with human people the same as the ‘wide path’, something also spoken of in many books. However, it seems to me, as I trek along this less traveled road still, since I haven’t reached the end of it yet, that the people you meet on this path are similarly unique as they are life enriching upon your personal growth. In short, these people have a ‘magical’ effect on your life in various ways, and sometimes it is tangible, just like in the fables.

Long time readers know that I [and many others] consider this So Cal valley area to be magical; to have a certain ‘free-flowing’ energy in it that aids and abets creativity. Since no one here is immortal but there is a church on every corner, figuratively, rather than a bar, this is a valley of good and evil. Arriving here when the valley was young and having a third wife who was/is a witch [wiccan], I toasted one to the stars one night, as I sat a atop a hill that now is probably a house pad, and applied for Valley Wizard. I was accepted, hence the present hilltop retreat like an Obi-Wan. Heck, I even have a light saber I bring out on Halloween, but I digress.
Going back to my 50 year class reunion was only the start of the summer. I had no plans or plan beyond getting my reunion itinerary paid for. I took no weed but I did take my doctor approved recommendation. Put forward in Memoirs is the thesis that cannabis itself possesses a certain ‘life magic’. This trip with a one-way ticket to my high school class reunion would put that theory to the test, or as we say in the scene, to a ‘road trip’!

The day I blew into Louisville, June 5th, [my late father’s birthday, btw] the Courier-Journal had this front page story, “ACLU Slams Racial Arrests”. Furthermore writer Andrew Wolfson awolson@courier-journal.com inserts that blacks in Kentucky are six times more likely to get popped in the Blue Grass state for puffing green grass than whites.

June 6th I delivered my ‘pot sermon’ about medical marijuana to the grads and sold books to Ellis Bullock* and Al Perry*.
June 7th, sold two more copies of Memoirs at Franco’s to John Thomas* and Mary Skeens*.  
June 8th, a Saturday and two days after my medical pot sermon to my reunion class, the CJ front page picture story headline ran, ‘It’s Illegal Here, But Louisville’s Seeing A ‘MEDICAL’ POT INFLUX, Influx, influx!
OK, I’m kidding about the implied ‘Influx’ reverb but the headline was the same. This time a gentle knock came rapping at my door. It was my host Will, “You made the front page.”
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and wandered out to the dining area just off the patio. I didn’t recall any professional aka newspaper photographers at the dinner, and certainly not at the soul food reunion. Then I saw the newspaper front page and kind of blankly stared at Will. What do you say to a person who has just witnessed ‘a sign’ or coincidence that is tied directly back to you?
Had this happened to one of my friends here like Bill, the publisher, who knows me in the ‘now’, the response would have been [and was] “lol” but what they say about a prophet in his hometown is just as true for wizards, lol.
Later when Ann dropped by to see Will and me, she showed me her copy of the morning newspaper and we talked of her brief acquaintance with Mary Jane. It is for people like Ann, with awareness limited only to pot or people like Will, with no experience and avoidance based on more than government disinformation that I wrote Memoirs for.

Sunday reiterated my coronation as a ‘pot prophet’. In a meeting arranged by Terry, a group of us who attended Plymouth as our home church gathered to take in a sermon. The old church had seen better days physically, but the UCC council still maintains the site as official. As I picked up a program to bring back, Ellis came up to me wearing a grin as broad as when the Royal Dukes, our high school ‘in’ clique social club, made the local black newspaper’s social page.

“Did you see Saturday’s paper? I couldn’t believe it. That was just what you talked about (at the reunion). I’m going to start reading your book on the flight back home,” he said excitedly before the church service started.

In all honesty the article by Mark Boxley mboxley@courier-journal.com dealt with more and more confiscated pot being the medical (marked) kind. Of course that little distinction didn’t matter to my homies. It was the lightning that counted.

And that is just where my friend Terry stands now, at the spot where the magic lightning first hit the ground. Drawn in by the smell of the hunt, Terry is about to find out the women along the cannabis trail are magically diverse, like the plant itself, and just as cryptic; where the term ‘hot box’ is slang, a metaphor, and a given.
Memoirs wasn’t written to start people smoking pot. It was written to reveal the true nature, as revealed to my alter ego, PT Rothschild (aka 'Justin Hale' [Just-In-Hale] from a B-day tee from oldest son, Peter) of a plant 99% of us see as a weed. In the new earth to come, we know we will not be drilling for oil or fracking rocks. Cannabis is the future!
This is the summer vacation of 'Justin Hale', entry one.

Next entry: Once Cool, Now Pot Is Hot/The Review of RS #1185, the Rolling Stone Pot Issue. * - see upcoming story, Peeps Into The Past/The Way You Do The Things You Did

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