[quote=“Confuzius”][quote=“Charlie Jack”]
When I was living in the U. S., I didn’t see any hordes of addicts roaming the streets, and I didn’t see any obvious effects of drug abuse on the population at large. To see open drug dealing, I would have had to make a special effort to seek it out. And I don’t recall ever being approached to buy any of the drugs which are considered to be within the scope of this discussion. So if I were to apply your method of analysis to my home country, I guess I would have to conclude that the U. S. doesn’t have a drug problem.[/quote] This is absurd.
Where did you live in the US, a little frikkin bubble? Or perhaps WAYYYY out in the boonies (where, nowadays, meth and OC are a HUGGGE problem).[/quote]
When I was a teenager in the South in the 1960s, some of the people I hung out with were doing hallucinogenic drugs–mostly marijuana and LSD, psilocybin, mescaline, and maybe some other substances by accident (to cite two examples, a lot of the acid was known to contain speed and strychnine, and I think someone I knew may have accidentally taken PCP thinking it was something else). Without going into details, at that time I also became acquainted–and not from reading–with the idea that some people injected demerol and seconal, and that they took desoxyn. I remember once in my teens, a friend of mine identified a couple of his casual acquaintances as heroin addicts. I never did any of the non-hallucinogenic drugs mentioned above, and I only dabbled in hallucinogens: I smoked a little pot, and I took LSD once. At age 17 I began drinking.
I don’t recall anyone during that time offering to sell me any of the drugs mentioned above.
Over the years, I’ve known people who did cocaine. To the ones I knew, it didn’t seem to be a big deal. I’ve been involved in a twelve-step program, so I’ve known people who have used various kinds of drugs, including crack, amphetamines (including crank), and heroin. I don’t remember any of these people ever offering to sell drugs to me, though.
I lived in various neighborhoods in New Orleans for brief periods in the 1970s, sometimes in apartments, but also in rooming houses. I once lived in a rooming house on South Gayoso Street in the late 1970s. The rooming house had winos, at least one guy on methadone that I knew of, and some people just down on their luck. This was before crack, but heroin and methamphetamine were being used in the U. S. There was probably drug use going on in that neighborhood, but except for the methadone, I never got wind of it. And if I recollect rightly, no one offered to sell me drugs at that time.
I spent eight years in the military. I witnessed or heard about occasional drug use, and smoked a little pot, but not much. When I was in infantry training in Southern California, we took liberty, and I remember walking down Sunset Boulevard, and hearing somebody openly hawking hallucinogens (he used the word “psychedelics”). That’s the only instance I can think of which I could interpret as an offer to buy drugs, but it was an offer to the general public.
In one apartment I lived in in Baton Rouge, the people across the stair landing were almost certainly selling crack cocaine. But I had to figure that out by inference. Someone informed me that crack was being sold in that neighborhood, but I’m very nearly certain that the person who gave me that information had serious mental issues, so I couldn’t rely completely on that. On one occasion, a person knocked on my door and asked me whether I knew “where the two white girls live[d].” Because of the wording of his request, I figured that drugs were being sold. On another occasion, a guy knocked repeatedly and loudly on the door across the stair landing and then left. But before getting into his car, he shouted (I’m making up the apartment and street number), “Number seven is a bitch! Six two five, number seven is a bitch!”
Still later, as I was coming back from class, a large, obviously-powerful-looking man was standing at the top of the stairs, trembling slightly, and with a look of anxiety on his face. He asked me if I had seen the two girls. I hadn’t. Some time later, a middle-aged, middle-class-looking couple showed up at the top of the stairs, and asked after one of the girls. After I said I hadn’t seen her, they said, “If you see her, would her tell her that Mr. and Mrs. ________________ would like to talk to her?” I consented. A short time after that, I read the couple’s surname in the paper, but in the article the surname belonged to a young man who was involved, along with some other young men, in a murder. A certain group of young fellows had been hanging out in the across-the-landing girls’ apartment, and I figured that maybe the young fellow in the paper, and perhaps his friends who had also made the paper in connection with the murder, had also hung out in the apartment across the stair landing. But in order to verify things, I asked the landlord’s secretary whether the person mentioned in the papers was one of the fellows who had been hanging out in the girls’ apartment, and she confirmed it. She also mentioned that someone had raped one of the girls (I don’t think she meant that the young man in question had committed the rape).
Sometime around the events described in the paragraph above (I’m not sure of the sequence), I was in my apartment studying for a property law exam, when I heard someone outside say, “Man, just do what the f*** he says!” I went to the window, and I saw a clean-cut, middle-aged man, wearing nice clothes of the casual sort, and holding what appeared to be an automatic pistol to a young, white, long-haired fellow’s head, while the young long-haired fellow’s friend, a young black man (probably the person who had given the wise advice), stood to the side. Very strangely, the conventionally-dressed man set the pistol down on top of the tool compartment in the bed of his pickup truck and began to talk to the young man. I called the cops, but everyone was gone by the time they arrived. At the time, I tried to make sense of the event by speculating (of course I couldn’t be sure about this) that the nicely-dressed middle-aged man was a relative of the murder victim.
One night some time after that, a couple of guys got an urge to go to a place across the street from my apartment building and fire their pistols off in the air. I think they pretty much emptied their pistols. I don’t know whether those were the same two guys who later noisily burglarized the apartment below mine.
Not too long after that, I heard some noise and looked out my window, and across and down the street a ways, a biker-type guy, stripped to the waist, and surrounded by police officers, was lunging at them with some kind of sharp weapon. The police had their guns drawn, but they behaved in a very restrained fashion, and simply dodged the weapon. I think the man had already cut himself up a little bit. They finally got him restrained and put him in an ambulance.
As far as I can recall, no one offered to sell me drugs when I lived in that apartment.
There were other things, so I moved out of that apartment and into an apartment close to the State Capitol. That was an old neighborhood. Some longtime residents told me that some of the kids around the neighborhood had pagers that they employed somehow to help them be drug couriers, but I never saw any of that. Some things in the neighborhood looked suspicious. For example, after seeing and hearing some other clues about a particular person in my apartment building, I heard him quarreling with his girlfriend, who in the midst of the quarrel shouted, “You spend your money on bull****!” Adding that to other clues, I was pretty sure what kind of bull**** he was spending his money on.
But I don’t recall anyone in that neighborhood offering to sell me drugs.
In one small Southern city that I lived in for a total of about eight years, it was widely known that one could buy crack cocaine on a certain street of that city.
About five years before he died, my dad got very sick and was hospitalized. I think he must have thought he might be on his deathbed, because he told me some family history that I wasn’t aware of. One of the things he told me was that his father (who had abandoned his mother, his four sisters, and him) was a drug addict. To me this is somewhat interesting, because his father was born in the South in the nineteenth century.
Now you can be the other three Yorkshiremen.