Kicking Weed Isn’t Easy

It took several years of weed-free living to realize the power it had over me.

Buying weed in the ’80s was a risky undertaking. High schools were filled with narcs while undercover cops attended concerts, nightclubs and sporting events. When President Reagan launched his war on drugs, prosecutors treated marijuana on par with heroin and cocaine. Harsh new drug policies were implemented and jails quickly filled with non-violent drug offenders. Los Angeles Police Chief Darryl Gates said, “casual drug users should be taken out and shot.”

In those tempestuous days, you had to buy your weed in strange places. Every upscale neighborhood had a wealthy teenager growing marijuana in his bedroom closet. My high-school basketball teammates bought pot from an assistant coach. I knew a guy who gave tennis lessons at the Mulholland Tennis Club. For an extra $100 he sent clients home with weed-filled tennis balls.

My weed dealer was a neurotic transvestite living in a Mar Vista trailer park. He equipped his trailer with a periscope and surrounded the property with artificial turf hiding motion sensors. When someone approached, a chorus of beeps echoed through the trailer. This gave him time to peer through the periscope to see if Feds were outside. The source of the beeping was usually a stray dog or a squirrel. The dealer was eventually busted along with two longtime customers.