Showing posts with label drugs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drugs. Show all posts

Friday, July 08, 2016

*Not Ready For Prime Time Class Struggle- Merle Haggard's Song- "Okie From Muskogee"

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Merle Haggard performing his classic anti-countercultural song, Okie From Muskogee.

Markin comment:

Okay, blame it on Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters (including “beatnik” holdover/bus driver Neal Cassady). Or blame it on the recently re-read Tom Wolfe's classic The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test that pays “homage” to Kesey and his Pranksters. Or, better blame it on Jack Kerouac and that self-same Cassady for his On The Road. Or just blame it on a residue of the Fourth of July (which as a recent entry indicated, we don’t celebrate these days). But do not, please do not, blame it on me and my sometimes perverse sense of humor for placing the lyrics to Okie From Muskogee on this site. I like the song and that is that. Although I prefer Jim Kweskin's (of Jim Kweskin and the Jug Band fame in the 1960s)1970 version better than old Merle’s.


Merle Haggard, Okie from Muskogee Lyrics

We don't smoke marijuana in Muskogee;
We don't take our trips on LSD
We don't burn our draft cards down on Main Street;
We like livin' right, and bein' free.

I'm proud to be an Okie from Muskogee,
A place where even squares can have a ball
We still wave Old Glory down at the courthouse,
And white lightnin's still the biggest thrill of all

We don't make a party out of lovin';
We like holdin' hands and pitchin' woo;
We don't let our hair grow long and shaggy,
Like the hippies out in San Francisco do.

And I'm proud to be an Okie from Muskogee,
A place where even squares can have a ball.
We still wave Old Glory down at the courthouse,
And white lightnin's still the biggest thrill of all.

Leather boots are still in style for manly footwear;
Beads and Roman sandals won't be seen.
Football's still the roughest thing on campus,
And the kids here still respect the college dean.

We still wave Old Glory down at the courthouse,
In Muskogee, Oklahoma, USA.

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

The Drug Wars 50 Years Ago- High School Confidential

DVD REVIEW

High School Confidential, MGM Productions, starring Russ Tambyn with Jerry Lee Lewis doing his hit song High School Confidential, 1958


Mary Jane, weed, tea, ganja, herb, stick and so on. Every generation (which should tell us something) has its own code words for its recreational drugs. But wait a minute. Drugs, especially marijuana, are bad for you, right? Why? Marijuana is the first step on the slippery slope down the road to serious drug addiction- heroin, opium, crack and so on. And then on to a life of crime and jail. Is this a story from today’s headlines? Well, I suppose it could be but it is not. This is the premise behind the 1958 classic B teenage movie "High School Confidential".

Now frankly, this year I have been on a Jerry Lee Lewis kick trying to establish who was the “king of rock and roll” during the 1950’s so I picked up this little movie to see if it could aid my Jerry Lee bias. While the lead-in scene of Jerry Lee on a truck doing "High School Confidential" in front of some California high school students is amazing this film did not help in that effort. What is the case, however, is how even back then when drugs were a fringe phenomena mainly indulged in by the “beats” like Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac and their crowd and other “anti-social” types the monitors of American teenage mores in the film industry had to weigh in to condemn this practice out of hand. Nothing new there and the police authorities (the good guys, right?) then were just about as successful (in reality, not in the film) as they have been today. That is to say that they have sought to fill the jails as their solution to the problem. Mainly with blacks and Latinos. But enough of that, for now.

This turns out to be a very campy movie complete with new boy Russ Tambyn (a very old teenager, by the way) in town (as an undercover vice cop) trying to become “king of the hill” in the teenage drug market. We have a glance at teen life in the 1950’s as seen by Hollywood with their take on “beat” slang (including a very nicely done be-bop poetic recitation by a young woman at a teenage nightclub), high school dances, hot rods on Saturday night(complete with a Rebel Without A Cause racing scene), grabbing girls (right from under the noses of other guys no less), 'dissing' teachers and headmasters and doing a little weed. (You know to liven up the party). All in the service of one thing- don’t. The only thing not done here is an explicit tie-in with drugs and rock and roll although with Jerry Lee present that might have been a little hard to do. Since this is the 50th anniversary of the release of the film I will finish with one conclusion from viewing the film and the facts of life since then- decriminalize drug use-now.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

The Stuff Of Dreams- Harry Madden, “The Grifter,” R.I.P.

“Hey, Peter Paul, long time no see,” yelled Harry Madden, seemingly forever known as “The Grifter” in North Adamsville childhood lore, from across Commonwealth Avenue near Kenmore Square, or better for those who do not know Boston, near Fenway Park, the home of the Red Sox, on a hot summer’s day in 1967. Peter Paul Markin, a little high and in a funk thinking about his latest also seemingly endless problems with Joyell, took a couple flashes to recognized the Grifter, not having seen him in a couple of years. A couple of youth-changing 1960s years so that the Grifter’s eternal sharkskin suit, white shirt, thin, really almost stringy brown tie, and pattern leather black shoes, shined to a mirror look see, short 1950s style hair, short, with no facial hair showing anywhere, seemed strange in the new faded blue jeans, ratty tee-shirt, long-haired, bearded, scraggly or not, hard rock night.

What was not strange was the Grifter’s request, or rather demand, as he crossed the street and met up with Peter Paul, “Markin, lend me a hundred dollars, I’ve got a hot deal, a hot grass (marijuana, for the innocent, or unworldly) deal going down coming in straight from Mexico where I can make a score, a big score, and be on easy street, finally on easy street just like I said I would be back in those North Adamsville days when we dreamed our dreams. I‘ll pay you back double, hey, why don’t you give me two hundred and we can be partners and split down the right down the middle.”

Markin, warily and wearily in equal parts, replied quickly that he did not have two hundred dollars but that he could see his way clear to lending the hundred, for old times sake, and because, frankly, although not every word of their conversation is being restated here, the Grifter held a spell over the usually rational Markin, and everybody else whom he had ever encountered for more than two minutes. That was the Grifter’s charm, and his claim to North Adamsville fame. So the pair made their way a few blocks over to Markin’s tiny student ghetto apartment on Westland Avenue to get the money, share a little something for the head(that aforementioned grass, okay) from Markin’s stash, and talk over old times. That was the last time Markin saw Harry Madden, blessed childhood Harry Madden, alive.

Who knows when Harry became the Grifter. Maybe it was when they, along with a couple of other Adamsville South Elementary School classmates, decided that they would sell Kool-Aid one hot summer’s day in the early 1950s, Markin was not exactly sure of the year but it was when they were very young, in order to raise enough of a stake to go down to Carter’s Variety Store and load up on penny candy. Penny candy being the po’ boy’s (and girl’s too) way of satisfying their sweet tooth by buying it by the piece. Things like tootsie rolls, necco wafers, mary janes (no, not dope), chunkies, and so on. Stuff that dear mothers would not throw by the bagful into shopping carts on shopping days.

Well, the boys set up the Kool-Aid stand without much of a problem, using an old wooden crate for a stand, placing cups, and pitchers of Orange and Grape Kool-Aid on display for thirsty customers to dare to walk by at two cents a glass. And that day was a very hot one, and the neighborhood kids had a great thirst, a great thirst for those pitchers of Kool-Aid coming off the playing fields behind the old school. Harry, and he was just Harry then, came up with the bright idea that they could increase their profits and make enough money to get ice cream cones rather than just cheapjack penny candy if they added water, and, well, really just diluted the product a little. And that night, as they licked their chocolate, strawberry or vanilla cones amid satisfied chuckles, Harry had a band of brother that would follow him through hell.

Maybe it was when the band of brothers was twelve, perhaps thirteen, Markin again was not sure, when Harry, now already called the Grifter, came up with the idea that they should pool their lunch money together and buy a lottery ticket. And to hear the Grifter give his spiel they would thereafter all be on easy street, and maybe have so much money that they could leave dreary old school for the has-beens (the Grifter’s term for anybody who did not get in on one his schemes, without questions). Sold, idea sold as usual, when the Grifter put on the press for one of his “hot” ideas.

And the idea was sold solidly when they “hit,” for twenty dollars a few days later. What the others, Markin included, did not know was that the Grifter had just said they had made that hit, what after all did they know of lotteries except as the road to easy street. The Grifter had used his own money as the first prize, and all the later funds collected from his boys that whole school year went into his pocket for his real scheme- working some shell game that he lost the money on when a couple of rough customers stole his dough after telling him the facts of life. The facts of life being in this case that Lefty Looney held the exclusive rights to who and who did not promote shell games in Adamsville. It was only by accident that one of the band, Bizarre Benny not Markin, found out from a cousin the details of the Grifter’s game, having lost a few bucks at it.

Or maybe it was just from the womb that the Grifter had some gene, some grifter X or Y or G gene, embedded in his life system that made him an such an easy mark for the lure of easy street, for the bright lights of “being somebody,” some easy way somebody. In any case, in the end it was not pretty, as Markin heard the story a couple of years after that Kenmore Square chance meeting (or was it), while the Grifter’s friends and family were standing around the funeral home talking about his various schemes over the years, and about how he could have been somebody, somebody no question, if he had spent just a little less time worrying about easy street.

Apparently Harry, Markin says let’s call him Harry now at least to show a little respect for what he could have been and to kind of wash the grifter thing away from his memory, actually did use Markin’s hundred dollars to finance a wholesale drug purchase (marijuana, ganja, herb, weed, whatever you may have called it then, or call it now), sold the stuff on the street, making enough of a profit to make a bigger purchase, and more profit. Things looked very much like easy street just then. And in those early days selling dope to students, young working class kids, and even adults who hated their day jobs was as easy as hanging around the Boston Common, whispering a few words, and having people flock to you like lemmings to the sea. Especially if you had the good stuff, stuff like Acapulco Gold and Columbian Red, and Harry had it.

Then, as usual, Harry had to go one step beyond, although if you follow a certain logic Harry’s idea was not that crazy, starting out anyway. See the streets were okay for a while, but the legal questions, the surfeit of dealers and the decline of quality was killing the street market, or driving it indoors. Harry, sensing this, decided that he would take his tidy profits and buy into distributorship, a free lance distributorship. In short, sell to the street dealers and go indoors himself. And for a while he was again successful but the two things happened. The drug cartels at the higher levels were squeezing the Harrys out and putting their own people in the distribution system, and were moreover beginning to push high profit cocaine more than weed, and the profit margins at Harry’s level for the good stuff (that Gold and Red) were declining. Harry could daily see himself sinking, sinking back into Adamsville oblivion.

Harry though was never short of ideas, especially ideas on the fly. Harry came up with an idea, actually two inter-related ideas. First, to raise more capital he would cut his dope, cut it with oregano, twigs, whatever, to his street dealers. Second, he would, cut through the system and bring his own dope out of Mexico. Now cutting dope was generally something street punks did, did for the weekend “hippies” who were glad, glad as hell, to even have the idea, the essence of dope. However for a distributor this was poison. Now a lot of people have the image that your average street dealer, dealing out of his or her pocket, is just a mellow head spreading the good news.

But see Harry was dealing with street dealers from the ghetto and barrio then and cutting product on them was well, death. And before long Harry was forced to leave town or face the unknown wrath of several important street dealers who would just as soon cut up a skinny white hustler like Harry as look at him. According to one report, one unconfirmed report but with the ring of truth about it, Harry was within a day or two of “as look at him.”

And, of course, by then Harry had, straight-out had, to flee to Mexico to get right. Of course as well in Mexico, Sonora, Mexico as it turned out, Harry found out to his regret, while one could have all the money in the drug world if one was not connected, and more importantly as the structure of the cartels was getting in order, not part of the distribution system you were out of luck. Harry, naturally, believed he was born under a lucky star, he was still alive wasn’t he, and tried to arrange a large purchase to take out of Mexico, to make things right in Boston. But see in Sonora every drug deal went through Pablo Sanchez, or it didn’t go down.

When Senor Sanchez, or one of his agents, heard about it (through a guy who worked for the guy Harry was putting the deal together with from what was gathered) Harry was a marked man. The rest of the story is plain as day to see coming and, moreover, Markin got pretty shaky telling the rest of it but they found Harry looking very much like Swiss cheese in a back-alley Sonora street, face down. Yes, Harry, R.I.P.

Note: Markin wants one and all to know that Harry Madden was a grifter not a grafter. Harry was no ten-percent man taking some small piece of some other guy’s action, and practically on bended knees praying for that cut. No Harry, like a true grifter, small or large, made his own deals, big or small, good or bad, and he was the guy who gave the cuts, if that was his pleasure. Got it.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

From Out In "The Projects" Night- A Recent Deadly Case Study

Click on the headline to link to a Sunday Boston Globe article, dated January 30, 2010, that details a story of how "the projects" ran roughshod over yet another family.

Markin comment:

Normally this space does not comment on individual cop-killers, drug addicts, drug pushers and street gangsters straight out of the daily news but this story of the Boston Maverick Square Cinelli brothers rates comment here because it is a classic case study of the what "the projects", the ethos of the projects, and the dead hand that it holds over the lives of too many youth. Of course these guys are responsible for their individual criminal actions but the projects dead hand , as I know from very personal experience, still holds as a factor. The ease of access to drugs, the daily hustle (mainly against fellow denizens of the projects) to keep the habit in check, the easy violence done in many way, many not newsworthy ways, the "cult" of the gun are all very, very familiar. And these guys came from respectable, seemingly caring parents, parents like mine. And like many other parents in the projects who got catch up in the throes of just plain being too poor to afford better digs. Even when this pair, like the Markin family, moved away from the projects the ethos of that place, the way of dealing with life, the expectations of life, still hung over the future.

Let me put this case study in perspective, from my own personal perspective, coming out a similar Massachusetts housing project, with a mainly white ethnic population (Irish and Italian, reflecting key populations in the state and their relative lower social status as well), although we lived in bunched together four-apartment houses (fit in size for one family, maybe two) rather than the Cinnelli brothers high-rise brick structures. Different structural set-up but same ethos. As is always the case, in America and internationally, some people will "survive"  any tough situations. And many will make it out enough to survive later.

But let me give a graphic example, although it is seriously only of anecdotal value. In my "the projects"sixth grade elementary school class of the twelve boys that I graduated with only three (including myself, and I only barely so) that I know of made it out without getting in trouble with the law or some other criminal episode (one kid, infamously, got caught up in the Mexican drug trade early, and died early as well).  My "home boy " Billie, William James Bradley, whom I have written about in this space humorously, sadly, did not make it either.  In my own three brother family only one (me) made it. What a waste of human material even if my numbers are skewed. The failure rate is high, too high. Is there any  wonder what I have spent a good part of my life fighting under the banner of organizing a  workers party that fights for a workers government? More later on this as I revise a few entries that I wrote a couple of years ago about the old time projects life.

      

Thursday, June 03, 2010

Not Ready For Prime Time Class Struggle- “The Big Easy” –A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a "Wikipedia" entry for the movie, "The Big Easy" which fills out the plot line for this review.

DVD Review

The Big Easy, Dennis Quaid, Ellen Barkin, 1987


Sometimes a movie is a little too close to the truth, although it is not recognized as such until later. That is the case with the plot of “The Big Easy” a story line that deals with ‘isolated’ police corruption in the Big Easy, New Orleans. Thus, there is plenty of murder, mayhem, and the rest as a big time drug deal by rogue cops gets busted up by the good cops. Not, howe,ver without some anguish and moral qualms along the way. Well, I told you that it was a fairy tale, didn't I? Today’s charges of police corruption in the headlines, on any given day, from out of New Orleans since well before Hurricane Katrina puts this story line in the shade. Well in the shade.

Okay, that is on the political level. Now to the real action. The love interest that drives the film, of course. You know the boy meets girl thing. Here “go along to get along’ New Orleans cop, Dennis Quaid (Remy), meets avenging “angel” prosecuting attorney, Ellen Barkin (Anne), and after a few, actually very few, preliminaries, they are an item. Oh, did I tell you that Quaid is a good old boy Cajun (or part Cajun, anyway) to add color to this thing. And to take advantage of the New Orleans motif, natch. You are watching this one for the chemistry between Quaid and Barkin, mainly. And, maybe, the sound track that includes some material by various Neville Brothers combinations. The story you have seen and heard a thousand times before

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Bob Feldman 68: U.S. Invasion of Panama Revisited- A Guest Commentary

Markin comment:

Click on title to link to Bob Feldman's take on another of those 'little' imperial adventures the memories of which get left behind when the big guns like the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan get rolled out.

Friday, October 31, 2008

In Massachusetts Vote NO on Question 1- No Repeal Of The State Income Tax

Commentary

In Massachusetts Vote NO on Question 1- Repealing of the State Income Tax


For President- Republican John McCain-No. Democrat Barack Obama- No. Green Party Cynthia McKinney-No. Independent-Ralph Nader-No. And so on down through the offices to the local county commissioners and such. Come Election Day in Massachusetts on November 4, 2008 it would seem that there is no reason to go to the polls. Right? Not true. As usually is the case here there are some interesting ballot questions to select from. None, from a socialist perspective (hell, from a democratic perspective even) as important as the No vote on Proposition 8 (the gay marriage amendment) in California but important smaller issues nevertheless.

Vote No on Question 1- This the perennial repeal the state income tax proposition that the “no tax”- types try to get passed every few years. Usually this is spear-headed by know-nothings and those who just do not want to pay taxes under any circumstances. Who does? Normally, this question of how the bourgeois state finances itself is of minor interest to socialists but there is another issue at stake. Until working people take state power in their own interests some form of taxation is going to be needed to provide basic services. Hell, in the beginning stages of socialist transformation there may be taxes, depending on the economic superstructure that we inherit from the capitalists.

The argument lurking underneath this one is that if there is no state income tax then the inevitable taxes that will replace that lost revenue will be based on local real property valuations. That means that public services like local education, public works and health care such as they are will be dependent on the wildly varying property tax bases of the various towns. In short, the poor and minorities will get even less public services that at present. And the richer towns? Well, you can already guess about their heartrending problems. We have a side on this one today. Vote it down with both hands!!!

Vote Yes on Question 2- This is a proposition that would decriminalize marijuana possession and use for the recreational smoker, in effect, by making a first offense a civil rather than a criminal one for certain non- drug pusher amounts. There is a system of fines, etc. in place of criminal penalties. Nevertheless the proposition is basically supportable. As socialists we are committed to the decriminalization of all drug use and this proposition is in line with that goal, a basic social right to be left alone to one’s own devises when there are victimless situations involved.

Vote Yes on Question 3- This is a proposition that would ban dog races (essentially greyhound racing) where wagering was involved (subject to state regulation, in other words). The writer of this blog has spend some time betting on various sporting propositions, lately, mainly on college football games (See My revolving weekly Now For The Real Question Of The Day- Who Will Win The National College Football Championship? for current selections.) so I am personally somewhat agnostic on this one, except my “significant other” is very strongly in favor of this one. I will defer to her on this. I would rather watch horses race any day. From my limited knowledge on this subject, the trainers do not do right by these beautiful animals either during their racing careers or seeing that they are provided for after that time.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Down The Mean Streets With Nelson Algren

BOOK REVIEW

The Man With The Golden Arm, Nelson Algren, Penquin Books, New York, 1949


Growing up in a post World War II built housing project this reviewer knew first hand the so-called ‘romance’ of drugs, the gun and the ne’er do well hustler. And also the mechanisms one needed to develop to survive at that place where the urban working poor meet and mix with the lumpen proletariat- the con men, dopesters, grifters drifters and gamblers who feed on the downtrodden. This is definitely not the mix that Damon Runyon celebrated in his Guys and Dolls-type stories. Far from it.

Nelson Algren has gotten, through hanging around Chicago police stations and sheer ability to observe, that sense of foreboding, despair and the just plain oblivion of America’s mean streets down pat in a number of works, including this one. Here the plot revolves around Frankie Machine an urban hustler with a jones (and more than just the dope jones, his whole life is twisted by the vagaries of his fate). Alone the way we meet an array of stoolies, cranks, crackpots and nasty brutish people who are more than willing to put obstacles in the way of our anti-hero. And we have, at this point, not even mentioned his ‘home’ life with his ‘ever-loving’ disabled wife (or so he thinks). She might make anyone reach for the needle.

We, of late, have become rather inured to dope stories either of the death and destruction type or of the rehabilitative kind but at the time that this story was put together in the late 1940’s this was something of an eye-opener for those who were not familiar with the seamy side of urban life. The dead end jobs, the constant run-ins with the ‘authorities’ in the person of the police, many times corrupt as well. The dread of going to work, the dread of not going to work, the fear of being victimized and the glee of victimizing. The whole jumbled mix of people with few prospects and fewer dreams.

Algren has put it down in writing for all that care to read. These are not pretty stories. And he has centered his story on the trials and tribulations of a dope addict trying to get clean, to boot. That fight is a near thing. Damn, as much as I knew about the kind of things that Algren was describing this is still one gripping story. And, the truth be told, you know as well as I do that unfortunately this story could still be written today. Read Algren if you want to walk on the wild side.

In the movie version of this film that unfortunately cannot capture the pathos of the mean urban streets Frank Sinatra plays the lead role of the junkie in a very understated way. He gives an extremely strong performance, especially in those scenes when he is going ‘cold turkey’. Probably overrated as a singer he nevertheless was underrated as an actor, especially in his early career (think From Here to Eternity, Some Came Running and Suddenly). Kudos Frank.