I didn’t climb too far up on the educational ladder in life, but I have had a few good teachers, the best one by far being Experience.
When I was 4 years old, I was taught by my parents and Dutch community leaders that it was alright to tell a lie to the police about an incident involving me and an older special needs Polish boy who lived next door, because it was good for the community. I didn’t actually have to tell the lie; all I had to do was affirm to the policeman that the concocted story they told him was true. The result was life-changing for both Gordy and me. He was sent to an institution, and I was left with not only guilt for affirming the lie but also with a distrust of grown-ups and authority.
That distrust would later get me court-martialed after returning from Vietnam several years later. I was wounded during what was supposed to be a suicide mission. Rescued by a renegade medevac team who disobeyed orders to pick me up, I spent the remainder of my enlistment at the Bethesda Naval Hospital. Marijuana was prevalent there, most of it brought back in the seabags of returning enlisted men or cargo holds of returning ships and aircraft. I joined the antiwar movement and was introduced to LSD as a result. It provided me with the escape I, and many others, including doctors and nurses, needed at that time.
The LSD was of good quality, much of it manufactured by Stanley Owsley in his bathtub. However, his arrest ended the “Purple Owsley” tablets, and what followed was not nearly as good of quality and was often laced with rat poison or other substances. The professional staff could not risk having a bad “trip,” and so I became part of a team that tested the tablets first before selling them. That resulted in many weekends sitting in front of a toilet bowl vomiting, but our clientele was very appreciative. We would eventually be caught when the Office of Naval Intelligence planted a new recruit in our dorm. I was court-martialed and threatened with a 20-year prison term. I would eventually be given an Honorable Discharge because of the support from high-ranking officers whom I had cared for in the towers of Bethesda.
My purpose for sharing this information, however, is not to tell you my life story, but to discuss a related subject we are facing today. I was punished for providing a service to people who had a need. Nothing was ever done to those who bought the illegal and unauthorized LSD. When I was taken out of the picture, someone else stepped in. Where or whenever there is a demand for something, from people willing to pay, there will always be someone to find a way to supply it, even if that means prison or death, because usually their personal needs are greater than the risk they are taking.
Don’t get me wrong—I am not defending those who sell or provide drugs to the users. Most are doing it for the money, and not all of them are as dedicated as we were in assuring that their customers are getting a safe product. However, it is not the supplier who is responsible should death occur. That responsibility is solely on the person who knowingly chooses to take or inject an unknown or untested substance into their body.
To condemn the supplier for the drug-related deaths in the USA is not, in my mind, the right approach. Fentanyl deaths have dropped significantly, but the decline began well before Trump took office and started his militarization campaign against the suppliers. Experts credit much of the progress to public health policies from the previous administration that are aimed at working with the abusers. We don’t need the military to stop the supply of fentanyl. What we need is compassionate mental health programs to work with the abusers and end the demand for illegal drugs.
