A Long Strange Trip

By Martin A. Lee, AlterNet. Posted November 8, 2004.

It's been said that truth is often the first casualty of war, and the much ballyhooed "war on drugs" is no exception.

When he was Los Angeles police chief, Daryl Gates declared that casual drug users were guilty of "treason" and should be "taken out and shot." A Republican Congressman from South Carolina pegged narcotics as "a threat worse than any nuclear warfare or any chemical warfare waged on any battlefield." And First Lady Nancy Reagan (a prescription tranquillizer addict, according to Patti Davis, Ronald Reagan's daughter) called marijuana inhalers and other illicit drug takers "accomplices to murder."

What haven't they been smoking?

In "Can't Find My Way Home: America in the Great Stoned Age, 1945-2000," (Simon & Schuster), a sprawling, high-spirited and often outlandish cultural history of illegal drug use in post-WWII America, Martin Torgoff vows to tell the truth about the forbidden pharmacological fruit. His ambitious chronicle packs considerable punch as an antidote to official policies based on "myths, fears, exaggerations and lies." But the author is also candid about his own struggles with substance abuse, and he doesn't shy away from depicting the misery of excess and addiction as he traces how illicit drugs migrated from the criminal underground and the avant-garde fringe to permeate mainstream society.

With considerable aplomb, "Can't Find My Way Home" recounts the travails of Charlie Parker and other heroin-jabbing jazz musicians, who were lionized by their Beat contemporaries. Raging against the ghostly reserve of the 1950s, these insurgent artists embraced mind-bending chemicals as catalysts for creative expression. Allen Ginsberg's howl of poetic protest and Jack Kerouac's exuberant bebop yarns linked reefer and hallucinogens to a tiny groundswell of nonconformity that would grow into a mass rebellion during the next decade.

Much of Torgoff's book is a tour de force through the stoned '60s – from Ken Kesey's madcap, crosscountry bus trip to the Summer of Love and Woodstock – when messianic delusions were nearly as plentiful as tabs of black market acid. LSD was so powerful and so far out that some devotees believed its molecular structure contained nothing less than the key to world peace.

But not everyone was enamored of the psychedelic experience. The so-called beautiful people who clustered at Andy Warhol's Factory in downtown New York were partial to injections of opiates and amphetamine. "Paranoia was really our drug of choice ... Once I started to shoot up, I never wanted to come down," a Warhol acolyte confessed. The consequences were predictably malignant.

"There wouldn't have been the Sixties without the drugs, at least not the Sixties that we knew," says novelist Tom Robbins. He is among a bevy of writers, musicians and drug policy reformers who contribute snatches of oral history that drive the narrative. "Can't Find My Way Home" relies heavily upon recollections from the likes of David Crosby, Michelle Phillips, Snoop Dog, Grace Slick, the venerable Wavy Gravy and other denizens of the drug counterculture.

Martin A. Lee is the author of "Acid Dreams" and "The Beast Reawakens." A version of this article originally appeared in the Los Angeles Times.

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