Wednesday, March 6, 1968, 161 days.
I got out of bed at 0540 hrs. and missed breakfast again because of the 4/46th’s IG. Tomorrow we get back on a normal breakfast schedule, so I can start eating it again. I lay back down until 0700 hrs. and nobody woke me to work on detail. More than likely I will be transferred. So to cover my ass I applied for a secondary MOS of 76K30 (Small Arms Weapons Repairman, AKA Armorer). Since I worked in the MOS for 8 months and went to school for it, I feel it would help me out if I should get transferred. Besides that it’s an easy job and is usually E.D. (exempt from duty).
I went to a career class this afternoon for my army re-enlistment lecture. What a joke. I found out that there are around eight people getting transferred from HHB, and I’m one of them. I’m supposed to go to the 222nd Maintainance Co. It’s one of the most fucked up units in 3rd Gp. I talked to the BC (Battery Commander) about it and he said that he will try to get me sent back up to HHB on TDY (Temporary Duty Assignment), until my discharge. I sure hope so, because I couldn’t hack going to a new unit with only 160 days left, especially that fucked up place. I did a rare thing today after I got off work. I ironed my fatigues. Probably because I’m shakey about getting transferred. After chow, Rublay, Mitey and me are going to go to the NCO club for happy hour and get happy.
Mitey is the battery clerk, so he works with Top all day long. He was a retail clerk before he got drafted and wants to get a degree in accounting when he gets out. He’s one of the straightest guys in the unit, but isn’t a snitch. He never did any weed and said that he never would consider it unless it was legal. Case closed.
The first time that I got stoned was in the summer of 1967, right after I got transferred into HHB. I was ready to do it, because Frank Ryan my training partner, who shared my semi-private room in the 395th with me and I had many discussions about it. My only knowledge about marijuana came from the films that they showed us in High School, like “Reefer Madness.”
I remember one time in high school when I was in a car with Jim Black, with a Puerto Rican guy who moved to Michigan from Harlem, New York named Rocco. They lit up a joint and I just about freaked out. It was 1964, and I still believed that marijuana led to heroin addiction, and the horrors that “Reefer Madness” advertised.
Frank had used it when he was at radio school AIT at Fort Ord, California. He used to go on pass to the Haight Ashbury district in San Francisco, and smoke it with the Hippies. We could never get hold of any in the 395th but when I transferred to HHB 3rd Group, a lot of the guys were heads. The Monk approached me the first night I was in the unit and asked me if I got high.
“No.” I told him. “But I would if the opportunity arose.”
“Let’s go for a walk.” He said.
We walked out into the training field east side of the barracks and I sat on the PT stand with the Monk. Then he pulled out a brass pipe and a wad of aluminum foil. He unwrapped the foil and there was a light brown chunk of what looked like brown sugar or sandstone.
“This is some premium grade hash-hish.” He said.
Then he broke off a small piece and put it into his pipe, and pulled out a pack of matches and after striking one, he held it in the pipe bowl, as he sucked in. Then he passed the pipe and matches to me, and began to cough.
“Take a hit.” He said.
I did as he told me and began to cough. After we took about 5 hits, he asked. “Do you feel anything?”
“I’m not sure.” I told him. “What’s it supposed to feel like?”
“Oh, you’ll know when it hits you.” He said. Let’s start walking back to the barracks.
As we walked, I felt as if we were taking forever to get there, and it seemed as if we were on a treadmill that was going nowhere. Then I started laughing for no apparent reason. We passed one of the guys from the 4/46th who was walking in the opposite direction and he seemed to be looking at us suspiciously. I mentioned this to the Monk and he replied. “You’re stoned.”
“Really?” I said. “How can you tell?”
“Because you’re paranoid,” he answered.
When we returned to the barracks some guys were playing music on a record player. As we got closer, the Monk introduced me to them, and I sat down on the bunk and began to listen. The music sounded more beautiful than any music I had ever heard before in my life.
“What is that you’re playing?” I asked.
“The Doors” they answered.
“Wow” I said.
“This is his first time getting stoned.” The Monk said.
After that, getting stoned became a regular thing, when we could get weed. It was better than getting drunk, and didn’t have any of the side effects. No headache or hangover and everything was beautiful. I headed to the NCO club with Rublay and Mitey and we got there in time for happy hour so we all ordered an exotic drink. I ordered a Zombie, Rublay ordered a Grasshopper and Mitey got a Whiskey Sour. On Wednesday nights they sometimes had local entertainment and tonight they had a local artist that came on and did a solo act for most of the time that we were at the club. Her name was Ramona Raylor and she did some covers of Joan Baez and Patsy Cline along with some of her own compositions. The influence of the hash gave me a greater appreciation of Ramona’s music that I would normally have.
When Rublay, Mitey and I got back to the barracks it was around 1930 hrs. The dayroom TV was broken so a few of us started to watch Sgt. Bravo’s TV. Then about the time that we got into the program that we were watching Bravo came in and walked off with it. Then the Monk took Nyles, Smart and me out to have a few drags off his pipe. After that Nyles and I went back into the bay and studied Sampson’s towel for an hour. We saw some fantastic designs in it, even though it was plain white. I finally went to bed about 2300 hrs.
♪Jesus♬Rocks♬The♬World♪ 
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