I smiled and said, "Hi."
She sized me up. Then she smiled and said, "I believe marijuana is the Jesus of the plants." My expression must have encouraged her, for she continued, "It like grows out there and people get high on it and it makes you love everybody."
"I know some marijuana missionaries," I said.
She laughed. She went on to lay out her complete theory. Basically, the plants were of a higher consciousness than people, so they had conspired to get people hooked on smoking tobacco to condition them to smoke marijuana. Smoking dope would bring lower consciousness Homo Sapiens Sapiens to higher consciousness. I had to admit that she had hit on two beliefs of mine, that plants had consciousness, higher or lower I didn't know, and that marijuana could change (some) people for the better.The Jesus of the plants. It's possible. I will admit, however, that Mary Jane has probably lowered as many IQ's as it has raised. The fact remains that alcohol alone has caused more pain, death, injury and grief than all the illegal drugs put together.
Those were times when grass was innocent and beautiful. In those days in Austin it was common to end up at someone's house sharing a joint, and it would often be someone you'd just met.
I was walking across the south mall near the tower one day when two girls I had taught the previous term passed by and yelled hello. They went on for a ways deep in conference. Suddenly they turned and ran all the way back to me and handed me a tattered Salem pack. They almost bolted, giggling like the kids they were, but waited to see my reaction when I looked inside.
"Open that when you get home," said Jann, the one with Janis Joplin hair.
"And think of us when you smoke it," said Rachael, and they ran away laughing. I could feel it through the pack, but I peeked in just to be sure.
"Not now!" Jann shouted back as they turned a corner and disappeared. I was astounded. ***
The Chuck Wagon Massacre and Other Incidents
I was teaching a class, of all places, in the ROTC building. The campus had been tense, ready to explode. Rocky Meyer, a sharp kid who was in another class of mine, stuck his head in the door and said, "They're into it over at the Chuck Wagon."
I turned to my class and said, "Class dismissed," and ran out with Rocky. We ran from the ROTC building all the way to the Drag. I was taken aback by what I saw.
There were thousands of students, maybe three thousand, maybe ten thousand, but they were a human sea, filling the drag from twenty-sixth to twenty-first, shouting in unison.
"What are they saying?" I yelled to Rocky.
"SEIG HEIL," he yelled back, "Come on up." He held out his hand for me to climb up on the fender of a parked car. There were people all over the car, including the roof, which was buckling. These freaking tires are going to blow, I thought.
My mouth fell open when I saw the extent of the crowd. Thousands of fists rising together to the beat of "SEIG HEIL SEIG HEIL SEIG HEIL" This was no small band of radicals, once referred to by Regents chairman Tank Sherman as "Dirty Nothin's." This was the whole goddamned student body. SHOOT, even Steve Vann was probably down there somewhere.
