celebrat i ng positive choices

CELEBRAT I NG
POSITIVE
CHOICES
LOOK
A T
August 1990, Vol. 43, No. 8
Features
Do the Right Thing by Brad Chapman
Nobody saw it happen. Darren pulled out of the parking lot
like he was trying to shake Rambo off his bumper.
Call of the Wild by Luan Miller
Experience a wilderness where backpacks are high fashion,
blisters are de rigueur, and Eddie Bauer is king.
Drug Wars: Can We Win by Giving In?
by Kris Coffin Stevenson
Lots of people are talking 'bout a revolution in which anything
smokable, shootable, or snortable would be legal.
Addiction—What a Drag! by Patricia Carroll
Think you're not addicted? Just wait until you're sneaking
week-old butts out of the ashtray for a fix.
Henry Lee Summer: "I've Got Everything!"
by Sheryl Elliott Reynolds
He started out playing clubs in Mississippi and hearing "boos"
when he spoke against drugs. Now Indiana's pride hears cheers
about his antidrug message and his hit songs.
Delayed Reaction by VeraLee Wiggins
Christopher was no rat. And the thought of turning in someone
twice his size wasn't appealing—until he got a crash course in
speaking out.
16
31
2 • LISTEN • August 1990
3
6
10
14
16
20
Departments
Ask a Friend Talking to Parents about the Birds and Bees
19
Kitchen Sink Chorus Line's Last Kick
23
Graffiti Out of Darkness
24
And So Forth At Your Service
26
Puzzles Crazy English
27
Listen Up! Skid Row on the Skids
28
One Last Note Legalization? Just Say No!
30
Poster Courage from the Heart
31
COVER PHOTO COURTESY OF JAMES BOGARD ASSOCIATES AND CBS ASSOCIATED RECORDS
Do the Right Thing
Crash. Broken glass. Insurance. Dad's anger.
Spending money. No one saw. Peer pressure. Notes. Drive-offs.
The wrong thing. The right thing. JUST DO IT.
When Ciro and I pushed out through the thick
glass doors of Tyler Mall, the August air slapped
us in the face. "Man, it's hot," Ciro groaned. After
spending an hour or two just kind of hanging out
in the mall, we had checked our usual places—
The Gap, Waldenbooks, and The Sharper Image.
In the meantime we'd forgotten how hot it was
getting outside.
Now, with my new Milli Vanilli Girl, You Know
It's True cassette in hand, I beat Ciro back to my
black 4X4 in the parking lot. I jumped in and
unlocked the door on his side. The engine roared
to life and I popped the cassette into the stereo.
"Hot tunes, man," Ciro said. Holding a rolledup copy of Guitar magazine in his hand like a
microphone, he shook his black, shoulder-length
hair back and began to sing along. He has one of
the worst singing voices I've ever heard, but
that's never discouraged him.
Partway through "Blame It on the Rain," the
air conditioner began to cool the interior of the
truck down a bit. Then I shifted the 4X4 into
reverse and started backing out of the parking
space.
But something—the music or the heat or Ciro's
sorry attempts at singing along—distracted me
Brad Chapman
ILLUSTRATION BY DARREL TANK
August 1990 • LISTEN • 3
just enough so that I let the front bumper of my
truck catch the rear end of the parked car on my
left. I felt the impact, saw the car next to me lurch
slightly, and heard broken pieces of glass and
plastic hit the pavement.
"Did you hit something, Darren?" Ciro asked,
turning down the volume until Milli Vanilli was
just a whisper.
I pounded the dashboard with my fist. "This is
all I need!" We jumped out and looked over the
damage. My bumper was scratched on the underside a little—no big deal. But I'd broken out the
taillight of the car and dented some of its surrounding chrome. "This is going to raise my
insurance, and Dad will probably freak out," I
fumed. "Why do things like this happen to me?"
"Bad break," Ciro said. He traced his finger
along the dented chrome. "But who has to know?
We can just split! Nobody's seen us. Life goes on."
Though we're pretty good friends, in some
ways Ciro and I are from different ends of the
"How many times have you
complained about people wrecking your paint job by banging
their doors against your truck?
Nobody's ever left a name and
phone number for you."
universe. Sometimes it's hard to understand
where he's coming from. I guess the thing that
bothers me most about him is his lack of responsibility about some things. Not that I'm another
Mother Theresa or anything like that.
Ciro is always there for his friends, but for
anyone else he's not overly concerned. He's the
kind of guy who knows all the jokes about starving Ethiopians. And he can be kind of mean to
people if he doesn't like them. I've never been
comfortable with that.
We probably wouldn't have hit it off at all if
we hadn't been cut from the football tryouts for
the Camden High School Cougars on the same
day. He was too small and I was too slow. At the
time, I thought the coach hadn't really given me a
chance to show what I could do. I may give up a
step or two against the really fast guys, but I have
great hands.
I was kind of spouting off about it in the
cafeteria the next day when Ciro walked by. "You
got cut yesterday too?" he had asked, setting his
tray down across from mine.
"Coach Walters always put me in against Kyle
Anderson, and who's going to do anything
against an all-city safety? That guy covers pass
receivers like a blanket."
Ciro shrugged and took a humongous bite out
of his pizza. "I weigh 145 pounds dripping wet,
and the coach expects me to block a 200-pound
lineman with arms like Arnold
Schwarzenegger's," he said. "But that's what the
game is all about, I guess. Life goes on."
Now, two summers later, here I was, hearing
Ciro say the same thing about a broken taillight
in the Tyler Mall parking lot. "Hey, look," I said.
"I can't just drive away from this deal. It's not
right. I've got to leave my name and phone
number on a note."
"Get real!" Ciro laughed. "How many times
have you complained about people wrecking
your paint job by banging their doors against
your truck? Nobody's ever left a name and phone
number for you. Besides, that car has to be 15
years old. It looks like something out of The Road
Warrior. I'll bet Mel Gibson himself owned it at
one time. It's got dents and scratches all over it.
The driver probably won't even notice that you
hit him."
I fingered a piece of the broken red taillight
and thought about how long it would take me
bagging groceries at Safeway to pay a hundred
dollars' worth of repairs on a 15-year-old heap. It
suddenly seemed so needless and unfair. "Even if
he does notice it," I muttered, "his insurance will
cover it. It won't cost him a cent."
Ciro looked at me and grinned. "Works for
me!"
"Yeah," I said. "Let's get out of here." We
jumped into the truck and headed for the exit to
the parking lot.
But as we sat, waiting for the light to change at
the first intersection, I thought more about
something Ciro had said: "How many times have
you complained about people . . . ?" What right, I
asked myself, do I have to complain if I'm going
to do the same thing to someone else? If I expect
others to do the right thing, the least I can do is
expect as much from myself.
Ciro was just turning up the volume on Milli
Vanilli again when I made a U-turn and headed
back for the mall parking lot. "What are you
doing?" he asked.
"I'm going back," I sighed.
"Are you serious?"
"As a heart attack," I said.
Ciro ran his fingers through his hair. "Darren,
you're the weirdest guy I've ever known. Nobody
in his right mind would do what you're doing.
LISTEN (ISSN 0024-435X), August 1990, volume 43, number 8, is published monthly by Narcotics Education, Inc., 12501 Old Columbia Pike, Silver Spring, MD 20904, U.S.A. For the
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4 • LISTEN • August 1990
You were home free, and now you're going
back."
"I may have been home, but I wouldn't have
been free."
Ciro blinked and looked at me as if I'd begun
to speak Russian or something. He turned away
and watched the traffic, seemingly lost in thought
for the moment.
"A hundred dollars, maybe more," he finally
blurted out. "That's what this doing the right
thing is going to cost you!"
"You know," I said, "a wise man once told me
something that makes pretty good sense: 'Life
ILLUSTRATION BY DARREL TANK
goes on.' You know who said that, Ciro?"
He laughed and shook his head. "Words to live
by!"
By now we were back at the scene of the crime.
I scrawled out my name and phone number on
the the back of my Milli Vanilli receipt and
slipped it under the windshield wiper of "Mel
Gibson's" car.
When I got back in the truck, Ciro gave me a
long look. "Maybe I can loan you a little to help
you out for a while," he said.
I smiled. "You'll be hearing from me. You can
count on it."
August 1990 • LISTEN • 5
Call of the
Wild
After the holler of city living, the call of the wild
may sound muffled indeed—until you experience a wilderness
where backpacks are high fashion, blisters are de rigueur,
and Eddie Bauer is king.
Every inch of you is soaked.
You have blisters on both feet
and scratches running the
length of both arms. There's a
swarm of hungry mosquitoes
humming behind you. This is
fun?
For thousands of enthusiastic
hikers and backpackers, the
answer is a resounding Yes!
Backpacking gives you the
chance to view parts of the
country that the people comfortably settled in their cars will
never see. You can go at a
leisurely pace, taking great
photos or just getting the feel of
land untouched by human
industry. You can develop
personal strength—mentally
and physically.
"I really like being away
from the crowds," says Diane
Mines, 19, of Idaho. "When
you're in the mountains or
desert wilderness areas, people
are different, nicer. I also like
seeing the animals in their
natural homes. Just being in the
wilderness is an experience."
"The time away from today's
hustle and bustle is important,"
says Janet Cooney, a 17-yearold Texan. "I can get away from
6 • LISTEN • August 1990
it all, and the only worry I have
is where the next bush will be!"
Where to Start
Although most of us have
pretty well mastered walking,
hiking back into a wilderness
area is a totally different concept. So how do we proceed?
"It seems like I've always
been interested in hiking and
backpacking," says Marty
Ytreburg, 19, a college student
from Washington. "My family
used to live in India, and there
wasn't much opportunity for us
to go backpacking. But I read
everything I could find on the
subject. As soon as we moved
back to the States, I got my gear
and put into practice everything I'd read."
"My dad was an outdoorsman," says Mark Winchester,
24, of Idaho. "I can remember
him taking me camping when I
was little and showing me how
to get along in the outdoors.
Later I read some books on
orienteering and how to use a
compass."
Good sources for inspiration
Luan Miller
and information are hiking
groups such as the Sierra Club,
which often hosts regularly
scheduled hikes throughout
North America. Other groups,
including scout troops, offer
training and experience within
the safety of a group situation.
"I first got involved when I
was in seventh grade. My Girl
Scout troop went on an overnight trip into the wilderness
area near my home," Diane
Mines says. "There were about
20 of us divided into four or
five groups, with each group
responsible for itself. We had
been given some training at
home, of course, but this was
the real thing. I mean, if we
couldn't get our fire started, we
ate our food cold, or if we
couldn't get our tents up, we
slept out in the open."
Gearing Up
Backpacking does require
equipment, but not as much as
you might think. From the
editors of Backpacking Journal
come some tips for pulling
together the necessary gear.
Overnight trips call for a
backpack. With more than 400
Though a purist may scorn
anything other than a simple
bedroll, a sleeping bag provides
more comfort and warmth. A
lightweight, compressible bag
is best. While it should retain
body heat, it should also
"breathe," allowing body
moisture to escape so you
won't wake up chilled. Look for
a bag made from down (waterfowl feathers) or one of the new
polyester fibers.
Consider, too, what your
backpacking needs are. Where
will you do most of your
hiking? Will you be going out
year-round or only during the
summer months? Can you
expect mostly dry weather, or is
there a good chance of rain or
snow? A little forethought now
can make the difference between an experience to remember or one you wish you could
forget.
What Shall I Wear?
A city dweller drops his heavy pack and takes a rest. He's one of many youths
enjoying a hiking trip sponsored by San Francisco's police department.
different packs currently on the
market, finding the right one
could take a while. You may
want to rent what you need or
check out joining a hiking
group that provides gear for the
first few trips until you find
what suits you best. For most
people, a simple weekend pack
that holds between 1,500 and
2,500 cubic inches, or between
30 and 50 pounds loaded, is
adequate. When you're ready
to buy, take the gear you plan
to use with you to help in
choosing a pack. Remember,
there's a big difference between
how a pack fits and feels when
it's empty and when it's loaded.
All straps, webbing, and
buckles on the pack should be
strong and easy to adjust—
without breaking off any of
your fingernails. The actual
material of the pack is less
important, since it's usually the
fasteners that wear out first, not
the fabric.
Your clothing is important.
It's all that protects you from
Two hikers kick back and enjoy the view—and the cooling spray—at the top
of Yosemite National Park's Vernal Falls.
August 1990 • LISTEN • 7
sunburn, frostbite, skinned
shins, sharp tree branches, and
hungry mosquitoes. Pants and
shirts should be of sturdy, but
not heavy, material.
In cold weather, you'll want
to add some of the new,
"breathable" thermal underwear and maybe a sweater
under your jacket. A nylon
jacket will keep out light winds
or rain. If you plan to go out in
very cold weather, invest in a
good winter jacket tested to the
temperatures you expect to
experience. Always layer your
clothing. That way you can take
off or put on a layer and stay
comfortable.
Pay special attention to your
feet. Wearing a pair of underliner socks made of silk or
cotton beneath your other socks
will provide extra warmth and
cushioning. Choosing the right
boots or walking shoes makes a
difference, too.
If you're going out on fairly
flat terrain and well-groomed
trails, you may be able to get
away with a good pair of
walking shoes. But if your
This tree isn't the Jolly Green Giant, but its soaring height and mammoth
girth make a curious hiker look about as big as a sprout.
sights are on the faraway peak,
you'd better spend time selecting a true hiking boot. Styles,
options, and price tags vary,
but all the experts agree that
finding a good boot is worth
the effort. There's nothing like ,
hiking a few miles in poorly /
fitting boots to dull your
/
appreciation for the most
spectacular scenery. Avoid tooheavy or stiff boots. In addition
to causing painful blisters,
they'll leave you with sore,
overworked leg muscles.
Buy the boots far in advance
of your actual hiking trip. Like
a good pair of blue jeans, hiking
boots need to be broken in.
Place a piece of moleskin at any
rubbing points to prevent
blisters or cushion the ones you
do get, advises Diane Mines.
If you don't have enough
time to break the boots in
before your trip, Backpacking
Journal offers this suggestion:
Put the boots on and stand in a
bathtub full of tepid water until
the boots are soaked. Then
wear the soggy shoes until
they're dry again. (Nobody said
this would be fun—these measures are for emergencies only!)
PHOTO BY JAN SCHLEIFER
Be Prepared
After a day of trekking, a group of teens warms up at a campfire in the
Oregon wilderness.
8 • LISTEN • August 1990
As any Boy Scout who
knows his motto can tell you,
preparation is the key to a trip
that's memorable for all the
right reasons.
"Proba'-!y the most important thing to remember, especially when you're just getting
into backpacking, is safety,"
Near the Maroon Bells—mountains in Colorado—a hiker surveys snowcapped peaks and savors her moment at the top.
says Marty Ytreburg. "A person
should learn how to use a
compass and a topographical
map, and always include them
in his or her gear. I take lots of
precautions, packing first-aid
supplies, signaling devices,
emergency food packs—and
plenty of matches."
"Go with a buddy; it's the
safest way to go," says Erin
Ostrom, 17, of Nevada. Also tell
someone where you're going
and when you plan to return,
so that help can be dispatched
if you get in trouble. Many
wilderness areas have a logbook for people to sign in and
out so that the rangers know
who's still on the trail and
who's come back. It's to your
advantage to record your plans.
"Listen and be alert," adds
Kendra Wise, 15, from Oregon.
"If something is making a
weird noise, find out what it is.
Your senses are your greatest
safety instruments."
Backpacking is often considered a strenuous, musclestraining activity, but if you're
in reasonable condition—and
you don't overload your
pack—you can slap on your
gear and hike comfortably first
time out. If you don't partici-
pate in any kind of sport, you'll
probably want to set up a
personal schedule for an allbody activity such as cycling,
swimming, or jogging. Hiking
and backpacking are, after all,
endurance activities, and the
greater your endurance, the
more you'll be able to enjoy
your hiking trips. And enjoyment is the whole idea.
"I really love my time in the
mountains," says Mark Winchester. "There aren't any
distractions. When I go out, I'm
just there to enjoy the scenery
and relax, not to prove anything. I like to hike in far
enough to see the wildlife in
their own territory."
"Being out in nature, breathing air that's really clean is the
best," says Erin Ostrom.
"Just be sure you don't quit
too soon," urges Diane Mines.
"Too many people give up after
the first trip. The first time out
is kind of scary. Your feet will
probably hurt, and you'll get
tired fast. Just think positive; go
out and have fun! I guarantee
the next trip will be much
better. Then you'll be hooked." le
Backpacker Basics
• The Complete Walker, by Colin Fletcher, is considered the
hiker's bible. Fletcher, who was the first man known to have
walked the length of the Grand Canyon, tells you everything
you need to know about hiking and backpacking, including
how to stock your pack, select a good campsite, plan and
prepare meals, and live off the wilderness.
• The Hiker's and Backpacker's Handbook, by Bill Merrill (a
former Forest Service ranger), is another practical how-to
book. He writes from personal experience and covers almost
any situation that might occur on the trail.
• From the Sierra Club of America comes Walking Softly in
the Wilderness, by John Hart. It offers useful advice in selecting
everything from the right gear to the right trail, gives safety
tips, and tells how to leave the wilderness the way you found
it.
• Backpacker magazine, published bimonthly by Rodal
Press, is a good source for up-to-the-minute news in the
backpacking world.
• When you're ready to buy equipment, go to some sporting-goods stores to try things out and decide what's best.
Reputable mail-order stores can also outfit you from head to
toe. Write to the following for a catalog: Eddie Bauer Catalog,
P.O. Box 3700, Seattle, WA 98124-3700; and Recreational
Equipment, Inc. (REI) Catalog, P.O. Box 88125, Seattle, WA
98138-0125.
August 1990 • LISTEN • 9
Kris Coffin Stevenson
Drug Wars:
Can We Win
by Giving In?
When Uncle Sam waves the white flag, when the
Statue of Liberty lights a joint instead of her torch, when the
American eagle holds syringes in place of arrows, will
legalization make us free—or a lot worse off?
You pull up to a fast-food
drive-through with a car full of
kids. Your passengers are
shouting their orders at you.
Finally, a tinny voice comes
through the speaker. "May I
take your order?"
"Yeah," you call back.
"Three burgers, one cheeseburger, four orders of fries, two
chocolate milkshakes, and two
hits of crack."
"Will that be all?" asks the
voice.
"Yes. No, wait. Add two
joints to that order."
What?
Your mom is driving you
home from the school-play
practice. "I have to stop at the
drugstore," she says. You
follow her into the store, where
she picks up a box of hair
ILLUSTRATION BY DON WELLER
coloring, a package of cold
medicine, and a bottle of
cocaine powder. "It's on sale
today," she says, pleased.
"Only $1.99 an ounce!"
Really!
What we're talking about
here is the reality of drug
legalization—a new idea in the
fight against drugs. "It sounds
like the idea of some wasted
high-school dropout," you say.
"Are people actually serious
about this?"
Yes, they are. And they
include a few names you might
have heard before, like former
Secretary of State George
Schultz, Baltimore Mayor Kurt
Schmoke, and U.S. District
Judge Robert Sweet. Legalization supporters have some
surprisingly good reasons for
backing the concept.
The main argument behind
legalizing drugs has to do with
crime. Every night when you
watch the news on TV, you
probably see reports about
drug-related crimes like robberies and murders. And of course
everybody knows about the big
drug cartel in Medellin, Columbia, where all the drug lords
have been battling the government for control of the country.
Legalizing drugs would result
in wiping out all those drug
lords and all that crime overnight.
Uncle Sam, the Drug
Dealer?
Some people even go so far
as to suggest that this is how it
might happen: The U.S. govern-
August 1990 • LISTEN • 11
ment would buy the drugs and
then sell them for less than
what they're going for on the
street. No one is going to pay
$10 for a hit of crack if the
government is selling it for $5.
Suddenly there would be no
profit in selling drugs. All those
drug lords, drug dealers, and
drug runners would have no
further reason to exist. Drugs
would be so cheap and available that people wouldn't have
to steal and kill to get them.
Legalization would change a
lot of yearly statistics:
• 750 people wouldn't die
from illegal trafficking.
•3,000 people wouldn't die
from AIDS contracted by using
dirty needles, because they'd
have easy access to clean ones.
•2,400 people wouldn't die
from impure drugs or drugs
laced with other substances.
•1,600 people wouldn't die
in drug-related street crimes.
U.S. District Judge Robert
Sweet says, "I suggest it is time
to abolish the prohibition—to
cease treating indulgence in
mind alteration as a crime." He
feels that the war on drugs is
being lost and that legalization
would result in "the elimination of the profit motive, the
gangs, the drug dealers."
Democratic Representative
George Crockett, one of the
latest politicians to join the
group urging legalization,
thinks that "decriminalization
is the only solution. Our courts
are burdened down with these
drug cases, and there is nothing
they can do about it."
Those who favor legalization
think it would put an end to the
billions of dollars spent fighting
drugs; the prisons overflowing
with drug offenders; the courts
backlogged with drug cases;
drug offenders getting off on
12 • LISTEN • August 1990
technicalities; drug dealers
who are able to shift their base
of operation so quickly that
they can elude attempts to
catch them; and the flood of
drugs raised as the national
crop in the third-world countries and smuggled by the ton
across our vast, unprotected
borders.
It's hopeless to try stopping
drug use, legalization supporters say. By taking the crime
factor out of drugs, we can
eliminate a lot of our current
drug problems and use our
money more wisely in drug
education and rehabilitation.
The people urging legalization attempt to strengthen their
case by pointing out the failure
of Prohibition. In the 1930s,
alcohol became illegal. But
enforcement of the new law
soon proved impossible.
Moonshine (illegally distilled
alcohol) was everywhere, and
secret clubs selling alcohol to
those in the know sprang up all
over. Finally the law was
repealed. Today we've learned
to live with alcohol. We have
laws about the quality of
alcohol, laws about where it
can be sold, and laws about the
age of those allowed to drink it.
The same thing will happen to
drugs, say those in favor of
decriminalization. We'll learn
to live with the effects of
widespread drug use.
"So let's go for it, dude,"
you say. "Legal drugs for everyone!"
Why Won't It Work?
Well, it's not quite that
simple. There are even more
arguments against drug legalization than for it. Although
drug legalization may stop
some of the crime-related
deaths, other yearly figures
won't be erased:
•160,000 drug-related emergency-room visits.
•6,700 drug-related deaths.
•375,000 or more infants
born addicted to drugs.
• 75 percent of all children
beaten to death being killed by
drug-using parents.
With these statistics in
mind—and they're just a few
examples—could we really
learn to live with legalized
drugs like we did with alcohol?
"Alcohol has done quite
enough damage, thank you,"
answers William Bennett,
coordinator of the federal
government's war on drugs.
"We don't need the other drugs
legalized."
And when you look at
alcohol's effect on public
health, the figures are alarming.
Alcohol causes the deaths of
80,000 to 100,000 people and
contributes to an additional
100,000 deaths every year. After
Prohibition failed, the numbers
of alcohol users rose dramatically, currently standing at 113
million. Tobacco—containing
another harmful but legal drug,
nicotine—has 60 million users
and causes over 300,000 deaths
yearly.
If other drugs become legal
and cheaper, the number of
marijuana and cocaine users—
currently 18 million and 6
million respectively—will skyrocket to even more alarming
levels. Dr. Robert DuPont,
former director of the National
Institute on Drug Abuse,
predicts that the number of
users of these two drugs would
rise to the 100-million range.
And what about the inevitable
increases of users of heroin, ice,
PCP, LSD, etc.?
An important difference
between alcohol and other
drugs is that only 10 percent of
people who drink get addicted,
while at least 75 percent of
those who try other drugs
become addicted—many, the
first time they use drugs.
Drug legalization creates
other problems as well. Just
where do you draw the line?
Some people propose legalizing
only marijuana, claiming it isn't
harmful. But most of the
crime—and profit—result from
the sale of drugs such as cocaine, crack, and heroin. Legalizing marijuana wouldn't do
much to take away the profit
motive, and would only put
more unsafe, spaced-out
drivers on the road.
If all drugs are legalized, the
very real possibility exists of
much more dangerous drugs
being created and sold legally
in the future. If these not-yetdeveloped killer drugs are so
lethal that they must be declared illegal, then the government will once again have to
start a war on drugs.
What about access? Will
there be a minimum age for
other drugs as there is for
alcohol? If so, law officers will
have to enforce that minimum
age, and underage users desperate for a high will continue
the cycle of crime and violence.
If we try decriminalization and
it's a disaster, how can the
government go back to reinforcing the old laws about
illegal drugs with so many
more millions of addicts in our
country willing to commit
violent crimes to get the drugs
they need?
From a political point of
view, a majority backing of
legalization isn't likely to
happen. Surveys show that the
American public is against
legalization of drugs 9 to 1. So,
even those willing to risk their
political careers by speaking out
in favor of such an idea face
strong public opposition. It's
not a stand likely to get a
member of congress reelected.
The Bottom Line
When you add up all the
arguments against legalizing
drugs, it doesn't seem like such
a great solution after all. Maybe
we don't appear to be winning
the war on drugs. But wars take
time, and individual battles
must be fought and won. Here's
a battle we are winning: Among
high-school and college kids
today, cocaine usage is
dropping—the "Just Say No"
campaign is working. In 1985,
there were 5.8 million users. By
1988, that number had dropped
to 2.9 million. Education against
drugs is effective. Just look at
the antismoking campaign. For
25 years we've been trying to
get people to stop smoking.
First cigarette ads were banned
from TV, then restaurants
started providing smoke-free
sections, and workplaces
became segregated. More
recently some airline flights
have become completely nonsmoking. It's no longer cool to
smoke, and it's a sign of weakness if you can't quit. The
percentage of smokers has gone
down from 40 percent in 1964
to 30 percent and dropping,
today.
The most important thing in
all this talk about whether we
should or shouldn't legalize
drugs is people. Whether drugs
are legal or not, people suffer
from the effects of using drugs.
They run the risk of contracting
AIDS and hepatitis from dirty
needles; they run the risk of
overdosing; they run the risk of
unknowingly buying drugs
diluted with toxic substances;
and they run the risk of heart
failure—even on the first use.
Drug users damage their
immune system and become
more vulnerable to disease;
they miss lots of school and
work; and they suffer poor
relations with their friends and
family because all their time
and energy are expended on
drugs. Some of them bring
innocent babies into the world
drug-addicted.
The world has enough
suffering without adding to it
by creating more drug addicts.
As columnist Richard Cohen
says, "The decriminalization of
drugs would be a leap into the
unknown. No one knows what
would happen." Let's not find
out.
Fl
August 1990 • LISTEN • 13
Patricia Carroll
Addiction
What a Drag!
Nicotine is more addicting than heroin. Find that
hard to believe? Just wait until you're driving to 7-Eleven
at 3 a.m. to buy smokes, or plowing through the trash
looking for soggy cigarette butts.
Consider this National Enquirerish story: according to a newspaper report, Thomas Warren
chained himself to a 280-pound
sofa for three weeks to quit
smoking. He used a thin, 25foot-long steel cable attached to
the sofa to form a collar around
his neck. Outrageous? Ridiculous? Drastic. But understandable to one who is addicted.
I started smoking as a teenager. I was sure adults who
warned me to stop (lectured, I
thought) were trying to ruin my
fun, annoyed at my sophisticated look. The unhealthy
aspects of smoking hadn't confronted me yet. I could quit any
time, right? After all, I'm a
reasoning human with will
power. What chance does a
little white piece of paper
stuffed with shreds of tobacco
have against me? Well, those
little shreds of tobacco have
more power than Mike Tyson
(or Buster Douglas!) on a good
day.
When Art Buchwald had to
give up his cigars, he noted, "I
can smoke without writing, but
I can't write without smoking."
For me, not only writing, but
waking up, driving, socializing,
digesting a meal, working, and
relaxing all seemed to depend
on inhaling that smelly, deadly,
14 • LISTEN • August 1990
and expensive smoke.
Determined to quit, I enrolled in a university study for
help. I read the material supplied, relaxed with the tape
they gave me, and guided my
imagination to smoke-free,
wooded dells and sparkling,
butt-free beaches—to the applause and relief of my friends
and family. I kept a record of
my smoking habits, read the
warnings on the packs seriously, cut down, stubbed out
my cigarettes sooner than I
used to, changed brands,
listened to the encouraging
words of those conducting the
study, tossed my cigarettes—
and went out and bought more.
For two years they encouraged
and I tried. I was one of their
failures.
Not ready yet for steel cable,
I decided I'd quietly quit on my
own—right after the next pack.
The next pack extended into
another and another. Buying by
the carton is cheaper, I reasoned; I'll buy one carton and
quit after that. Several hundred
cartons later, I admitted that
approach wasn't working too
well.
I went public. The humiliation of failing would help keep
me on the straight and narrow,
I was sure. I'm glad I didn't bet
my house or my car on it.
A friend bought me a box of
candy. Every day I went without a cigarette, I was to reward
myself with a piece of candy. I
didn't get fat on that box,
believe me.
My doctor fortified me with
facts, encouragement, and
patches for my arm to lessen
the withdrawal symptoms. The
patches worked, but not well
enough. A little patch was no
match for the craving that
could shake my whole body
from toes to scalp. The delight
and encouragement of nonsmokers, ex-smokers, and those
still smoking—who thought,
Maybe if she can, I can—didn't
work when the yearning for a
hit of nicotine came over me.
I tried to stop by thinking of
the health consequences of
smoking. I pictured black
lungs, blood moving sluggishly
through my veins, pain in my
heart, tubes from an oxygen
tank snaking to my nose,
cholesterol piling up in my
veins and arteries. I saw an
older, wrinkled me coughing
through the day, unable to
climb five stairs at once, wheezing for air from the exertion of
getting up off the sofa. Whenever I cleaned the brown film
from my windows, I told
myself that something like that
was in my lungs, on my teeth,
in my mouth.
I asked myself if I wanted
my face to look like a prune in
10 years, looked at my yellow
fingers and nails, and reminded
myself that I smelled like I'd
just been fumigated—no matter
how much perfume I dumped
on. "Who," I asked myself,
"would want to kiss you when
you taste like a dirty ashtray?"
I threw my cigarettes away. I
drank gallons of water to flush
out the nicotine, stocked the
fridge with low-cal munchies,
and piled up busy work for my
hands. The first three days are
the hardest. I watched the
clock: 12 hours, 22 hours. I read
to take my mind (now playing
tricks on me) off this addiction.
I hoped that no one in the book
ILLUSTRATION BY STEVE SMALLWOOD
would light up a cigarette. I
weighed my long list of reasons
for quitting against my one
reason for continuing—I
needed it.
Two days and 23 hours
passed. The worst was almost
over—only one more hour. I'd
made it! Not quite. I found
myself kneeling on the car seat
looking for a long butt in the
ashtray. A passing neighbor
honked at my derriere sticking
out the car door. Red-faced, I
still lit the stinking thing and
took a long drag. Soon I was
waiting in the parking lot for
the store to open so I could
have my fix. Two days and 23
hours up in smoke!
"I'll finish the pack, then
quit. They cost too much just to
throw away," I rationalized.
The next time I quit, each
hour I told myself I'd gone too
long now to give up. When I
had only 30 minutes left to go
in that critical three-day period,
I found myself scrounging
through the car ashtray again.
"Why can't I make it?" I asked
myself. I lit the butt and wondered if it was even worth
trying to quit again after this.
Then I coughed and coughed
and coughed. "It's worth it," I
decided.
This time I passed the threeday mark and limped beyond
the three-week mark. Now it's
been six weeks—and it's going
to be forever! The craving still
hits me sometimes, but it's
getting weaker.
I'd sought a sophisticated
look as a teenager. I found
there's nothing sophisticated
about breaking an addiction. A
August 1990 • LISTEN • 15
He
nry;i7er
sam
"I've Got Everything!"
Henry Lee Summer can live without BMWs or mansions in
Beverly Hills. But he loves rock 'n' roll, high-top sneakers,
and living drug free.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••004
It's a hot July in Brazil, Indiana, and Henry
Lee Summer is coming home. For him, it's
quite a change from the hurry and noise of
New York and Los Angeles. For the 7,852
residents of Brazil, it's a chance to see a local
boy who made good return to his roots.
The past several years, Summer has headlined the benefit rock concert which climaxes
Brazil's yearly week-long festival hosted by
local Rotary Clubs. The benefit now requires
something almost unheard of in towns this
size—crowd control.
Summer remembers attending the festival
while growing up. "Everybody went. It was a
big deal, you know, to ask a girl to go to the
fireworks with you, and I'd always be down
to the wire. All of us guys would hold out,
and be going for the same girl. When she'd
make her decision, about five or six of us
would have to scramble."
That was then. Now Summer is the one
causing the scramble. The big deal is his rock
concert; his fans turn out in full force to see
him bring the house down as he performs "I
Wish I Had a Girl" and other songs from his
two albums, Henry Lee Summer, and I've Got
Everything. Summer has a straightforward,
somewhat bluesy style, and one reviewer
called his music "laid-back REO Speedwagon."
Summer enjoys these hometown benefit
concerts. "I figure after all the years of enjoyment they've given me, I can hopefully give
something back. When I see those people, I
know that's where I came from—that's where
I still am. It's easy to get lost in this business,"
he says. "I spend a lot of time going back and
forth from L.A. to New York. It's nice to have
that home base. And my parents keep me in
line, too."
Sheryl Elliott Reynolds
16 • LISTEN • August 1990
Born Henry Lee Swartz, Summer grew up
in this small, Midwestern farming community, the son of devout Nazarene parents. He
spent much of his time playing basketball and
attending church—he made his singing debut
in the church choir.
Summer got an acoustic guitar when he
was 11 and taught himself to play. Believing
he had musical potential, he joined his first
band while in high school. Summer played
with the local group until a full basketball
scholarship took him to Western Wyoming
Junior College, where the six-foot-three-inch
Hoosier played guard.
The love of music had a stronger hold on
Summer than the basketball court did. He left
college after his freshman year to follow his
dream. Heading south to Jacksonville, Mississippi, Summer began his career. He paid his
dues, playing night after night in a road
house. During the next couple of years, he
played with various bands in the South, then
returned to Indiana to start putting his own
music together.
In 1986, he played 222 engagements at
various clubs, ballrooms, high schools, colleges, and county fairs. By October of that
year, his hard work paid off when he was
signed to CBS Associated Records. In February 1988, his first major label album was
released internationally. The self-titled album,
Henry Lee Summer, was recorded in New
York, except for the song "Still Bein' Seventeen," which was entirely produced and performed by Summer, and recorded in his
living room.
Summer's most popular song, "I Wish I
Had A Girl," became a Top 20 single in
Billboard's Hot 100, and the video reached
number eight on MTV's Video Countdown.
PHOTO BYPAULNATKIN / PHOTORESERVE, INC.
• •
In 1988, CBS sponsored a video
debut party for that hit, and
Summer was presented an
award by the governor of
Indiana. He was named a
"Sagamore of the Wabash"
(one of Indiana's highest
awards) for his work with the
"Say No to Drugs" program.
Long before it was cool to
speak out against drug use,
Henry Lee Summer talked to
concert-goers about alternatives to substance use. "I
figured out a long time ago in
this business that drugs are all
around," he says. "I've seen
what they've done to some
people I've known. Before
some of my songs, I'd say, 'See
how much fun I'm having?'
And just be kind of tongue in
cheek with it . .. telling the
audience that you can't have
this kind of fun for any length
of time if you're on drugs. I try
not to get in the position where
"You really appreciate
the good times after
you've had a few bad
times. You've just got to
get out there and bust
right through the bad
ones!"
I start preaching to them,
because I know that'd turn me
off.
"To tell you the truth,"
Summer continues, "a few
years ago, when I'd talk about
drugs, I'd get a few boos, but it
didn't stop me. I'd tell them,
'You don't have to listen to me.
You'll see it someday.' But
anymore, it seems the attitude
has changed. I'll say it, and the
reaction is positive."
18 • LISTEN • August 1990
Summer loves quality guitars and
equipment. Here he mixes a song
on his board.
Recalling his own teenage
years, Summer says, "It's hard.
It's hard for everybody, but like
the old cliche, you really
appreciate the good times after
you've had a few bad times.
You've just got to get out there
and bust right through the bad
ones!"
Summer feels that although a
great deal has been done to
educate the public about drug
use, still more can be done. "If
anything can ruin our country
or be a black spot on our future,
drugs are it."
Summer hopes to show
others that "you can have a
good time in life" without
using drugs. "Not that it's a big
deal or anything, but anyone
who knows me knows that I
don't do drugs. The first thing
drugs do is take away your
ambition and the ability to
enjoy something so simple as
the weather and a nice day. Or
a good meal! I can have a good
meal and I'm trippin'!"
Ambition doesn't seem to be
a problem for Summer as he
sets his career goals. Last year
he toured nationally, opening
concerts for Richard Marx, John
Cougar Mellencamp, Eddie
Money, and Chicago.
Following a strong, 30minute set by Summer, Eddie
Money once said, "Man, he
really rock-and-rolled the place.
By the time I got out there, the
fans were all wrung out."
Shaking back his mane of darkblond hair, Summer wows a crowd
with his music.
Money added, "He's got the
goods. He's a breath of fresh
air, a natural. I'm sure he's
going to make it."
Summer began his namesake
season in 1989 with the release
of his album I've Got Everything.
In the words of an old Rick
Springfield album, "Success
hasn't spoiled him yet." Summer says he's not into material
things, claiming that the high
point of his day is making
music.
This would still be true, he
says, if he wasn't a professional
musician. "I'd like the chance to
disprove some of this fame
myth. Don't get me wrong,
there's nothing wrong with
making money and striving to
better yourself, but when greed
enters in, that's the trap a lot of
people fall into."
Summer likes good instruments and studio equipment,
but says he's not into expensive
clothes or fancy cars. "As long
as I have a car that starts in the
morning and doesn't break
down, that's fine with me. Oh,
and the radio has to work!"
Summer's lifestyle is simple;
his music, as one reviewer put
it, is "straight ahead." And his
message to his fans is clear as
well. "They know I'm not
telling them not to do it [drugs]
." he says. "I'm just saying, if
they're looking for a choice,
something to better their lives,
drugs definitely aren't it."
FA
I doubt your parents will scold you for
thinking about sex, but they're probably too
uncomfortable about the subject to bring it
1.01 paceots aboot
bot they don't
up. As their kids begin to mature, parents
shotAd at
ta0cirg to
remember how they were afraid to talk to
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do. % ,
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oiSexual
What behavior by its very rvature is a very private
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ties. However, the more appropriate
14
knowledge you have about sex, the
arvyorve. fiver With your frielvd, ou. reabout
reveabsvg your owl" feelings and fears aryd I or your
better control you'll have of your
ovgrk igrvorarvce about sexual srtatters.NNIhery discuss
thoughts, feelings, and behavior.
ing sex With your parervts, it becosnes egery zrvore
I suggest you go to both of
cosrvplicated•liyot.i ve groWsvup iry art av era'ehooe ,
your parents and ask them to tell
sex pcobably has been a taboo csorsvethirvg We just
you about sex. It may cause a
allt talk abot), certaisvW soOethisvg you°very
re supfew minutes of embarrassment
posed tobe iryterested in ovvly vsAlel‘you get snarried.
for all of you, but you'll soon
get more comfortable, and
cuyttore,vev
though We lige it a very so
with vrvovies, bo6V.s, alvd'IN so oyes\ about sex,
.N
then you can get most of your
there are very feW ges‘uirvely apr opriate places to go
01
questions answered by the
to get sex educatiory Plot of schools 'OW have this
two people responsible for
.1
your being here.
educatirv,
very helyivxl.
'toil! rearta.
rightthd
in sfeeling
you should tall( to you\
01
If this doesn't work out
.
Ihey
parervts. Sextlal thoughts ark. fee 11V6S are a oska re.
or
if you're too afraid,
part of a specal soclal re1ati.olvshly betvsleerk a at
IN
then go to one of your
AN
ana
a Worfar,
Ova rothing
to be asharrved
teachers whom you reought
to be accepted
cortAtortably
. NI. our parervts are
0,
spect, or a school counin the best positiosv to %node\ for you the servse of
selor, or some other
security that cosnes WO a Warrn, close aifectioate
''i
relatiosyship Which they express sexually isv private.
grown-up with whom
oN
you
feel comfortable,
4.01
and present your questions to
that person. You might ask the librarian to
AI
recommend something good to read. Be cautious
about getting too much information from your friends, though.
They're probably just as ignorant and/or misinformed about sexual
matters as you are. Since sexual matters will be a very significant part of your life,
you owe it to yourself to get the best and most accurate information available. I
wish you success in this most important learning experience.
k.1
Jack
Anders
Have a question about friendships, family relations, drugs and health, or other teenage
concerns? Ask a friend—Jack Anders, parent, counselor, and social worker. Address your
questions to "Ask a Friend," LISTEN Magazine, 12501 Old Columbia Pike, Silver Spring, MD
20904. Jack is sorry that he cannot answer letters individually.
August 1990 • LISTEN • 19
REACTION
Christopher wasn't about to pull out a breathalizer
to check his fellow racer's intoxication level. If the
guy took a few swigs before the race, it was his own
responsibility, right?
I could hardly believe my eyes when he
pulled a small bottle from his pocket and
took a swig. Strictly against the rules! He
sighed loudly and looked around. I
started checking my kart before he
caught me gawking at him.
It was only my third go-kart race, see?
At 17, I was younger than a lot of the
other racers. I wasn't the one to start
blowing the whistle on anybody.
The first day I raced, I came in last
every time. Last! I'd dreamed about
winning all my races from the very first.
I was so happy to be racing, I didn't
even care that I lost. It was like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one.
I wish I could describe how it feels.
Sitting about three inches from the
blacktop, you're flying around the track
at high speed, just trying to squeeze
another MPH out of your machine. You
feel like the wind, only more powerful.
The next time I did better—but I came
in last again. And I still didn't care.
Well, here I was in the pit area,
smelling gas and oil, getting my kart
ready for the race. Dad had helped me
tune it up, so I hoped to do better. I
couldn't wait for the race to begin.
I kept watching this guy sneaking his
bottle, wondering what I should do. Dad
had made certain I knew the racing rules
and let me know how important it was
to obey them. And the rules said NO
ALCOHOL.
I hadn't thought much about that rule
because I never touch the stuff. But now
this. And the guy was a racing veteran.
All the guys seemed to be great pals.
Except me. But they spoke to me and
encouraged me, so I figured I'd be part
of the gang one of these days.
I wondered if I should report this
idiot to the management. But maybe
everyone did it and nobody really cared.
After all, they weren't driving on the
highway. I hesitated, not wanting to
make a fool of myself.
The guy kept swigging. Before I could
decide what to do, my race was called.
As I crawled into the seat and put on my
new black-and-red helmet, I saw him lift
the bottle again. Was I glad we weren't
racing together!
I started my engine and forgot all
about him. Nine karts lined up ahead of
me as we made our pace trip around the
irregularly shaped, hilly track. Then we
got the green flag and things started
happening. Despite all my efforts,
everyone gradually moved ahead of me.
I jammed the pedal almost through
the floor but couldn't get any more out
of it. I came in almost half a lap behind
the rest. The whole thing was so exciting
that I felt like a first-place winner anyway. You just have to try it to understand.
I wouldn't be racing again for a while,
so I grabbed a can of root beer and
headed for the bleachers. Might as well
watch.
The people on the bleachers all sat
around enjoying the sun and doing their
VeraLee Wiggins
KAY VEE JAY PHOTO, COURTESY OF THE INTERNATIONAL KART FEDERATION
August 1990 • LISTEN • 21
own thing. Some watched the
race, some talked—I mean
shouted. The karts buzzed like
40 million bees. I could barely
hear the loudspeaker, let alone
the people talking.
One couple sat there kissing,
as though they were all alone.
Then there was this little 4year-old kid with a spoon and a
jar of peanut butter. He scarfed
up that stuff like he was eating
a bowl of ice cream.
The races went pretty fast,
each one lasting about 10
minutes. I knew the guys a
little, so I cheered for my
favorites.
The third race after mine, I
noticed a red kart weaving
around some during the pace
lap. Its driver was the guy I'd
seen drinking. The flagman
made everyone take another
pace lap. That time everything
seemed cool, so they got the
green flag and all took off
together.
The hardest time in a race is
right at thq first, when the karts
are all bunched together. As
they zapped around the track,
they sort of separated, the faster
ones taking the lead, the others
falling behind.
Well, the next thing I knew,
several karts spun out of
control as the wobbly red one
crashed into them. Its front end
lifted into the air and ran up
over the rear end of another
kart. Then the red kart rolled
and slammed onto the track
upside down, skidding 25 feet
on its top.
Mom had been complaining
because these karts don't have
roll bars. Dad said a bar would
make them cumbersome and
unmanageable. When I saw this
guy skidding on his head, I
wished he had a roll bar,
cumbersome or not.
The crowd was silent as the
officials lifted the kart off the
poor guy. Everyone watched
intently except the kid eating
peanut butter. He just kept
dipping and shoveling.
The guy didn't move. He lay
so still on that blacktop that he
could have been sleeping, or—.
Pretty soon an ambulance came
and took him away.
The races started again, but
everyone seemed pretty subdued. The excitement and fun
was gone.
The next day I heard that the
injured driver suffered a
broken neck and a severed
spinal cord, and would be
permanently paralyzed. At the
time he crashed, his blood
alcohol level had been .23!
I felt pretty rotten for the
next few days, thinking the
guy's injuries were my fault.
Finally I had to talk to someone.
I waited until my parents
seemed relaxed, then I approached them. "Dad," I began,
"how much are we responsible
for other people's welfare?"
He looked surprised. He
probably figured I never gave a
thought to anyone's welfare,
including my own. He rubbed
his chin a moment, then
scratched the back of his head.
Finally he grinned. "I guess as
much as possible. Isn't that
what you'd say, Jennie?"
Mom nodded. "I'd say that's
about right. But what did you
have in mind?"
They sat like statues for a
while after I told them the
story. Finally Mom slipped to
the couch beside me and took
my hand. Even though I'm
almost 18, I have to admit I
liked that quite a bit.
"There's no way you can
blame yourself for that man's
injury," she said quietly. "He's
a lot older than you, and if
you'd said anything to him,
he'd have shut you up in a
hurry. Besides, he should have
known better."
Dad agreed. "No telling
whether the officials would've
taken you seriously even if
you'd reported him. What
happened to him isn't your
fault, Christopher. No way."
"We've all had a real-life
lesson about the dangers of
alcohol, though," Mom said.
I felt a 10-ton weight slip
from my shoulders. It wasn't
my fault! Both Mom and Dad
said so.
But as the days went by,
another thought drummed into
my head. I finally agreed with
my folks. It wasn't my fault. He
was responsible for his own
actions. But even so, I had
passed up the chance of doing
something to save him from an
accident that probably ruined
his life.
rA
22 • LISTEN • August 1990
KAY VEE JAY PHOTO, COURTESY OF THE INTERNATIONAL KART FEDERATION
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has 33 filing cabinets .,.
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'Bob
fun of jokes
stored in his fire-proof vaults; 17
—Hope
'
of these contain. jokes he hasn't
usedEnterprises
yt.
Employers report that one out of five -workers
—Youthworker
Update
has a problem. with. either alcohol
or other drugs.
.
More than 66% of teerts believe young people
can help solve their communitys problems;
595o have volunteered for community --Group
service.
, play in Broadut 15
safter abo
A Chorus Line, the longest-running
way history closed March 31 Washingt on Post
and 6,104 performance.—
addicted to
Years
r
e bo
At least 37,000 infants are --(See "Drag Was:
Can We Win by Giving Inr page 10)
drugs every year.
The following high-tech --Sports Illustrated
researched and developed for the
drugs: vapor sniffers that weapons are
gos;
war being
can
against
/ocate
illegal
detect
drug
carplant laser-assisted radar that can
drug SO
labs; and genetic alteration of the
that it cant yield
ocaine.
coca
IIS. News World Report
the earth.
About 1,800 working satellites currently orbit
The
--National Geographic World
musical instruments teens most like to play
(32,
acoustic
are synthesizer/keyboards
(34%), woodwinds
guitar (13%). piano
list more
(Teens (31%), brass (21%), and
than one surveyed
instrument.)were atiowed to
_American Musk
Conference
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G
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GREAT 'v ICTORIA
DESERT
Great
PHOTO BY BETTY Bt..LIE.
Ausitafiarqkihr
11.1VIKCA
SOitiTH 2
AUSTRAL! t•'.
BASIN
4ktok ‘psioto
trees green
water cool
i marvel
stretched as far as the eye can see
the oasis fades from beneath me
desert
wasteland
barren and old
the sun glares down
i shiver but am not cold.
—Shannon Singleton
Las Vegas, Nevada
"am
Ttstriai
The media has too much control
and it's taking its toll.
We think we are, but we're not free.
Someday I hope to be.
The advertisers are growing rich
by selling us the false hope
that if we buy what they have
it will be easier to cope.
They set our expectations
and redirect our goals,
Make us think that to be popular
we have to play a certain role.
I don't want to live their lie.
I don't want to wear their disguise.
I already know their aim.
I don't want to play their game.
—Scott Price
Angwin, California
Of the times we'd met before,
Each was yet the first.
My heart suddenly swelled,
And then it burst.
Through the vessels
Shot a fiery brew.
The tissues welcomed it,
And I was new.
I became a song of you,
My heart on each note hung.
I was watching, waiting,
Longing to be sung.
. . . I love you.
—Jenny Waite
Gaines, Michigan
11-7i r mr4;14.:r
Friend, cross the water
You certainly oughta—
But you can't get there
Log dugout you try
Swift current runs by
You still can't get there
A raft like a feather
Gets caught in the weather
But your friend still waits there
Now concrete and cable
You're finally able
To touch the gold in her hair.
—Amanda Berger
Randolph, New Jersey
L.
.1r-
rk
atri
Sitting in the car, I shivered. I
watched the door of the small building, waiting for it to open. I glanced
at my watch. Ten minutes after nine.
The meeting was running late. I let
my head fall back against the seat and
closed my eyes. I'd been coming to
these Narcotics Anonymous meetings
for almost four months with Kevin. I
never went in with him; I knew this
was something he had to do on his
own. But I was always there in the
car, waiting if he needed me.
The car door opened and Kevin
slid into the driver's seat. "Hi," he
said, that shy grin crossing his face.
"How you doing?" It was a simple
question, so full of meaning.
"OK," he nodded a simple answer.
That was as far as it ever went. He
never told me what went on in those
meetings, and I never asked. I knew it
was enough for him to know that
someone was waiting for him when
the meeting was over. And I always
was.
I searched his face, looked deep
into his eyes, but could find no other
answer. Satisfied, I turned my attention to the night sky. No clouds could
be seen, but then neither could the
stars. I realized that was exactly
.001;.•,;=.•
where Kevin was now. Glancing over
at him, I wondered if he knew it, but
somehow I knew he didn't.
I never told Kevin how much those
times meant to me, how much I
learned. I began to look forward to
that hour on Thursday nights. But
soon, too soon, it seems, Kevin was
strong enough to go to the meetings
on his own.
When Kevin dropped me off at
home for the last time, I started to get
out of the car. Kevin grabbed my
hand. Looking straight at me, he said,
"I'd never have made it through
without you. I'd have given up a long
time ago."
It was hard to believe that words
so simple could mean so much.
As Kevin drove away that night, I
looked up, and for the very first time,
I could see stars.
—CAT
Antioch, California
Each month, LISTEN Magazine looks for short, well-written, thought-provoking manuscripts
from teenage writers. The subject may be anything that interests teenagers. Limited space lets
us print only a few of the best entries, but if we print your poem (no longer than 20 lines,
please), you'll receive a $10 prize. The author of a printed story or essay (300-500 words) is
awarded $15 to $20. Address your submissions to "Graffiti," LISTEN Magazine, 12501 Old
Columbia Pike, Silver Spring, MD 20904. Be sure to tell us your age, and always include a selfaddressed, stamped envelope.
25
nisi
•
The Duracell Car
Four double-A's and you're ready
to go. Not quite. This new
General Motors prototype car
may run on batteries, but it sure
won't rev up on anything that fits
in a Walkman. The Impact, a futuristically smooth, aerodynamic
car, came out in January and is
the most advanced electric car
ever. It creates no pollution and
goes from 0 to 60 MPH in eight
seconds (faster than the BMW
325i, according to Time magazine). The batteries need recharging every 120 miles and have to
be replaced every 20,000 miles.
It's doubtful that Impacts will
make it onto the road any time
soon, because battery replacement makes them about twice as
expensive to operate as a regular
car. But with pollution and
concern for the Earth's health
26 • LISTEN • August 1990
both on the rise, these George
Jetson cars of the future may be
your sixteenth-birthday present
before you know it.
Service with a
(GULP) Smile
They can earn from $26,000 to
$130,000 a year in the Washington, D.C., area for performing
tasks once relegated to a 1950s
housewife. "The rat race is the
raison d'etre for our service,"
Scott Lowry, president and chief
executive of Concierge Services of
America, told the Washington
Post. "What used to be done by
the stay-at-home spouse is no
longer done by her. We make
your errands go away."
Concierges, who are a cross
between a hotel hospitality
representative and a genie ready
to grant your every wish, are
literally at your service all the
time. They'll walk the dog, run
down to the gourmet store for
mangos from the Philippines, or
buy your spouse's birthday
present. And while a hotel or
apartment complex may pay a
concierge a lot of money to find
your favorite ice (imported from
a Himalayan lake, naturally), the
service is free to you. OK, nothing's free—you'll pay more for a
hotel or apartment that offers
this, but if you've got more
money than time, it's the perfect
solution.
This detective/travel agent/
personal shopper all-rolled-intoone job originated in medieval
Europe, but didn't gain popularity and prestige in the U.S. until
the early 1970s, when West Coast
hotels began providing the
"necessary" luxury to their
clients.
This luxury can mean some
strange—or touching—requests.
An employee of Capitol Concierge, a service in Washington,
D.C., once made nearly 100
phone calls trying to locate the
ingredients for a root-beer snow
cone. The request came from a
doctor whose 7-year-old leukemia patient craved the icy treat.
Diana Nelson of the Hyatt Hotel
in San Francisco's Union Square
had to find ox gall stones for a
Japanese businessman who
wanted them for their "healing
qualities."
Concierges in Washington
train for two weeks, learn four
three-inch-thick manuals, and
take a four-hour written test.
They also must be creative,
resourceful, and very, very polite.
So a concierge spends six
hours, makes 45 phone calls, and
nearly wrecks his or her reputation trying to get tickets to
Phantom of the Opera the day of
the performance. The patrons call
to say they've decided to visit
Aunt Mabel instead. What does
the concierge say? "You @$%*!"
No such gratification. Try, "I'm
terribly sorry you won't be able
to make it. Have a nice evening."
ILLUSTRATION BY MICHAEL ALAN THOMPSON
EARN YOUR WINGS
CRAZY ENGLISH
Oliveros McLloyd
D. A. Stone
Control tower to pilot, you're cleared for takeoff.
Buzz the rows of letters below in search of the 40
words related to flying. The words may run vertically, horizontally, or diagonally, and forward or
backward.
What two things do these five words have in
common?
L LOR J DUS P T B L I AT
Bough, Cough, Dough, Rough, Through
SEPARATE THEM
C TAX I OP S AL I TGX J
Rich Latta
✓ OTRAINEROAZALS
Separate all of the circles from each other by
drawing five straight lines.
S EGB L PDX YGENLQG
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LEMONADE
• le,
Word List: altitude, belt, chocks, circle, drift,
engine, gale, grid, ice, keel, landing, landmark,
level, lift, log, mechanic, motor, nose, oil, oxygen,
pilot, plane, power, roll, rotor, sextant, sky, soar,
stall, struts, tail, takeoff, taxi, test, time, tires,
track, trainer, veer, yaw
\k/4.N\
"Dad wants to talk to you."
PUZZLE ANSWERS
"Separate Them"
"Crazy English"
- aulAtp maul Jo auoN 7
'Hon° ut Puo iip /Cala
.A3
•O
1
MOVING? Please send us your old address label (or a photocopy) and your new address. If your label is unavailable, please
print both your old and new addresses clearly, including zip codes.
OLD ADDRESS:
NEW ADDRESS:
Name
Name
Address
Address
City
CARTOON BY ART BOUTHILLIER
State
Zip
City
State
Zip
August 1990 • LISTEN • 27
Birthdays
Thumbs Up
Defense contractor
McDonnell Douglas
already has a reputation
for encouraging employee innovation; now it's promoting employee health. In February of
1989, it banned smoking from all
its plants, making the air cleaner
for 100,000 employees in the Los
Angeles basin (an area that needs
all the clean air it can get).
Smokers can smoke outdoors
before and after work and during
breaks, but McDonnell Douglas
has removed all ashtrays. The
company does provide an
overhang to protect smokers from
bad weather; it also offers classes
on how to stop smoking.
• -LISTEN •
Thumbs Down
Tempestt Bledsoe, actress, born
in Chicago, Ill., August 1, 1973;
Alex Haley, author of Roots, born
in Ithaca, N.Y., August 11,1921;
Alfred Hitchcock, film director
(Psycho, The Birds), born in
London, England, August 13,
1899; Earvin "Magic" Johnson,
basketball player, born in Lansing, Mich., August 14, 1959;
Madonna (Madonna Louise
Veronica Ciccone), singer, born
in Bay City, Mich., August 16,
1958; Connie Chung, journalist,
born in Washington, D.C.,
August 20, 1946.
Maybe the editors of
Seventeen should change
plus a sidebar about the dangers
of drinking. Yet the fiction story
the magazine's name to
Twenty-One.
the editors chose for this issue
First, the teen journal's March
features teenage drinking promi1990 issue cites a study done at
nently in its plot—including teens
Washington University in St.
riding a motorcycle after spending a bit of time with some
Louis, Mo., saying that people
blackberry
brandy.
who've smoked for 10-plus years
Come on, Seventeen.
are slower and less accurate than
By printnonsmokers when doing jobs
ing inconsistent messages like
which require quick thinking. In
these, you're not only confusing
another section, the magazine
your audience--you're encouragreviews The Pogues' new album
ing minors to break the law. Nice
and runs a photo of the rock
effort warning kids about the
band—with a cigarette propped in dangers of lighting up and
one band member's mouth. Hmm. drinking down, but fiction and
Something's not right here.
photos offer not-so-quiet support
Then Seventeen
of
drinking and smoking. On
runs the first of
second thought, Twenty-One
a two-part factual article on
isn't
such a great idea. How about
teenage alcoholism—five pages
Mixed Message Monthly?
"Nagle" Johnson, born August 14, 1959
O
August Politics
Connie
Chung, born August 20,
Skid Row on the Skids
Skid Row's lead singer Sebastian
Bach has been in the spotlight a
lot lately—and he's showing
about as much good judgment
as a possum blinded by a car's
headlights. In the February issue
of Metal Edge magazine, he
sported a T-shirt imprinted with
the words "AIDS KILLS FAGS
DEAD," lifted from the commercial slogan "Raid kills bugs
dead," reports the Washington
Post. AIDS activists were furious, noting that Skid Row's 15to 24-year-old audience, which
has a high rate of teen pregnancies and sexually transmitted
diseases, is at risk for AIDS—no
matter what each person's
sexual orientation. Bach's shirt
supports the deadly myth that
only homosexuals can contract
1946
the disease. A letter to Metal Edge
noted that the magazine
wouldn't have printed photos of
a similar shirt using the words
"niggers," "kikes," or "wetbacks."
In December 1989, Skid Row
opened a concert for Aerosmith.
During Skid Row's performance,
a fan threw a bottle onstage and
hit Bach on the head. Bach threw
the bottle back into the
audience—and hit a 17-year-old
girl in the face. He leaped off the
stage and had to be pulled out of
a fight by his stage crew. The girl
had severe facial cuts and
bruises, and Bach was arrested
and charged with two counts of
assault and battery. Too bad the
bop on the head didn't knock
some sense into him.
It started long before August
1962, but this month marks the
beginning of another phase of
one man's conflict with his
government. He was a lawyer
and political activist, the son of a
Tembu tribal chief from the
Umtata, Transkei territory of
South Africa. He established the
first black law partnership in that
country and fought for black
rights and against white-minority
rule. He was captured by security
police on August 4, 1962, and
sent to trial. The trial, widely
viewed as an indictment of white
domination, resulted in
Nelson
Rolihlahla Mandela
being sentenced to five years in prison. He
went to trial again in 1963,
charged with sabotage, high
treason, and conspiracy to
overthrow the government. In
1964, he was sentenced to life in
prison. Amid cheers and jubilation from South Africans and
people around the world, Mandela was released, after 27 years
in prison, on February 12, 1990.
August 1990 • LISTEN • 2
°miserOtt
Legalization? Just Say No!
Two years ago David Aupont and his family left
their home in Haiti and came to America. They now
live in the East Flatbush section of Brooklyn. Even if
it's a rough neighborhood, they reasoned, it had to
be better than Haiti.
But when David was walking to school on his
twelfth birthday, a 13-year-old ordered him to
smoke crack. David had heard about drugs—enough
to know that he didn't want to smoke crack.
Unfortunately, the 13-year-old was big for his
age. He grabbed David, dragged him to a nearby
garage, tied his hands behind his back, hit him with
a baseball bat, threw gas on him, and set him on fire.
David ran, burning, to a shop, where he got help.
The official report from the burn unit at New York
Hospital-Cornell Medical Center was that David
suffered second- and third-degree burns on his
chest, stomach, arms, legs, chin, and mouth.
Tragically, David Aupont is only one of millions
of victims in the war on drugs. And with suffering
like this, it's tempting at times to get a little discouraged. This is often what motivates people to give up
and suggest that maybe drugs should be legalized.
They're just plain tired of fighting.
Certainly the casualties in this effort will continue
to rise, but let's not ever consider surrender as an
option. In conventional warfare, surrender means
August 1990
Vol. 43, No. 8
that further casualties will cease. In the war on
drugs, however, experts estimate that casualties
would actually triple or quadruple after surrender.
What kind of peace proposal is that? Who would be
willing to surrender under conditions like those?
"If we treated marijuana and cocaine the way we
treat alcohol and tobacco," says Robert L. DuPont,
the first director of the National Institute of Drug
Abuse, "the numbers of marijuana and cocaine
users would rise from about 24 million to the 100million range. How can anyone look at those
numbers and believe we should make the illegal
drugs as available as we now make alcohol and
tobacco?"
And names are even more important than
numbers. Remember the name David Aupont. Right
now our society needs a little of the spirit of David
Aupont. Whether we win or lose the war on drugs
in the end, any kind of resistance reduces the
number of lives ruined by drugs. That, after all, is
what the war is all about.
EDITORIAL CONSULTANTS
Jack Anders, A.C.S.W., L.C.S.W.; Winton Beaven, Ph.D.; Galen Bosley, D.H.Sc.,
RD.; Carolyn Burns; Don Cooper, M.D.; Robert DuPont, M.D.; Mary
Eldershaw; Kevin Freeman; Zhennaa Gallagher; G. Gordon Hadley, M.D.;
Patricia Mutch, Ph.D.; G.L. Plubell, Ph.D.; Stoy Proctor, M.P.H.; Gunter Reiss,
D.H.Sc., M.P.H.; Francis A. Soper, Litt.D.; Elizabeth Stemdale, R. N., M.S.;
Barbara Wetherell, M.A.; DeWitt Williams, Ph.D.
Editorial Office
P.O. Box 10548, Silver Spring, MD 20904.
Subscription Rates
In U.S.A., $16.95 for 12 issues. In Canada, $19.95. In all other countries, $20.95.
Editor Gary B. Swanson
Associate Editor Jan Schleifer
Editorial Assistant Janet L. Conley
Editorial Secretary Janya M. Mekelburg
Marketing Leilani Proctor
To Order
In U.S.A. (except Alaska), call toll free 1-800-548-8700.
In Alaska and Canada, call (301) 680-6740 (not toll free).
Or write to P.O. Box 10548, Silver Spring, MD 20904.
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dollars by bank draft drawn on a U.S. bank, or by international postal money
order.
LISTEN is a monthly drug-prevention magazine for
teens that teaches life skills, success tips, drug facts,
and the advantages of a lifestyle free from alcohol,
tobacco, and other drugs.
Second-class mail privileges authorized at Boise, Idaho. Form 3579 requested.
Litho in the United States of America.
This publication is available in microfilm from Xerox University
Microfilms, 300 North Zeeb Road, Ann Arbor, MI 48106. (313)
761-4700. Write publisher for complete information.
Copyright © 1990 by Narcotics Education, Inc.,
P.O. Box 10548, Silver Spring, MD 20904.
Printed in U.S.A.
30 • LISTEN • August 1990
Subscription Queries and Changes of Address
Please write to LISTEN, P.O. Box 7000, Boise, ID 83707, or call 1-800-545-2449.
EIDPFLE9S3
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interests of teens."
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Project 714 Drug-Prevention Program
Chattanooga, Tennessee
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schools."
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Governor of Indiana
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Narcotics
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