A Fond Memory of Elementary School….

The last thing I want is for John to return home from his honeymoon and discover that his cherished blog site has become a haven for those seeking drug information on a par with the famed Vaults of Erowid. But, at the risk of seeming swept up in drug culture, I present - another new story about drugs.

This time, the owner of Chills of Sarasota, Florida, has been arrested for selling water pipes - or bongs, depending on whether you want to use the nice, legal, tobacco-related term or the down-and-dirty, illegal drug paraphenalia term.

It’s not so much the arrest that got my attention as one comment from Mark Hein, a Drug Enforcement Agency officer, who was quoted as saying that “if we can get this paraphernalia off the streets, maybe (the kids) won’t become involved in drug culture.”

Reading this quote brought back fond memories for me of the first time I had ever seen a spoon that was used to cook heroin. It was on the mean streets of Bristol, VA, in that den of iniquity known only as Van Pelt Elementary school. I was running with a rough crowd that year - the gifted/talented fifth graders. Sgt. Oakenfold (not his real name) was as close to a ringleader as we had. We listened to every word he said, hung off of every story that he told, and eagerly awaited his weekly visit.

Sgt. Oakenfold was our D.A.R.E. officer.

Oakenfold, of course, was one of the nicest guys a kid could ever hope to know. Understanding, sympathetic, and he knew each of his kids by name and knew enough to ask us how the play was going, if we were having a good day, how our brothers were doing, etc.

But what most kids from that class remember most vividly is The Box.

The Box made two appearances in elementary school - one in fifth grade, one in sixth grade. It would return at the high school in the hands of Sgt. Richter, who brought it in once every semester for as long as you took health classes.

The Box was probably one of the most bizarre elements of all the D.A.R.E. training that we went through. You couldn’t miss The Box. You always knew when Sgt Oakenfold or Richter had The Box in their possession. And once The Box had been spotted, the buzz didn’t stop. The anticipation grew throughout the day until that fateful moment when you took your seats and the power of The Box was unleashed.

The Box was about as big as Sgt Richter’s (fairly sizeable) torso, but only half as thick. It was about twice as broad as Sgt Oakenfold, who was a skinny whip of a man. It wasn’t very heavy, but it was a case made out of wood with golden latches and hinges. The wood was a mellow, yellow-brown tone that had been polished smooth, but not to the point where it was reflective. You could touch The Box if you wanted too, and it would feel smooth and warm under your fingertips.

Then, the sergeant would open The Box.

The proper way to open The Box was with the latches facing the students and the hinges facing toward the opener - that way, The Box would open out into full display mode.

When opened, both sides of The Box were covered by a crystal-clear sheet of glass. And behind that glass were the drugs.

Pink Ladies, Blue Betties, Rainbows, X, a small sample of heroin, some cocaine and its bastard cousin, crack. LSD tabs, opium - the list of what the left side of The Box contained seemed almost endless. It was like those displays of rare gemstone types, where there’s only a flake of the gemstone - but it’s there, it’s real, and it’s labeled with scientific name and common street name(s).

Yes, the drugs in The Box, we were assured, were real. This was what the real stuff looked like.

And on the right side of the box was the paraphenalia. Probably the box could not have comfortably fit a bong (I wouldn’t see one of those until several years later), but it fit a “whippet,” three styles of hypodermic needles, bottles of glue and solvent, and the most curious part - the part I had to ask about - a silver spoon with a blackened bowl.

“Why is there a spoon in The Box?” I asked.

“Because,” said Sgt Oakenfold, pointing first to the miniscule sample of heroin and then to the needles and the spoon, “when you get the heroin in powder form, you can’t inject it. So people who use heroin use the spoon to cook the drug up and get it into a liquid form. Then they put it into the needle and inject it into a vein.”

“Why is there a piece of rubber hose in The Box?” asked another student.

“That’s how a heroin addict finds the vein he’s going to inject into,” said Oakenfold, the ever-patient figure of moral authority. “He ties the rubber hose around his arm and that makes the veins in the arm stand out. Then he injects the heroin into one of those veins and takes off the hose.”

“What’s that funny looking thing there?”

“That’s a crack pipe, Kim. It’s used to smoke crack, like this sample over here….”

In elementary school, the D.A.R.E. officer bringing The Box to school was like the best show-and-tell ever. Most of us had never even heard of 90% of the drugs he showed us, and we made certain we knew what the effects were of all of them. All we had to do was ask about a piece of paraphenalia, and first Oakenfold - then Richter - would launch into a detailed description of the method behind using the paraphenalia to get a high. All of this, of course, was designed to show us the stupid things people did for drugs. But, as kids, we just loved the cool colors and the distraction from the normal routine.

Later, in high school, the students who did best in D.A.R.E. were typically the ones who made, shall we say, “practical use” of the drug information they had learned from it. When Sgt Richter brought in The Box - which was updated every semester to reflect the changing drug market - the students who usually sat in the back of the health room would be up front and center with shopping lists in hand. They’d ask about the unfamiliar drugs - are they uppers or downers? Is that a hallucinogen? Where do you make the most arrests for people selling these? And Sgt Richter, beaming, would praise them for asking so many questions and being so attentive. Then, he would answer every question.

D.A.R.E. has come under attack in recent years because statistics have shown that drug abuse in the younger populations always increases when the D.A.R.E. program moves in. The reason for this is not difficult to see. After the D.A.R.E. program kicks into gear, the students learn what the drugs are, how to ask for them by name, who to ask about them, where to find them, and how to use them. They also learn that drug users take drugs to ease pain, to fit in, to be cool… all of the things they’ll want to do, themselves, as they get older.

The “E” in D.A.R.E. stands for “Education,” doesn’t it?

Is this intended to say that the D.A.R.E. program is evil and should be shut down? Of course not. Anything that educates people toward the goal of making their own decisions should never be considered evil. But the point of this is that a tobacconist selling water pipes is probably a lot less likely to clue your kids into the drug culture than your friendly neighborhood D.A.R.E. officer is.

And that’s my word.