As far as I know, there was no cocaine at my nearly all-white suburban high school in the early eighties. Not that I got invited to the cool-kid parties, but I knew enough second-tier cool kids that I’m sure I would have heard about any hard drugs. Thus, my knowledge of cocaine was primarily De Palma’s SCARFACE (1983). Literally a remake of a classic thirties gangster picture, it made vividly clear that the villains responsible for cocaine were simply the latest version of the organized crime figures Hollywood had always depicted from THE PUBLIC ENEMY (1931) to THE GODFATHER (1972).
The value of Donovan X. Ramsey’s new book is that it isn’t really about gangsters. He mentions some of the kingpins in his historical recap sections, but the real gold is in the four personal narratives he interweaves into the timeline: one addict, two dealers, and a big city mayor. Of the four, I found the two young dealers the most compelling, mostly because their lives ranged so far beyond what I now realize is the crime fiction stock character of the soulless teenage thug.
Ramsey’s subjects were not hardened criminals, nor did they aspire to be. They simply came of age in broken families and poor neighborhoods where cocaine was so prevalent that any youngster with gumption who knew somebody involved in the trade would practically be a fool not to at least try dealing, because you didn’t have to be a tough guy, or a master salesman, to make incredible amounts of spending money for comparatively little time, investment, exertion, or risk.
As a young man, I was further fortunate to miss the coke plague that had swept Hollywood. I mean, I’m sure I could have scored if I’d wanted, but listening to slightly older friends and colleagues in the nineties describe what show biz had been like just a decade earlier was head-spinning; a world where cocaine was routinely offered and consumed the way bottled water is now. Would I have dabbled in such an environment; just to be a team player, just to be a regular guy? Hard to know.
I never did drugs, mostly because I got heavily into sixties rock when I was twelve. And whenever I started listening to a new band, I’d inevitably pick up some group biography at the library, and after about six or seven tomes like NO ONE HERE GETS OUT ALIVE or HAMMER OF THE GODS, it was pretty clear that booze and/or drugs had claimed at least one member of almost every great band that ever existed. By the time a hood offered me drugs in 10th grade math, that parade of sixties casualties had long since scared me straight. And, as far as Hollywood went, two of my first bosses lived a stone’s throw from the Chateau Marmont, the classic hotel where John Belushi overdosed.
That was about the only other thing I knew about cocaine. And it was enough.
But, hey, enough about me. Mr. Ramsey has written a stirring account of a horrific time, and whether the war on drugs directly impacted your life, or was just some background noise on the TV, this is an engaging and enlightening pop history.