My first sensation was a sort of cool feeling inside my chest. This time I was more careful and managed to get some smoke and hold it in. Nodding urgently, he thrust it at me again. “Here, here, never you mind, everybody does that the first time.” Neal was growling through his clenched teeth and held breath, having frantically retrieved the joint from me and puffed rapidly to keep it lit. I did my best to imitate him, but had only inhaled the first weak puff when the unexpected searing of my throat made me cough. Prepare yourself for the awakening of your latent mind and senses you never even knew, ho, hooo.” “Ah, but the point is, mustn’t waste any, see, get all you get, dig? Now, you try.
You noticed I took in as much air as smoke? Too strong otherwise, burns your throat too much and you lose some-cooooo, myyyy…this is good shit…oh, I beg your pardon, darling…excellent product this, yas indeeed.” His eyes had turned quite pink as his gaze wandered upward. When he could hold it no longer, he exhaled, very little smoke being expelled. He held his breath, becoming red in the face. Then he put it between parted lips and drew in short, noisy breaths without closing his lips, inhaling more deeply on each gasp until his lungs were fully expanded. He held the joint away from him while he applied a match to the twisted end and waited for the paper to burn off. So, when after a few forays with Benzedrine, Neal introduced me to marijuana-which he called “tea” and gradually became known as “pot”-my faith in him overcame these grim forebodings. Although I had no notion of what it was all about, they made the intended impression on my innocent mind. In spite of my isolated existence from any “street” knowledge, films introduced me to the horrors of the “Devil’s Weed.” These films are now a delight to those who have discovered their inaccuracy. At that time, alcohol was the accepted drug and considered right and proper-as it still is today along with car-exhaust fumes. My experiences in life with chemical substances that change one’s consciousness without the benefit of one’s own will began in my teens in the 1940s.
In honor of the anniversary of Carolyn Cassady’s birth on on April 28, we’re republishing it below. Portions of this story are excerpted from her book, Off the Road, and were published in the November, 1994 issue of High Times. Carolyn Cassady (1923-2013), wife of Neal Cassady-the legendary beat-generation hero immortalized as Dean Moriarty in Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and later in Tom Wolfe’s The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test -explains her husband’s relationship to “tea” and how pot affected her.
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