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Billy Whisky
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Billy Whisky Unknown Billy Whisky, Being a Brief Account of just one of the True Adventures of my Childhood Friend and Erstwhile International Smuggler and Entrepreneur Extraordinaire, Billy Whisky, his Whereabouts being Presently Unknown to the Author When I was a our paperboy was Billy Whisky, a guy I went to grammar school with, and a nice guy, too. He came from a family with a single mom and he was a hard worker and a smart student. My old man wanted me to be a paperboy too, because he had been one and he was always holding Billy up to me as someone I should be more like. As in, you oughta be more like Billy Whisky. I had a job on a dairy farm, milking cows and making hay, and I didn't want to be a paperboy. Billy always got better grades- if I got six A's and a B, Billy would get all A's. But I liked Billy anyway in spite of the fact that the old man tried so hard to make me resent him. Billy had a couple of sisters and an older brother, Eddie. When Eddie went away to college he started getting high- it was 1967 and it seemed like everyone was getting high, and getting laid a lot, too. It was Eddie who turned Billy on to smoking dope, and in his turn Billy went on to Michigan State University, following in Eddie's footsteps. Like a lot of , when he went away from home to school, the family pressure disappeared. He found out it was a lot more fun to smoke pot and party with beautiful young women than to study hard and focus on getting ahead. Billy may have peaked as a stand up citizen at eighteen, because he began to party hard and started dropping acid too at MSU. I was doing the same at a different school. I didn't see much of Billy for a couple of years- he was in East Lansing fucking up and I was in Kalamazoo fucking up. There's no mystery here. Dangle a bag of dope and a whiff of pussy in front of a young man with one hand and offer him blood, sweat, toil and tears with the other and see which one he picks. We were good at prioritizing but bad at backup plans. The war in Vietnam was in full swing, and college deferments had ended in 1969. We didn't think we'd survive to see twenty five- who the hell needs a backup plan? Life is short and uncertain. Eat dessert first. So eat dessert we did. The next time I saw Billy we talked over what we'd been doing and compared notes. He was as usual ahead of me on points, but he had some real accomplishments under his belt too that kind of shocked me. He had, by way of his brother Eddie, started shooting heroin. He could score some if I wanted to try it. It scared me, this first time, but he was one of my best friends and peers, and had always been held up as an example to me. What could go wrong? We were - we really did think that way. So much that we had been taught had turned out to be bullshit and the best plan our country had for us was to bleed to death in a rice paddy several thousand miles away. Or else the nuclear holocaust would fry us all. So he introduced me to smack that night in a little park in our home town, where we sat at a picnic table in the dark and I snorted my first heroin. It made me vomit, but then it started to feel good. It's been described as euphoria but that doesn't do it justice. There's a lot of don't-give-a-fuckoria in there too. Your pains- like you have a lot of pains at nineteen- melt away and any vestiges of work ethic that might remain after a year or two of staying high and fucking vanish. You just want to stay high, and when that wears off you want to get high again. The next time, I let Billy inject the junk right into a prominent vein in my arm. It was heavenly. I entered Thomas DeQuincey country, the realm of Coleridge, Verlaine, Rimbaud. William S. Burroughs had been there before me, and now I knew why. Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin would go there too, and not come back. Billy and I parted again, and I found new connections for heroin, but as usual, he outpaced me. He moved on to selling to support his own use, learning from his brother Eddie, and acquiring Eddie's connections and contacts. It was at least a year before I saw him again, and by then he had a beautiful blonde junky girlfriend, Gwendolyn, and a new baby girl, but that didn't slow them down. Billy was managing a print shop in a nearby town, and making runs to Toronto two or three times a month for Turkish white. It was the old French Connection, the scag coming the length of the Mediterranean to Marseilles for shipment to the U.S., where hungry junkies had plenty of money for junk. Billy would find a source for reefer in America, and smuggle that reefer into Canada to trade for heroin or cash to buy heroin on the waterfront in Toronto. He had a solid connection in the city, a half Arab half Italian guy with a full afro named Tim Bourza. Good pot was harder to come by for Canucks than smack, and there was a good market for Billy's marijuana. The heroin came back with Billy under the Detroit River in through the Holland tunnel. It was a sure thing. A typical run would involve renting a car for the trip. He liked expensive cars, but not too expensive. No Cadillacs or Lincolns. He'd rent a Buick, an Electra 225, what all the spades back then called a Deuce and a Quarter. (Spades was THE term for black folk circa 1970, '71. It was complimentary. Us hippies never referred to our black brothers in a derogatory way back then. All spades were cool. All spades had dope.) And we traded a lot of dope with them. I'm not sure there was complete reciprocity of feeling, but we got along. Billy never drove the car across the international border in Detroit, and he never let Gwen do it either, even though she was pretty enough and sexy enough to pull it off. He'd hire a good looking girl to do it for him, and make sure she was dressed to the nines. A short, short skirt was a requirement, to distract those border guards. Toni Moth was a favorite driver. He'd promise to keep her high for the duration, except for the crossing, and offer her a couple of hundred bucks too. Mostly she was in it for the excitement- she wanted to be a mob girl, a moll, and this was the closest she had got to that. Toni was very thin, and tall. We used to joke that when she stood in profile and stuck out her tongue she looked like a zipper. But she was damn good looking! When she got all dolled up for her short drive through the tunnel she was fine! She had those long, long slender legs. Her skin was dark, olive dark, and she had a vaguely Asian look to her. The spades loved her. They were always trying to get Toni in the sack. The border guards loved her too. They never questioned her much, and kept their eyes on her gorgeous legs, and those big brown eyes and long dark hair. Hell, I succumbed to her charms more than once myself. She had very small breasts, and went crazy when you played with her nipples. Ah…we were smuggling reefer, weren't we? Billy would ride a bus over to Windsor himself, and Toni would pick him up at a stop on the southern side. Billy would take over and drive from there to Toronto. Billy had a small entourage, and it amazed me that with three or four hangers on, he never drew attention to the operation. Maybe I was just paranoid. Every trip, he'd drive to Toronto and hook up with Tim. Tim had a buyer set up, or a straight trade. Sometimes there was haggling, but not a lot, Tim having ironed out most of the kinks ahead of time. But one trip, there was trouble. Billy knew a reefer seller, a black guy, Lurch, who apparently wasn't aware that we thought all black guys were cool. This guy wasn't that cool, and he wanted to be a big player, and he wanted that big city connection over the border. He didn't like his profits being shared by a honky middleman, and a young punk at that. He got demanding, and started raising his prices. Someone in Billy's entourage suggested jokingly, that hell, Billy was running a print shop as a front…they ought to fire up the offset press and print some special play money for this seller. So they did. They got some bands to band the counterfeit money, and placed two real twenties on the top and bottom of each stack. The phony bills didn't look that good. They could never pass even a cursory inspection. But guys stoned on junk and pot aren't all that discerning, and Billy managed to buy two hundred pounds of pot from Lurch with counterfeit money, and change. When Billy got to Toronto with his haul, there was no deal. In an unrelated development or maybe not so unrelated, Tim was getting strung out on smack himself, and for the first time had proved unreliable. So Billy hung out for a couple of days waiting for something to turn up. Tim didn't come up with a deal, but a friend of his did. They loaded a couple of kilos of pot into the car and headed southeast to the waterfront. At an intersection halfway there, they were suddenly surrounded by unmarked cars full of Mounties. The Mounties confiscated the two keys of marijuana and hauled everyone off to the city jail. In the meantime Tim, who had got wind of the bust, threw the remaining hundred ninety six pounds into suitcases and spirited them away in a taxi waiting up the block. He threw the luggage over backyard fences and crawled over after them. When he got to the waiting cab, he tossed the bags into the back seat, dove in himself and told the hack to step on it. The next day after Billy was released from jail, the Mounties gave him half an hour and then raided the rooming house, tearing that Deuce and a Quarter apart as well. There was no reefer, and they went away mad. There wasn't much question that it had been a setup. When he came down from his high Lurch found out he'd been had, and was the not so proud owner of several thousand dollars worth of not very artfully printed twenties. He felt a little foolish, and he wanted revenge. He made a few phone calls. He couldn't exactly say, now, "I sold this dude some smoke, and the bastard passed counterfeit bills on me." But he could call the Secret Service and give then a heads up on a print shop that might have some illegal printing plates in it, and that the printer was right now in Toronto with a rented car that was never contracted to cross an international boundary and was being used in commission of several crimes. The Secret service was interested in the funny money, and the FBI was interested in the rest. So were the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The Feds never found any printing plates. Billy had disposed of them. But it was hard for him to explain what had possessed him to drive a rental car to Toronto while also in possession of a couple of bricks of reefer. The other hundred ninety six pounds weren't anywhere to be found, but two kilos were enough. They tossed a coin and the Mounties gave him up to the FBI. Billy spent a year in prison- Jackson Prison. His brother Eddie was there too, on an armed robbery conviction. I never mentioned any of this affair about Billy to my old man, and he never mentioned it to me either, even though I'm pretty sure he heard of it. Become a member now and get a free tote bag. |
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When you're young you feel invulnerable and don't have brains enough to be scared until it's too late. How he survived as long as he did is just due to pure dumb luck. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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What a story! Everyone was as high as a kite, no wonder they got busted eventually. Hopefully, your father realized that you shouldn't aspire to be like Billy. Love this post!  Visit my blog It's a Mad, Mad, Mad World of NaughtyInSO, leave a comment, become a watcher. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ LIVE AND LET LIVE Be happy! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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What a perfect contribution to this month symposium !!!!!! Thank you for participate in it!!!   WITHOUT PASSION LIFE IS NOTHING
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Interesting how things turn out.
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An excellent contribution to this symposium.. Some items I didn't know at all hugsssssss V Become a blog watcher sweet_vm
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He never could get away from getting high. The last I saw of him he was heading off to jail again. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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What a great tale! My Ex and I sold ,meth to provide us with a free meth lifestyle, but we always snorted our profits. I had a few experiences with opium, but heroin is something I never tried. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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What a story! Everyone was as high as a kite, no wonder they got busted eventually. Hopefully, your father realized that you shouldn't aspire to be like Billy. Love this post! I have to admit, at the time I thought the counterfeiting to stiff an asshole dealer was a stroke of comedic genius, even though I was frightened for him. I figured he'd get shot instead of ratted out. I still have a hard time comprehending why Lurch didn't just waste him. I don't think we need spend much time waiting for my old man to realize much of anything though. Some things never change. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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What a perfect contribution to this month symposium !!!!!! Thank you for participate in it!!! Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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Interesting how things turn out. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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An excellent contribution to this symposium.. Some items I didn't know at all hugsssssss V Huggggs B  Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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Thanks, cinnamon! It is scary stuff. I saw a lot of good people crash and burn, but I knew him the longest and he crashed hard. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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Une histoire digne de " Easi rider "contant que tu puisses la conter A story worthy of " Easi rider " telling that you can tell it
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What a great story about Billy Whisky! Your memory is brilliant.  
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Your visceral appreciation of William S. Burroughs just came into clearer focus... this is a hell of a personal story, even if you were on the peripheral of it as an observer. Perhaps that's your Andy Warhol side coming out? Glad you were able to escape the madness... and you've painted an intriguing picture of H., although I think I'll hold off before experimenting with it, if I ever do. Psychedelics are really more my speed, at any rate... but only after my productive years are behind me, methinks. Timothy Leary had it right: Get blasted and embrace the reaper when the time comes... Wait, international intrigue.. Yes. You did it. And whether junk or Vietnam, we're all the better for your having survived. Stop in, read, and offer comments at my "swinging as seen in the media" blog, "Confessions of a Lifestyle Man" humorlife, which is also the home of the monthly virtual symposium. New post: The Virtual Symposium Returns Lets Pick A Topic
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This stirs in me long time souvenirs. I had this friend, too, we smoked haschich and weed. My best friend. I travelled 6 month in Morocco, mostly in Essaouira where Hendrix has lived, too. When back in France, my friend's turned into a junkie. I thought I'll prove to him it was to share, to turn around like cannabis. Just as you say, puke then ... wow ! feeling so good, all troubles vanishing ... I wanted it again. But I quickly stopped, seeing we had a monkey on our shoulder. I parted with my friends. Not quickly enough, though ... within two weeks of fixing I had be contamined with C hepatitis. I only learned about it three years ago and, very luckily, was cured by a new process for which I've been a guinea pig. A lost past had rejoin me. I didn't live anything as dramatic as your story. But there is something sure ... heroin kills, quickly - we had ODs ... my girlfriend in this time included, not lethal, phew ! - or slowly, the echo of this time could have destroyed my liver. I hate smack, simply hate it.
 [post 3567855] My standard members mailbox xoxox Ma messagerie pour standards
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Une histoire digne de " Easi rider "contant que tu puisses la conter A story worthy of " Easi rider " telling that you can tell it "All he wanted was to be free and that's the way it turned out to be Flow, river flow" OK- maybe not QUITE like that. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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What a great story about Billy Whisky! Your memory is brilliant. All this shit actually happened though. Life around Billy was not boring. Long periods of getting high punctuated by brief moments of adrenalin rush and then sinking fear. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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Your visceral appreciation of William S. Burroughs just came into clearer focus... this is a hell of a personal story, even if you were on the peripheral of it as an observer. Perhaps that's your Andy Warhol side coming out? Glad you were able to escape the madness... and you've painted an intriguing picture of H., although I think I'll hold off before experimenting with it, if I ever do. Psychedelics are really more my speed, at any rate... but only after my productive years are behind me, methinks. Timothy Leary had it right: Get blasted and embrace the reaper when the time comes... Wait, international intrigue.. Yes. You did it. And whether junk or Vietnam, we're all the better for your having survived. It can be hard to maintain balance with drugs for some people. Billy was one of those. I'm not sure if it's more mental than physical- we're each unique in both ways. The idea always remained in my head that the way to quit , to back off for a while, was to just walk away and close the door behind you for a while. Maybe it is physical- it always required industrial doses of opiates to get me high, and withdrawal while not pleasant wasn't the agony most other folks voiced. Maybe I was just resistant, not as susceptible. Billy, on the other hand, was never a whiner, but matter of fact about it like me, and took his punishment like a man. But he could never manage to quit and stay quit. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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This stirs in me long time souvenirs. I had this friend, too, we smoked haschich and weed. My best friend. I travelled 6 month in Morocco, mostly in Essaouira where Hendrix has lived, too. When back in France, my friend's turned into a junkie. I thought I'll prove to him it was to share, to turn around like cannabis. Just as you say, puke then ... wow ! feeling so good, all troubles vanishing ... I wanted it again. But I quickly stopped, seeing we had a monkey on our shoulder. I parted with my friends. Not quickly enough, though ... within two weeks of fixing I had be contamined with C hepatitis. I only learned about it three years ago and, very luckily, was cured by a new process for which I've been a guinea pig. A lost past had rejoin me. I didn't live anything as dramatic as your story. But there is something sure ... heroin kills, quickly - we had ODs ... my girlfriend in this time included, not lethal, phew ! - or slowly, the echo of this time could have destroyed my liver. I hate smack, simply hate it. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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Thank you Circe! It seemed like a good idea at the time, although from the periphery I could see some problems that just MIGHT crop up. But it was kind of a different version of "Hold my beer and watch this!" It looked like the perfect scheme for scoring some cheap weed. The wholesale value of that reefer at point of sale for Billy was twenty grand, and it was too enticing to resist. My old man wasn't really wrong about Billy. For all anyone could see he WAS a poster boy, and I admired him myself. None of us is prescient. But you're right- and I had this internal conflict about it. My old man had been full of shit, but it took the destruction of my friend to point it out. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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Thanks! Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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You ain't heard nothin' yet! But for a wide area surrounding Billy, there was usually something interesting going on. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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The best I've read thus far! Fabulous story with some great, lowdown characters... kinda reminds me of James Ellroy's stuff.  Thoughts from the Garden...
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A movie in the making...
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Notre vie est un voyage-♦-Dans l'hiver et dans la nuit
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