High Price (21 page)

So, why do so many people believe that powder and crack cocaine are entirely different animals? This belief stems from a lack of knowledge of basic pharmacology, information that can help you to understand the effects of all drugs, not just cocaine.

Before a drug can affect mood and behavior, it must first gain access to the blood. From the blood, it then needs to reach the brain, where it can influence what you feel and the choices you make. An important basic principle here is that the faster a drug arrives into the brain, the more intense its effects will be.

Consequently, if we want to understand drug effects, it’s essential to consider how the drug is taken, or in pharmacology-speak, the “route of administration.” Route of administration is a key factor in determining the speed at which the drug enters the brain, and therefore, the intensity of the high.

Like most drugs, cocaine can be ingested in several ways. In the United States, it’s rarely taken by mouth, although in some South American countries the oral route is common, usually in the form of chewing coca leaves, the plant from which cocaine is derived. Eating or swallowing a drug is convenient and tends to be safer because the stomach can be pumped in case of an overdose—this isn’t possible with smoked or injection overdoses.

Once in the stomach, cocaine is dissolved and moved to the small intestine, where it can pass into the bloodstream. This process is called absorption, and many factors can influence it. If, for example, you’ve recently eaten a large meal, this will delay absorption and consequently, the onset of drug effects. By contrast, eating cocaine on an empty stomach speeds absorption and produces faster effects. As you’ve probably experienced, the same is true with alcohol. Drinking on an empty stomach produces more immediate effects than drinking immediately after having consumed a large meal.

After cocaine has successfully entered the bloodstream via the digestive system, however, its journey is not yet complete. Before it can reach the brain, it must first get through the liver due to the anatomy of the blood vessels it first enters upon leaving the intestines. Since the liver contains proteins that specialize in breaking down chemicals, including cocaine, in order to protect the brain and to make any poisons we eat less destructive, this can significantly reduce the impact of drugs taken orally.

This phenomenon is called
first-pass
metabolism. It’s why—although many of them don’t know the mechanism—experienced drug users seeking intense highs tend not to prefer eating their drugs or swallowing them as pills. The high from oral drugs typically comes on more slowly, larger doses are required to produce a strong sensation, and factors like recent meals and variance in liver processes can sometimes obliterate the effects entirely.

Snorting cocaine powder, on the other hand, bypasses the liver. Blood vessels lining the nose take it directly to the brain. Consequently, about five minutes after snorting a line, you “feel it.” In contrast, oral administration takes half an hour to “hit you.”

If you really want to get drugs to the brain fast, however, intravenous injection or smoking is the way to go. These routes produce the most intense high—and are associated with greater rates of addiction. Once injected, cocaine passes through the heart and is then transported immediately to the brain. As a result, the onset of psychoactive effects is almost instantaneous. That, of course, makes injection the riskiest form of drug use, not only because contaminated needles or unsterile technique can spread HIV and other diseases but also because overdose may occur quickly as well.

Smoking cocaine, on the other hand, avoids the risk of blood-borne disease but gets the drug to the brain just as rapidly as injecting. It exploits the large surface area of the lungs, which have lots of blood vessels to move the drug quickly from the blood to the brain, again, skipping the liver. Recall, however, that the hydrochloride form of cocaine cannot be smoked: those who sprinkle cocaine powder on their cigarettes or joints are probably wasting most of it because making powder hot enough to smoke tends to destroy it. In contrast, freebase or “crack” cocaine is stable at temperatures that vaporize it and that allows smoking rock to be as intense as injecting powder.

And that’s why the two forms have the same addictive potential: cocaine powder can be injected, producing a high just as intense as smoking crack or freebase. Different intensities result from different routes of administration, but the drug itself remains the same. The following analogy illustrates this point. Consider leaving snowy New York for Miami Beach’s South Beach via a luxury limo or private jet: both will get you to a highly pleasurable beach vacation eventually, but the jet will do so far faster. Similarly, injecting drugs intravenously or smoking them hits the brain more rapidly, producing a more immediate and intense effect than taking the drug by mouth. Despite this, the effects produced by the drug are qualitatively similar. Unfortunately, this is a distinction that lawmakers have yet to understand.

And to be fair, when crack cocaine first appeared, the truth was not initially clear. In the 1980s, even some researchers were not sure whether it was a new drug, which allowed hysteria and anecdotes to create a devilish image of it. The desire by casual cocaine users, those who snorted the drug, to distinguish themselves from people who shot or smoked the drug helped to fuel claims of unprecedented levels of addictive behavior caused by smoking crack.

The first media description of crack cocaine is believed to have appeared in the
Los Angeles Times
in late 1984.
⁴
At that same time across the country, 42 percent of arrestees in New York were already testing positive for some form of cocaine.
⁵
Nationally, 16 percent of all high school seniors reported having snorted cocaine at least once in 1984.
⁶
Statistics for Miami are not available for that year, but at least in my neighborhood, powder cocaine had definitely become a drug that some of my friends did on special occasions.

Indeed, smoking freebase cocaine made at home from powder had already become popular years before it started being brilliantly marketed as crack—often, unintentionally, through media scare stories that hyped the intensity of the high—as an entirely new drug. Only a few years earlier, Richard Pryor’s infamous 1980 freebasing accident had drawn national attention to the practice of converting powder cocaine into smokable form. On June 9 of that year, the comedian was severely burned across half his body.

Initial reports claimed that he’d been set afire when a batch of freebase he was processing with the anesthetic gas ether exploded. That’s quite plausible: ether is highly flammable and this manner of making cocaine base has great risk if people try to smoke near the ether. Then nearing the peak of his popularity, Pryor and his injuries became the subject of intensive media coverage.

As a result, freebasing instantly moved from being a fringe practice that few people in mainstream America had heard of to one that was seen as extremely dangerous. That helped prompt many freebasers to stop using ether and switch to the far less dangerous “baking soda” technique for making freebase. In this method, cocaine and baking soda are simply dissolved in water and heated until cocaine crystals form, making a distinctive cracking sound. No potentially explosive chemicals are involved. In fact, many believe that the “crack” made when cocaine crystallizes is the source of the name for the drug that is produced.

And so, crack cocaine began being sold as a ready-made product when dealers realized they could industrialize the freebase production process using this safe and easy baking soda method. The cheaper prices caused by the cocaine glut probably led to experimentation with new products and marketing ideas; the Pryor incident conveniently also raised awareness of the danger of the ether method. Crack may have been the ultimate result. My four years in the air force—from 1984 to 1988—coincided with the introduction and rapid spread of crack cocaine across the country. My home leaves during those years gave me snapshots of how the drug affected my neighborhood, although I first seriously misinterpreted what I saw.

During my first leave in 1984, I started to hear more and more about freebase. The first time I’d ever heard people talk about it had probably been when I was in high school. There was a set of twins who lived in the projects near me; I didn’t know them well but I’d occasionally smoke reefer with them. Getting high one time, they told me to steer clear of freebase. “It’s too good, man,” one said. “Yeah, you can snort it but don’t smoke it,” his brother concurred. “That shit’s not for rookies; it’s just too powerful.”

At that time, in line with my desire to always be in control, I had no interest. I didn’t like the idea of not being able to stop doing something. The notion of an experience that overwhelming didn’t sound at all attractive to someone who placed the emphasis I did on self-control. I wasn’t even slightly curious. Back then, though—other than what I’d heard about Richard Pryor—I didn’t see anyone I knew suffering serious negative consequences from cocaine. The guns and the risk of violence related to having a beef with someone were the same as they’d always been. That wasn’t new.

So, cocaine use was definitely becoming popular by the time of my 1984 Christmas visit, and I heard some talk about it that year. There were rumors about a guy named Ronnie, who had always been known in the neighborhood for having the nicest ride. It was a Monte Carlo, sky blue, with a crystalized paint job that reflected the light just right. He had Trues and Vogues, which were the most coveted rims and tires. Ronnie put everything he had into that car; to say he loved it would be an understatement. Everyone who knew Ronnie knew about his car.

But the story was now that his ride was gone: “in the pipe,” they said. The ride went in the pipe. Ronnie’d started smoking base and he’d stopped caring: that was the narrative. The Monte Carlo had gone up in smoke, along with his job and virtually everything else that had once defined him. “That shit’s too good, man,” was the way people phrased it. Ronnie’s story supported the idea that smoking cocaine took you down, an idea I took on board with little critical thought.

I
ndeed, even though I smoked reefer myself, it never even occurred to me to question the military’s drug-testing policy. Sure, I worried about being caught and I tried to minimize the potential consequences I’d face if it happened to me, but I accepted the idea that illegal drugs were bad and thought that expelling people from the service for using them was appropriate.

I alternately got high with Keith and his homeboys and discoursed with Mark about black consciousness. I took classes and began taking them seriously—but also stole movies from Gate 2 Street every week. My behavior was in transition: I was not quite yet a serious student, nor was I a complete fuckup. The balance could still shift in either direction.

I
n early 1986, I received word that Big Mama had suffered a stroke. She’d survived but wasn’t expected to live long. The air force allowed compassionate leave in such situations. But at first I refused to take one: for some reason, I think, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that her death was really imminent. I didn’t want to even consider the idea.

I also had just six months left in my tour of duty in Japan, and I didn’t want to fly twenty-four hours straight home only to have to do it again a few days later to return to a country that I hated. My first sergeant told me, “You’re going to regret this.” He insisted that I’d be really unhappy if I didn’t visit the woman who played such a big part in raising me, to say good-bye to her.

To ensure that I complied, he promised to arrange for me to be sent to my next assignment rather than back to Okinawa if I agreed to go home. And he kept his word. I flew back to Miami, wondering all the way if I was actually going to be able to see my grandmother alive. When I got there, Big Mama was barely holding on in the hospital. She couldn’t speak and her face was all twisted up. She was in a terrible state.

Trying to protect me, my mother and sisters didn’t let me get close to her: in my family, death was the business of women and they thought it would be too much for me to spend real time with her. I was at least able to pay my respects before she died. Moreover, the fact that she’d spared me another six months in Japan left me feeling pretty grateful. I was also happy to be back home.

Soon after she died, I heard from my commanding officer. He had good news: if I wanted, I could continue my service at home, in Miami at Homestead Air Force Base. Alternatively, I could go to England and start fresh in another foreign country. I felt inclined to stay.

Home was feeling comfortable to me again after a couple weeks; my girlfriends and friend-girls were welcoming and warm. After the lack of female companionship I’d suffered through in Japan, that was a relief and a joy. I felt nurtured and needed; I’d missed this so much. Why take the risk that another duty station might be as dissatisfying as Japan had been?

Since I hadn’t spent any alone time with my father in a while, I went to find him. I wasn’t looking for any particular guidance; I just hadn’t visited with him yet. He’d always spent weekends drinking on the corner with his friends, so I went down to Seventy-Ninth Street and Twenty-Second Avenue and asked one of the guys if he had seen Carl Hart.

“Dunno, man,” he said, coldly.

After having spent damn near twenty minutes asking several other people, I went back to the first one and said, “Yo, I’m his son Carl Jr.”

Now his eyes lit up. Because of my military bearing and haircut, he hadn’t recognized me. He’d thought I was Five-O, the police looking to harass my father. He directed me to Carl. After catching up a bit, I told him about my situation and my choice of assignments. I said I was leaning toward staying in Miami.

I talked about being there for my family and some other bullshit.