CHAPTER 1
As the plane approached the Los Angeles Airport, my thoughts of homecoming were overwhelming. I was making this one stopover, on my own dime, to see my army buddy Doug Campbell.
I, David Wayne Russell, had been drafted at twenty-one, and the last two years of army life had left me battle worn and bone tired. This was the final leg of my stint with Uncle Sam. I planned on stopping here for the weekend, then heading home to Kentucky. Back to my life that had been put on hold. Not that I had any plans of my own; my life was already mapped out. Libby had seen to that. Yes, Liberty Monroe in fifth grade had decided I was the one. From there, she had decided where we would live, how many children we would have, and where we would be buried. Yes, she had plans, the first being that she and I would marry as soon as possible. Me, I wanted to farm and raise the best cattle and tobacco in the county. My family had lived on the same farm for generations, and I was in a hurry to continue that tradition.
Libby had not wanted me to make this stopover. She was excited about my homecoming, but my army buddy was in Los Angeles, and he wanted to see me before I went home. Doug had been my savior in Vietnam. We had fought side by side, and I couldn't count the times that he had covered my back. Doug was fearless and he had kept me alive. Before being drafted, I had never been outside of Kentucky. Doug was an army brat. He had been everywhere, and he was street smart. He taught me a lot during that year in Vietnam, and we had become good friends.
Doug had gotten out of the service two months ahead of me. He already had a job and was doing well. I was looking forward to seeing him because I doubted I'd ever be out here again. California was a long way from Kentucky.
As I made my way to the baggage claim, I saw the picketers were out in full force. Hippie types with long hair and beads, shouting antiwar slogans and vile comments to me and the other GIs as we left the baggage area. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Doug emerging out of the crowd. His lean six-foot frame wove easily around the picketers. He looked cool as ever wearing chinos, an open black polo shirt, and loafers with no socks. He hugged me and took my bag.
"Don't mind the locals, Kentucky." He grinned, using the familiar nickname he had pinned on me. "They're all draft-dodging motherfuckers, trying to piss off the government. They'll get their pictures taken and go back to their dorms to get high. College kids are going to change the face of this war. We fought in 'Nam, but their protests are making the news. Hell, some people think they're the true heroes of this war."
I couldn't help smiling as Doug flipped them the bird and said, "Have a nice day, assholes," as we left the airport.
I watched him pause and change direction, dismissing the crowd. "How was your flight?" he asked. "Feels good, doesn't it, to finally be free of Uncle Sam. Man, I've been busier than a dog in heat. I have a great job, a new apartment, and a nice piece of ass. Life is good."
I let him ramble on, just enjoying his excitement. We were finally free to live without death and danger threatening our every waking moment. I needed to put Vietnam behind me and get on with the rest of my life, as Doug had.
As we drove onto the freeway, I couldn't help but notice all the fancy cars, new and expensive. What did these people do for a living? Maybe California was the land of the rich and famous and why Doug chose to live there. He liked expensive things.
He was telling me about his new job as an inspector in an import-export business. I was impressed. At twenty-four, it seemed to me Doug had his life in order, and it sounded great.
"Hey, man, enough of me and my shit," he said as we stopped at a red light. "Tonight we're going to party LA style. I intend to show you a good time this weekend before you go back to the woods, away from civilization."
I didn't argue. I just wanted to sit back in his car and feel young and free again, to enjoy this time with him before I faced the responsibility of home. Was I ready for the life Libby had already mapped out for me? Would I come home the man she expected me to be?
That night Doug took me to a trendy nightclub. I had never seen so many beautiful girls, golden haired with lean, tanned bodies. These girls were sexy; they dressed so differently from what I was used to back home. I felt uncomfortable around them. Later, Doug invited some friends over to his place, and the party really started. The pounding music and booze started taking a march across my forehead, so I slipped out to his balcony for some air.
I wondered if my Libby had become like one of these girls. These party girls, they had no worries about the future, with fathers who paid their way through college and gave them good jobs. Libby's father, the Judge, had always given her everything she ever wanted. Libby's brother, Justice, had already finished law school and was working at the Judge's law firm. What the hell kind of job was waiting for me? I knew farming wasn't going to support Libby, not in the way she was used to.
"Hey, man, don't jump. The party's just started," Doug said as he joined me on the balcony.
I laughed. Doug had that way about him: when he saw me deep in thought, he knew just how to break the spell and lift me from that place of self-doubt.
"I was just getting some air. I'll be in soon," I said.
Doug lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out over the twinkling lights of the city below. "Kentucky, I know this isn't your thing, but this is how we live out here. It's not frogs croaking and cows mooing, but try to enjoy yourself, man. Quit mooning over those brown-eyed calves and let one of those beauties inside help you get your groove on. You're not married yet."
"My groove is already screwed up after spending the last year with you." I closed my eyes, remembering some of the experiences we'd had. After a moment, I said, "I'm going home to the reality that I have no job, no future, and I'm as scared as I was in that hellhole with you."
Doug hesitated for a second and then said, "Well, I was going to wait till morning to talk to you about something, but now may be as good a time as any. Kentucky, that farm could be a gold mine."
"Kentucky is not California. There is no gold in them there hills. And by the way, we call them knobs." I grinned.
"No, but your land is perfect for growing a product that is in great demand. Isn't that what farming is all about, supply and demand?"
"I don't know what you mean," I said, scratching my chin.
"I'm not talking about corn and cattle. I'm talking about marijuana," he said, looking at me to see how I would respond.
"Doug." I shook my head. "Are you nuts? You think my dad is going to sit back and let me grow pot? You're higher than I thought, or crazy."
"No, no, listen. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I did some research. It seems those knobs of yours are the perfect place to grow the stuff. Years ago people called it hemp. They used it to make rope. The Kentucky soil and climate are perfect." He flicked his cigarette off the balcony, took my shoulders, and faced me toward the living room. "Look."
I watched as a joint was passed from one pretty woman's lips to the next. "David Wayne, pot is everywhere. Not just out here, not just for the hippies. It's on every college campus in this country. Every draft-dodging motherfucker in the goddamn state is smoking pot....
