It was a long time ago in Stonewall. The scene was the sidewalk out in front of the Main Café located on Main Street. The Main Café was a 24/7 café. It never closed and starting about 10 PM each night truckers could just pull in and parallel park along the highway. And they did. Lots of them and inside the restaurant you had to search clear to the back to find a booth or table after 11 PM. As I recall, hamburgers and breakfasts were the main items on their broad-spectrum menus. But why was I there?

It was early in the evening and my job of selling popcorn at the local movie was done. My instructions were to go home immediately when the concession stand shut down. Of course, I didn’t always do as I was told. When I started my walk home, I noticed five or six of my peers sitting there in front of the popular café. I knew them all since they were all in my Sunday School Class over at the Baptist Church. I swung to the right and joined them sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with feet in the gutter of course. Just watching the fairly busy traffic on Highway 3.

I don’t remember what the main topic was as I settled in, but it probably pertained to cars. World War II had just ended, and Detroit was spewing out new Fords and Chevrolets. The key word here is new. America hadn’t made any new cars for years. The war had shut down that particular and very popular part of American life and culture. So, when a new car made its appearance in Stonewall it would be sure of a going over by any of us.

Perhaps the conversation had died down. I just can’t remember what we might have been talking about when a well-dressed man pulled up close to us in a 1946 Cadillac. We didn’t even know what it was at first. Stonewall was mostly a Chevy-Ford place and about half of those were pickups. Being cool we didn’t jump up and go give it a close look but soon the driver’s side door swung open, and the guy got out. I had never laid eyes on him before, but he was carrying something in his hand.

He walked over to us, stopped in front of us and looked us over. I sized him up as a being a preacher but he wasn’t. Not at all. He said, “I see you boys like to smoke.” That was a safe assumption since some of us were smoking cigarettes. “I got some better cigarettes you guys will like.” I knew even at the age of 12 that he was offering us marijuana. “Mary Janes” in the local vernacular. All of us but two accepted the strange looking smokes.

I recently had a visit with one of the boys who, like me, didn’t accept the gift cigarette. His name was David Ray Alexander. I asked him if he remembered this event of 75 or so years ago and he laughed and said, “I sure do.” It turned out that this “bearer of gifts” became well known. He was from Ada and he peddled all sorts of dope, so I was told. I guess it paid well since he was driving a new Cadillac which even in 1946 cost a lot more than a Chevrolet.

I told David that I was thankful I didn’t take that “Mary Jane” because I did start smoking cigarettes back then sometime and had quickly become addicted. “Like to never got rid of that bad habit. No telling what would have happened to me had I started out smoking Marijuana.” I look back at some of those other boys and their careers of living life were not so good. David had a good life, lots of kids and made a good living out in La Habra California. He has since moved back to Oklahoma. I think all those other boys are dead.

“Mary Jane” is called an entry-level drug. It is to me, a pharmacist, just “dope.” A vote will soon be held to legalize this addictive weed. I can’t think of anything that our community needs less than to pass this bill. Let’s give our kids a break and vote no on this somewhat disgusting turn of events. You’ll feel better about yourself if you do.

And speaking of feeling better about yourself, be sure and go to your church next Sunday. You can leave your Marijuana at home.

Wayne Bullard, DPh cwaynebullard@gmail. com