When you put a couple of dreamers, a few planners, and a lot of hard workers together, anything is possible. Young and bold, not yet old enough to drive, a group of middle- and upper-class boys - young entrepreneurs - take the summer of 1993 by storm. Nicknamed the Marijuana Boyz, Rodney, Davidido, Ramon, Luey, R. J. Treefrog, Luke, Neil, Jay, Stew, Migs, Brandon, and Mikey embark on an adventure of a marijuana-possessed youth. Though engaged in an illegal and profi table operation, the group lives strictly by their code: No violence. No weapons. No kids. Respect and honor your brothers. No problems. Relegated to a struggle between what they believe is right and a close-minded society, these teenagers change the lives of those around them and get lost in the journey. From a run-in with a local motorcycle gang to helping resolve assaults in their city, the boys discover the power of friendship and honor.

THE MARIJUANA DIARIES

Real-Life Stories of the Marijuana BoyzBy Rodney Renton

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Rodney Renton
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-5818-1

Chapter One

THE MARIJUANA DIARIES

Real Life Stories of the Marijuana Boyz

You never really have the types of friendships you have when you're young. Fleeting moments of time splash by, like waves upon a dwindling shore. Like many teenagers, I really didn't believe my parents understood me, or, for that matter, even knew about the things I was going through. Hell, I had no idea and I figured everybody was as lost as me.

So, in the summer of '93, I decided to take an extended camping trip in the caves next to the quarry. You see, the old rock quarry had been abandoned for years and it had been filled with water ever since the bottom had eroded away to reveal natural spring water.

About a mile down the road, Lake Ontario had a little dry-dock shipping yard. Across the street and uphill lay a little patch of forest and within the forest, a small steppe with a cliff of limestone that hung over the treetops. At the very top were the caves. Each cave connected through tunnels that you could either walk through or crawl through; a virtual catacomb of little rooms.

The entrance was about the size of the mast on some of the sailboats across in the boat yard. These were sailboats no larger than 40 feet and therefore had a mast about the same height. The "Great Room", or G.R., as it would come to be known, was a large entrance that was a doorway of sorts to the other caves inside the limestone cliffs.

It was here that I would have my extended camping trip.

It was here where our story begins.

I had been camping in the caves for a little over a month. I actually had a part-time gig at a local pub and school on the side. Since it was summer, I spent more time at the pub. I washed dishes in the back and sometimes helped when things got a little discombobulated and chaotic. The law said you weren't allowed to serve unless you were 18, but the boss was an old Irish man by the name of Pearce. Pearce was one of those good ol'Irish lads who followed the rules when they suited him, but was not adverse to bending or even overstepping a few here and there. He stood about six feet tall and had dark hair that was sprinkled with grey. Pearce had a kind mannerism about him, but also a heated Irish temper—you didn't want to cross him, that's for sure!

So it was at Pearce's I would find myself behind the bar, handing off beers and mixed drinks—our staples. Now, I may have been too young to be in a pub and definitely too young to be serving, but I considered it education. Old Pearce was always generous when it came to night's end. He always sent me home with six cold bottles and the line,"Four for you and two for the girl, it's a done deal."

"It's a done deal" was kinda his thing. He'd end any kind of saying or thought he found to be intrinsic with that line. Many a night he handed me the same small carton of bottles and said the same thing. It actually was a godsend to a teenage boy—beer and a pub to work at! With one phone call at the shift's end, my friends would meet me in the G.R. They knew my hours and we had the timing down pat.

Davidido (pronounced Da-Vid-Dee-Doe) worked with his father in the summers. His father owned a shipping company. Tractor-trailers mostly, but some long haul vans as well. In the summertime, Davidido would wash and was in charge of upkeep on all the vehicles. His father worked him hard and was stern, but ultimately, he was a very fair man who was always mindful of Davidido's best interests.

Davidido was a slender, but athletic looking Italian. He had perfect olive coloured skin that the girls went crazy for. He had been told many times that his smile was his best feature. All the Boyz just figured that his darker complexion made his white teeth pop and we busted his balls for it—as good friends do.

Davidido had a strong work ethic, but, like us all, he would get wild with a phone call. We all had a bit of a wild streak and that suited us just fine. Davidido's house was around the corner, about a 20 minute walk, 15 minutes from the quarry. After I phoned Davidido, he'd usually meet me at the G.R. and arrive before I got back from work.

Ramon was another one of"the Boyz", as we liked to be called. He'd always meet me at the back of the pub and we'd walk back to the G.R. together. He lived on the other side of town, but always seemed to be there just as the night began to open its eye upon us.

His mother worked with my mother as a nurse down at the local hospital. His dad taught at the college in town. He spent the summer landscaping, so in the afternoon, he would take off early and sleep all of the evening away just to wake up and meet up in the wee hours of the night. (Technically the morning, as we closed around 1a.m. each morning and I was done around 1:30—2a.m., so it would have been the morning eye opening upon us.)

All I know is that it was dark and then the light would come with the new day's dawn. Ramon would be off to work and Davidido and the Boyz would crash out until noon. Ramon was the hard one. Tough as they come and sharp as a whip. He had a wit about him. Davidido and I found ourselves laughing at anyone who tried to take the piss out of him, because we just knew Ramon would have the last word and it would obliterate the other guy.

Luey was Pearce's younger cousin. He was the same age as us and was part of our crew as well. He was with us 80 percent of the time. The other 20 percent was spent either with his girlfriend or on some little solitary adventure.

Luey was about five and a half feet tall and looked like a younger version of Pearce. He had the dark hair, except his was not yet sprinkled with grey. He had the look of a young dark haired Irish lad, but he was 100 percent Canadian.

One time, he met us all at the G.R. and told us about the night before in which he was supposed to meet us, but got lost along the way. As the story goes (after he'd originally made the embarrassing confession to us), he'd just done a handful of mushrooms before I rang him. He'd agreed to come on over and meet us at the G.R. As he was walking, the mushrooms began to take hold. He decided to grab a cool drink, as he said it felt like the summer heat was melting him from the inside out.

So he went to the corner store along the way and the mushrooms really kicked in. The heat eventually felt as if it was overwhelming and even though it was early morning and the sun was nowhere to be seen, he felt as if he'd been under the sun in Miami on the beach for six hours without sunscreen—or so he said. So he decided to lie on the cool cement with his shirt up around his neck, so the cool cement could touch his bare skin. Now, I know how ridiculous this sounds to a sober mind picturing this, but he went on to tell us it was just then that Uncle Mike pulled up.

Uncle Mike is not really a relative of ours, he is our local police deputy chief. Luckily for Luey, Uncle Mike has a sense of humour and a "boys will be boys" attitude. After explaining to Uncle Mike that he had run a fever earlier and taken some medicine with some cough syrup and was now burning up and hallucinating, he asked Uncle Mike for a ride home. Uncle Mike had a laugh and took him home. Luey's father was home, but again, the lucky bastard, his father was a pretty cool guy and had been drinking himself that very evening. So, no words and no punishment. This was not unusual in Luey's case—he did have the luck of the Irish!

Ramon and I had to stop and pick up R.J. and Treefrog along the way. R.J. and Treefrog were also in our crew and lived by themselves. Though they were the same age as us, they had moved out of their parents' homes and rented out an apartment down on the lakefront. (We were loved, but we also came from a latch-key generation where working parents meant a lot of time alone, so we matured and sought out our freedom.)

R.J. dealt a little marijuana and Treefrog always had a side project, but when he wasn't scheming, he worked with his father on the side doing construction. As I said, R.J. dealt, he was like your modern day Tommy Chong, except a little bulkier. He was the guy who made us laugh, half the time unintentionally. He also had a grow room in the back, which was supposed to be an extra room to rent out. (Hence the extra money for a three bedroom, another one of Treefrog's schemes gone amiss.)

Good 'ol Ree-Jwé (as we commonly referred to him, to his utter disliking) saw dollar signs in the space and had the idea: "Why not just grow?" That had been four months earlier and now the first crop was almost ready. When the nights were all rained out and cold, we'd head off to R.J. and Treefrog's. It was important to keep the traffic to a minimum. Uncle Mike would look past a little smoke, but dealing and growing were whole other issues.

Now, I have to admit, we all felt that by growing our own stuff, we took the violence out of the market. We also felt that we had a right to cultivate plants and put a little money in our pockets at the same time. The only ones bringing violence to the table were the guys who wore guns to serve and the thugs who wore guns to take. We never needed or wanted any violence, so we all helped out with the crops now and then. Any extra money and any extra babysitting the plants needed, we helped out with. I had found a natural atrium in the caves as a temporary home; R.J. and Treefrog had their house, aka, "The Apartment".

Luke, Neil and Jay went to elementary school wit hme. We had known each other the longest, though about two years into our friendship built from the second grade, we met Stew. Stew was always freakishly tall and always beat up on us. That was until the day Luke, Neil, Jay and I teamed up. After that, Stew was just one of us. (Funny how even as boys, shedding a little blood together forms a bond that lasts forever.)

Luke was the natural athlete. When it came to most sports, he excelled. He and Ramon held the rushing titles for football in our county every year since high school started. He was our fullback and Ramon our halfback. Neil, Davidido, R.J., Treefrog and I led the defence two years in a row with the least points scored upon a team. Stew, with his freakish height, was our QB. Though he couldn't run the ball or block, he could throw that pigskin the whole damn field!

Luke not only excelled at football, he was something to admire on the ice as well. He could make a goalie look stupid by holding that trigger until the last second and firing that puck into the last place the goalie ever dreamed. It was through Luke that I met the other parts of our crew, Brandon and Mikey. All of them were top players in the Ontario Hockey Bantam League and had scored over 120 goals combined last season. There wasn't a night that would go by that didn't have one of their faces plastered on the evening sports cast reel. They were kinda like local celebrities. Though they didn't always indulge in the after-hours at the G.R., they were in and out and part of the brotherhood.

Last, but definitely not least, there was Migs. He was our rock star. He had the personality that attracted people of either sex. A wild man in a wild bunch. He was our confidence and because of the way he would unify us, it was something like a miracle. It didn't matter what night it was or how it was going to go, it was guaranteed to be a real trip if Migs was there. An adventure; it was the beginning of all the boyhood memories we would cherish forever—at least I know I have!

Migs grew up around the corner from Stew and Davidido. He always had something in mind, a little plan or some kind of devious excursion. It was Migs'idea to steal the solar cells off Mrs. Brown's place and rewire them for use at the G.R. Davidido did all the wiring and we all pitched in and bought six new car batteries to relay and store the power generated by the solar panels. Ramon and I designed the camouflage that hid the cells in plain view of any passersby and it worked like a charm.

Ramon, Davidido, R.J., Treefrog, Luey, Neil and I eventually split on a similar set up to help with the power at R.J. and Treefrog's. It was ingenious because it meant we didn't need to steal power from the local Hydro Company in order to grow. In the G.R., we ran a small TV, a video game console, a boom box and some patio lanterns we stole from Pearce's rival pub after the owner got into a fight with Luey's dad. With a few mattresses, a couple blankets and sleeping bags, we had built a self sufficient home. Those caves would begin an adventure that would teach us about friendship, love, loss and growing up.

That night, Ramon and I headed towards the apartment to pick up Treefrog and R.J. The Boyz had decided not to install a phone line, as it was the way most police gathered Intel. That, along with traffic to and from a place, can get you a few years if you're not careful.We might have been just a bunch of kids, but we were smart and we were street-wise. All of us were in school and we talked about how to develop a watertight operation. Our biggest worries were the thugs and police. Police could be dealt with, but, as it turns out, thugs did the dealing and we were about to step on some toes.

The fact of the matter is we planned, operated and executed like a well-oiled straight six; again it was part of my education. With the money we eventually made off the first crop, we would have enough to put a down payment on a small house downtown. But I'm getting ahead of myself here ...

On this particular night, we decided to meet R.J. and Treefrog at the apartment. Besides, they had our smoke anyway and Ramon and I had already polished off two of the six Pearce had given me. That wasn't a problem, as we paid a little extra toTreefrog's older brother every Friday and he would grab five 2-4's for us; we stored them at the Apartment. We always had enough smoke and beer around to make every night an adventure!

We were so young—we also had the stamina and energy to keep it up. We brought no violence. We sold to those we knew and nobody was for the worse. Hell, eventually we even found a way to pay taxes on the proceeds and legitimize the money through my future sister-in-law. Again, I'm getting ahead of myself ...

Oh yeah, this night was just like any of the others. The only exception was that on this night, we were going to lose some of our innocence and the magic that follows you when you are boys. Think of a time when you only knew violence through television, movies, and the media—if you were lucky. Most of us had grown up in a middle or upper middle class home. All of us had devoted parents in either a mother or father or both, but we were teenagers and we were part of that latch-key hard love generation. Life demanded that we find some sort of freedom through independence. So we used the best thing possible. We flexed our inner muscles and brainstormed away. (Earlier, I mentioned Treefrog and his scheming and I hope that you understood by scheming, I did not mean to have any negative connotations—in fact, the opposite. Treefrog's scheming would be the variable that set our family upon the road to success.)

You see, Ramon and I met Treefrog and R.J. at the apartment, as I've said. We picked up a few beers, they brought some smoke and we headed off to the G.R. When we arrived, Davidido already had the new Pearl Jam album playing at top notch. I still remember the walk in, "Daughter" playing in the background. I remember thinking that Davidido looked so alone in this concave rock cliff with those patio lanterns and the song's sound so sweetly reverberating off the stone walls. It was picture perfect.

* * *

On a side note, it seems to me that music in general has been a setting that always has included those Utopian moments. Maybe even a catalyst for some of the ideas within the moment itself. It definitely is a marker upon a life lived, though. Music and memories. Yeah, definitely music and memories.

* * *

Anyways, Davidido was sitting there as we climbed over the lip. R.J., Treefrog, Ramon, and I made our way into the G.R. Davidido greeted us with the familiar and friendly:

"Where the fuck is the beer and who has a joint rolled?" Davidido scowled and we laughed like idiots.

We had made it there in less than forty minutes, which was fast considering that the four of us had consumed the rest of the four beers and two joints. Normally we would have taken an hour to an hour and a half to walk that stoned. Those wild nights just keep callin'...

(Continues...)

Excerpted from THE MARIJUANA DIARIESby Rodney Renton Copyright © 2011 by Rodney Renton. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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