EXCERPTS from my new book, WITHOUT THE LAMPSHADE-How I Learned to Love my Brown Martini

Jackson [Tenn.] was also the first place I ever smoked pot. I was with two older friends and we were working a roadhouse on the outside of town. One was the bouncer, the other was the doorman, and I was the photographer. All the men there were with someone else’s wife, so no one really wanted their picture taken but I persisted, coming up with a library of photographs I would later discover could have been very valuable.

I bummed a cigarette from one of my buddies and after a few minutes I was the happiest one there, except I didn’t know why. This was in the late 1940s when the street term for marijuana was “reefer,” and when they told me that’s what I had just smoked, I still didn’t know what it was. It would be several years before I tried that again.

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