HOW I GOT YOU YOUR OUNCE (eBook)

A Pot Dealer's Journey Through American History

David Belmont, Nan K. Chase, & quote; Jimmy X& quote; (Autoren)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
124 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3178-1044-3 (ISBN)

Infos

How I Got You Your Ounce tells the amazing true story of how a mild-mannered New Yorker, now in his 70s, spent over half a century hiding in plain sight as he sold more than $30 million worth of pot -- nearly 5 tons -- while avoiding legal entanglements. This riveting memoir provides much-needed context for today's rapidly-changing legal framework of legalized marijuana sales, and an insider's view of why legal pot sales are failing to meet many states' expectations.

Researcher David Belmont's poetry has appeared in The Poeming Pigeon, Wildflower Muse and FishFood Magazine, while two collections of his poetry have been published by The Poetry Box: World Gone Zoom: Notes from the American Epicenter and more recently Ob-la-di Ob-la-da. As a professional musician he has produced more than 25 albums.

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Jimmy X shares his insider's view of America's marijuana evolution from the 1960s to the year 2020, based on more than 50 years working as a retail "e;apartment dealer"e; in New York City. What was once a secretive and criminal activity, pot smoking has become an open and everyday activity supplied by state-run dispensaries. Beginning as a teenager, Jimmy X describes the scene as weed and American pop culture grew and changed together. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever bought pot, smoked pot, or dreamed of the day when pot would be legal. But beware! Jimmy X also shows how America's rapidly changing marijuana laws are creating financial havoc and serious health issues across the nation. Investigative reporter Nan K. Chase and researcher David Belmont helped craft Jimmy's amazing true story.

Textauszug

Chapter One:

Hiding in Plain Sight

You’ve seen me a thousand times but never noticed. That’s exactly how I wanted it.

I might be standing in line behind you at the hardware store or holding the door open for you at Starbucks. I’m getting on the subway car while you’re getting off. I’m sitting next to you on an airplane or at a concert or a basketball game. Nothing to see here, folks.

My usual dress is blue or grey jeans, a tee shirt or button-down shirt tucked in, casual walking shoes and a light zip-up jacket, maybe a gym bag or a vintage New York-style man purse. Baseball cap, always. Jewelry, nah.

I’m just a shlumpy old white guy in New York City. Invisible. A speck in the crowd, trying to keep up with everyone else.

I’ve had a heart attack and a hip replacement. My hair is disappearing. I’m on Social Security and Medicare. Age: 72. I’m anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere in particular, a typical retired Baby Boomer.

Here’s the difference. I spent my entire professional life — 53 years, from 1967 to 2020 — as a pot dealer, what’s called in New York an “apartment dealer.” I was your retail contact. Someone who got an ounce or two of marijuana into your hands at your doorstep, a crucial part of what was until recently a hidden and illicit industry. Okay, so once in a while I’d do a little wholesale business. The occasional pound or quarter pound or half pound.

I moved $30 million worth of product in those 50 years. I’m guessing it all added up to about 8,000 or 10,000 pounds of weed, starting when I was in high school. I never had a serious brush with the law, although I had a couple of close calls, and what I did was, and has remained, a felony. Yes, there were times I was carrying as much as five pounds of pot past security guards or police officers.

I was careful to declare my income and pay taxes, and I always paid my bills on time. No one was really looking for me, and no one found me.

Sure, $30 million is a lot of money. But take out the considerable expenses and divide that amount over 50 years and it’s, you know, a comfortable middle-class existence in Manhattan. I’m systematic, so I kept good books. My overhead consisted of the weed, of course, and eventually I would rent separate apartments just for doing business. Plus, I would hire assistants, not only for deliveries but to live in the “work” apartment so it looked legit and didn’t arouse suspicion. I spent some money on the equipment I needed to package and label the weed, and for transport. After the cost of goods et cetera I cleared $8 million in all that time. There was one year I cleared almost half a million dollars, but that was the biggest year by far.

Some of the guys I went to school with became lawyers or stockbrokers or doctors (a lot of them were my customers), and I figured out that over the years they made way more than I did. But while they were paying for expensive car service and weekend homes and private school tuition and country club memberships and business-class airline tickets (bling bling bling)…I wasn’t. My tastes are simple and easily satisfied.

My longtime romantic partner, a beautiful woman named Mikki, and I share a one-bedroom apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. She and I like to dine out a few times a week, visit some edgy art exhibits and take in a concert or sporting event once in a while, and travel a bit to not particularly exotic locales (flying coach). We basically take one vacation a year. Recently we did a major upgrade — a Viking river cruise in Europe. Age appropriate, not ostentatious. All right, I’ll cop to having notched the spectator grand slam of tennis: Wimbledon, the Australian and French Opens and of course the U.S. Open, which takes place in New York. That took years. One of those times I had a friend who had just won a big legal settlement, and he treated me to the trip.

All of those doctors and lawyers and stockbrokers had to put in long hours at the office. Me? I’m an old hippie and wasn’t cut out for that grind. Selling pot let me set my own hours and succeed using my talents and drive. And, honestly, my brain got a good workout. I’m a numbers guy, a systems geek, and that skillset came in handy.

I had something else going: street smarts. The important thing, above all, was never to be noticed. Always to blend in. To keep my head down in the giant game of Whack-A-Mole that was the illegal marijuana business.

It wasn’t just luck. I worked hard to be invisible.

I’m an actor of sorts. My whole life for more than 50 years was about adopting an attitude, a mindset, that would put me totally at ease at all times and in any social or street setting. After all those years I still carry those practices around with me. My goal was always to deflect attention from myself and what I did for a living. I did that by being friendly, outgoing, and interested in current events and the city life all around. It was as if I was wearing a costume and going on stage all day every day. The costume wasn’t only clothing and makeup; it was my posture, my movements throughout the day, the way I talked to people. Lots and lots of little things that I stitched together into a protective cloak that may as well have had the word “Boring” embroidered on the back. Habit, routine. Habit, routine.

And boy, I nailed my lines. I’m an honest and open guy. So, I could be completely open and honest in any conversation but not reveal the whole truth. I’ve had close friends for 30 years or more who never did figure out that I sold pot…and lots of it. There were even people I got weed for and they only knew me as a musician. I could say to them, “Hey, I know a guy who can get you some.” Because that line itself made perfect sense. There was simply no wink-wink. It was matter of fact: I know a guy. I was out and about doing business during the day, home in time for dinner and a drink, in bed at a reasonable hour. Nothing out of place.

Like I said, I live in Manhattan with my partner, Mikki. We’ve been together more than 35 years, and we live in a third-floor walkup near 9th Avenue in the 40s, on the West Side. Definitely not a doorman apartment. Our neighbors are everything from professionals, teachers, lawyers, small businesspeople, restaurant owners. People who work in the various New York industries like financial services or the arts.

And I stayed true to my persona as a small business owner, if you will, because I approached my weed enterprise as any successful American businessman would: by supplying a commodity that was in great demand and by providing excellent quality, consistency, customer service, and reliability. In addition, I really did have a consulting business for entrepreneurs. It was a way to help people, and it also provided me with a way to channel income and pay taxes. Yeah, I’m pretty straight that way. Paying taxes is part of the social contract. I never wanted to fool around with that part of the law. I started collecting Social Security at 66, just like normal people do…because I paid in like normal people.

The streets where I live are lined with everything from bodegas, lots of restaurants, nail parlors, pet stores, a frame shop, still some mom-and-pop businesses (including, ironically, a few unlicensed pot shops). Mikki and I get the New York Times delivered on Sundays, and like everyone else, do some of our shopping on Amazon.

I buy inexpensive luggage from the luggage store down the street. Nothing fancy, just a canvas carry-on. Mikki is always trying to get me to buy some new clothes, especially a new jacket. Mine are often a little tattered. Hey, I’m an old man. I love tattered jackets because they’re soft and comfortable. I like soft, comfortable clothes and I get attached to them.

Usually I take the subway to and from stuff, occasionally a taxi if I’m in a hurry. When I’ve had cars at all they’ve been old cars. I was never into sports cars. My first car was a used VW Beetle. Then I had an old Dodge. The basic vibe is you don’t get the fancy car. I knew guys in this business who drove around in BMWs. They play that part. I’m not that guy. Where am I going to park a fancy car? On the street it’s only going to be broken into, and if you put it in a garage, it’s expensive. Even though I have the money, what’s the point? I’m not in it for the bling. The fact of the matter is that most people in this business aren’t either. I’m convinced there must have been 20,000 to 30,000 apartment dealers in New York City alone during the heyday (do the math, bro), before legalized or semi-legalized and medical marijuana came on the scene, and very few of them were draped in diamonds and gold.

My habits are like Groundhog Day and haven’t changed much in decades: I typically wake up between five and six in the morning. I’ve been doing that since we started living with dogs, which are a big deal in Manhattan. We’re into labradoodles.

I brew the coffee, I sit down at my computer with a small piece of candy, check ESPN.com for the latest in sports. I follow tennis. I was a major tennis fan in the Roger Federer era, and now I’m familiar with men’s and women’s pro games. I’m frequently taping tennis throughout the day, especially if there’s...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 20.8.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3178-1044-3 / 9798317810443