I've been reading a new book by Leonard Bernstein's daughter about growing
up as his daughter. She lived a very privileged childhood, attending an
extremely prestigious girl's private school in Manhattan and hobnobbing with
people in the arts, in show business, and even, Jacqueline Kennedy. In her
descriptions of her adolescent years, Jamie describes the parties, the
drinking, and the pot smoking, as well as some of her sexual adventures. She
mentions a song writer whom she idolized and finally met, who was,
apparently, a heroine addict. She writes all of this with a light touch. As
I read it, I kept thinking about the thousands of lack kids, stopped and
frisked in New York City each day, arrested for possession of a little pot,
all the young black men who've been imprisoned for years because of
convictions for drug possession. In the book, Jamie talks about the parties
she held in her parents' apartment when they were out of town, the loud rock
music she and her friends loved. I remembered the white man who killed a
black kid in a car in Florida for playing loud music. And the kids who
smoked pot on the streets, didn't have luxurious apartments in which to
party. Wasn't one kid shot going upstairs in a housing project by a housing
police officer who became startled when he saw him? I don't think that kid
was smoking anything when he was shot.
This, in response to my friend who recently joined this list, if he's still
quietly lurking here, is my response to his probable response to the Hedges
column I just posted.
Miriam