Commentary

THE SUMMER OF DRUGS

This summer marks the 40th anniversary of the so-called Summer of
Love. Honest and intelligent people will remember it for what it
really was: the Summer of Drugs.

Forty years ago hordes of stoned, dirty, stinky hippies converged on
San Francisco to "turn on, tune in, and drop out," which was the
calling card of LSD proponent Timothy Leary. Turned off by the work
ethic and productive American Dream values of their parents, hippies
instead opted for a cowardly, irresponsible lifestyle of random sex,
life-destroying drugs and mostly soulless rock music that flourished
in San Francisco.

The Summer of Drugs climaxed with the Monterey Pop Festival which
included some truly virtuoso musical talents such as Jimi Hendrix and
Janis Joplin, both of whom would be dead a couple of years later due
to drug abuse. Other musical geniuses such as Jim Morrison and Mama
Cass would also be dead due to drugs within a few short years. The
bodies of chemical-infested, braindead liberal deniers continue to
stack up like cordwood.

As a diehard musician, I terribly miss these very talented people who
squandered God's gifts in favor of poison and the joke of hipness. I
often wonder what musical peaks they could have climbed had they not
gagged to death on their own vomit. Their choice of dope over quality
of life, musical talent and meaningful relationships with loved ones
can only be categorized as despicably selfish.

I literally had to step over stoned, drooling fans, band mates,
concert promoters and staff to pursue my musical American Dream
throughout the 1960s and 1970s. I flushed more dope and cocaine down
backstage toilets than I care to remember. In utter frustration I was
even forced to punch my way through violent dopers on occasion. So
much for peace and love. The DEA should make me an honorary officer.

I was forced to fire band members and business associates due to
mindless, dangerous, illegal drug use. Clean and sober for 59 years,
I am still rocking my brains out and approaching my 6,000th concert.
Clean and sober is the real party.

Young people make mistakes. I've made my share, but none that
involved placing my life or the lives of others at risk because of
dope. I saw first-hand too many destroyed lives and wrecked families
to ever want to drool and vomit on myself and call that a good time.
I put my heart and soul into creating the best music I possibly could
and I went hunting instead. My dream continues with ferocity, thank you.

The 1960s, a generation that wanted to hold hands, give peace a
chance, smoke dope and change the world, changed it all right: for
the worse. America is still suffering the horrible consequences of
hippies who thought utopia could be found in joints and intentional disconnect.

A quick study of social statistics before and after the 1960s is
quite telling. The rising rates of divorce, high school drop outs,
drug use, abortion, sexual diseases and crime, not to mention the
exponential expansion of government and taxes, is dramatic. The "if
it feels good, do it" lifestyle born of the 1960s has proved to be
destructive and deadly.

So now, 40 years later, there are actually people who want to
celebrate the anniversary of the Summer of Drugs. Hippies are once
again descending on ultra-liberal San Francisco -- a city that once
wanted to give shopping carts to the homeless -- to celebrate and try
to remember their dopey days of youth when so many of their musical
heroes and friends long ago assumed room temperature by "partying"
themselves to death. Nice.

While I salute and commend the political and cultural activism of the
1960s that fueled the civil rights movement, other than that, the
decade is barren of any positive cultural or social impact. Honest
people will remember 1967 for what is truly was.

There is a saying that if you can remember the 1960s, you were not
there. I was there and remember the decade in vivid, ugly detail. I
remember its toxic underbelly excess because I was caught in the
vortex of the music revolution that was sweeping the country, and
because my radar was fine-tuned thanks to a clean and sober lifestyle.

Death due to drugs and the social carnage heaped upon America by
hippies is nothing to celebrate. That is a fool's game, but it is
quite apparent some burned-out hippies never learn.

Mr. Nugent is a rock star releasing his 35th album, "Love Grenade," this summer.