Saturday, June 17, 1989.

BY BILL DUNPHY

Jeff Brown's voice burns with anger and a strong measure of contempt.

``I couldn't believe it, what that cop was quoted as saying. What a load of crap! You gotta tell people what it's really like.''

Jeff's a reformed speed addict - clean for the last 11 months and 24 days - and what's got his blood boiling are comments made by a Broward County sheriff in a Sun article yesterday on ``crank'' - an amphetamine-derived drug.

The story said amphetamines were being marketed like crack cocaine, but quoted U.S. officials as saying it was cheaper and less adddictive than crack.

Sgt. Ric Moss also told the Sun crank is ``a drug of moderation. People can take it and still hold a job and maintain a relationship.''

``That's pure crap,'' Jeff repeated, ``once it gets ahold of you, you can't hold a job or relationship. Hell, when you're taking speed you can barely hold a conversation.''

Jeff should know. The ex-paratrooper has tripped through hell a couple of times, thanks to methamphetamines.

He's lied, cheated, lost jobs and friends, and turned into a criminal - while scrambling for his next hit of ``crys''.

(Crys - an amphetamine in crystal form - is just one of an addictive group of stimulants that are snorted, swallowed, injected and now, apparently, smoked. Other names: uppers, speed, crank, and meth.)

A CALL FROM BARRIE

After reading the Sun piece yesterday about the fears of crank surfacing in Toronto Jeff called me from Barrie .

Jeff said he was kicked out of the U.S. 82nd Airborne Division after he and a buddy got so high they couldn't make a parachute drop. The army found speed in their blood.

``At first we did it (speed) just to get high. After a while you do it just so you can function. And then you can't even function any more.''

I can hear him pulling on a cigarette as he talks. He's nervous talking about it - but he's determined.

Jeff hit bottom in San Diego last year.

He'd lost his job as a house painter because he was ``tripping'' every moment he was awake.

``I was going two, three times an hour for a hit - a big hit. My teeth were rotting and falling out, I wasn't sleeping or eating and suddenly I was doing 10 times more than when I started.''

Soon he was too far gone even for his next job - a combination doorman/drug dealer at a San Diego bar.

With no money he soon ran out of his drugs.

He began to hallucinate, going out of his head with a desperate need for the drug - tearing apart his place looking for forgotten ``stashes''.

By the second drugless day he couldn't get out of bed.

He was so sick, in so much pain, he couldn't walk, couldn't eat - could barely think.

He stayed that way for seven days.

Eventually he escaped - with money wired by his mother - and fled to northern Saskatchewan where he knew he wouldn't be able to get his hands on any speed.

He's been clean since and he says he wouldn't wish his hell on anyone.

``You gotta tell people,'' he urged anxiously. ``You gotta tell 'em. It's so addictive, so powerful ... and so cheap.''

On a more hopeful note, Debi said yes to my marriage proposal in yesterday's column. But she said the dust creatures in the corners of the apartment have to go.

© Copyright 1989, The Toronto Sun.
The Toronto Sun © Copyright 1989, Sun Media Corporation