CASPER

A free-wheeling memoir recounts a man’s childhood and young adult years spent indulging in three major pursuits—skateboarding, drinking, and taking drugs.

Fletcher had his first wild-side adventure in 1988 when he was 9 years old. A friend and neighbor in Fresno, California, suggested they surreptitiously “check out” a few things at the local store. They scored a G.I. Joe, an assortment of candies, a pack of Marlboro Reds, and a lighter. Celebrating the illicit escapade, the author smoked his first cigarette. He found the “head buzz” quite appealing. Three years later, Fletcher bonded with “the cool kid” on his new block—Grant. By now, the author had acquired his nickname—Casper—a moniker he would keep until his 30s. Grant introduced Fletcher to skateboarding, got him a newspaper route so he could buy his own board, and offered him his first hit of marijuana. It was a win all around for the 12-year-old, and he recounts this first experience with Mexican diesel weed with joyous abandon, recalling every detail of learning how to load the pipe, figuring out how to inhale for maximum effect, and enjoying the raucous good time that followed. He smoked tobacco and pot intermittently for the next few years, eventually adding alcohol to the mix: “Years before speed and shrooms, and all-nighters with friends, there was sneaking out to drink.” At 18, he was introduced to speed. “I love amphetamines,” he writes. “I cannot conceptualize why anyone in their right mind would ever want to do heroin and slow down.” He also developed a fondness for psychedelics. The most charming sections of Fletcher’s memoir deal with the early years— especially when he describes the awe and excitement of buying his first skateboard. He effectively captures the specialness of buddy relationships, speaking the language of his milieu. Yet his excessive use of street-kid expletives, which, despite his narrative skills, he employs with adolescent gusto, becomes wearying. Fletcher’s drug-infused binges are long over. But his memories provide readers interested in the rituals of the ’90s Fresno drug culture—the preparatory setups, the lingo, and the paraphernalia—with a plethora of vivid, detailed information.

A gritty and disturbing yet surprisingly upbeat account of three passions.