Revised from first printing
I'M FROM MINNESOTA, where the word “passion” generally is frowned upon, except for vague references to Easter or to quasi-legal terminology, such as “crime of passion.” Most shows of passion - or any kind of emotion - are considered bad form in Minnesota. Case in point: I once had a girl friend there who chided me for getting excited during sex, a criticism that still has me scratching my head.
So, if I were still a dyed-in-the-lefse Minnesotan, I likely would not use the word “passion” to describe anything, especially not words on paper (like the book you’re holding), but I escaped the frozen tundra nearly 25 years ago and the distance in time and space between me and it has broadened my vocabulary to the extent that I can now refer to passion without blushing or fearing that someone might consider me weird, like a guy wearing black shoes with brown pants.
The Pot Plan is a book of unrelenting passion. Brent Andrews poured his soul into it, completely absorbed, writing furiously, and coming up with several books in one. The book you’re holding now is a drunkalogue to end all drunkalogues, and nobody ever drank with more determination and passion than Brent Andrews. It’s a miracle he’s still alive, still married, still sane, still healthy, still working and still with friends.
Still married? As you read these pages, you’ll wonder - as I did - why the long-suffering Ginny stayed with her man as long as she did. But she did: then, later, now and forever. The story of Brent and Ginny is a love story par excellence, and yet I’ll bet neither Brent nor Ginny recognized it at the time. It’s just that for Ginny, there was always Brent; for Brent, there was always Ginny. Period. End of discussion.
Theirs is not a lazy love based on inertia, an unwillingness to change because of the effort involved. It is a love based on passion, a determination made somewhere along the line that one was right for the other and that’s the way it was going to be, forever, for better, for worse.
Intersecting the love story and the drunkalogue, The Pot Plan also is an inside look into small city journalism, the passionate struggles of a young newspaper reporter fighting for truth and justice in a universe controlled by publishers who want neither. Brent tells it like it is, and like it is ain’t pretty. If you’re a journalism major with an urge to serve your community, you might want to read this book and consider changing your major. I’m told MBA’s are happy. Brent can’t help himself. He’s a down-home Holden Caulfield with a lust for life and a thirst for beer. His passion shows through in everything he writes, including the travelogue sections of The Pot Plan. Ever the reporter, he’s a sponge, soaking up everything he sees or hears or smells or tastes or touches. You’ve been to New Orleans? You think you know that city? Perhaps you do, but you can’t help but know more about it after reading The Pot Plan. The same applies to Yellowstone, parts of Tennessee, and parts of Idaho.
When Brent asked me to write an introduction for his book, I was flattered, of course. But I also was perplexed. What can I say? I barely know Brent. True, when I was an on-line columnist, we exchanged quite a few e-mails. But I’ve spent only part of one day with him and Ginny, playing tour guide as I took them on my cab driver’s deluxe tour of San Francisco.
So what could I write? I didn’t know then that he was the horrendous drunk described on these pages. Though I suspected his devotion to crusading journalism, I didn’t know how great it was until I read the details in his book. And, most importantly perhaps, I had no idea that he had discovered a “cure” for his addiction to alcohol, and that, in the final analysis, The Pot Plan would turn out to be a self-help book.
Rightly or wrongly, I’ve decided to do what I’ve just done, write a sort of synopsis of the book and do a little pimping for it. After all, what are friends for? If you want to know more about the author and his life, go to page one and start reading. That’s where the good part starts.
I'M FROM MINNESOTA, where the word “passion” generally is frowned upon, except for vague references to Easter or to quasi-legal terminology, such as “crime of passion.” Most shows of passion - or any kind of emotion - are considered bad form in Minnesota. Case in point: I once had a girl friend there who chided me for getting excited during sex, a criticism that still has me scratching my head.
So, if I were still a dyed-in-the-lefse Minnesotan, I likely would not use the word “passion” to describe anything, especially not words on paper (like the book you’re holding), but I escaped the frozen tundra nearly 25 years ago and the distance in time and space between me and it has broadened my vocabulary to the extent that I can now refer to passion without blushing or fearing that someone might consider me weird, like a guy wearing black shoes with brown pants.
The Pot Plan is a book of unrelenting passion. Brent Andrews poured his soul into it, completely absorbed, writing furiously, and coming up with several books in one. The book you’re holding now is a drunkalogue to end all drunkalogues, and nobody ever drank with more determination and passion than Brent Andrews. It’s a miracle he’s still alive, still married, still sane, still healthy, still working and still with friends.
Still married? As you read these pages, you’ll wonder - as I did - why the long-suffering Ginny stayed with her man as long as she did. But she did: then, later, now and forever. The story of Brent and Ginny is a love story par excellence, and yet I’ll bet neither Brent nor Ginny recognized it at the time. It’s just that for Ginny, there was always Brent; for Brent, there was always Ginny. Period. End of discussion.
Theirs is not a lazy love based on inertia, an unwillingness to change because of the effort involved. It is a love based on passion, a determination made somewhere along the line that one was right for the other and that’s the way it was going to be, forever, for better, for worse.
Intersecting the love story and the drunkalogue, The Pot Plan also is an inside look into small city journalism, the passionate struggles of a young newspaper reporter fighting for truth and justice in a universe controlled by publishers who want neither. Brent tells it like it is, and like it is ain’t pretty. If you’re a journalism major with an urge to serve your community, you might want to read this book and consider changing your major. I’m told MBA’s are happy. Brent can’t help himself. He’s a down-home Holden Caulfield with a lust for life and a thirst for beer. His passion shows through in everything he writes, including the travelogue sections of The Pot Plan. Ever the reporter, he’s a sponge, soaking up everything he sees or hears or smells or tastes or touches. You’ve been to New Orleans? You think you know that city? Perhaps you do, but you can’t help but know more about it after reading The Pot Plan. The same applies to Yellowstone, parts of Tennessee, and parts of Idaho.
When Brent asked me to write an introduction for his book, I was flattered, of course. But I also was perplexed. What can I say? I barely know Brent. True, when I was an on-line columnist, we exchanged quite a few e-mails. But I’ve spent only part of one day with him and Ginny, playing tour guide as I took them on my cab driver’s deluxe tour of San Francisco.
So what could I write? I didn’t know then that he was the horrendous drunk described on these pages. Though I suspected his devotion to crusading journalism, I didn’t know how great it was until I read the details in his book. And, most importantly perhaps, I had no idea that he had discovered a “cure” for his addiction to alcohol, and that, in the final analysis, The Pot Plan would turn out to be a self-help book.
Rightly or wrongly, I’ve decided to do what I’ve just done, write a sort of synopsis of the book and do a little pimping for it. After all, what are friends for? If you want to know more about the author and his life, go to page one and start reading. That’s where the good part starts.
- Harley Sorensen
San Francisco, California
March 23, 2005
San Francisco, California
March 23, 2005
Excerpted from The Pot Plan: Louie B. Stumblin and the War on Drugs by Thomas Brent Andrews. Copyright 2005 Thomas Brent Andrews, all rights reserved.
