In 1880s New York, rumours began to circulate of opium dens that were were being transformed into “hasheesh houses.” An intrepid reporter decided to investigate, and while smoking a “piece of hasheesh as large as an acorn” at a “luxurious establishment in Lexington Avenue” he discovered that lawyers, politicians, actors, men about town, actresses, singers, and out-of-towners were beginning to ditch opiates for cannabis.
“I like the business,” the proprietor said, as he handed the reporter of the change for a bill, “and I like hasheesh. I used to run an [opium] joint, and for eight years was an opium fiend myself. I struck hasheesh by accident, liked it, and soon found, to my surprise, that it began to give me a distaste for opium. Today I’d rather have one pipe of the former than three of the latter. You see, it’s cheaper, a little goes further, and there’s less trouble and no risk. Nearly all my old customers were ‘fiends;’ now they never ‘hit the pipe.'”
The Daily Republican (Monongahela, Pennsylvania), July 16, 1884. Reprinted from the New York Sun.
AN ORIENTAL NARCOTIC
Two Places in New York Devoted to Hasheesh Smokers
A Drug that is not so Harmful as Opium, Although the Surroundings are Equally as Demoralizing
The Daily Republican (Monongahela, Pennsylvania), July 16, 1884. Reprinted from the New York Sun.
“There is not much hasheesh imported regularly, not more than $5,000 worth a year, but ten times the quantity is consumed,” a Custom House broker asserted.
“Where does it go to? I can’t say of my own knowledge, but there is always a large demand for it. I have passed it through the customs for doctors, actors, society men, and even ladies. In point of nationality I think the Eastern races use it the more largely. That is, they formerly did. Nowadays it is pretty even all around.”
“I have been selling hasheesh for more than ten years now. When I began I sold about two pots a month; I now sell a hundred. I have all sorts of customers, Chinamen, Malays, French, Italians, and Americans. Germans seldom call for it. One of my best customers is a well-known actress; she usually buys two pots a month.” – Bowery druggist
“I have been selling hasheesh for more than ten years now,” a Bowery druggist said. “When I began I sold about two pots a month; I now sell a hundred. I have all sorts of customers, Chinamen, Malays, French, Italians, and Americans. Germans seldom call for it. One of my best customers is a well-known actress; she usually buys two pots a month. What does it look like? Here’s some common stuff,” displaying a small china jar which contained a blackish-brown paste. “This is worth a dollar a pot. This is first-class,” showing a pot of greenish-brown resin, with a slight half-pleasant odor, and of the consistency of opium. This is worth $3 a pot, and is five times as strong as the other.”
“Here is a prescription which I have filled a dozen times in the past three months. The chief ingredient is cannabis, and the purchaser is in reality no patient.”
“How is hasheesh used?”
“The same as opium. Some smoke it, others eat it in small pills, while others dissolve it in strong wine and drink it like a punch. The use of it in liquid form is, however, very rare. Orientals prefer smoking it, w hile the Western users of the drug take it solid. Hasheesh is gathered from the Indian hemp, and it contains almost always a very small percentage of cannabin, the alkaloid of the plant. I don’t believe that cannabin is the sold essential principle of hasheesh. It acts similarly, but it has unpleasant consequences, which hasheesh never has. It is used a good deal by some as a substitute. Here is a prescription which I have filled a dozen times in the past three months. The chief ingredient is cannabis, and the purchaser is in reality no patient, but only a confirmed hasheesh eater, what’s called in the East a haschaschin. She is a lady living in the neighbourhood.”
“Are there any hasheesh houses here?”
“Only two that I know of – one in Lexington Avenue, kept by an American, and one in Pell street, kept by a Chinaman. Both do a good business, and they enjoy the advantage of being safe from the police, which the opium joints do not.”
The reporter experienced no difficulty in entering both places referred to by the druggist. At the Lexington Avenue house a colored waiter answered the bell and ushered the caller into a small but neat reception room. The proprietor, a tall, slender and emaciated man, was the manager of the opium den some years ago. He led the way to the second story, where the windows were thoroughly closed and the daylight excluded. Six small colored lamps diffused a faint light through a thick smoke that filled the two rooms. The carpets, walls, and furniture were subdued, but warm and pleasant in color. Engravings and simple but pretty chromos, a few articles of bric-a-brac, and a bust or two gave the interior a cosey and attractive appearance. A dozen large easy chairs and fifteen low and roomy lounges were the chief articles of furniture, easily accommodating the twenty haschaschins present. Of these, six were women; all were well dressed and seemingly of good social position. Half were asleep, or dozing, a few were beginning to come under the influence, while the rest were beginning the dissipation. The proprietor asked in what style the reporter would take the drug, and, on being appealed to, recommended the nargile.
This turned out to be a simple modification of the Turkish article. A handsome glass vase filled with water, a long light tube with an amber mouthpiece, and a brazier – a metallic cup of the size and shape of an egg – were furnished. In the interior of the brazier were two brass grates, and from the bottom ran a tube down into the water of the vase. A piece of hasheesh as large as an acorn was placed on the upper grate, and on it was laid a small mass of glowing charcoal. The brazier was then closed with a perforated cap, and the reporter invited to begin. The first inhalation filled the upper part of the nargile with a thick blue vapor; the second filled the mouth and lungs with a cool, aromatic smoke that in flavor seemed like half way between opium and Latakia tobacco. The smoke lasted about six minutes. The only sensation it produced was about the same as that an old smoker experiences with a Reina Victoria – a feeling of mild satisfaction and content. There was none of the grotesque or beautiful visions that De Musset and Gautier have described. A second pipe produced a headache and the scribe professed himself more than satisfied.
“I struck hasheesh by accident, liked it, and soon found, to my surprise, that it began to give me a distaste for opium. Today I’d rather have one pipe of the former than three of the latter. You see, it’s cheaper, a little goes further, and there’s less trouble and no risk.” – Lexington hasheesh house proprietor
“I like the business,” the proprietor said, as he handed the reporter of the change for a bill, “and I like hasheesh. I used to run a joint, and for eight years was an opium fiend myself. I struck hasheesh by accident, liked it, and soon found, to my surprise, that it began to give me a distaste for opium. Today I’d rather have one pipe of the former than three of the latter. You see, it’s cheaper, a little goes further, and there’s less trouble and no risk. Nearly all my old customers were ‘fiends;’ now they never ‘hit the pipe.’ My new customers have been brought here by the old ones, and they’re just as inveterate. How many have I? About seventy – lawyers, politicians, actors, and men about town. My lady customers vary; some are actresses and singers, and some are out-of-town folks, who run in now and then for a little excitement. Does hasheesh hurt a man? I suppose it does if you use too much of it. I use five pipes a day, and have been doing it for years, and I don’t think it injures me. The man you saw in the back room is different. It’s killing him. He takes ten and twelve pipes a day. It depends on the man altogether.”
The Pell street place is a vivid contrast to the luxurious establishment in Lexington avenue. The room is in the third story of a tumble-down tenement. Low ceiling, dirty floor and walls, windows covered and plastered over with wrapping paper and rags, greasy bunks and grimy Chinese couches, a foul atmosphere, and all other indications of Chinese vice and squalor were there. The room, not larger than 20×25, contained thirty-one inmates. Seven were Mongols, eight women, and the rest a variegated assortment of loafers, tramps and drunkards. As the reporter entered a haschaschin was received from the proprietor, his ration of the drug. It was the cheap kind shown by the druggist and was as large as a hickory nut. — New York Sun.
