Who Is David Victorson Details To Know On The Ex-Smuggler? Quick Answer

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Dav Victorson is a social activist who was caught with 37 tons of pot in 1978. He was involved in a 50-ton pot run for almost eight years.

The 67-year-old social crusader and speaker was recently in Miami on business and worked with locals to set up a dispensary.

Victorson, on the other hand, knows more about the plant than many others hoping to cash in on the country’s legal marijuana boom.

He baffled police in 1978 when he was arrested off the coast of Seattle smuggling a staggering 37 tons of what was then the world’s outsized shipment of cannabis into the United States.

Victor sa, “Multi-ton loads weren’t included in marijuana statute when I was growing up. They were totally unaware of the situation!”

Victorson, who has a thick Boston accent, informs me over the phone.

Is Dav Victorson On Wikipedia?

Dav Victorson’s biography is not available on the official Wikipedia page. There is next to nothing about him on the internet.

After being caught in a 37-ton pot run, his name became a hot topic. According to Vice.com, he’s been on a 50-ton pot run for over eight years.

It’s not easy to find out his dates. It’s hard to guess what he’s thinking.

About Dav Victorson’s Family

There is no information about Dav Victorson’s family on the internet.

He was just arrested in connection with a 37 ton pot run. The public will gradually learn more about his family.

Upon disclosure, we will update this information shortly.

What Might Be Dav’s Net Worth?

At the time of writing this article, Dav Victorson’s net worth was unknown. His source of income is also hden behind closed doors.

He may have amassed a significant amount of money through his illegal activities.

Dav Victorson’s Age, Height, And Weight

Dav Victorson is a 67-year-old male whose height and weight are unknown. Vice.com listed his age, but no official source has valated it.

His date and place of birth are also revealed.

Where Is He Now?

Until now there is no formal information about him. After his illegal behavior, he was arrested and detained.

The police have also withheld information about him.

More About 37 Ton Pot Run

Dav Victorson is not the type to tell his readers wild tales of cartel glory.

Instead, his writing is relentless and authentic as he navigates his life from poverty to professional smuggling and terrible addiction.

Victorson, like other retailers, started small. Victorson’s story, on the other hand, is one long roar of greed glorified by the media’s image of the drug trade.

Victorson quickly caught the attention of the Colombian cannabis cartel due to his penchant for breaking the law.

He was soon smuggling the drug into the United States in bulk, earning himself a whopping $30 million and a life to match.


Banged Up Abroad 🍃 50 Tons of Weed Run 2021

Banged Up Abroad 🍃 50 Tons of Weed Run 2021
Banged Up Abroad 🍃 50 Tons of Weed Run 2021

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Who Is David Victorson? Details To Know On The Ex-Smuggler

Dav Victorson is a social activist who got caught with 37 tons of Pot in 1978. He had been involved in a 50-ton pot run for almost eight years.

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Date Published: 2/24/2021

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How the Ex-Smuggler Caught with 37 Tons of Pot Went … – VICE

After his ‘Weediquette’ appearance, author and cannabis activist Dav Victorson talks about his new book and the future of legal pot sales.

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Source: www.vice.com

Date Published: 4/17/2022

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How the Ex-Smuggler Caught with 37 Tons of Pot Went Legit

May 6, 2017 – After his ‘Weediquette’ appearance, author and cannabis activist Dav Victorson talks about his new book and the future of legal pot sales.

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Date Published: 10/7/2022

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37 Tons of David Victorson: A Tale of Ballsy Redemption

Victorson, his dog Ainge and a custom smuggling boat with a Carey design hull and two 350LT1 twin stern engines. Top speed: 65 knots. In what …

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Date Published: 4/3/2022

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How the Ex-Smuggler Caught with 37 Tons of Pot Went Legit

For David Victorson, working with cannabis is nothing new. The 67-year-old social activist and speaker was recently in Miami on business and worked with the local community to open a pharmacy. But Victorson has more knowledge of the plant than many looking to join the country’s legal cannabis boom. In 1978, he stunned authorities when he was caught smuggling what was then the largest shipment of cannabis – a whopping 37 tons – into the United States off the coast of Seattle. “In my day, the marijuana statue didn’t have multi-ton charges. They didn’t know about it!” Victorson tells me over the phone in a heavy Boston accent. “They were very angry when they found out that I had been transporting 50 tons of weed from Colombia to the United States every year for eight years.” In his memoir 37 Tons, Victorson recounts what brought him onto that fateful freighter, but be warned: He’s not someone who would delight his readers with grand tales of cartel fame. Instead, his writing is relentless and raw as he navigates his life from poverty to career smuggling and harrowing addiction. Like most dealers, Victorson started small. Selling in and around Dorchester — the rough, dog-eating Boston neighborhood he called home — he quickly outgrew the local scene to smuggle hash out of Amsterdam, India and Nepal. With a penchant for dodging the law, Victorson quickly got on the radar of the Colombian cannabis cartel. He was soon importing the drug en masse into the US and making a cool $30 million with a lifestyle to match. Victorson’s narrative, however, is a far cry from the greed popularized by the media’s portrayal of the drug trade. Through his prime as a smuggler and the aftermath — including three months in a Bolivian military prison and four years in Lompoc Federal Prison off the coast of California — Victorson has been shaped by his spirit of giving. “The way I was raised made me a hostile person who doesn’t trust or believe in anyone. I believe that most children born into poverty will always have it,” he says. “I’m a difficult person to accept love – I don’t believe it and I don’t trust people. What I can do to soften myself is to give to other people. I think that’s a big part of growing up and being part of the world.” In 37 Tons, the former smuggler must contend with the conflicting moral codes of society in general and those of the drug world, and it is this struggle that is an intriguing and fast-paced one Reading about survival matters.

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I spoke to Victorson about his new life, his childhood and his “good run”.

VICE: How does it feel to be working with cannabis again, albeit in a very different way?

David Victorson: It’s hilarious! When I was arrested in 1978, 5,000 people protested against my arrest. Even back then, people knew that marijuana was a much better recreational drug than alcohol. Now I’ve been invited to speak at a cannabis event in Washington DC. I know people want to hear pirate stories about the outrageous behavior and risky adventure, but I want to use the platform to talk about cannabis as an emerging industry. We don’t have to look like alcohol and tobacco. In the end, we can employ marginalized people, people without a college education and people who are struggling to find a foothold in the world – and at good salaries. As well as people who have been involved in selling cannabis in the past and have been jailed for it.

Exactly. I never objected to the fact that I went to jail for 37 tons of weed for smuggling since I was 16. I made over $30 million and had a phenomenal life. I was treated like a rock star everywhere. I had a good run. 37 tons must have been a massive shock to the authorities.

We made over $2 billion and they had no idea I existed. I had so many identities, passports and cover stories that they couldn’t figure out who I was when I was arrested. As a person who is constantly making up new identities, have you ever gotten to a point where you enjoyed it? How did you choose your characters?

Being that guy was my trade. It was like an actor studying for a play. You have ideas for a backstory, all the necessary documents and a script – and you have to find the right part. I taught myself how to perfect it. It was never a spontaneous thing; It was something that was done so I wouldn’t get caught and the people I cared about wouldn’t be endangered.

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In 37 Tons you lament that life as a smuggler meant losing many human relationships. Why were you keen to lead an outsider’s life?

That’s a question I think about now when I work with street children. When I was growing up I went to school hungry every day and in class I learned things that I couldn’t make money from so I could eat. [Study] I didn’t care because I spent my school day planning how I was going to get food. I didn’t have a safety net – if I didn’t earn anything, I would starve. Even when I was in community college, I smuggled hash because I needed something to fall back on when it didn’t work. Most kids have parents or a community, but I never had that. The only thing I knew in my heart was that I had to take care of myself no matter what because you couldn’t count on anyone to do that.

Another recurring motif in 37 Tons is fixed on “Codes”.

People talk about having a moral compass or a value system. I read a lot by Adam Smith and he talks about the difference between civil law and natural law. Civil law was created by rulers to keep them in power, while natural law is the instinctive difference between right and wrong. Even though I lived a hard life, I always felt like doing what felt right in my heart. I disagree with the tacit contract we have with the company. I believe in natural law – the law of the street. You’re taught right and wrong – if you’re lucky – otherwise the street would teach you. You couldn’t be a liar in the smuggling industry. If you were, you would make people go to jail or get killed. You could not be a thief because if you steal other people would suffer for your crime. Loyalty to the people who work with you is a big deal. The whole smuggling process involved over 200 people, but only two of us went to jail. We kept our mouths shut because that’s what you do. Meanwhile, in the corporate world, people lie, cheat, and steal all the time in order to climb the corporate ladder. I have had the most honest and straightforward relationships with everyone I have worked with in Colombia, Nepal and India.

Although the cannabis industry is growing rapidly, there is still a massive problem with smuggling. What are your thoughts on this?

I don’t think it’s a good thing at all that young people are risking their freedom to make a profit from cannabis smuggling. I would prefer they wait until there is enough space in the industry for them to legally fit in. There will be good job opportunities in the industry – the average worker makes about $50,000 a year and I’m pretty sure every state will say you can’t be convicted of a felony in the last seven years. So if you do something stupid like transport weed across state lines and you get caught, you’ll be convicted of a felony. That means you’re dead to this industry. It’s very important to me that people stay patient and don’t get so greedy or ambitious that they end up in prison. How do you feel when people romanticize the life of a smuggler?

It’s just a fantasy. You have no idea the tensions—the loneliness, the pain, the regret. You walk around and you see women pushing strollers and children eating ice cream and you know that’s not going to be a part of your life. People want to put you in jail. It’s not a relaxing adventure. You recently reached 34 years of sobriety. What brought you to your lowest point?

I was at a point where the DEA, the FBI, Interpol, and international agencies that people hadn’t even heard of were after me. I knew I couldn’t go back to smuggling and had to find something new. I never had another job and had no idea what normal life would be like. I finally acknowledged the pain I had been going through. When I was arrested and knew I was going to lose everything, I started snorting and drinking heroin and coke. I did everything by myself and one day I woke up completely naked, without a shower and full of fleas in a closet in my house. I felt like a snake was eating me from the inside. Sobriety is the foundation of my lifestyle because I know if I drink or do drugs, my life will go haywire. They launched School ‘Em last year, a program aimed at at-risk inner-city youth. What are you trying to convey when you speak about your life in front of a young audience?

I try to create an emotional connection with them. I don’t want them to just listen, I want them to feel what I’m talking about. Ultimately, it’s about how I can prevent children growing up in poverty from going down the path I’ve taken. I work with a lot of kids who are now drug dealers and I teach them that by substituting another commodity for drugs you have the skills to run a business. We will only teach you what white people know and have not been taught to you. For me, the only difference between a drug dealer and a banker is a suit.

Follow Layla Halabian on Twitter.

How the Ex-Smuggler Caught with 37 Tons of Pot Went Legit

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37 Tons of David Victorson A Tale of Ballsy Redemption

“In an age of universal deception,” George Orwell once said, “to speak the truth is a revolutionary act.” This maxim certainly applies to David Victorson’s book 37 Tons. His title is the record-breaking amount of marijuana he smuggled on a freighter from Columbia to Seattle.

“I heard the door of my hotel room slammed open,” his memoirs begin. “As I jumped out of bed, I was ordered to get on my knees. Six heavily armed Bolivian security officers stood nervously over me. They handcuffed me, put a black cloth bag over my head, and pushed me down the hallway to the elevator. ”

Victorson remained handcuffed to a bed in a prison cell for three months awaiting extradition to the United States, where he would serve four concurrent five-year terms. In the ten years before his arrest, he earned around $30 million. Victorson began selling pot in Boston at the age of 16 and later smuggled hash and hash oil from Amsterdam, India, Nepal and Pakistan. He also smuggled weed, cocaine, emeralds and gold out of Bolivia and Colombia. An outlaw who enjoyed taking on anything resembling the establishment, he once bragged to a friend about how, as the friend put it, he “brought to their knees” some Texas bankers involved in a money-laundering scheme a facade were used. investment company” which he headed in San Francisco.

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His sentences included 30 days in La Modello in Bogota, Colombia, three months in a military prison in La Paz, Bolivia, and four years in Lompoc Federal Prison in the United States.

After being released from life behind bars, Victorson was assigned to a parole officer who warned him not to drink alcohol or use drugs, and although he intended to follow that rule, he soon gave in to the temptation of alcohol and Cola.

On a Friday, his parole officer said, “They gave me six dirty drug tests.” Victorson replied, “I knew they were dirty. I’ve been high every day since I came out.” The parole officer gave him an ultimatum: either get into a drug treatment program by Monday or go to prison for another eight years. He decided to go into rehab and it completely changed the life he had been so busy destroying himself.

Eventually he became a skilled drug counselor and for a few years himself owned a rehabilitation center specializing in the treatment of young addicts. For years he had been selling drugs without considering whether the drugs could harm his customers, but now his career evolved into getting addicts off drugs. Over time, he developed a sizeable following as a rehab leader and then as an outspoken and colorful public speaker, popular with some AA groups. A charismatic man, he caused a stir by leading a sect.

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Victorson was raised in Dorchester, Massachusetts and currently resides in Washington, D.C. His life between these places was unique and I was curious to learn more.

How did you start your rehab career from scratch?

I started as a consultant and worked my way up to VP Marketing. I was the most successful marketing guy out of 54 hospitals and had built a loyal following that referred patients to the hospital I represented, making me a rainmaker of sorts and motivating the hospital board to want to keep me around. So they offered me the opportunity to run my own programs. After a few years, I brought on a venture capital group that funded the acquisition of our own facilities. The company was sold in 2007 for $96 million. Of course I had a visible criminal past and as a convalescent I was never accepted into the inner circle. I was seen as a sort of well-paid second-class citizen.

Didn’t you also have a kind of cult status?

I’m not interested in the image of a following. It reminds me of an elf in baggy green shorts playing the flute while hopping on goat-like legs. Who the hell is following this character? I’ve been written about quite extensively – from the Seattle Times to Playboy – with a penchant for being an outlaw and then again because I was a businessman with a criminal past. I speak a lot at AA meetings, but I don’t consider my fellow addicts followers. I openly promote smoking weed even though I’m an addict and don’t smoke anymore. But I love this bud.

Victorson, his dog Ainge and a custom built contraband boat with a Carey design hull and twin 350LT1 twin stern engines. Top speed: 65 knots.

How were you a businessman?

From 1984 to 2006 I developed, owned and operated a treatment program, Focus Healthcare, which treated over 25,000 chronic drug abusers and alcoholics. The admissions office served as a call center — located in San Juan Capistrano, connected to hospitals in Delaware, Florida, California, Georgia and Ohio — staffed by recovery counselors, open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Over the years we have averaged more than 50,000 calls per month. Of those who sought help, only half a percent had the financial means to enroll in a treatment program. This became a puzzle that was unsolvable. Focus Healthcare gave away many free treatments but was in no way able to handle the volume of addicts calling who were unable to pay for treatment.

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So what happens to these people is that they get referred to AA, NA or some other free 12 level organization. I’ve also spoken to union members across the country, including Teamsters, CWA, UFCW, public school teachers, human resources directors, representatives from the Screen Actors Guild, professional and parent groups. I also worked as a consultant with Michael Keaton on the film Clean and Sober. I am currently speaking at various 12-step meetings in Washington D.C., transition homes and homeless shelters about my own recovery and the war on addiction that is not being fought.

Which drug do you think is the most destructive?

To this day and for the past 31 years of my sobriety, alcohol continues to be the number one abused drug in our country. It will kill you during detox or from liver damage. No other abused substance has such a destructive history.

What do you think of this recent Alternet blog criticizing Alcoholics Anonymous? “Peer-reviewed studies put the success rate of AA somewhere between 5 percent and 10 percent. That means about 1 in 15 people participating in these programs are able to become and stay sober. In 2006, one of the most prestigious scientific research organizations around the world, the Cochrane Collaboration, conducted a review of the many studies conducted between 1966 and 2005 and came to an astonishing conclusion: “No experimental studies have unequivocally established efficacy demonstrated by AA in the treatment of alcoholism.” This group came to the same conclusion regarding professional AA-oriented treatment (12-Step Relief Therapy), which forms the core of virtually every alcoholism rehabilitation program in the country.

Can you imagine completing an anonymous study program? No one keeps track of how many people attend AA meetings. No one follows members to study their sobriety rates. There’s no way a study could do anything other than whatever agenda they’re guessing at whether or not AA works.

AA states that over 24 million people participate in 12-step meetings in almost every country in the world. These meetings are free; Each meeting is autonomous. AA does not endorse or disapprove causes. AA doesn’t advertise itself – if someone wants to go to a meeting, it’s because they’re drawn to the people who are sober in meetings. When someone gets sober, their hormones wake up. It might be a more startling conclusion that members of AA masturbate with more satisfaction than the purported statisticians trying to study them.

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Aside from masturbating AA members, do you remember a special surprise at one of the meetings you attended?

When I was in my first year of sobriety, I went to many AA meetings in Burbank, California. As a newcomer to AA, I was quite impressed by people who had years without alcohol or drugs. Two such men went to a meeting I was a regular at, one sober at 18 and the other at 19. I would listen to these men speak at meetings. I was 33 and they were in their 60’s so I never spoke to them socially. One day the FBI came into this meeting and arrested her. It turned out that they were sober bank robbers. After drunkenly screwing up a robbery, they had made a conscious business decision to be sober bank robbers. If this were an Aesop fable, the moral of the story would be: It’s possible to quit drinking and using drugs and remain the same character you were during your drunken days, or you could learn a different way of living if you did have free choice.

So what does AA mean to you? What about these 12 steps?

Meetings are a place where souls connect. It doesn’t matter what color, how much money or gender. Under the guise of self-interest is caring for the collective. There is a common interest – a desire to recognize and change self-defeating behavior. Each person makes this decision for themselves, without rules or judgements. The truth is, if I’m not in recovery, I’m in addiction. I’ve taken my addiction to the extreme with heroin, cocaine, freebase and alcohol. It took me to prisons in Costa Rica, Bolivia, Colombia and finally here in the USA.

Then it took me to a psychiatric hospital called a treatment program for three months. I built a sober life, became a successful father, husband, and businessman, only to fall back into my behavior and gamble away millions of dollars on a new addiction. So I ask myself, am I an addiction expert? I wish I had carried the pain I have endured alone, but the truth is that my extreme experience of addiction has destroyed innocent people. My wife once said to me, “You destroy people when you’re addicted.”

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What makes you different from other people in AA?

I started my life detached from my family. I didn’t like them and they didn’t like me. I felt the need to belong but couldn’t find a safe place to belong. I knew this at the age of six, long before drugs and alcohol became part of my life. As I got older I never had a job or a career in a company, I didn’t have a family, I just had myself. When I got sober, I started from scratch. I had no life to rebuild. I was a career criminal with no career. Everyone I knew was on the black market, so I couldn’t remember them.

I had nothing to go back to or reconnect to. Almost everyone I’ve met in 12-step meetings had something – a family, a career, and often both. So my life became about understanding addiction and solving the mystery of how to help an addict at that point, that moment of clarity when they are ready to surrender and open to change.

What would you say is the answer to the war on drugs?

I see it as a fight against addiction. As a society, we have to agree that getting rid of the market for drugs makes more sense than locking up the consumer. Treatment must be free and accessible to anyone who needs it. A medical evaluation by an MD, a safe detox, and then 60 days in a low-cost residential environment with a program that includes treatments for the mind, body, and spirit. And evening trips to 12-step meetings where the addict is accepted and can connect with other people. That sounds easy, but it’s a lot of work. If the programs were there, the addict would come.

Drugs and alcohol are not the problem. The addict is the problem and that needs to be addressed. Addiction is a global problem. I met and worked with a group from Uganda who are trying to organize treatment facilities in Africa, where alcoholism is rampant. I have a good friend, the director of the New Paradigm Fund, who helps support a 12-step recovery program in Indonesia, where heroin addiction is a major problem. Hundreds of millions of dollars are spent on banning drugs and even more on writing policies to monitor drug trafficking. How about we just do the work and get 30,000 to 50,000 people off drugs every month and back into society?

Is that why you wrote 37 tons?

I wrote this book so that I could speak on the subject in a public forum. (Information at 37tons.com.) I believe without ego, but in the purest sense my life is my professional expertise. I’m an addict, but I believe in legalizing marijuana. I was a smuggler and a pirate, but I believed civil law was made for those in power, and it wasn’t me, so it shouldn’t apply to those of us who didn’t benefit from it. I believe that all people are born free, but there are “have more” and 1% who want to fail with this birthright.

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What’s the most important thing you’ve learned from all of your experience on the journey from addiction to sobriety?

A 35-year-old man is an avid Boston Red Sox fan. He saved his money to buy tickets to a Red Sox game of the year against the New York Yankees at Fenway Park. As he nears his seat, he is filled with anticipation of a great game. He sits down and hears a voice yelling, “Hey, Dave.” He looks around but sees no one he knows. As the game progresses he hears the voice again, “Hey Dave”, only this time it sounds closer, so he gets up and looks around.

Once again he can’t tell where the voice is coming from. Now he is frustrated and gets angry. Someone interrupts his perfect afternoon. With the seventh inning approaching, he decides to grab a large popcorn and a beer. When he comes back, just before he sits down, he hears the voice again, louder this time: “Hey, Dave!” Angry now, he throws up his arms in frustration and spills the popcorn and beer on the woman sitting in front of him. He covers his mouth with his hand, makes a makeshift speakerphone, and yells back, “My name isn’t Dave.”

This story embodies my attitude from the beginning. I thought everything in life revolved around me. I tried to shape the circumstances of my life in my favor, often overlooking the consequences for other people. As I traveled to remote parts of the world I looked for ways to get more for myself. I took more money than I needed. I’ve bought more houses, cars, and clothes than I could ever need in three lifetimes. I took extreme risks with my freedom and my life to have more. I never had any idea of ​​what was enough, so I could never reach the goal and be satisfied.

At that time in my life I was generous with what I had, but I had plenty to be generous with. If I had had less, would I have been so generous, or was it only in my own interest by giving little when I had much? Who the hell knows? What I do know is if you are born in an environment with little to no food, clothing or shelter and your safety is under constant threat and the opportunity for all of this to improve rapidly [seems] that most children will do this Take it.

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In our country and around the world, children grow up like this every day. I was one of them and I know that in order to survive you will take what you can while you can because there is no hope that tomorrow will be a better day. These are the addicts waiting.

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