Read Part II

Looking back, my experiences with weed while living in New England in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s always had an element of increased paranoia and anxiety associated with them. That’s the effect you get from associating a ritualistic, shamanistic medicine-consuming practice like using The Herb with the perception of criminal and illegal activity.

Not the ideal set and setting, but we dealt with it. New England kids rise to the challenge, and fuck off if you don’t like it…#chowds

The attitude of law enforcement toward cannabis and cannabis users back then was about the same as it was toward most other illegal drug users. There was virtually no overt difference in the way cannabis was perceived and policed versus more dangerous substances like cocaine or heroin, save the severity of the penalties, which were slightly lesser for cannabis.

It was that way because the War on Drugs and the “Just Say No” campaign of Nancy Reagan (wife of then president Ronald Reagan, the famous actor) had been very effective in portraying all drug users as being either criminals or addicts in need of rehabilitation. Dare to Say No To Drugs was another mantra that reinforced the point of view that there was nothing but liability associated with consuming illicit substances. 

Ronald Reagan was the architect of the War on Drugs. These policies helped create mandatory minimum sentencing guidelines which have kept many people in prison for drug possession far longer than they deserved to be.

The paranoia around cannabis was a bigger issue back then. I say back then because I’ve been around the medical and legal variety for long enough that it seems like a distant memory, but it was no joke. You had to be careful possessing and transporting weed when it meant penalties and jail time for not doing so. 

I truly feel for people living in states today where this is still a very real thing. While the overall severity of penalties surrounding cannabis possession are down over the last five to 10 years, there is still so much work to be done, as well as some long-overdue justice needed for many of the cannabis incarcerated. 

My first arrest for possessing cannabis happened in 1993 in upstate New York. I was in a van full of ‘Heads on my way to Albany to see the Jerry Garcia Band at The Knick. We were acting the fool, blazing in the vehicle as we came over a hill and hit the speed trap. So busted! The only thing the cop said was, “Everybody out of the van…” Off went five of us to jail.

I remember that the holding cell had a sheet of plexiglass on one side of it that was covered with Grateful Dead stickers. Many ‘Heads made unplanned stops there, and the stickers were like trophies or scalps for Johnny Law. Like the little stickers you see on college football helmets for making big plays. When you play the game, sometimes your number gets called.

 Most of New England was a fairly conservative place back then. Seeing that my love for weed and the desire to have access to the best of it was growing inside me, I knew that I would eventually have to leave the East Coast in search of places that were more relaxed in their attitude toward The Herb. I was seeking knowledge and understanding of the cannabis plant itself, and hoping to find people who shared that interest and could help me find the knowledge that I was seeking. I had always had an interest in gardening, nature, and the outdoors and always found it fascinating. 

The West Coast was a totally different weed scene compared to the East Coast. Night and day different. Much more relaxed and kind of out in the open. The relaxed setting made it a different type of experience. Like there was nothing to get in the way of it. 

It was freedom in the truest sense of the word. 

I had decided that I would be moving to the West Coast to pursue my desire for knowledge about cannabis and how to grow “The Kind Bud.” I had been planning to leave in the summer of 1995, anticipating that I would just follow the Grateful Dead tour out to the West Coast and find a place to live once I got out there. 

It didn’t quite go as planned…

Late in the fall of 1994, I experienced the wrath of the War on Drugs for the second time in an up-close-and-personal manner which I had not anticipated ever happening to me. I got busted selling weed out of my parents house, the house I grew up in. Needless to say it was NOT COOL! Getting yourself busted is embarrassing enough, but having it happen in the middle of family dinner was even worse. I'll never forget the look on my parents' faces and the feeling of shame I had put on the family name. 

A co-worker of mine had gotten into some legal trouble for theft and decided to drop the dime on me to get out of their situation. Two controlled buys with marked bills was all it took to get the search warrant. They were all up in my business within two hours of the second buy. Total buzzkill. I was going to jail for the second time in two years for weed. The resulting arrest and prosecution would net me a three-year suspended sentence and three years of probation, as well as a stint in a drug rehab program, which would delay my ability to leave Connecticut for at least another year. 

I did learn a couple of valuable lessons about life, especially in regard to the justice system. I learned that the joys of the herb were often kept in check by the reality of the wars being waged against it and the people who enjoy it. The love of the herb can get rather expensive. The more you love it, the more it costs. Since I wasn’t independently wealthy, selling it to maintain my supply just became necessary. This required a rethinking of the supply issue, and of the thoughts of growing.

I also learned that if you hire a good lawyer who has an office location very close to the court and has lunch with the DA’s often, your chances of a favorable outcome increase dramatically. Justice may be blind, but it isn’t stupid! 

Check back tomorrow for Part IV.