I Fought the Law

This is the first of a series dealing with the War on Cannabis, of which I am a veteran. I fought the Law back in the mid-1980's and I won a battle, but it was to take more than thirty years before the war finally ended.

The meme reads, “Good people disobey bad laws,” and never were there truer words written. During Prohibition there was a whole passel of good folks who broke a bad law, and after thirteen years, this bad law was rescinded. 

Indeed

Similarly, when cannabis was demonized in the 1930’s, a direct result of corporate pressure, it promoted eighty years of ongoing civil disobedience of a law that was patently wrong. Though the ban on cannabis did not have the same national impact that forbidding alcohol had, there were still countless good people who chose to wage war against a bad law.

I am a veteran of this war, having had my home and twenty acres seized by the federal government, back in July of 1985. I was part of a crew installing the roofing on the new home we were building for Jeff and Carol, when I got a phone call dragging me down off the roof. It was Gluten-Free Mama informing me that a helicopter had landed on the field below our home, and a small band of mercenaries had emerged. They charged up the slope of the hill and were creating mayhem inside our home, even as we spoke.

The invaders removed the 33 plants my pops and I had going, they kicked in the unlocked gate out in front of my home, and they stormed my house. There was precious little to see and find in the practically unfurnished, just-framed, country abode, so the thugs settled for ripping apart-and destroying-Gluten-Free Mama’s hope chest.

The marauders confiscated $900.00 from this hope chest, wages paid to me in advance by Michael, for whom I was working at the time. The way it worked was, Micheal did not like to be bothered by logistics such as time sheets or clocks, so he simply paid me a thousand dollars at a time, in advance. When I had worked my 100 hours, no matter how long or short of a time period that was, he would then lay another grand on me.

Apparently Michael felt I was good enough of a person, that I could be trusted to keep careful track of my time. Additionally, if I wanted to work on a different job, such as Jeff’s new home, that did not interfere with our own arrangement. So before I could start earning money from Michael again, after the helicopter left, I had to work ninety hours, to compensate for the money that had been ripped off by the goons from the hope chest.

Despite being the last of the big growers, what with my 33 plants and all, I was still one busy guy back in those days. I got paid ten bones an hour and I worked hard for my loot. The reality is that I was still the new kid on the block, having only moved up to the mountain, in May of 1982. 

I would never have grown those 33 plants if it were not for the fact that my pops was going to go for it, no matter what I decided, and he could not do it by himself. He would have been 63 years old in 1985, and hauling compost and amendments into the manzanita groves was beyond his capabilities.

My father-in-law drew this when we were
under the gun.

Mind you, there was no arm-twisting involved; I was a most willing participant. The fact is, though, had Papa not been interested, I would never have had the cajones to pull it off by myself. I am just not that adventurous of a dude. I would have restrained myself to planting only two plants for personal consumption.

The fact that the gig was already in place when I made my way up to Bell Springs Road, in 1982, was crucial. I simply slipped into a niche which allowed me to put in time and labor, in exchange for a share of anything that we made.

Additionally, though there were three parcels available along The Bell for growing, only my parcel had been employed. Furthermore, it had been used for this purpose for at least four years before I moved up, with my knowledge. I was never asked; I was informed.

If you question how that could have been the case, I will simply refer you to the manual which covers large Irish-Catholic families, and I’m sure you will find, that which you seek.

There were bennies, of course, in the form of something so magically beautiful, that even had I not been under the aforementioned constraints, I would still have gone along with the program.

I’m talking about something new to me in the world of cannabis, something better than Columbian, Acapulco Gold, Thai stick or any other exotic strain of cannabis I had tried: sinsemilla.

Tomorrow: It Came Out of the Sky