SINCLAIR REMAINS POPULAR

23 Reported Arrested At Mostly Peaceful Rally To Legalize
Marijuana.

The hair is close-cropped, not the wild and wavy style he sported in
the early '70s, when "Free John Now" became the mantra of the pro-pot
set around the country.

But the fervor remains for John Sinclair, who spoke on the Diag to a
packed-in crowd of about 5,000 Saturday for the 30th annual Hash Bash.

The rally itself was peaceful, but several hours later, officers from
the University of Michigan Department of Public Safety charged two men
with resisting arrest. U-M police reported arresting 23 people and
ticketing three during the afternoon. Twenty two were cited for
marijuana possession, said DPS spokesperson Diane Brown. Only five of
those arrested had Ann Arbor addresses, she said, and none was a U-M
student.

Sinclair, who served two years in prison after being arrested for
possessing two joints, recalled Ann Arbor's first Hash Bash, in 1971.

"Thirty years later and Ann Arbor is still in the vanguard," he said,
noting the city's charter provision, which only requires a $25 fine if
you are arrested on city property for possession of marijuana.

Sinclair was one of several speakers urging bash participants to sign
a petition calling for the legalization of marijuana for private and
medical use in Michigan.

"Hemp, hemp, hooray," the crowd cheered, as speakers and petition
workers emphasized working within the system. Trena Moss, of
Hillsdale, dressed as a big, red bong, worked the crowd to gather some
of the more than 300,000 signatures needed to put the issue to a vote.

"We're following the rules in order to change the rules," she
said.

A few participants in the crowd could be seen smoking, and police
hauled several away, but the bash lacked the fragrant haze that
typified the event in the mid-1970s.

The rally lasted from noon to shortly after 1 p.m., when the crowd
began to disperse through the Diag onto adjacent streets. From there,
the event became more of a sidewalk festival, with students playing
hacky sack and various groups dancing in circles to drum beats.

Most of the crowd came from out of town, including Becky Reddam, a
high school student from Muskegon who had heard about the bash but did
not consider herself an activist. "There's nothing to do in Muskegon,"
she said.

Vendors capitalized on the throng and the fair weather. State Street
resembled a mini-art fair, with food, clothes, T-shirts and, of
course, devices for smoking marijuana on sale. The sidewalk businesses
included Higher Ground, a glassmaker from Columbus, Ohio, that did
brisk pipe sales throughout the afternoon.

Many in the mostly young crowd talked away on cell phones, putting a
present-day stamp on what once was Ann Arbor's ultimate
counter-culture event.

Sinclair's presence lent a distinctive local flair and sense of
history to the event. He spoke about attending the recent Cannabis
Cup, an annual event in Amsterdam, Holland that celebrates the
varieties of the drug, and recalled when Ann Arbor's pot law was first
introduced as a $5 fine.

After Sinclair spoke, waves of well-wishers greeted him on the steps
of the U-M Graduate Library. He signed autographs, posed for pictures
and fielded praise from people glad to see the returning hometown hemp
hero.

"He's the elder spokesman of a generation," said Ann Arbor's Terrance
O'Sullivan, himself an activist in the 1970s.

Billy Colburn, a recent Huron graduate who said he plans to join the
U.S. Army, shook Sinclair's hand and thanked him. "I appreciate all
the work you did in Ann Arbor to make it the way it is for kids
today," he said.

Sinclair will turn 60 in October, "an age I never anticipated," he
said, adding that he visits here two to three times a year and stays
in touch with the activists from his wilder Ann Arbor days, such as
Pun Plamondon.

Sinclair was born in Davison, near Flint. After living in Ann Arbor
from 1971 to 1975, he lived in Detroit for 15 years, then moved in
1991 to New Orleans, where he has carved out a life mainly in the mainstream.

He edits a blues magazine, writes a bit, does a radio gig and performs
in a group that has produced several CDs, which Sinclair offered for
sale Saturday. He has four daughters, ranging in age from 29 to 34 -
two of his own and two step-daughters from his second wife.

Sinclair said that after leaving Ann Arbor on Saturday, he would have
dinner in Detroit's Greektown neighborhood with one of his daughters.

"I'm a family man now," he said.