HIGH REGARD FOR MEDICAL POT LAW

Maybe it's just the contact high speaking, but there's little doubt in
my mind that if marijuana were seriously and institutionally studied,
Thomas Lawrence would have won a Nobel Prize by now.

As we're sitting around his dining room table, in an unassuming house
tucked away in a middle-class Denver neighborhood, Thomas hits me with
the least surprising confession I've ever heard: "Listen, Dave, I'm
high right now."

Cats and dogs mill about in stupors, as Thomas then tries to explain
cloning techniques, chemical compounds and ways to develop new, more
effective, strands of cannabis.

I eye a timeworn bong in the kitchen, and that eye is getting more
watery by the minute.

When I try to wheedle out quotes bolstering my case for federalism and
against zealous federal agencies - in particular the Drug Enforcement
Agency - Thomas is busy talking cultivation.

In fact, the more Thomas talks pot, the more keyed up he gets. (Well,
as keyed up as a guy who smokes a half-dozen joints a day can get.) A
couple of minutes into my visit, I've learned that cannabis can
essentially cure all the world's ills: Our clothing needs, our
reliance on fossil fuels and around 60 percent of our pharmaceutical
dependency.

And anyway, he explains, with a smile, "no one grows weed like
me."

Thomas, his wife, Larisa, and their partner Scott Fry, otherwise known
as the "Colorado Compassion Club," have the state's permission to
grow, possess and use marijuana. As designated caregivers, they
provide medical pot to about 50 patients in Colorado. For cost.

Thomas gives me a full tour of his bright white, temperature
controlled, artificially lit basement room where he cultivates strains
called White Lighting and Bubble Gum. It's quite an extraordinary
operation, considering he started it from scratch a couple of months
ago.

In June, without a warrant, without a criminal charge filed, DEA
officers burst into Thomas and Scott's houses and confiscated, among
other things, 180 pot plants, lights, books, a ceramic heater, a
ballast, grow lights and seeds.

It's no French Connection, but the property-evidence report is
lengthy. Thomas estimates the DEA seized about $10,000 worth of equipment.

In 2000, Colorado voters authorized the use of marijuana to alleviate
debilitating medical conditions like cancer, glaucoma and severe pain,
including that caused by epilepsy, muscle spasms and multiple sclerosis.

The DEA, as it turns out, either hasn't heard of Amendment 20 or isn't
particularly troubled by states' rights issues.

Or maybe Tom was a little too proficient at his gardening.

Whatever the motive, the DEA has failed to answer questions on why it
ignored state law. It also has failed to return the confiscated
material, which it is required to do under the law if no criminal
charges are filed.

With the bust, the DEA also ensured that many Coloradans who use
medical marijuana will have to go without.

As Tom and I speak, the U.S. Supreme Court is considering a similar
case and will decide whether users should be prosecuted under federal
law for growing and using marijuana with a doctor's recommendation.
The feds argue that growing and using medical marijuana constitutes
"interstate commerce" and remains under their jurisdiction.

Well, Thomas makes no money and doesn't sell to anyone out of
state.

Although he may realize Ashcroft vs. Raich is a landmark case
regarding constitutional restrictions on the power of the federal
government, Thomas isn't what you'd describe as excessively nervous.

Maybe he's confident in the legal arguments or perhaps a drag of
delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol helped.

Either way, he's expanded operations with a makeshift greenhouse out
back.

Also, the group has started making hash fudge, hard pot candy
(raspberry), oral tincture (canna-berry), ointment, breads and
non-intoxicating tea.

All in the name of medicine. Truly.