POT CANDIDATE: HIGH HOPES, HIGH VISIBILITY

SAN FRANCISCO--Here's one way the nation's best-known marijuana distributor
campaigns to be the Republican candidate for governor: He goes to court.
Actually, he is taken to court. As a defendant. For distributing marijuana
to the ailing. And one of the people who keeps dragging him there is none
other than his most powerful opponent in the California gubernatorial race.

Dennis Peron--a chain-smoking, pot-toking, commune-living, gay, vegetarian,
Buddhist Vietnam veteran--is trying to make life miserable these days for
Dan Lungren, state attorney general, presumptive Republican nominee for
governor and none of the above. Yes, Peron is a blip on the California
political radar, an unlikely Republican--an unlikely candidate--running
with $10,000 (in small checks) and a vision. Yes, his court appearances are
far more reliably scheduled than his campaign appearances.

But unlike the dozen or so other political hopefuls setting their sights on
the governor's mansion from the very fringes of the political landscape,
Dennis Peron is a major minor candidate. He can't afford to buy
commercials--but he makes it to the top of the news anyway, talking about
pot when pot is hot. And for the past month--perhaps for the rest of the
primary season--marijuana is in the spotlight, thanks to the ongoing battle
over Proposition 215, which legalized medical marijuana when it was
overwhelmingly approved by voters in 1996 and which Lungren opposed.

Pressure on Lungren Expected

Peron "will certainly have Lungren defending his position all over the
state on medical marijuana," says San Francisco Dist. Atty. Terence
Hallinan, a medicinal pot proponent. "I don't envy him that." "Is Dennis
any relation to Evita, I wonder?" quips Republican analyst Tony Quinn. "He
has about as much chance of getting elected."

Peron, of course, begs to differ. Sitting in his second-story office at the
Cannabis Cultivator's Co-op, the smell of Big Bud and True menthols in the
air, Peron is eloquent and optimistic--if occasionally soft on the details,
like where he's speaking on a given day.

"What I really speak about most of the time is hope, empowerment and
compassion. So many people have just given up on America. They don't want
to be on juries. They don't vote. These are the people I want to bring
back. I know the economic picture is so rosy, but so many people slip
through the cracks. I look outside my office and see people sleeping in the
doorways. How can we allow this to happen? How?"

An equally perplexing, though less weighty, question is how a man with
Peron's past and predilections finds himself in the political company of
men and women like Newt Gingrich, Orrin Hatch, Anita Bryant, Strom
Thurmond. What could possibly be the Republican credentials of a man who
came back from Vietnam with two pounds of pot secreted in his luggage? A
man who has been imprisoned twice on marijuana charges? Who founded the
co-op in memory of his young lover--Jonathan West, who died from AIDS in
1990 and left Peron with a hole in his heart?

"I'm not tax-and-spend. I believe government has a role in your life, but
it's not going to solve all your problems. Every time [Democrats] start
talking about a new program, I cringe. Welfare keeps people down. I want to
eliminate the sales tax and the business tax."

It's 11:15 on a recent Tuesday morning, hours before Peron and his fellow
defendants--a.k.a. "the Compassionate 10"--are due in Department 8 of the
Phillip Burton Federal Building, where Judge Charles Breyer is set to hear
oral arguments in the U.S. government's case against six Northern
California cannabis clubs. A crew from "The NewsHour With Jim Lehrer,"
fresh from an interview with Peron, wanders around the club shooting
footage of buying, puffing, chatting members. Supporters from the Orange
County Cannabis Co-op arrive to throw their support behind Peron during a
day filled with rallies and legal wrangling.

"I admire everything you're doing, and I'm glad to get a chance to meet
you," says Jack Shachter, co-director of the Orange County club. "Hey,
Dennis, good luck, dude," pipes up Steve Morris of Los Angeles, as Peron
distributes "California's Choice, Dennis Peron Governor" placards and the
group heads to a pro-pot march from the Castro district to the federal
courthouse. The protesters stroll down the busy street. Burnelle Silk, 49
and resplendent in black cape with big green marijuana leaf, hops up onto a
garbage can, shouting, "Dennis Peron for governor!" "I am the spokesmodel
for medical marijuana," Silk smiles. "I'm a disabled Vietnam vet, and I'd
be standing on the pyramids naked shooting people without my medicine."

Dapper in donated gray tweed, Peron waves his campaign sign and joins the
march. The smell of pot wafts in the air. A KCBS radio reporter descends on
the candidate, who takes a breath and starts his spiel: We'll spread a new
era of hope in America. It's more than marijuana. It's about who we are and
where we're going. It's about democracy now.

Picture of Bush on Wall

Noon, back at the club, the candidate is seated behind his desk. A framed
picture of George Bush picked up for pennies at a garage sale smiles from a
nearby wall. Robo wanders in with a big white plastic bag. The men put
their heads together and do business, a neat deal for $2,400 worth of weed.
"It's called Big Bud," Robo says. "It's a mellower kind." Peron shrugs and
smiles: "The show must go on."

By 2 o'clock, the candidate is back at the courthouse for the tail end of a
pre-hearing rally. Scores of supporters in tie-dye and wheelchairs pack the
small plaza as the speeches drone on. An impassioned Peron defends
marijuana for patients with AIDS, with glaucoma, suffering from cancer,
from depression, from life. "I have come to the conclusion," he intones,
"that all use of marijuana is medicinal. If you believe in recreational
marijuana, you believe in recreational Prozac."

And he's off: "It's about who we are as a people. It's about where we're
going as a country. We're not just defending medical marijuana. We're
defending democracy. I'm glad to be here today. I'm proud to be your
leader, and I'm going to be your governor!"

A police officer has one question for the candidate: "What's your stand on
gun control?" A young hair-wrap artist, new to the city, clutches a voter
registration card and shares a joint with the candidate. Thirty minutes
later Peron is in court. Peron is due in court again today, this time on
civil charges stemming from an injunction Lungren obtained in August 1996
to shut down Peron's club. He also faces criminal charges that he worries
could put him behind bars for up to a dozen years. "We don't take him
seriously," says Lungren campaign spokeswoman Sara Brown. "I don't know if
anybody takes seriously a candidate who's under criminal indictment."

Field Full of Minor Candidates

One does not need to be under criminal indictment not to be taken seriously
in this race. Even avid newspaper readers would be hard pressed to say how
many candidates are running (19) or name anyone without money who's angling
for the office. Few know that Steve Kubby is running under the Libertarian
banner because he wants "the government to just leave my family and me
alone, respect my private property and stop treating me like a child."

Dan Hamburg, who represents the Green Party, may have it just a little
better. A former Democrat, he once was a congressman from Ukiah. Today, he
is "pushing things like a living wage for Californians," he says.

Pia Jensen, a city councilwoman in the Northern California town of Cotati
and a Democratic candidate for governor, finds the anonymity of being an
unknown candidate "extremely frustrating."

"The most frustrating piece is to sit back and calculate how much free
advertising the other candidates get," she says. "When you're in the
spotlight like they are, not only do they get attention, they get money
funneled to them."

Peron is perhaps the luckiest of the bunch, with cause and candidacy in
timely conjunction. Although there's no way to know how many votes he will
garner, he is definitely getting attention. One supporter notes in a
donation letter to the cannabis candidate: "In theory, [running for
governor] is only a gag to get free publicity." But "if Lungren slips on
some sort of banana peel, God forbid, just before the primaries. . . ," the
Walnut Creek resident writes, then anything goes. Oh, and the $100 check
enclosed? It's not for the campaign, the donor writes, but for Peron
personally. "Would you please buy something for yourself and enjoy."

Copyright Los Angeles Times