ASSIGNMENT: UKIAH - UKIAH AND THE DOWNHILL SLIDE

Meredith Lintott says her DA's office will no longer prosecute cases
involving less than 20 lbs. of pot, or 200 plants. How do you think
this will turn out?

My guess: More crime, more ugly people wandering the streets, more
"helpful" programs to spend more of your money to make life more
comfortable for more and more of these newcomers invading the area
hoping to become criminals. At least that's been the pattern.

Folks, we didn't turn Ukiah into a magnet for losers, boozers, users
and abusers through recruitment efforts by the Mormon Church. Our
streets are overrun with mobs of dangerous stumbling bums. Some carry
backpacks, some wear hooded coats. Sometimes they bump into each
other and sometimes they sell drugs to each other and sometimes they
vomit on each other as they go about their daily business of ripping
away at the fabric of Ukiah. It's been going on for quite some time,
and now it will get worse.

Do you think the word might get out that in California there is a
magical kingdom where marijuana is virtually legal and that you and
all your friends can grow all the dope you want without fear of penalty?

Tell me: What unemployed, uneducated, low-functioning criminal from
Arkansas or Oklahoma or Cleveland isn't making plans right now, as
you read this to not pay next month's rent on his single-wide, and
come instead to the emerald city of hope and enlightenment and
$200,000 payouts for harvesting a crop no more difficult to grow than
your lawn?

And what lost lad, a dropout from the rigors of junior high school in
West Chigger, Alabama, is not consulting this month's High Times
Magazine and a map of California to see just where his destiny may
lie? And what ghetto youth has not yet heard that one needs only a
reliable vehicle, a couple of felon-ish friends and a loaded 9mm
pistol to convince some laid-back weed farmer to part with the family
crop as a benevolent way to redistribute the wealth?

You and your friends may wince when you see yet another batch of
slovenly cretins whooping its way down East Gobbi, dragging animals
on leashes that probably are dogs, and the dogs probably Pitt Bulls,
to find their fortune here in the city whose name they can't
pronounce because they've only been here eight minutes and haven't
met their grower-connection yet. In the meantime they'll stop in at
the Department of Social Services and get the ball rolling: Some food
stamps, some vouchers to stay at local motels, their General
Assistance checks, and paperwork for their old ladies to fill out to
get welfare. Next they need directions to Plowshares, the Food Bank,
the Methodist Church and Ford Street.

That should do it for today. Tomorrow it's on to Willits to see what
kind of spread the local churches put out.

Like I said, you may be wincing to see this batch hit town, but
there's a well-paid herd of well-trained professionals who rejoice
when another load of flotsam like this shows up. And these
professionals are here to help. No matter the cost.

Whoever it was who invented grants spawned an entirely new and mutant
form of being. It is a species that flourishes in the warm underbelly
of the social service network, where soft-hearted, soft-headed,
greedy people congregate, Gaze ye in wonder as they work their
rehabilitative miracles on parolees at Ford Street! Behold the
wizards at AODP as they bring their wisdom and insights to more and
more people in need of their precious services! Stare in slack-jawed
amazement as their budgets triple every few years - but hey, who can
put a price on helping a drunk learn that alcoholism is a disease?

The infestation here may be too far advanced for effective treatment.
Ukiah is down with a wasting disease, and may be unable to recover.
With sleazebuckets from all over the country invading to take
advantage of our semi-existent pot laws, hosted by people with a
financial interest in providing services and thus an incentive to
inflate the numbers and to absorb more grant money, any solution will
be difficult.

My advice? Move to West Chigger, Alabama. All the worst people have
already left town. You can probably run for mayor.

Of course, back in the day Tommy Wayne Kramer was a food-stampin' pot
smokin' hippie loser; he hopes the photos never surface of him in
line at the unemployment office. Tom Hine certainly did not know him then.