MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS CHANGES GARLAND MAN'S OUTLOOK ON MEDICAL MARIJUANA

Tim Timmons once was a stalwart in the Church of Christ, a
conservative Republican, a buttoned-down insurance executive with a
busy life, a wife and three children. Slowly but surely, multiple
sclerosis robbed him of that life.

Today, at age 54, Timmons is mostly bedridden and rarely sees the
outside of his Garland home. What he lacks in physical ability,
however, he more than makes up for with his ardent support for
legalizing marijuana for seriously ill people.

In fact, he has become the poster boy for the medical marijuana
movement in Texas. One organization has named a model law to set up a
medical marijuana industry in Texas the Tim Timmons Compassionate
Care Act. An Internet search quickly yields videos of Timmons smoking
pot and daring politicians and cops to come arrest him.

"I would love [Texas Gov.] Rick Perry to be the guy who arrests me,"
he said. "It would cost the state of Texas $500,000 a year to take
care of me in prison."

Timmons and a small coterie of medical marijuana advocates are under
no illusion that the Texas Legislature, which convenes in January,
will join more than a dozen other states and pass a law legalizing
pot use for chronically ill people.
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But the issue is hot across the nation, appearing on at least three
statewide ballots on Tuesday. In California, where medical marijuana
already is legal, voters will consider a proposition to legalize
recreational use. Ballots in South Dakota and Arizona feature
propositions on legalizing marijuana for medical purposes.

"You know Texas and Oklahoma will be the last two states to do
anything," Timmons said.

He openly smokes pot for anyone who wants to watch. One toke from a
handheld glass water pipe at bedtime, he insists, keeps painful
muscle spasms at bay and leads to a good night's sleep.

"Sometimes I start talking and forget what I'm saying, but who
cares?" he said, joking about what he describes as the mild side
effects of smoking pot.

Degenerative Disease

Tim Timmons' world has steadily shrunk since his diagnosis in 1987.
Now, it consists mostly of his bedroom. He still has the manual
dexterity to use a laptop and a telephone. So he is not completely
disconnected from the outside world.

He lies on a hospital-type bed with an air mattress that
automatically inflates and deflates. The varied pressure on his skin
helps prevent bedsores, which have ravaged his legs and hips. A
motorized wheelchair sits on one side of the bed; a TV tray on the
other side holds a cordless phone, a remote control for his
flat-screen TV and a drink container.

Lou-Ann, his wife and caretaker, sleeps on a single bed next to him.

"He is the center of my life," she said. "I just try and think of
ways to make his life easier and more pleasant."

Multiple sclerosis is a degenerative disease of the central nervous
system. There is no cure. Doctors can only hope to slow the disease's
progression with various medicines and therapies. Painful spasticity
of the leg muscles can be one of the worst aspects of living with MS.

The rectangular outline of a computerized device implanted in
Timmons' abdomen is visible just under the skin. The device is hooked
to a catheter that delivers a muscle relaxant directly into his spinal fluid.

But the prescription medicines, which include an anti-depressant, are
not enough to keep him comfortable. The peace and relaxation that
comes with inhaling marijuana smoke is especially welcome at bedtime, he said.

"If I had nothing but marijuana, I would use much more of it," he
said. "But I take it in conjunction with my pharmaceuticals."

Timmons keeps his marijuana in a glass jar usually an ounce or
less. He pays $350 an ounce, and he is purposely vague about where he
gets it. Texas law classifies possession of 2 ounces or less as a
Class B misdemeanor punishable by a maximum of 180 days in jail and a
fine of not more than $2,000.

"I am totally against breaking the law," Timmons said, "but who is it
that's forcing me to support organized crime?"

Far From Hippies

Tim and Lou-Ann Timmons are not exactly pot-smoking hippies. Their
children are grown-up and on their own. The lawn surrounding their
middle-class brick home in a quiet Garland neighborhood is neatly
manicured. Timmons' parents live nearby.

"I talk to my mom every night," he said.

Lou-Ann, a 64-year-old petite blonde with a round cherubic face, is
not someone given to random lawbreaking. About her husband's pot
smoking, she said, "I saw what it did to help him with his spasticity
and being able to sleep. And that's it."

Friends and family stream in and out of the house during the day,
keeping the Timmonses company, helping with small chores and making
sure they don't want for anything.

Larry James, a former Church of Christ pastor and a longtime
anti-poverty advocate, has known Timmons more than 20 years. James
describes him with an unending string of superlatives: intelligent,
witty, courageous, deep, grounded, hilarious.

"I don't think he takes delight in upsetting people," James said.
"But he is very honest in what he believes."

James said he has no opinion about whether Texas ought to legalize
marijuana use for people such as Timmons.

"I trust Tim's integrity," he said. "He found in marijuana some
medicine that gives him relief. Who am I to challenge that?"

Pat Carlson, president of the conservative Texas Eagle Forum, said
she doesn't advocate prosecuting chronically sick people trying to
find relief. Even so, she and her organization strongly oppose
changing Texas law to set up a system of pot production and
distribution for chronically ill patients.

Some states such as California and Colorado license and tax
"dispensaries," storefront operations where sick people, who have
obtained a recommendation from their doctor, go to buy the drug.

"If it is truly the wonder drug that everyone says, then it needs to
go through the same government drug trials that every other drug has
to go through to prove it is safe and effective," Carlson said.

"But once you open the door, you see what some states like California
will do this proposition on the ballot Tuesday to legalize
marijuana for recreational use."

Obviously, Texas is not California.

State Rep. Elliott Naishtat, a liberal Democrat from Austin, said a
full-fledged law setting up pot production and distribution "wouldn't
have a snowball's chance" of passing the Legislature.

Naishtat favors a bill that doesn't legalize anything. Instead, he
wants a new law to provide an affirmative defense against prosecuting
a chronically ill person.

Let's say Timmons got arrested for pot possession. Under Naishtat's
proposal, he would prove to the court that he has multiple sclerosis
and that a doctor has told him that marijuana might be an effective
option to alleviate symptoms.

"I sincerely believe I'm right on this issue and I will continue to
introduce it," Naishtat said.

Carlson said the Texas Eagle Forum will have to analyze the bill's
specific language before passing judgment on it.

"You can't send the message that it's OK to use drugs," she said.

Straight-A Student

Timmons' journey from evangelical Christian conservative to medical
marijuana advocate began at Dallas Christian School in Mesquite,
which is operated by members of churches of Christ, a conservative
protestant denomination.

In high school, Timmons was a straight-A student and president of the
student council. He was active in speech and drama.

After high school graduation in 1974, he attended Abilene Christian
University in West Texas. But he dropped out, got married and started
his career. Soon after, he realized the need for a college degree. He
enrolled in North Texas State University in Denton (now the
University of North Texas) and received a degree in business.

Then, he began a career with Marsh & McLennan, an international
company that provides insurance-related services to corporations and
governmental entities.

In 1987, he was living in Garland and had two kids, with a third on
the way. One night, he was playing softball and attempted to catch a
fly ball. He missed, and the ball hit him in the head.

Then, he began losing his footing at work, stumbling and falling
against walls.

"They thought I was coming to work drunk," Timmons said.

But the real culprit behind the misjudged fly ball and the stumbling
turned out to be multiple sclerosis. At 31, he got the diagnosis.

"I was in shock to the point where there can be nothing said. This is
a dream and I'm gonna wake up," he said.

Timmons worked for another 10 years and then retired early because of
his disabilities. The multiple sclerosis got progressively worse.

By 2001, he was spending more time in his wheelchair, but he was
still active and ready to take on a new project. So he organized a
high school reunion. Back then, he could pull himself out of his
wheelchair to stand and sing with his barbershop quartet. A former
classmate showed up at the reunion with a half-ounce of marijuana in
a gift bag. He gave it to Timmons, hoping it might help him better
cope with his disease.

"I thought, 'Wow!' What a nice thing to do for me. The first thing I
noticed was that it made me a little more introspective. And, for the
first time, I didn't have to fight my muscle spasms and I was able to
fall asleep more easily."

Today, Timmons is no longer attending the Church of Christ.

"My passion is for God and for every approach to God in the history
of the world," he said. "I follow the teachings of Jesus."

And he's ready to go to Austin next year and tell his story to
lawmakers, the story of a political conservative who once was
judgmental about other people and who now believes in the right of an
individual to find comfort through smoking pot.

"For me," he said, "my ultimate goal is to make anything I do the
biggest show on earth."