MARIJUANA: THE GREEN, GREEN GRASS OF HOME

Don't Want to Get Your Pot From Criminals? You Have a Choice: Become A
Criminal Yourself

It is a clear early spring evening, and Jack is walking along the
perimeter of his south Madison property, pointing out where he grows
marijuana. "You really have to look to see it," says Jack, a pseudonym.

Jack is middle-aged, with trimmed, spiky gray-white hair and fluid,
animated gestures; there is something slightly Steve Martin-adorable
about him. A playful golden retriever nuzzles his hand, trying to get
his attention. He lives in a beige, vinyl-sided house near a golf
course, next door to a house that boasts a Prosser lawn sign, from the
recent Supreme Court race.

"We cancel out each other's votes," he jokes, nodding in the direction
of his neighbor's house. Jack thinks some of his neighbors "may have a
clue" that he grows pot in his backyard, but doesn't seem too worried.
He tells a story of a time when the neighbor's new puppy was romping
around his 10-by-10-foot garden plot, but no one said anything about
the pot stalks mixed in with other plants.

"I trim them," Jack explains, "It just looks like another tomato
plant."

Jack is one of an undetermined number of Madison-area residents who
grow marijuana at their residence. The police aren't willing to hazard
a guess, but one active grower estimates there are at least 300
home-growers in Dane County - on a par with the number of area dentists.

Most, it is assumed, grow indoors, with environments controlled by
heat lamps and simple irrigation systems. But Jack prefers growing his
pot plants outdoors, primarily because he doesn't want to explain an
elaborate basement laboratory to his in-laws, who visit often.

Jack grows marijuana mostly for his own use, but he does give some to
a childhood friend who suffers from a rare muscular disease. "I feel
like I'm doing a community service," he says. "It really eases his
pain."

Despite such noble impulses and the lack of any clear "victims" of his
acts, Jack is engaging in illegal behavior that is commonly prosecuted
as a felony offense - although prosecutors do sometimes charge
low-level growers with simple possession, a misdemeanor.

Several times during our interview, Jack reiterates that he's never
sold any of the pot he's grown. Federal forfeiture laws are such that
if he is busted for selling marijuana - especially marijuana grown in
his backyard - he could lose the house where he has lived for more
than a quarter century.

But even short of those drastic penalties, Jack still risks hefty
fines and jail time if the police were ever to sniff out his backyard
hobby.

The penalties for growing marijuana in Wisconsin, a recent study
found, are among the stiffest in the country. Cultivating as few as
four plants can bring up to three years in prison. A more substantial
operation, like Jack's garden, could bring six years in prison and
$10,000 in fines. And yes, even a single pot plant on your windowsill
could land you in jail.

Wisconsin's laws against growing pot have remained tough even as other
states have relaxed their laws or decriminalized this activity over
the past 15 years (see sidebar). Two years ago in Michigan, a solid
53% of voters approved removing criminal penalties from anyone growing
marijuana for medical uses. And, in 2009, both houses of the Minnesota
legislature approved a medical marijuana bill. But Republican Gov. Tim
Pawlenty, said to be eying a run for president, vetoed it.

Support for legalizing medical marijuana - and allowing
doctor-approved patients to grow plants at home - continues to grow.
An ABC/Washington Post poll reported that public support for the idea
doubled from 22% in 1997 to 44% in 2009. Even Arizona, whose citizenry
has backed conservative measures on immigration and gun laws, approved
(by a razor-thin margin) an initiative to become the 15th state to
allow medical marijuana. That initiative became law this month.

While Wisconsin's laws remain stiff, the will to enforce them is
decidedly less so - at least in Dane County. Local narcotic agents
admit that busting small-scale home-growing operations is a low
priority. Even though marijuana accounts for two-thirds of
drug-related arrests statewide, fewer than 10% of those arrests have
anything to do with growing the plant itself.

In early January, a 62-year-old resident of Madison's Atwood
neighborhood was busted for growing 166 plants in his single-story
home with his 60-year-old girlfriend ("Close to Home," 1/21/11). The
couple apparently fell under suspicion for electricity bills that were
tenfold normal. Police dogs didn't even need to enter the couple's
home to sniff out the expansive growing operation and several pounds
of harvested weed.

The man, Richard Braun, has been charged with three felonies. He's
claimed the marijuana was all for his personal medical use.

In April 2010, Madison police reported finding 628 marijuana plants
worth $1.5 million to $3 million growing in a 1,500-square-foot
basement on Madison's southeast side. Curtis J. Faustich, 23, and
Zachary A. Czerkas, 18, were arrested and charged with multiple
felonies. The case was moved to federal court, where the penalties are
stiffer; Faustich was sentenced to 33 months in prison, Czerkas to a
year and a day.

Despite the risks, the practice of home-growing marijuana is so common
that the University of Wisconsin Horticulture Society recently
sponsored a seminar on it. On a chilly March evening shortly after
spring break, a classroom in the botany building was packed with
nearly 40 college students interested in absorbing this knowledge.
Also present were two young men who recently returned from fighting in
Iraq and were curious about what benefits marijuana could have for
post-traumatic stress disorder.

Several pizza boxes sat empty on a front desk as the keynote speaker
began his talk with a quick disclaimer.

"In no way do I personally endorse growing marijuana," said the
presenter, T.A. Sedlak, smirking slightly. Sedlak, a UW-Madison
graduate and writer for marijuana-enthusiast magazines like High
Times, repeated this disclaimer several times throughout his talk. He
then went on to give step-by-step instructions on how to germinate
seeds, strengthen stalks by gently having a fan blow over them, and
reduce telltale marijuana smells with carbon air filter systems.

Then, in a final non-endorsement for home-growing pot, Sedlak said
doing so "separates it from 'blood weed,'" referring to the
occasionally violent organized drug trade.

That medical marijuana - along with the freedom to grow it - isn't
legal in Wisconsin isn't for lack of trying. Activists here have been
pushing for change in this area for years.

In 1997, as California and a handful of other states began to legalize
medical marijuana, Jacki Rickert trekked 210 miles from her doctor's
gravesite in central-western Wisconsin to the state Capitol - in her
wheelchair. Along the way she gained media attention, and residents
stood in their front lawns to cheer her along.

A 59-year-old grandmother, Rickert suffers from Ehlers-Danlos
syndrome, a painful disease that attacks the body's connective
tissues. About 30 years ago, after her weight dropped to a dangerously
low 56 pounds, her doctor recommended marijuana. Today, she credits
the drug with easing her joint and muscle pain, nearly doubling her
weight and allowing her to live long enough to see her daughter give
birth to twins.

Although Rickert's trek failed to yield legislative changes at that
time, she has continued to lobby officials and recruit supporters
through her nonprofit organization, Is My Medicine Legal Yet? Her
perseverance paid off during the last legislative session when Rep.
Mark Pocan (D-Madison) and Sen. Jon Erpenbach (D-Waunakee) cosponsored
the Jacki Rickert Medical Marijuana Act.

"We were this close," says local activist Ben Masel, holding his
forefinger and thumb close enough to squeeze a tightly rolled joint.

"We had the votes," adds Gary Storck, president of the state chapter
of the National Organization to Reform Marijuana Laws (NORML). "But
the bill never reached the floor for a vote."

Masel and Storck are the Lennon and McCartney of the local marijuana
movement. Storck, who has glaucoma, has tirelessly banged the drum for
legalizing medical marijuana, while Masel has been the longtime point
person and populist jester for Madison's hemp festivals.

On a recent Monday evening, three round tables are pushed together in
the basement at the Wil-Mar Community Center. The local chapter for
NORML meets here every second and fourth Monday at 7 p.m. Masel, his
kinky gray hair loosely pulled into a bulky ponytail, slumps into an
old sofa; Storck sits across from him, his elbows on the table, alert
and commanding the meeting.

About a dozen others are present, talking about an upcoming medical
convention at Monona Terrace. They halfheartedly plan to protest the
event because the Wisconsin Medical Society continues to deny the
benefits of medical marijuana. The energy tonight is languid, but a
year ago this was the war room, ground zero for a movement.

"We had three times as many people then," says Storck, his eyes
lighting up at the memory. Adds Masel, "People were coming from across
the state."

During the last legislative session, members from the local NORML
chapter knocked on lawmakers' office doors and cornered them in
elevators, telling stories about multiple sclerosis patients finding
relief with marijuana and about how pot helped smooth the rough edges
of chemotherapy. Storck himself went to 80 offices, often accompanied
by a friend with terminal lung cancer.

On a blustery day in December 2009, more than 100 medical marijuana
supporters crowded onto the Senate floor to testify in support of the
Jacki Rickert Medical Marijuana Act. Many were cancer patients or
afflicted by crippling diseases themselves - and avid users of medical
marijuana.

"A lot of these people could barely leave their beds, but they showed
up to tell their stories," says Storck.

It was the stuff of political underdog movies, when the little guy
beats out the lobbyists in three-piece suits and when ideals triumph
over jaded business-as-usual. But it didn't turn out that way.
Although its supporters believed they had enough pledged votes to pass
the bill, it stalled in a public health committee. Storck blames state
Sen. Julie Lassa (D-Stevens Point), a member of the Senate Committee
for Health.

"She closed her mind and her heart," he concludes.

At the recent NORML meeting, the basement room goes quiet when Storck
recollects the defeat. No one seems to know what more to add. For
several long moments, the only sound is an air vent's steady huffing.

Despite the bill's failure, the activists had momentum and
wide-reaching support. At Erpenbach's urging, the activists spent last
summer pursuing a voter initiative.

In November, that referendum passed with overwhelming support in Dane
County and the city of River Falls, the two jurisdictions where it
reached the ballot. In Dane County, where Democrat Tom Barrett drew
68% of the vote in his bid for governor, the referendum earned more
than 75% voter approval.

"We only spent a few hundred dollars," recounts Storck. "People were
not voting on TV ads, but on an idea."

After Gov. Scott Walker's first State of the State speech in January,
Storck positioned himself along the corridor he knew the governor
would exit and planned to confront him about the voter referendum. A
12-second clip of the exchange, posted on YouTube, shows Walker coming
from the chambers as Storck calls out, "Governor, medical marijuana in
your term?"

Walker strides by without responding. In fact, no one in the
governor's entourage even looks in Storck's direction.

The difficulty of making medical marijuana legal in Wisconsin is
abundantly clear to people like Gary Storck.

"It is really hard to carry on," admits Storck in a recent interview.
He is sitting in a corner booth at Monty's Blue Plate Diner wearing a
bright blue sweatshirt that matches the blue tabletop. He sips an iced
tea and orders three chocolate-chip cookies to go.

For the past 15 years, Storck has been a constant force lobbying for
legalizing medical marijuana. But he's frustrated that elected
officials are not carrying forward what he believes is a clear message
from constituents.

"People want it. We've established that," Storck says. "But the
politicians don't get it." His voice drops to a whisper. "We're just
stuck in place."

The 56-year-old Storck has suffered from glaucoma from an unusually
early age. He wears black-rimmed glasses, and his left eye swims
toward his nose bridge. When he was 17, he discovered that marijuana
eased the pain, and he's convinced he still has his eyesight because
it has become his medicine of choice.

Storck met Rickert shortly after he moved back to Wisconsin from
California in the mid-'90s, and his personal beliefs about medical
marijuana transformed into political advocacy. He has seen various
medical treatments up close and worries about side effects from
chemotherapy and other "harsh" prescription drugs.

"If someone you know is in severe pain, there isn't anything that you
would not do to help them out of it," says Storck. "Even if it means
breaking the law."

And that's the bottom line: For people in Wisconsin with AIDS, cancer,
multiple sclerosis and glaucoma who believe marijuana helps ease their
pain, there are currently two options: Either buy marijuana illegally
or grow it illegally. And, ironically, it is a desire to avoid
association with drug dealers that compels many people to grow their
own. Says Storck, "It gets to the point where the 'supply situation'
is so tough that people just take care of it themselves."

Storck cites a case two years ago involving a woman with multiple
sclerosis in Crawford, a small town south of La Crosse. The normal
course of steroid treatment had left Christine Harrington with kidney
and blood infections; as an alternative, her husband, a school
janitor, started growing marijuana plants at home. A neighbor
apparently tipped off police; he was busted, charged with a felony,
and lost his job.

After telling this story, Storck is unusually quiet. He crosses his
arms over his chest and leans back into the booth. "I'm just really
mad," he says and sighs. "I used to think that this was inevitable,
but now I just don't know."

He then recomposes himself and leans forward.

"One day, and hopefully soon, the Jacki Rickert Medical Marijuana Act
will pass," Storck asserts. "I want to see it pass in her lifetime. My
hope is it is passed in Jacki's honor, not her memory."

Blazing a trail to legalization

In 1977, Madison became one of the first municipalities in the nation
to decriminalize possession of small amounts of pot. But in the 34
years since then, little has changed.

Elsewhere, medical marijuana has become readily accepted and
legal.

In 1996, California voters approved the Compassionate Use Act, and the
state became the first to allow marijuana for "medical necessity."
Users approved by a doctor were permitted - and continue to be allowed
- - to grow as many as six plants at home and to buy medical marijuana
from dispensaries.

California law also lets dispensaries sell marijuana to individuals
with doctor approval for a laundry list of ailments, including
multiple sclerosis, AIDS, cancer, arthritis and migraines. The
industry has grown so large that in Los Angeles there are as many
medical marijuana dispensaries as Starbucks. Statewide, dispensaries
conduct a brisk $1 billion-plus business annually and funnel a
reported $100 million each year into the state's tax rolls.

Between 1996 and 2000, during the final term of Bill "I did not
inhale" Clinton's presidency, seven states followed California's lead.
All but Hawaii passed medical marijuana laws by voter initiatives; the
closest vote, in Oregon, sailed through with 55% voter approval.

In 2000, Attorney General John Ashcroft encouraged federal agents to
raid dispensaries, perhaps most famously in 2003 when the Drug
Enforcement Administration's so-called Operation Pipe Dream snagged 54
distributors, including Tommy Chong, half of the stoner cinematic odd
couple. Chong also sits on the advisory board for NORML (National
Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws), the leading advocacy
group for medical marijuana. He was sentenced to nine months in
federal prison and fined more than $100,000.

Even so, during President George W. Bush's tenure, Maryland, Vermont
and Montana all approved medical marijuana laws.

More recently, in the past two years since the federal government has
relaxed enforcement of marijuana laws, legislators in New Jersey and
even the District of Columbia itself have decriminalized medical
marijuana, and voters in Michigan and Arizona have passed initiatives
allowing home cultivation of up to six plants.

In all, 15 states currently allow doctor-approved patients to produce
or purchase medical marijuana.

On Saturday, April 30, NORML will lead a "cannabis freedom rally," an
annual march in favor of legalizing medical marijuana, from the state
Capitol, down State Street and to the Mifflin Street Block Party. The
event begins at noon; speakers will include Gary Storck, T.A. Sedlak
and Charles Wachtel of Wisconsin Veterans for Medical Cannabis Access.