GATEWOOD: 1947-2012

Kentucky Loses a True Original With the Death of Gatewood Galbraith

Gatewood Galbraith, one of the most memorable and iconic figures in
the history of Kentucky politics, died in his sleep on Jan. 4 at the age of 64.

Galbraith - standing at 6-foot-4, with his booming baritone voice,
classic one-liners and signature fedora - was a larger-than-life
character. Like a pop star, he was typically referred to as simply "Gatewood."

He will be remembered for his many quixotic campaigns - running for
governor five times, Congress twice, as well as commissioner of
agriculture and attorney general.

Despite never winning a race, he was almost universally recognized as
one of the best stump speakers in Kentucky politics, using his
trademark humor and wit to charm the crowd. Gatewood was also known
for his fearless honesty and directness, sticking by and defending
his policy positions, no matter how controversial.

The one controversial policy he was known best for and that will
forever be his legacy: tireless advocacy for reforming marijuana and
industrial hemp laws.

In a state that glorifies its bourbon industry - ignoring the
violence, crime and liver damage that sometimes comes with its abuse
- - Gatewood never shied away from pointing out the insanity of a
government that spends millions of dollars incarcerating people for
growing/using/possessing a plant that springs out of our soil and
causes little harm, other than maybe lethargy, hunger and the
occasional fit of incoherent babbling.

Not to mention the fact that marijuana and industrial hemp - which is
virtually impossible to get high from and was a major Kentucky cash
crop before being outlawed - could be a huge boost to Kentucky's
sagging farming and manufacturing industries, providing much-needed
jobs and tax revenue.

But of course, Gatewood wasn't just a leader of the legalization
movement. He was also a client.

He smoked pot like a fiend. Like a fiend, up until the day he died,"
says Dea Riley, his good friend and running mate in last year's
gubernatorial race.

Gatewood was like the love child of two other Kentucky-born legends,
part Abraham Lincoln and part Hunter S. Thompson. He was the towering
country lawyer, the great orator who ventured into the political
sphere to protect the freedom of men. And he did so, for a great part
of his adult life, while being considerably high and not taking shit
from anyone.

His unapologetic support for cannabis legalization and regulation may
have won him statewide name recognition and national fame among pot
advocates, but in the era of "Just Say No" and the War on Drugs, this
did nothing to help him win elections.

In fact, it often overshadowed his efforts to bring up other
important issues that plague the commonwealth, and the great deal of
intellect and common sense he brought to them. This was also
complicated by his unconventional ideology, as just as many people
looked at his positions and called him a radical liberal as those who
called him a radical conservative.

Despite those efforts, for much of his political career, many in the
media, political sphere and voting public looked at Gatewood and only
saw the crude stereotype: "the pot guy." Such people dismissed him,
either from irrational Reefer Nation fears, or because espousing such
controversial truth excluded him from the "serious" political
community and their poll-tested talking points.

In Gatewood's autobiography, "The Last Free Man in America," he
details one of the most important moments of his life: the first time
he smoked marijuana in 1968. He said the drug cured him of his
crippling asthma and anxieties that plagued him throughout his youth,
literally saving his life.

From that point on, Gatewood became both an active user and a
defender of the benefits of marijuana.

After receiving his law degree from the University of Kentucky,
Gatewood became a criminal defense attorney in Lexington in 1981. And
according to those who saw him in the courtroom, whatever he ingested
did nothing to impair his legal abilities.

He's one of the best trial lawyers I've ever seen," says state Sen.
Kathy Stein, who began working as a public defender in Lexington
around the same time.

While noting that "he always smelled like marijuana," Stein says, "We
were always amazed by his ability to dissect a legal issue with no
problem at all and clearly communicate what he thought was just to
judges and juries. He charmed anyone whom he was speaking to."

Gatewood made his first attempt at political office in 1983, running
for state commissioner of agriculture. He laid out his platform for
cannabis legalization and regulation, setting out on a low-budget
grassroots campaign across the state, something he repeated many
times. And just like his many races to follow, he lost by a wide margin.

The year after Gatewood was first introduced to marijuana in the late
1960s, a Gallup poll showed only 12 percent of Americans favored its
legalization, with 84 percent opposing it. By the time Gatewood made
his first few runs for statewide public office in Kentucky through
the mid-1990s, not much had changed, with polls showing support for
legalization hovering just above 20 percent.

With Kentucky being so socially conservative, this made his attempts
to run for the highest office in the commonwealth on such a platform
- - while also unapologetically admitting that he partakes in it
himself - a daunting task.

Something that harmed him for so long, as far as being taken as
seriously as he should have been, was marijuana," Stein says. "He
started that a long time ago, before public opinion started to
change, and everyone just shrunk away in horror at the thought of
legalizing marijuana."

Though Gatewood began to expand his platform to many other issues -
articulating a populist ideology that feared government intervention
in people's private affairs, yet endorsed its role in social services
- - he had trouble getting those ideas across to voters. Throughout his
political career, he complained that the press in Kentucky did not
take him seriously or give him the coverage he deserved.

Al Cross, one of the deans of Kentucky political journalism, covered
Gatewood's campaigns over the course of his career. He agrees that
many in the media did unfairly treat him as an amusing sideshow,
playing up the "pot guy" persona. But he suggests the somewhat
limited coverage he received was often warranted due to his
consistently poor chances for victory.

My policy on third-party independent candidates was that at the start
of a race, you give them as equal treatment as practicable because
they deserve a chance to create a following and build support," Cross says.

But then as the race goes on, it's not practical to give space to
people who are running in single-digits and have no chance of getting
elected, because your obligation is to inform people about the real
choices in the race."

In many races, Cross adds, Gatewood's campaign and messaging lacked
discipline and details. "Gatewood had some good ideas and a set of
interesting principles," he says. "But he couldn't really flesh them
out in ways that would match up with other candidates. I think he
would have been treated more seriously if he had done that.

And I always felt a little guilty about that, because Gatewood was a
very thoughtful and entertaining and highly intelligent person. I
always enjoyed being around him, and he was never really satisfied
with the coverage I gave him, but I think he was smart enough to know
the score."

Gatewood's ability to get his campaign's message out was also
perpetually hampered by his inability to raise large (or even
moderate) contributions, unlike his competitors.

One of his most resonant campaign themes was the corrupting influence
of corporate money on both political parties. A common catchphrase
blasted the unholy alliance of government officials and big business
as the
"petrochemical-pharmaceutical-military-industrial-transnational-corporate-fascist-elite-sonofabitches."
Predictably, said SOBs weren't about to give Gatewood's campaign any
money when they had a good thing going with the Democratic and
Republican establishment.

However, Dea Riley says that what hurt their campaign's fundraising
ability the most was the label of Gatewood as the perennial losing candidate.

People thought that pot was the issue that affected Gatewood, but the
hardest issue that we faced and had to overcome was that he had run
and lost so many times," Riley says. "People were hesitant and didn't
know how serious he was. We heard that a great deal."

When Gatewood chose Riley to be his running mate in his last
gubernatorial run as an independent, she finally convinced Gatewood
to tighten up his messaging. Since everyone in the state already knew
exactly where he stood on hemp and marijuana, he would devote the
majority of his speeches to economic issues, while not wavering one
inch on his principles if asked.

But Gatewood being Gatewood, he cared so much about the issue that
his mind and messaging would often drift back to cannabis without any
prompting.

After Gatewood brought up cannabis four times in an interview with a
newspaper editor, Riley organized a fundraiser with business leaders
and implored him not to give his patented pot stump speech. Gatewood
obliged and won over the crowd with his signature charm.

Later that night, the duo went to another fundraiser at a filthy dive
bar, with the attendees appearing "like they just walked off death
row." Scoping out his audience, Gatewood launched into his speech on
marijuana and hemp, whipping the crowd into a hooting and hollering
frenzy of support.

Gatewood walked over to Riley and quipped: "Now these are my people."

Many suspect Gatewood always knew he would lose his races but ran
simply to challenge the status quo candidates. Somebody had to tell
voters the straight, unvarnished truth, along with the bipartisan
solutions the two parties perennially ignored.

Nevertheless, Riley says that while Gatewood might have realized some
previous races were lost causes, he truly hoped he had a chance to
pull off the upset in his last race this past fall.

Once again, he failed to come close, finishing with almost 10 percent
of the vote. But just as always, he did it his way.

In that respect, he was the 'the last free man in America,'" Cross
says. "He didn't have to kowtow to anybody, and certainly he didn't
have to send out templates."

Gatewood was a hero to many liberals for taking a stand against the
powerful coal industry by opposing mountaintop removal mining,
supporting cannabis reform, decrying the influence of money in
politics, and advocating government programs to help students and the
working class.

He was also a hero to many conservatives and Tea Partiers for
advocating limited government, opposing abortion rights, defending
gun rights and militias, and even espousing a paranoid fear over the
United Nations infringing on the sovereignty of America. In many
ways, he was a prototype of Ron Paul, before most Kentuckians had
heard of him, and often referred to himself as the original Tea Partier.

Because of all of those contrasting positions, many on the left and
the right just couldn't come around to fully supporting him.

Gatewood was one of those people that everyone lived through
vicariously," Riley says. "He was a man who didn't pull any punches,
told everybody exactly what he believed. Damn the torpedoes and damn
the judgment, he would let it all hang out. And I think all of us in
part want to do that."

But even those who didn't agree or vote for him admired him for being
such an engaging, humorous and uncompromising original.

He never tried to hoodoo anybody," Sen. Stein says. "You know his
famous line: 'If I was going to lie to you, I'd already be governor.'"

Following news of his death, an outpouring of praise for Gatewood
swept over the state from leaders of both parties, including those
who received most of his barbs over the years, such as Gov. Steve
Beshear and Mitch McConnell.

I think Kentuckians fail to understand the damage that money has done
to their political system, and Gatewood was kind of an antidote to
that," Cross says. "And I think that's why a lot of people loved him."

It should also come as no surprise that Gatewood fared the best in
his last race in the two counties that knew him best - Nicholas
County, where he grew up, and Fayette County, where he lived the last
52 years of his life - almost earning more votes in both than
Republican David Williams.

Media reports have spoken about Gatewood's extremely generous and
charitable nature, as he would take time out of every Sunday morning
in Lexington to give money and encouraging words to homeless people.
And even though Gatewood faced devastating personal financial issues
in his later years, he often provided legal services free of charge
to those who couldn't afford a lawyer.

As for his political legacy in Kentucky, most agree it will be how
far ahead of the times he was on legalizing marijuana and industrial hemp.

National polls in recent years have shown a dramatic shift in public
opinion, with more than 70 percent of Americans favoring the
legalization of medical marijuana (with 16 states having already done
so). And last fall, for the first time in history, a major pollster
(Gallup) showed a majority of Americans supporting full legalization.

While state Sen. Joey Pendleton's bill legalizing industrial hemp
will again face a tough battle in Kentucky - as will the bill Stein
intends to file along with Sen. Perry Clark that would legalize
medical marijuana - major progress was made last year with the
passage of legislation that reduced criminal sentences for marijuana
possession. And for the first time in history, both candidates for
commissioner of agriculture last year supported industrial hemp, with
the victor, James Comer, now promising to lobby for its legalization.

(Legalizing industrial hemp) is almost a no-brainer for the state,"
Cross says. "And I wish that the police would just wake up to the
reality of it. That would be a good legacy for Gatewood, because hemp
has always been a potentially valuable crop, and I'd like to see them
do something with it."

I think we're all going to learn, and I think it will be his legacy,
that Gatewood was right," Riley says. "But I just feel so blessed
that I knew it without having to wait 30 years."

During a public memorial in Lexington last Thursday, an overflowing
crowd paid a final tribute to the Last Free Man, with Mayor Jim Gray
and U.S. Rep. Ben Chandler sharing their Gatewood stories. Family
also spoke, shedding light on the private side of Gatewood, a father
who always showered his children with love and support.

His daughter Molly spoke of her father's reply when she once asked
him what he would do if he actually won and became governor: "I can't
wait to get up there and tell people that they're free and they don't
have to be afraid anymore."