INSIDE MARIN'S POT CLUB

Fairfax Dispensary Stays The Course, But Worries About Federal Crackdown

THE Rev. Lynnette Shaw, Marin's mother superior of medical marijuana,
has been doing a lot of praying lately.

Since last month's U.S. Supreme Court ruling upholding federal
authority over marijuana, she's been on edge, uncertain if U.S. Drug
Enforcement Administration agents will feel inclined to crack down on
her little operation in Fairfax, Marin's one and only pot club.

It's been more than two years since anyone involved with the club has
been busted for pot, so trouble now seems unlikely. But you never know.

"I'm so worried about my babies," she said one recent afternoon,
speaking of the members of her club. "Two weeks ago, we thought the
feds were coming. No one should have to be that worried and afraid.
You can't get well when you're in constant fear."

Shaw opened the Marin Alliance for Medical Marijuana nine years ago,
when California became the first state in the nation to allow
marijuana use for medicinal purposes.

Statewide, the measure, Proposition 215, passed with 56 percent of
the vote. Seventy-three percent of Marin voters favored it. In
Fairfax, a town with a well-known countercultural history, the figure
was 89 percent, surpassed only by Bolinas, an even more famous
outpost of tolerance, with 94 percent.

Since then, Shaw's club has been doing business in a former medical
office on the second floor of a rustic mall beside the town's baseball field.

As she led me on a tour of the modest premises, redolent with the
pungent resins of the high-grade herb the club dispenses, she was
approached by a middle-aged woman who asked if there was anything she
could do to ease the stressful situation.

"Burn a candle," Shaw suggested.

Moments later, an elderly man came over and thanked her profusely for
all her efforts on behalf of people who are ill and in pain.

"Bless you," he said.

Meanwhile, the club's staff of three full-time and three part-time
employees was busily trying to keep up with clients piling up in the
waiting room. After showing their county-issued identification cards,
members are given a number - to ensure confidentiality - before
sitting down and waiting for their turn to make their purchase.

"1476," a staffer announced at one point, then added good naturedly:
"You're on the hot seat."

Behind a wooden counter in a salesroom about the size of a walk-in
closet, a white board listed the day's menu. Members, taken one at a
time, may choose among an array of brands - Rooty Tootie,
Shiskaberry, Mendo Minis, Super Skunk, Sensi Star, X Haze, B-4 and Train Wreck.

There is also a selection of edibles - brownies, candy, rice crispy
bars, a potent cookie called a Flying Saucer, even ice cream. For
those in a hurry, an express service offers a more limited selection.

But, at a top price of $60 for an eighth of an ounce, most people
prefer to take their time. On this day, 49-year-old Terry Fierer of
Mill Valley, who was a doctoral candidate in history before becoming
disabled, sat on a stool at the counter, eyeballing large zip-lock
bags of neatly-trimmed buds, opening the seals and deeply inhaling
the rising aroma before making his choice.

"Compared to most of the medical community, which treats you like
you're not a person, they really care about their patients here," he
said. "Having a place like this really reduces stress in my life."

'Pot As A Gift From God'

Between 2001 and 2004, the county's office of vital statistics issued
more than 1,900 photo ID cards for medical marijuana. To get a card,
applicants must have a form approved by a doctor for medical
conditions that include AIDS, chronic pain, anorexia, glaucoma,
arthritis, migraines and cancer, among other ailments.

Card holders spent $1 million last year at the Fairfax club, which
gets its marijuana, all of it organic, Shaw notes proudly, from a
cooperative of about 30 local growers.

"Several members who have growing talent grow an extra pound for us,"
she said. "That way it's all over the place in little patches. We're
not depending on one place. If something bad happens, like a raid, we
still have 30 or 40 little gardens with an extra pound."

To guard against abuse, members are limited to buying an ounce a
week, and are asked to visit no more than once a day. The club,
operating under a set of 84 conditions worked out with the city of
Fairfax, serves 700 to 800 people a month.

Half of its members are women, a surprisingly high percentage that
Shaw attributes to a pair of factors.

"One of the reasons is the breast cancer problem in Marin," she
explained. "And the other is that we're the safest club. Women feel
safe coming here. We're the kind of club that you can feel safe to
bring your grandmother."

Shaw, who is 51 and says that marijuana has been a godsend in
relieving symptoms from environmental and chemical allergies as well
as freeing her from bouts of suicidal depression, has been on the
frontlines of the medical marijuana campaign for more than a decade.

After serving time in jail on a marijuana charge in 1991, she became
an "acolyte" of pot pioneer Dennis Peron, going to work in his
seminal San Francisco Cannabis Buyers Club, which she fondly calls
"the mother ship."

Eight years ago, she took the title of reverend when she was ordained
"a marijuana minister" in Hawaii by Religion of Jesus founder Jim Kimmel.

"We believe Jesus created pot as a gift from God," she said. "I know
I'm on a mission from God."

When she isn't working at the Marin Alliance, she fronts a reggae
band that recently released a CD with the pot songs "Hemp Required,"
"Wish It Was Hemp" and "Grow Da Plant."

Legal Uncertainty

When the Supreme Court ruled last month that state laws don't protect
marijuana users from federal authorities, Marin has been as cautious
as the rest of California in figuring out where to go from here.

Sausalito, faced with an application for a pot club at Gate Five Road
on its waterfront, extended its moratorium on medical marijuana
dispensaries until next year, acknowledging the confusion over the
conflicting laws as well as the potential for abuse by garden-variety
potheads and dope dealers.

"We have people in tremendous pain who can benefit greatly (from
marijuana)," Mayor Dennis Scremin said. "At the same time, we are
aware that the difficulty right now is how it is dispensed and how
easy it is to get a cannabis card."

Mill Valley did the same, imposing a freeze of its own. In both
cases, it looks like a wise decision. The guy who wanted to open the
new clubs, Richard Marino, is already in big trouble with the federal
government.

Last fall, DEA agents with guns drawn stormed his Capitol
Compassionate Care center in Roseville, the first pot club in
conservative Placer County.

At the same time, they raided his home in nearby Newcastle, seizing
250 plants growing behind barbed wire, 20 pounds of processed
marijuana and $105,000 in cash. The feds took action against Marino
after his neighbors turned him in.

The U.S. attorney is now moving to confiscate his home and five-acre
property under federal drug laws. Marino has since shut down his
Roseville operation and has apparently abandoned his plans to open
pot clubs in Southern Marin or anywhere else.

"I'm just living a nice little lifestyle," he said. "I'm not going to
push anything. You can't push the federal government."

Staying Under The Radar

Just last week, state health officials - not wanting to put patients
and state employees at risk of federal prosecution - stopped issuing
ID cards for medical marijuana in a pilot program covering three
Northern California counties.

Marin was set to join the program in August, but will now continue to
issue its own cards just as it has in the past, according to Rochelle
Ereman of the county's vital statistics office.

In San Francisco, supervisors have put the brakes on new pot
dispensaries, imposing a six-month moratorium. Unlike Marin, though,
the city is rife with marijuana outlets, including 43 unregulated
ones. From her mellow operation in Fairfax, Shaw calls San Francisco
"the wild west."

On this side of the Golden Gate Bridge, however, it's the status quo
that seems to be prevailing.

"Things will stay pretty much the same," said Barry Borden, Marin's
chief deputy district attorney. "The feds will do what they will, and
we will continue to do what's appropriate under California state law."

For the Marin club, the strategy is business as usual, don't rock the
boat, stay under the radar and hope (pray in Shaw's case) for the best.

"Our legal status is very tenuous, the same as everybody else's,"
said Greg Anton, the lawyer for the Marin Alliance. "But the Marin
club is one of the longest-running places. And they're incredibly
together. They're very conservative, very tight with regulations and
books. They just very much want to help sick people."