A TRIP DOWN PEYOTE WAY

This Southern Arizona Church Flouts Federal Law By Offering Peyote To
All--For A Price

Dust devils are swirling on the distant horizon as photographer Hugh
Dougherty and I bump down a dirt road near Klondike in an open-air
Jeep. We're potentially lost, looking for the Peyote Way Church of
God, in a desolate landscape where you're more likely to meet a cow
than a person. When we've gone farther than we should have according
to our directions, we wave down a passing pickup truck, the first
vehicle we'd seen in about half an hour.

The driver is the sort of person you would expect to find behind the
wheel, a quintessentially tawny rancher topped in a white straw hat.
He squints like Clint Eastwood as he sizes us up.

"Just up the road a bit. Make a left at the red mail box with "Mana"
painted on the side," he says. Then, shifting conversational gears, he
eases into a request: "Say, would you fellas mind doing me a favor?
Would you drop off this dog when you get up there? His name's Red, and
he lives up that way. He's a good ol' hound."

Red pokes his head over the back of the pickup. He's crusty-looking,
with burrs in his coat and a huge, fossilized turd improbably adhered
to his belly.

A couple of miles later, Dougherty, Red and I find the turnoff. At a
dry wash crossing before the main gate, we let Red out and he hobbles
off, favoring his right hind leg.

The entrance to the Peyote Way Church property is a simple wire affair
more suitable for keeping out cattle than humans. On one side of the
fence is an elaborate tile mosaic featuring images of peyote plants,
the church's name, visitor information and a government-issued
Internal Revenue Service tax ide ntification number--in case a
visiting auditor should question its legitimacy.

Just beyond the gate, in a field of undulating grass, a Mercedes-Benz
gleams in the sunlight.

At the heart of the compound are a couple of tumble-down buildings and
a few cars that appear to be permanently parked. Architecturally, it's
a mix of hippie commune and survivalist-compound paranoia, with a
splash of Green Acres chic.

But what is most striking is that there is no real "church" to speak
of. If a church by definition is a place of worship, then the actual
"church" would be a toss up between the simple gardening shack in
which hundreds of peyote plants reside and the 160 acres of
spectacular, rolling grassland that surrounds it all near Willcox.

Shaking off the road dust, we're greeted by a bevy of sage-looking
dogs. In their wake is Peyote Way Church Apostle Reverend Anne Zapf.
Zapf is a lean woman in her early 50s who wears her graying hair
pulled tightly back. She greets us with a warm, yet suspiciously
tolerant smile.

"Come on," she says, cutting to the chase after a brief introduction,
"I'll show you the peyote."

Inside a shed known as the Peyote House, every bit of available space
on the floor--and even a wall--is covered with earth-filled boxes.
Within these boxes, a miniature city of plump, sea-green and spineless
peyote cactus-buttons thrives.

As one of the Americas' slowest-growing desert plants, a peyote cactus
can take upward of 13 years to reach maturity. Collectively, there are
probably more than 1,000 years of plant growth under this single roof.

"That one there," Zapf says, pointing to a gnarled-looking plant
towering above the others, maybe 6 inches tall and 5 inches wide, with
the sad remains of a recent flower bloom drooping over the side. "That
one could be well over 100 years old."

When harvested properly, the above-ground portion of the plant
(commonly called a "button") is removed, allowing the deep root to
produce a new button in roughly five years.

As far as archeologists can tell, peyote, which grows naturally in
north-central Mexico and a small part of southwestern Texas, was
harvested and consumed by native people in these regions for thousands
of years in ceremonies that strengthened communities and promoted a
spiritual connection to the land.

Because the cactus' chemistry is a mixed bag of sense-altering
alkaloids, a peyote trip is said to include visions, hallucinations,
the "hearing" of colors, the "seeing" of sounds, and an overall
perception of inner peace and connection to the Earth. Most people
also vomit shortly before everything kicks in.

Although a skeptic by nature and nurture, when viewing these plants, I
am surprised to feel a sudden dizzying rush of adrenaline.

Maybe it's the mystic energy of the plants I had heard so much about,
or perhaps it's simply the knowledge that the room is full of a
federally controlled narcotic that could put someone away for life
under the right circumstances. Either way, it's a powerful feeling.

Under federal law, peyote is listed as a Schedule 1 narcotic, which
puts it right up there with heroin. Depending on the amount and
circumstances, to possess or possess with the intent to sell peyote
can carry a maximum fine of $4 million and a jail sentence that can
range anywhere from 20 years to life.

However, if you are a member of a federally recognized Native American
tribe, you are exempt--as long as everything is kept among tribal members.

By far, the vast majority of the known peyotists in the United States,
roughly a quarter-million, are members of the Native American Church,
an organization that incorporates peyote use with indigenous and
Christian beliefs.

Zapf, who is neither a Native American nor affiliated with a federally
recognized tribe, is essentially growing and distributing peyote
illegally, at least as far as the Drug Enforcement Agency is concerned.

"Frankly speaking, we have not come across any peyote seizures for
several years (in Southern Arizona)," says DEA Public Information
Officer Ramona Sanchez. "It is a controlled substance and is of course
on our radar, but we have not seen an alarming use of it. We have a
trusting relationship with the Native American Church (that peyote
will not be abused). As far as the DEA is concerned, there is a list
of all the tribes which can use peyote, and you must be of American
Indian heritage with federally recognized criteria to possess and use
peyote."

Sanchez says the Peyote Way Church, which advertises a stated mission
of sharing peyote with people of all races in its literature and on
its Web site ( peyoteway.org ), could be shut down by the DEA.

However, the issue of who can legally use and grow peyote in Arizona
is clouded by state law, which conflicts with federal law.

Under Arizona Revised Statute Title 13-3402: "A person who knowingly
possesses, sells, transfers or offers to sell or transfer peyote is
guilty of a class 6 felony. In a prosecution for violation of this
section, it is a defense that the peyote is being used or is intended
for use: In connection with the bona fide practice of a religious
belief, and; As an integral part of a religious exercise, and; In a
manner not dangerous to public health, safety or morals."

In other words, if it can be proven that the peyote is grown and used
for religious or spiritual purposes (a notarized public document could
constitute proof), then you are pretty much on safe ground, as far as
the state is concerned.

"(In Arizona), it is a class 6 felony, which is the lowest level of
felony," says Pima County Deputy Attorney Tom Rankin. "Lower than
marijuana. Lower than the narcotic and dangerous drugs. And we do have
a specific clause in our statute that if a defendant can establish all
those things (in the statute) ... it is a defense to the
prosecution.

"I would estimate that we see maybe one or two cases a year involving
peyote. But mostly they are prosecuted by the federal authorities. The
last one I remember was about a year ago, where an individual had a
whole suitcase full of drugs: marijuana, cocaine and some other drugs.
This person also had a baggie of about 14 peyote buttons. I do not
think he was a tribal member or a member of a church. He just had a
whole potpourri of drugs that he was selling. It happens infrequently
that our office prosecutes those cases."

Taking advantage of Arizona law, the Peyote Way Church may be the only
all-race peyote organization operating so openly in the United States.

Becoming a member of the Peyote Way Church, which has an almost
entirely non-Native American membership, is relatively simple. The
only requirements are that you be older than 18 and agree to pay a $50
membership fee, which is renewed annually for $40.

As a member, you receive a copy of the church bylaws (what to expect),
a copy of the so-called Doomsday Revelation (why the world is going to
hell in a bucket), a copy of the Revelation Concerning Entheogenic
Sacraments (plants are your friends), a Declaration of Religious
Conviction Certificate (eating peyote keeps you in touch with all that
is holy) and a membership card (useful for identifying yourself to
fellow church members and inquisitive police). You also get to spend
three to seven consecutive days at the "church" each year.

According to Zapf, the church currently has 240 associate members and
12 clergy members.

In a building adjacent to the Peyote House is the Mana pottery studio,
where church members create ceramic art decorated with peyote-inspired
images. Zapf says her family relies on the profits derived from
pottery sales. Mana pottery has purportedly wound up in the
collections of Whoopi Goldberg, Bill Walton and the Smithsonian
Institution Museum of the American Indian. Last year, Zapf estimates
that pottery sales brought in roughly $36,000.

Seated at a table piled high with porcelain in a sea of chalky dust
and old newspaper clips is the Peyote Way Church president, Rabbi
Matthew Kent. Kent, who is also in his 50s and neither Native American
nor a member of a recognized tribe, has the energy of a someone half
his age as he eagerly talks about peyote and expansion of the church.

"The seminary program of the church is the part that has been most
affected by the federal government," Kent explains. "If the federal
law did not exist, we could grow this church. And we could have the
clergy that is required to take the weight off of Annie (Zapf)."

As for the actual "religion," the Peyote Way Church Articles of Faith
are mostly a hodge-podge of ideas that include the Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints' Word of Wisdom for clean living, the
spiritual and healing beliefs attributed to peyote by indigenous
people and a fundamental insistence that peyote is for everyone,
regardless of their ethnic background or tribal affiliation.

In the end, Kent says, the church leaves religious beliefs up to the
members. If you want to visit the church, take peyote and spend your
time reading comic books, that's fine by him. But be warned--those who
think of it as another opportunity to get high may be in for a surprise.

"If you think you are going ingest peyote and get high, fine," Kent
says. "But you're soon going to find out it's not like that. Peyote is
not recreational. Its re-creation-al. You reformat your experiences in
the world. You know with every cell of your body that there is a lot
more than three dimensions out there. I can tell you from 27 years of
experience that it is not addictive. Sure, someone can argue, 'If it's
not addictive, then why do people keep coming back?' Well, it's not
addictive just like prayer is not addictive."

In Edward Anderson's definitive book on the plant, Peyote: The Divine
Cactus, published by the University of Arizona Press, he concluded that
although peyote is listed as a controlled substance, it has more to do more
with politics than the plant itself. This claim seems to be substantiated by
Arizona's lenient law.

"Some people still contend that peyote is a narcotic despite
statements to the contrary by experts with considerable knowledge of
its physiological effect. Even early studies showed that peyote is not
addicting," Anderson wrote. "The problem for lawmakers and scientists
is one of deciding how best to classify and control the narcotics and
other drugs used by humans."

A study by pharmacologist Maurice Seevers conducted in 1958 rated the
addictive qualities of drugs in America. In that study, he placed
alcohol at the top of the list with an addiction index factor of 21.
By contrast, peyote ranked at the bottom of the list, with a rating of
1. (It would have been ranked "0," but some users described
"developing a slight tolerance" after repeated use.)

"When people take peyote, even to party, they have a spiritual
experience," says Zapf. "They'll say, 'Oh yeah, I was just partying
and then I had this spiritual experience.' That's the way peyote is.
It's a very powerful experience. You can't play with it."

Perhaps you wake up one morning and decide that today is the day you
will become a peyotist. What next? It's not like you can head down to
the Circle K for a quart of Budweiser and a bag of peyote.

If you are a member of a federally recognized Native American tribe,
you are entitled to purchase your peyote from one of roughly a dozen
federally licensed peyoteros who harvest the plants in Texas. A single
button of peyote usually retails for less than a dollar.

If you are not Native American, one option is to grow your own. Peyote
seeds are widely available on the Internet from a variety of places,
mostly in Europe, that offer handy peyote starter kits and growing
tips.

Since peyote takes more than a decade to come into its own, other
options could include seeking out your neighborhood drug dealer or
joining the Peyote Way Church and taking a three-day Spirit Walk for a
so-called donation of $200.

While indigenous ceremonies in Mexico and the United States place an
emphasis on communal gatherings often accompanied by ritual acts
during the consumption of peyote, the Peyote Way Church prefers to
dose up congregants and set them loose alone in a wilderness where
temperatures can top 100 degrees, and venomous critters live side by
side with thorn-studded plants.

Both Zapf and Kent say the church's choice of isolation is based on
the tradition of the vision quest, in which a person will spend time
alone in the wilderness seeking enlightenment.

To date, they claim there's never been an accident, aside from the
occasional guest who realized--after drug kicked in--that they did not
want to be on the drug. When that happens, Zapf and Kent say they are
both available to comfort the person until they sober up.

Typically, the first day of the Spirit Walk is spent fasting--time
well spent, considering the nausea and vomiting that usually occur.
The second day is spent ingesting peyote brewed in tea or eaten whole
as provided by the church. The third day is spent coming down and
stopping by the gift shop for souvenirs before leaving.

Considering all of the talk about peyote being a doorway to
enlightenment, paying $200 for the opportunity to touch the face of
God can appear a bit unseemly. But despite appearances, both Kent and
Zapf bristle at the notion that they have put a price on the sacred.

"How can you possibly put a price on peyote?" Kent asks, noting that
someone who could not afford to pay was coincidentally preparing for a
Spirit Walk as we spoke. "For $200, you will get space, place and
counsel on church land. But just because you paid $200, it does not
guarantee you the right to take peyote."

The Peyote Way Church Web site, however, makes no mention of anyone
being rejected, stating: "Penitence, forgiveness of self and others,
renewed confidence, desire for self improvement and improved health
and a healthy attitude are all benefits of partaking of the Holy
Sacrament Peyote. We are asking a $200 donation for this service."

The site also goes into great detail about what gear to bring while
camping, how much water will be needed and what to expect when the
peyote kicks in. They also offer the use of rooms for shelter during
the fast if the elements get to be too much.

Kent and Zapf say they were leery of being interviewed for this
article because of the interest it would generate. Currently, Kent
estimated the church is at capacity, hosting roughly 50 spirit walks
per year.

For this story, I was keen on experiencing peyote for myself. As a
teenager growing up in New Jersey during the late '70s/ early '80s,
taking LSD and going to a Grateful Dead concert was about as natural a
combination as drinking a beer and watching the Mets. Today, those
days are more memory than reality, but I was nonetheless looking
forward to giving it a try, all in the name of journalistic inquiry.

Initially through e-mail correspondence and once over the phone, Zapf
gave me the green light to visit the church and try some peyote. We
had even agreed upon a date, when the issue of paying the "donation"
came up.

"We want to discuss your visit some more," Zapf wrote via e-mail about
a month before our scheduled visit. "Members are aware of and prepared
to donate the $200 suggested donation for the Spirit Walk, but I am
not sure of your expectations. We ask this money as this
unconventional church does not have the ax of impending damnation and
weekly services to pay for church needs. You haven't said much about
it so I want to know what you want to do about that. Also, peyote is a
very powerful sacrament and has left some communicants 'speechless'
after their Spirit Walk. Speechless and exhausted. Perhaps the
interview should be part of the tour and preparation discussions
before the Spirit Walk. We feel that after a Spirit Walk, all the
communicant should 'do' is take a shower and eat a meal. I am not
saying that you will be speechless. Jon Safran, from the Australian TV
network, though exhausted did interview a few folks, but he had a
cadre of cameramen and (a) directorial woman. Think about it and get
back to me."

Tucson Weekly Editor Jimmy Boegle said he was willing to pay the $50
necessary for me to become a member of the church and keep everything
"legal," but drew the line at paying an additional $200 for the Spirit
Walk. Boegle said that paying a fee for access to a story would
violate basic journalism ethics.

Since a "donation" is certainly not a fee, I explained the conundrum
to Zapf via e-mail and asked if the donation could be waived.

The following day, which coincidentally was April Fool's Day, Kent
abruptly cancelled the interview and Spirit Walk via e-mail, stating,
"We're not interested in being part of your story. If you have
spiritual need for peyote feel free to make an appointment as an
individual. As far as we're concerned, you are a member of the church,
not the Tucson Weekly. We will serve you, not your editor. Your
article isn't going to help the church, therefore your article has
less than positive value to us. Thanks. Rabbi Matthew S. Kent."

Aside from Kent's confusion about my status as a member of the church,
which I am not nor have ever been, the abrupt turnaround was baffling.
The only logical conclusion I could deduce was that they wanted me to
pay $200 for the Spirit Walk.

However, Kent eventually recanted his position on the interview (but
held to his prohibition on the Spirit Walk), maintaining that money
was never an issue.

According to the church financial statement posted on their Web site,
last year's take was roughly $22,000 after expenses from a combination
of memberships, Spirit Walks and donations.

"The land, although it was paid for by Mana Pottery sales and
individual donations from immediate family, belongs to the Peyote Way
Church of God, a nonprofit, 501-C3 organization," the Web site reads.

"We incorporated in (19)79. We pay our corporate taxes and they send
those checks back when we over pay to the Peyote Way Church of God,"
says Kent. "We can be ruined by our success. That is why we started
with the donation. It slowed down the demand. And it made people value
what they were receiving. In this country, value is set by dollars and
cents. If you don't set a value then people tend to think it is
worthless. The funny thing is that once we started to ask for the
Spirit Walk donation, we started getting lawyers, chiropractors,
architects, software engineers. Professionals of all ages."

During the late 19th century, Native Americans were being
systematically forced off their traditional homelands and taken to
live on reservations, where the conditions often amounted to a death
sentence.

Around this time, the Ghost Dance religion--believed to have involved
peyote consumption--spread among the tribes of the American West.
Those who subscribed to the religion danced all night around fires in
the belief that it would make them invincible to the bullets of soldiers.

After a few skirmishes went horribly awry, the Ghost Dance religion
disbanded, and many of the surviving leaders became so-called "road
chiefs," who developed a new religion. This religion eventually became
the Native American Church, a mix of native and Christian beliefs
combined with peyote consumption.

The goal of this new religion was to recapture native spiritual
practices in a nonviolent form and organize peyote use into group
ritual, often involving the drinking of peyote tea during all-night
ceremonies similar to what is practiced today by the Huichol people in
Mexico.

In Peyote: The Divine Cactus, Anderson noted: "For those who were unable to
adjust to European American culture, it became a solace because it was
Native American--it had a tie to the past. It was something uniquely Native
American, and European Americans could share the experience only by
permission."

In 1948, Immanuel Pardeahtan Trujillo joined the Native American
Church but objected to the practice of what he believed was racial
exclusivity. Trujillo, the son of a French-American mother and a San
Carlos Apache father, was raised by an adoptive family in New Jersey.
Although Trujillo himself is 50 percent Native American, his children
are only 25 percent.

According to Kent, Trujillo believed the peyote experience was too
powerful to be restricted to any single group of people and he went on
to become a founding member of a so-called "all-race group" within the
Native American Church during the 1960s.

The Native American Church revoked the all-race group's charter a year
later, and Trujillo decided to start his own church in 1966. Trujillo
purchased the 160-acre Peaceful Valley Ranch in 1970, behind Mount
Graham, which the Apaches consider sacred. In 1977, the Peyote Way
Church was founded at the ranch by Trujillo, Zapf and Kent, for the
specific purpose of "stewarding, ingesting, distributing and growing
the holy sacrament peyote" as the "essential and inseparable" part of
the members' religious beliefs.

With a mission that includes legalizing the religious use of peyote
for all people and a $200 drug-induced religious experience, it's
little wonder that the Native American Church is concerned about how
the actions of the Peyote Way Church can impact their
organization.

Native American Church and Indian Law Office attorney James Botsford
of Wausau, Wis., says the current conservative political climate
regarding drugs in America means his church is constantly fighting to
keep peyote legal among Native Americans.

By trying to make peyote available to everyone, Botsford says, the
Peyote Way Church makes the fight even more difficult and erodes
Native American rights.

"In an ideal world, they are right," Botsford says. "Religious pursuit
should be accepted, and people should be allowed to pursue what they
believe in. But we do not live in an ideal world. It is a legitimate
point philosophically, but by doing so (publicly making peyote
available to everyone), they put the practice (of peyotism) at
tremendous risk."

To highlight the sort of pressure the Native American Church is under,
Botsford noted the case of the Employment Division of Oregon Vs.
Smith, which involved two tribal members who were fired from their
jobs for their religious use of peyote.

The case was heard by the Supreme Court in 1990, and it was decided by
a 6-3 margin that the First Amendment does not protect the sacramental
use of peyote in religious ceremonies. Justice Anthony Scalia, writing
for the majority, observed that the court has never held that an
individual's religious beliefs can excuse him/her from compliance with
an otherwise valid law prohibiting conduct that the government is free
to regulate.

As a result of the Supreme Court decision, Congress passed the
Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1994, which amended the American
Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978 to create a specific federal
statutory exemption for the bona-fide religious use of peyote by
tribal members in a traditional exercise of their religion.

"It's not about race," Botsford says. "It's about being a member or
federally recognized tribe. The Native American Church believes that
peyote is a gift from the creator to the Indian people. And as such,
it is a sacrament that needs to be treated with reverence and respect.
It is the non-Indians doing stuff that causes most of the problems."

When discussing the use of peyote by native people, both Kent and Zapf
are adamant that their beliefs are the right ones.

"We're understaffed, and we're under threat of (federal) prosecution
every day. Annie's peyote garden could put her in jail for 99 years.
But we're prepared to do that. We're prepared to give up everything
for what we believe in. Now that doesn't happen much in the United
States of America anymore," Kent says, adding, "What the church does
for the white man is it reconnects him to the Earth, which is his
mother. And if we can balance out the Heavenly Father idea with the
Earthly Mother idea, then you have a balance."

Church member Carl Hassell, who travels from California roughly four
times a year to take peyote, says he suffers from a variety of
illnesses, including cancer, that impact his bladder and prostate functions.

Hassell, who is also non-Native American, says that taking peyote has
helped him to make peace with his illness and himself.

"Life is fragile," Hassell says. "Many of the people I knew did not
make it into their 30s. Peyote made me a more peaceful person. I
became more concerned about the welfare of all people. And as a
result, I think it made me a better citizen. God either is or God
isn't. We're either all God's children or we're not. I think everyone
should have a chance to try the sacrament."

With so much devotion to the partial consumption of a slow-growing
plant, one has to wonder if it isn't being loved to death. Peyote,
which is very particular about its climate conditions, is mostly
harvested in the wild.

Like much of this country, Texas, where the majority American peyote
is harvested, is undergoing land use and development pressure. While
both Kent and Zapf say an important part of the church's mission is to
grow peyote in green houses so that it can be kept from extinction,
Elizabeth Slown, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS) spokesperson
for the South West Division, says she does not believe the plant is in
jeopardy. However, Slown is quick to note that her organization has
never researched the status of peyote and its habitat to determine if
it might be endangered.

"We only conduct a study when something has been proposed for listing
for threatened or endangered status, and peyote does not appear to be
that way," Slown says.

For that to happen, Slown says another governmental service or a
member of the public would have to contact the FWS about their concerns.

"From what I can tell, no one has done so to date," she adds. "I can
tell you that we do have a list of candidates (for protection), and
once they are on the list, it can be a while before they are
considered because of the budget."

Slown says that although peyote is a federally controlled substance,
it would not hinder her agency's protection of the plant if
applicable, despite Zapf and Kent's claims to the contrary.

"I just don't see where it being a controlled substance would have any
bearing," she says. "Tight budgets will have more to do with it (not
being protected properly)."

Concluding the interview, Zapf and Kent lead us from the pottery
studio through the main office of their operation. In one room, there
is a gift shop with peyote inspired art, T-shirts and baseball caps
for sale. At a table near the kitchen area sits someone whom Kent says
has just taken peyote but requested not to be interviewed. And
silently moving about is Trujillo himself. The presence of Trujillo is
unmistakable. Quiet, except for an occasional viciously
viscous-sounding cough, Trujillo says very little when we meet but
produces photos from the '70s of himself, Kent and Zapf.

There is a sweet nostalgia to the moment as all three peer out from a
faded past with the optimism of youth. The religious arguments,
spiritual convictions and perceptions of persecution seem to
temporarily melt away. For the moment, Trujillo is just another man
showing off pictures of his loved ones and remembering a time long
ago.

Taking advantage of the fading light, Dougherty hustles the group
outside and tries to set up a photo. When Kent asks me if I have
enough for the story, I tell him the only thing missing is my personal
first-person account of what it is like to take peyote.

Trujillo, who had been off to the side, looks me in the eye for the
first time and speaks clearly.

"There is a reason why bathrooms have doors," he says, and smiles
broadly. I contemplate the meaning of his Zen-like riddle as
Dougherty's camera snaps away.

On the way home, there is no sign of Red, the gimpy dog we had dropped
off at the church entrance. Even without taking peyote, it's easy to
feel a connection to this land. One can imagine that the Native
Americans who lived here until they were driven off must have felt
that connection as well.

Looking around, I am struck by the irony of a church being established
hundreds of years later on that same land, with the stated goal of not
only wrestling from Native Americans their legal exclusivity to a
plant they hold sacred, but also marketing it to the world like a
McDonald's Happy Meal for the soul.

With the evening desert sky folding into night, we pull over near a
wash reinforced with the rusting hulks of wrecked cars. On the
embankment, someone has taken the time to spray paint a punch line:
car wash. We take a few photos and leave, following the incandescent
tangerine glow over Tucson home, like moths to a flame.

When agreeing to be interviewed by the Tucson Weekly for this story,
Peyote Way Church of God members Ann Zapf and Matthew Kent stipulated
that all facts and quotes attributed to them during the interview be
submitted for their review and approval prior to publication. This
request was honored; they only requested that minor changes be made.