RAINBOW FARM STANDOFF REMEMBERED

Family, Neighbors, Officials Look Back One Year Later

VANDALIA, Mich. - By the end of Labor Day weekend last year, two men
were dead and every structure on Rainbow Farm was burned to the
ground. By the following week, though, hardly anyone outside their
families and immediate circle of friends was thinking of them.

Even a neighbor who liked Grover "Tom" Crosslin and Roland "Rollie"
Rohm, who trusted them with her child and described them as ideal
neighbors despite their festivals supporting the legalization of
marijuana, says her focus changed.

The Sept. 11 attacks gave almost everyone amnesia about the weekend
standoff between police and the two men. A story that seemed like it
wouldn't go away was replaced by one that never will.

The families and some of the Rainbow Farm supporters remember. Cass
County Prosecutor Scott Teter and other attorneys haven't forgotten
either.

A neighbor of the 34-acre property said a lot of people in the small
farming village will recall the shootings if Teter runs for
re-election in a couple of years.

"Everybody around here really liked Tom and Rollie. If they say
otherwise, it's because they're afraid," she said. "A lot of people
were intimidated by the police force."

Teter agrees that people remember. They still stop him in the grocery
store or around the county, he said.

"They say, 'Thank you for dealing with this offensive cancer in our
community. Our children were at risk ... because of the activities
that were going on,'" Teter said.

About a week before the anniversary of the shootings, the neighbor
said she had seen more traffic around the Pemberton Road campground.
Pulling in the main drive, visitors are greeted with the message "Tom
and Rollie are free" against the backdrop of rusted metal shelves and
a burned-out, corroding VW Beetle.

Waist-high weeds and tall grass cover the hills of the campground
where both men were shot and killed by FBI and state police snipers
after they raised rifles, according to authorities. Just days after
the New Year, Teter declared the shootings were justified.

A few days ago, Teter said he didn't want either of the men to die and
feels sympathy for their friends and loved ones left behind -
especially Rohm's 13-year-old son, Robert. But he also thinks the
county is a safer place without a place to buy and use illegal drugs.

The Standoff

Officers from the Cass County Sheriff's Department, the Michigan State
Police and the Federal Bureau of Investigation descended on the rural
farm, starting Friday, Aug. 31. Police officers worked in shifts
watching Crosslin's farm house until the siege ended.

That week, John E. Bell Jr., special agent in charge of the FBI's
Detroit office, led members of the media on tours around the
campground. Weeks later, Bell was talking to the media again. A "60
Minutes" reporter was asking him questions about the detention of
people in the Detroit area after 9-11.

The police presence, while intimidating, didn't worry the neighbor,
she said. The camp had been a source of fears for a while. With the
heavy traffic going through the area on festival weekends, she and her
husband considered fencing in their property to protect their children
- -- from the vehicles and the people.

That traffic, Teter said, was a constant threat to anyone living in
the area or using the county highways during festival weekends. They
were fortunate, he said, that more people weren't killed like Coloma
teen-ager Eric Horneck, who was returning from Rainbow Farm when his
vehicle slammed into a school bus in Berrien County.

"How many of the people you talked to have asked about his family?
(They) fed him full of the stuff that killed him," Teter said.

No matter what Teter says, family members like Crosslin's sister
Shirley Deweese don't believe much.

"The FBI told me they weren't going to kill him and less than an hour
later he was dead," she said. Less than a year later, she still feels
there are too many things unknown.

"There's still no answers, not the truth anyway," she
said.

John Livermore, Rohm's stepfather, said they have a lot more answers,
but none that make the shootings look justified.

"We're doing pretty good. It's hard right now - this time of year," he
said from his home in Rogersville, Tenn.

Teter said only Crosslin and Rohm could answer some of the questions
and they chose to end the standoff the way it did.

"I think (Crosslin) knew he was going to sit in jail until December
and he was going to go to prison. He decided that wasn't going to
happen," Teter said.

But like others, Teter has a more difficult time with Rohm's thinking.
He wasn't facing more than a couple of years in prison. Hours before
his death, Rohm had agreed to surrender after daylight if he could
visit his son.

"He was not in the same situation Tom was in. I cannot rationalize
(what he did)," he said. "Robert was a mile and a half away. We said,
'He's here!'"

Instead, Rohm walked out of the burning farm house wearing black face
paint and camouflage, carrying a rifle, Teter said.

The Courts

While county officials say they don't know of any wrongful death suits
related to the shootings, Livermore said the family has submitted
notice of their intent to file suit.

"The issues we have are the custody, the visitation and the wrongful
death," Livermore said.

The Cass County courthouse holds stacks of paperwork on Rainbow Farm
and Crosslin's other properties in Michigan and Indiana. A year ago,
Crosslin's historic farm house on M-60 referred to as "The Mansion"
had a sign in the front yard warning of a violent end. Today, there's
a for-sale sign.

The forfeiture case against the farm and other properties owned by
Crosslin and Rohm has been settled, Teter said.

"Our concern was never about the money. It was about making sure that
property was never used to violate the law again. We agreed the estate
could sell the property as long as those restrictions were placed on
the sale and that all the proceeds would go to Robert," Teter said.
"We, hopefully, set up a very solid future for this kid."

Rohm made it very clear he wanted his possessions to go to the boy in
a handwritten will dated Aug. 31, 2001. Crosslin's said the same.

"The wills were very clear. The young man was the sole heir," Teter
said.

When the properties are sold, any profits will go to a trust for
Robert.

The debts include attorney fees back to the criminal trial preceding
the standoff. Crosslin and Rohm had retained the Kalamazoo law firm of
Vlachos & Vlachos at a cost of $48,000.

The firm filed one claim in January for $18,450 in criminal defense
costs and another in February for $50,950 for criminal and civil
matters they claim to have handled for the men and their estates.

Among the items listed was a Sept. 7 interview with Rolling Stone
magazine billed at $225.

An attorney representing Crosslin's estate has filed a notice of
disallowance of the fees, claiming the "Criminal Case Fee Agreement is
invalid and defective ... " The matter is set for trial in November.
The future

Any civil or wrongful death cases may be tied up in the legal system
for a long time, but the neighbor doesn't seem as worried about the
property or the money as she is about the boy, whom she described as a
likable kid.

"Tom and Rollie were good parents. They were good people," she said.
"It's just too bad."

A little more than a year after he was taken out of the home, the
court is allowing the 13-year-old boy to spend more time with his
maternal grandmother, moving toward a more permanent arrangement, Teter said.

"He's doing great in school. He's getting good grades," Teter
said.

The teen had been in foster care since he was removed from the
Pemberton Road home in May of last year - something many believe
pushed Rohm and Crosslin toward the Labor Day weekend standoff.

John Livermore and Geraldine (Rohm) Livermore are not seeking custody
of the boy, but they would like visitation rights, John said.

Wherever the boy is placed, Teter believes that Robert and the
community are safer without Rainbow Farm. It could have stopped
without bloodshed, but the men chose otherwise, he said.

"When I look back on this whole thing ... if we have learned anything
from September 11, it's that people's commitment to a cause doesn't
make it a just cause. It just means they were committed to it."

"The one I feel most sorry for is Robert," Teter said.

Truth Regional Reporter Dee Bourdon contributed to this story.