Welcome to perhaps the most important issue Fat Nugs Magazine has ever created. Within these pages, you will find something unprecedented—an unwavering focus on the stories of people incarcerated for the cannabis plant.
Cannabis is political. Its prohibition was a political tool used to cause harm against communities the government wanted to keep down. Its use as a medicine is political against the pharmaceutical industry. Its legalization has been the political will of the people and the continued smear campaign against it is highly political. There is no cannabis without politics.
Those who know this best are the men and women who paid the ultimate price for keeping cannabis available to the people. They have risked everything to bring this incredible plant to people who want and need it, and in return they have everything stolen from them. I urge you to remember that everyone behind bars for cannabis at this very moment is a person, a human with needs, emotions, and inherent worth.
There are still thousands of people jailed for the crime of cannabis: estimates range from 32,000—40,000 people. It would be impossible to tell all of their stories in an entire year's worth of issues, let alone one. But given the state of the United States government and the rising tide of hatred seen across the world, it is more important than ever to remind people of the humanity of those whom the government seeks to make other.
It is easy to say “Well, they broke the law.” But laws are not moral barometers and the treatment of those behind bars is far from morally acceptable. Anti-cannabis laws are wielded as weapons against people and communities that the government wants to keep disempowered.
Consider this: cannabis charges are often felonies. Felons lose critical rights like the ability to vote and make their voice heard in the democratic process. It is no surprise then, that criminalization is on the rise. If you can be jailed for the crime of not having a home and smoking a joint, you are much easier to keep in line.
During the time it took to put this issue together, I was introduced to several incredible organizations who put in the hard work day in and day out to help people society has left behind. Organizations, like Jailed for Weed, Freedom Grow, and 40Tons, help prisoners still behind bars, and Fair Chance, a non-profit that seeks to help released prisoners reacclimate to life on the outside. If this issue inspires you to take action for cannabis prisoners, there is no better place to start than with the incredible organizations included in this issue.
Cannabis has always been revolutionary. Cannabis has always been political. Cannabis has always been for the people. When we unite our voices in support of our fellow countrymen and women, we are stronger than any governing body wants us to realize.
The people united will never be divided. May cannabis be the thing that reminds us how united we truly are.
Without further ado, I am honored to bring you the Prisoners Issue of Fat Nugs Magazine.
Jessica Reilly-Chevalier EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
‟ IF YOU'RE IN TROUBLE, OR HURT OR NEED — GO TO THE POOR PEOPLE. THEY'RE THE ONLY ONES THAT'LL HELP — THE ONLY ONES. ”
— John Steinbeck
TABLE of C O NTENTS
Pg. 8 The Broken Promises Of Justice: A Volunteer’s Reflection On Federal Cannabis Prisoners By Karly Cramer
Pg. 14 Bud Backstories: Anslinger's Demise By Ali Lopez
Pg. 18 From Prison Bars To Dispensary Doors: My Father's Story In The Cannabis War By Mandy Lile
Pg. 22 Legacy After A Life Sentence: An Interview With Corvain Cooper By Casey Renteria
Pg. 26 27 Years In Prison For Cannabis By Edwin Rubis
Pg. 30 Q & A With Marc & Craig Wasserman, Pot Brothers At Law By Dustin Hoxworth & Jessica Reilly-Chevalier
Pg. 36 The Making Of A Gentleman Smuggler By Bri Smith
Pg. 40 Rainbow Marker From Victoria Cannabis Company: A Ganjier Review By Matt Jerome
Pg. 44 Prison Laffy Taffy Recipe By Kelly Kreutzer
Pg. 46 A Daughter's Journey: An Interview With Jasmine Scarmazzo Born Into Cannabis Activism By Daniel Crawford
Pg. 50 Homegrown With Jim Berry
Pg. 54 Paying Tribute To A Legend: A Conversation With Pebbles Trippet By Leah Cerri
Pg. 58 Driver, Smuggler, Advocate: An Interview With Randy Lanier By June Blankin
Pg. 62 Solitary Haze & Konvict Kush by Reeform: A Ganjier Review By Rob Sanchez
Pg. 66 Interview with Tucky Blunt By Sara Payan
‟ LET YOUR SOUL STAND COOL AND COMPOSED BEFORE MILLION UNIVERSES. ” — Walt Whitman
FAT N U GS STAFF
DUSTIN HOXWORTH, Founder
DANIEL CRAWFORD, COO
JESSICA REILLY-CHEVALIER, Editor-in-Chief
CHRISTINA AYDT, Designer
CASEY RENTERIA, Program Manager
HOLLIS DOHERTY, Editor
JUNE BLANKIN Account Manager
KELLY KREUTZER Sales Manager
BETHANY NIEBAUER Staff Writer
KYEA MOFIRE Photographer
DERRALL PEACH Photographer
THE BROKEN PROMISES OF JUSTICE
By Karly Cramer
When I began working as an advocate for federal cannabis prisoners, I believed in the possibility of real change. Not the lofty promises of politicians, but tangible progress that could improve lives. Over time, years of unpaid efforts have replaced that belief with a growing fatigue. This exhaustion doesn’t stem from the size of the challenge but from the repeated failures of those who vowed to do better and failed to deliver on those promises.
To be clear, my focus here is on federal prisoners. State-level cases carry their own significant struggles, but federal prisoners face unique obstacles tied directly to the Bureau of Prisons (BOP). The federal system operates with a level of bureaucracy that slows or completely halts progress.
In discussing these individuals, I will use the term “prisoners,” as “inmates” feels like a sanitized erasure of their humanity. These individuals remain casualties of a system that prioritizes public relations over justice—a reality underscored by the Biden administration’s broken promises.
THE BIDEN PLEDGE: HOPE THAT BECAME DISILLUSIONMENT
During his campaign, President Biden assured the public he would release all non-violent cannabis offenders. That promise, widely circulated in video clips, raised hope among prisoners and their families. Yet now, with his administration behind us, those hopes have been crushed.
As he exited office, Biden made headlines by commuting the sentences of approximately 2,500 nonviolent drug offenders. Many of these individuals had been subjected to egregiously long sentences under outdated and racially biased crack cocaine laws. This move addressed a long-overdue injustice, though it left much to be desired for cannabis prisoners. According to reports, this clemency effort addressed some of the injustices embedded in outdated sentencing policies, such as the racially biased disparity between crack and powder cocaine convictions. Families of these prisoners celebrated longoverdue reunions, and for them, this action was monumental.
However, for cannabis prisoners, the results were dismal—only 10 of these commutations were for individuals incarcerated for cannabisrelated offenses. This group of prisoners, who had been disproportionately impacted by harsh drug policies, largely remained behind bars. Despite years of advocacy and pleas for clemency, the Biden administration’s actions fell woefully short of the sweeping promises made on the campaign trail.
My inbox is still filled with daily messages through Corrlinks, the federal prison email system. Desperate families and prisoners ask, “Is there any news?” I’m left responding with the bitter truth: while Biden acted, he did very little for the cannabis prisoners he pledged to free. The pardon Biden issued for simple marijuana possession earlier in his term? Another empty gesture. No federal prisoner walked free because of it, as no one is in federal prison solely for possession. Instead, these individuals remain behind bars, casualties of an administration that could have done far more with its clemency power.
Biden’s clemency efforts provided relief for many unjust sentences tied to crack cocaine, but his failure to meaningfully address cannabisrelated incarceration underscores the persistent gap between rhetoric and action. For those of us in advocacy, it’s a reminder that promises, no matter how fervently made, often go unfulfilled.
THE RIPPLE EFFECTS OF INCARCERATION
When one person goes to prison, their family also bears the burden. The justice system doesn’t merely isolate individuals; it fractures families and amplifies financial, emotional, and social challenges.
For families, the financial strain is crushing. Prisoners earn wages as low as $0.12 to $0.40 an hour, most of which goes toward restitution. From that meager income, they must still pay for essentials like emails, phone calls, and hygiene products. Families, already struggling to survive without their incarcerated loved one’s income, often have to cover these costs. The expense of traveling for visits—often across state lines— adds another layer of hardship. Single parents left behind frequently juggle multiple jobs just to keep food on the table, creating a cycle of exhaustion and burnout.
Maintaining communication with incarcerated loved ones is another uphill battle. Prisoners are restricted to just 300 minutes of phone time per month. That’s barely ten minutes a day, and even less if they want to speak with more than one person. Families must pay for emails and physical stamps, turning basic connection into a luxury. For children, this limited communication deepens the emotional void left by an absent parent, often leading to behavioral issues or long-term emotional scars.
The social stigma surrounding incarceration often isolates families further. Many choose to keep the imprisonment of a loved one a secret, fearing judgment. Children frequently bear this stigma, feeling shame or exclusion in their communities. I’ve heard heartbreaking stories of children being ostracized at school because their parent is in prison. This judgment punishes not just the prisoner but everyone connected to them, perpetuating cycles of shame and isolation.
The physical distance imposed by the BOP compounds these challenges. While the bureau claims to keep prisoners within 500 miles of their homes, this policy is often ignored. Families are forced to travel hundreds, sometimes thousands, of miles to see their loved ones. This separation creates an insurmountable barrier, leaving children to grow up without the guidance and presence of a parent.
LIFE INSIDE THE SYSTEM
restrictions, compounding their anguish as they wait for updates on their loved ones’ health.
Mental health care is another glaring void. Many prisoners struggle with anxiety, depression, and trauma-issues exacerbated by the isolating and often violent environment of federal facilities. Without adequate support, these conditions worsen, leaving prisoners to suffer in silence. The lack of mental health care not only affects the prisoners but also the families waiting for their return, often to find a person deeply changed by years of neglect and suffering.
A SYSTEM SET UP TO DEHUMANIZE
The federal prison system does not rehabilitate. Its policies, interactions, and structures are designed to strip prisoners and their families of dignity. After years of working within this broken system, I’ve grown tired of the constant disappointments. Yet I cannot turn away. These prisoners are more than statistics; they are mothers, fathers, and siblings who deserve a second chance.
The federal prison system does not rehabilitate. Its policies, interactions, and structures are designed to strip prisoners and their families of dignity.
While families struggle on the outside, prisoners endure harsh conditions within. Those serving life sentences are often placed in high-security facilities alongside violent offenders. The environment is volatile and hostile, with little emphasis on rehabilitation. Violence and fear are part of the daily reality for many prisoners.
Programs meant to help prisoners prepare for life after release, such as job training and educational resources, are underfunded or inaccessible. Many prisoners want to better themselves, but the tools they need are simply not there. This lack of reentry support perpetuates cycles of failure, making it harder for prisoners to rebuild their lives after release. Without adequate preparation, many individuals leave prison only to face insurmountable obstacles in the outside world, increasing their likelihood of reoffending.
Healthcare in federal prisons is notoriously inadequate. Chronic conditions often go untreated, while acute illnesses face significant delays. I’ve seen firsthand the devastating consequences of this neglect. One prisoner I correspond with, Danny Gehl, has been waiting for diabetes treatment for over a year. Another, Fernando Miguel Nunez, battled cancer with minimal intervention. Families are left in the dark due to HIPAA
LOOKING FORWARD
My weariness stems not from the fight itself but from watching promises go unfulfilled. I’m tired of telling families that no, Biden didn’t deliver fully on his promises. I’m tired of a public that seems more drawn to performative gestures than real change. Justice requires dismantling the systems that perpetuate harm—not just addressing the symptoms.
With Biden’s term now over and Donald Trump in office, the previous administration’s chance to deliver meaningful reform has passed, leaving advocates disappointed by the limited actions taken. The unfulfilled promises of the Biden administration highlight the disconnect between political rhetoric and substantive action. The consequences of this inaction are not abstract; they are felt in the broken lives of prisoners and their families.
For now, I’ll return to my Corrlinks inbox to respond to the heartbreak of prisoners and their families, many of whom had clung to the hope that clemency would bring them relief. Their disappointment fuels my ongoing advocacy, reminding me why this work is necessary despite its challenges. This work is not glamorous, nor is it easy. But until these prisoners are home where they belong, I will continue to push forward.
Change is not born from empty speeches or hollow gestures; it comes from persistence and a refusal to accept the status quo. These prisoners and their families deserve better. So do those of us who still believe in the possibility of a more just world.
PREVIOUSLY CONVICTED
CURRENTLY
OFESSIONAL MEMBERS of THE CANNABIS COMMUNITY
Bud Backstories: Anslinger’s Demise
By Ali Lopez
There is blood on the hands of countless members of law enforcement for the War on Drugs, but the man who was responsible for starting the war was Harry J. Anslinger. This guy is a skidmark on American history, and his intentionally hateful rhetoric and subsequent laws are the reason so many people have suffered and continue to suffer at the hands of the American Justice System.
ANSLINGER, RACISM, & THE PROHIBITION OF CANNABIS Anslinger was the Head of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics from 1930 to 1962. He was originally a stark prohibitionist and didn’t mind cannabis. In fact, he went on record to say that the rumored link between cannabis and violent outbreaks was an “absurd fallacy.” But when alcohol prohibition ended in 1933, and the Great Depression had the government slashing budgets, Anslinger needed to come up with something other than alcohol to demonize to keep his job.
Aside from alcohol, Anslinger had an intense hate for three things: addicts, Black people, and jazz music. He was regarded as a crazy racist in the 1920s, to give you an idea of just how sinister this guy was. As Ansligner was devising his plan to keep his job, he thought about what kinds of drugs were being used. Hard drugs like heroin and cocaine were known to be much more dangerous than cannabis, so cannabis use was relatively popular. This widespread use made cannabis the perfect target.
Anslinger began an explicit campaign labeling cannabis as an African-American problem. He has been quoted as saying, “There are 100,000 total marijuana smokers in the U.S., and most are Negroes, Hispanics, Filipinos and entertainers. Their Satanic music, jazz, and swing, result from marijuana use. This marijuana causes white women to seek sexual relations with Negroes, entertainers, and any others.”
With all of this fearmongering and overt racism, Anslinger was able to ban cannabis in 1937 and establish mandatory sentencing laws that are still used today. These laws are the reason that first-offense cannabis-related charges can land someone in jail for up to 10 years.
First, Kineo crossed Amnesia Haze and 9lb Hammer. Then, the offspring of this cross was crossed with Bruce Banner to pump up the potency even more. Finally, this second offspring was crossed back with pure 9lb Hammer, to bring back out that fuel terpene profile. All that work paid off with a final result that produces hits so dank that it has Anslinger—rolling—in his grave.
One hit of Anslinger’s Demise, and you’re sure to catch Reefer Madness (in a good way). With an average THC level of 28-30%, this strain is as powerful as Anslinger’s reign. Expect an initial head high that will snap you out of any funk and make you feel like maybe you could play jazz music if you just tried hard enough. You’ll tackle your day with unrelenting focus and energy, while Anslinger’s Demise will tackle any aches or pains. However, because of its potency, it’s best to take it easy with this strain, or you might catch Reefer Madness (in a bad way.)
In another instance, he stated, “Reefer makes darkies think they’re as good as white men. The primary reason to outlaw marijuana is its effect on the degenerate races.”
He believed that “doctors cannot treat drug addicts even if they wish to,” and the best way to deal with addiction is to “throw killer pushers into prison and throw away the key.”
To drive the point home, Anslinger claimed that “If the hideous monster Frankenstein came face-to-face with the monster of marijuana, he would drop dead of fright.”
With all of this fear-mongering and overt racism, Anslinger was able to ban cannabis in 1937 and establish mandatory sentencing laws that are still used today. These laws are the reason that first-offense cannabis-related charges can land someone in jail for up to 10 years.
ANSLINGER’S DEMISE
To “honor” Anslinger’s infamy, Kineos Genetics named an intense yet evenly balanced hybrid Anslinger’s Demise. This strain is a relative of some of the most beloved strains out there, including OG Kush, Sour Diesel, and Afghani. Ansligner’s Demise came from years of experimentation and perfecting a knockout strain worthy of such a heavy-hitting namesake.
The aroma and flavor profile has a little something for everyone. The aroma of Ansligner’s Demise captures you with a dank diesel with hints of citrus and berry notes. At the same time, the flavor brings berry sweetness beautifully complimented by citrus and spicy diesel. Honestly, you can’t get much more well-rounded than that.
ANSLINGER’S LEGACY OF IMPRISONMENT
Naming a strain with such potent effects and medicinal potential after the man whose life was dedicated to taking it away is a bold move, but it serves as an omnipresent reminder. The ban on cannabis has always been about power: maintaining political power and taking away the power of minorities. Anslinger’s crusade against cannabis created countless victims whose only crime was a plant.
Today, thousands of people, many from marginalized communities, remain behind bars for cannabis-related offenses, even as others profit in the growing legal industry. Let Anslinger’s Demise serve as a reminder of the injustice still faced by these prisoners and as a call to action to fight for their freedom. Until every last cannabis prisoner is released and these draconian laws are dismantled, his loathsome legacy persists—and so must our resistance
Photo by Kyea Mofire
MY FATHER'S STORY in the CANNABIS WAR FROM
PRISON BARS TO DISPENSARY DOORS
By Mandy Lile •Potency No. 710
My father, Lonnie Ronald Lile, spent over 15 years of my life behind bars—not for violence, not for theft, but for marijuana. A plant that I now legally sell at my dispensary.
Growing up, prison visits became part of my routine. I’d see my father through glass, hearing his voice through a phone instead of across the dinner table. His crime? Being part of the cannabis world before society decided to accept it. He was locked up for something that today fuels a multi-billion-dollar industry. An industry I now participate in, legally, with government approval.
The irony isn’t lost on me. My father missed birthdays, milestones, and the simple joys of everyday life because of a war on a plant that never should have been criminalized. While corporations profit from cannabis today, men like my father lost years, opportunities, and relationships over it.
But I refuse to let his story be forgotten. The legalization of cannabis should come with acknowledgment—and justice—for those who paved the way, often at great personal cost. My father was one of those pioneers, forced into the shadows while the world caught up.
Now, as I legally sell the same plant that took him away from me, I honor his legacy. His story is not just mine— it’s the story of countless others who suffer under unjust laws. And while legalization is a victory, it’s not enough until we make things right for those still paying the price.
The photo on the left is one of the many family photos we took during a contact visit in Atlanta, Georgia.
The photo on the right is of my grandparents–who were like angels and supported my dad through everything.
FREE FROM PRISON
My dad had been sober for 10 years by the time he got out of prison. He became an electrician while he was in prison, and once he got out, he continued to work as an electrician–obviously still hitting a joint every now and then.
I think he taught me how to take an ugly situation and make it beautiful, and I guess that’s why I’m in the beauty industry today. He warned me about harder drugs growing up, and I listened, but we occasionally shared a joint.
I definitely had a turbulent childhood, but wouldn’t ask to change it. It made me who I am today: resilient, strong, and empathetic to all the people who are still serving time.
‟ HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS THAT PERCHES IN THE SOUL — & SINGS THE TUNES WITHOUT THE WORDS — & NEVER STOPS AT ALL. ”
— Emily Dickinson
PURPLE GORILLA
Cultivator — Red Dirt, Dirt Bags
Photo by Kyea Mofire
LEGACY AFTER A LIFE SENTENCE
AN INTERVIEW with CORVAIN COOPER
By Casey Renteria
Corvain Cooper’s story is immensely powerful. It’s dynamic and beautifully illustrates the power this plant has to change lives. He was able to walk free from a life sentence without the possibility of parole and go on to build a business legacy. So who is the man behind the movement?
He is the Co-Founder & Brand Ambassador of 40 Tons Brand. The brand name is an homage to the charge that landed him a life sentence at just 29 years old. He wasn’t about to let it take him out of the game! It took 9 years to walk free, but not without a newfound purpose and direction in life.
40 Tons is a brand that you’ll see around for a long time. It’s stories like this that build our industry, and showcase the hell we have put both the people and the plant through.
“God did all this for a purpose—he didn’t save my life for no reason. He gave me a second chance and I want to do something with it. I want to bring the social justice impact back to the front of things—it’s the legacy guys who were the first to make this industry popular. How can you make any kind of brand and turn it into a billion dollars when all that originally came from the streets?”—Corvain Cooper
Q&A with Corvain Cooper
How do you even begin to move that amount of cannabis? 40 Tons is such a mind-boggling number?
It started with one pound and I just continued to flip until eventually it was large amounts. That’s the same thing my business partner Anthony and I are doing now. We started with nothing but an idea when I was in jail to bring light to my case and from there it became a brand. Now we are in 59 stores in multiple states.
What has it been like making the transition from the black market to trying to function in a legal market?
It’s different because we don’t own anything and we’re not vertically integrated. Everything we do now we have to buy. In the game, all you have to do is buy the weed and flip it. In the legal market, it’s being taxed so much that once it’s being sold, the customer sees $40. What they don’t see is we bought it for $12, the packaging is $3, and after testing we sold it to the store for $18. We’re only making $3 each so you have to move a million units to have a profit. The legal game is not for trying to keep a roof over your head or pay bills unless you’re the person growing or making hardware because everything needs that stuff. Brands and stores are having it the hardest.
What was it like being in there for cannabis but knowing you’re in there with people who have committed violent crimes?
At first, you think you can complain and someone will care but they don’t. It’s the sentence that lands you there, not the crime itself. It’s the actual time. You stop complaining after a while and just accept that you’re in here with the killers and that’s where they wanted you.
I was in a maximum-level security prison dealing with the feds. Whereas in a state jail, you’re in there with people from your state and you might be able to use that to your advantage but that no longer applies at a federal level because no one knows you.
What was the process like being released and getting to walk out?
What happens when you have a life sentence and your release date says deceased? You die in there. There was a documentary called Smoke: Marijuana & Black America
that aired on BET and that brought a lot of light to my case which helped a lot. My attorney got over 170k signatures on Change.org. All of this happened while I was in prison and Anthony was on the outside working and getting into the industry beforehand to make the push. So it was a lot!
When you were released were you able to reconnect with family and were those relationships damaged at all by the whole situation?
It was a strain on my kids because I was out of their lives for 9 years. There will always be that missing piece. Being out of their lives is a very serious thing, especially when you have daughters. I fainted when I got to see them again. It was a great moment in my life.
After getting released and coming to the realization that you have another chance at life, did you jump straight into work or did you step back to readjust?
We worked that first day I was home. My first job was with Last Prisoner Project and meanwhile, me and Anthony were building a brand. I did a year with LPP to learn advocacy and how it works. I learned to interview and did media training. Me and Anthony kept pushing to make deals and had a couple of bad ones. We had to pivot and almost lost 40 Tons. We
show the collapses, the ups and downs, and everything we’ve gone through.
What advice or words do you have for someone facing prison time for cannabis?
You have to be mentally strong. Everything changes once you’re behind that wall. I’ve seen murders and suicides involving people with release dates so there is no way to prepare for it. It comes to everyone differently depending on how you’re raised and what level you go to. I was in maximum security, so I can only speak from that.
At the federal level, everyone wants to see your paperwork. They want to know if you told or if you cooperated. If you’re with the non-cooperators they don’t want you in with the rest because you’ll mess it up. That’s why 10 years in even with a life sentence they may move you down if you’ve shown good behavior and calmed down, then they’ll work you down to a lower level.
You talked about being mentally strong. Can you tell me what that looks like for you?
I grew up in church and you gotta have faith. If you wake up and think this is the end of it, then good luck. God didn’t bring me this far to leave me. You learn to read a lot and sharpen your mind because you’ll have a lot of time with yourself. You have to learn how to learn and stay busy which is why I wrote my book there. If you get into a lane with nothing to do that’s when you start getting used as a test dummy, torpedo, etc. People will turn to drugs because they don’t want to do the time so they try to escape the mental space.
What legacy do you hope to leave behind?
I want 40 Tons to be a worldwide brand. I want to be known for starting the trend of making it cool to be a brand for the prisoner. We want all our prisoners to have brands and businesses too. We want to be the blueprint for incarcerated individuals who started this when it was still marijuana and no one was calling it cannabis. For all the legacy guys to be at the forefront. We did the equity row at MJBiz Con and we brought 16 brands from across the world all socially impacted brands to share our space with them.
40 Tons To Freedom
Just because someone carries well doesn’t mean it is not heavy. I carried the 40 tons well. I carried the sentence well. I’m carrying learning one of the toughest industries well. It’s not like selling jackets where you’ll have tons of people who came before—this industry is constantly changing the rules. It’s one of the hardest to grow in and we are carrying that well. It is a part of us my team and my brand that no matter what we go through we will carry it well.
If you want to keep up or get involved, follow the 40 Tons brand and Coravin Cooper on Instagram.
27 YEARS IN PRISON for CANNABIS
By Edwin Rubis
September 1999, in Houston, Texas, I sat all alone. I was without shoes or underwear and dressed in a paper hospital gown. The walls of the jail cell felt claustrophobic. The cold and dampness went unnoticed.
All I could think about was the crying agony of my mother when the judge struck the gavel and said, “I hereby sentence you to 40 years”; the look on my wife Sara’s face, as if she was a statue, holding baby Austin in her arms, and our three-year-old son, Keanu, standing aside her, rubbing his eyes with both hands, utterly confused about the court proceedings.
For hours I had been pacing back and forth inside the cell, muttering deliriously “Forget about your family!” “You are going to die behind bars!” “You’re not getting out of this!”
Following the sentencing hearing, I told my court-appointed attorney standing next to me, “I am going to kill myself” in a low voice. Unfortunately, he alerted the U.S. Marshals and the Harris County deputies, and the result was immediate. I was placed in isolation under a prolonged suicide watch (the second time since my arrest on May 27, 1998.)
Days later I’d acquiesce, relent, and agree to not harm myself. Then I was released back into the jail’s general population.
Paying the Price
Ever since the day of my arrest, and now conviction and sentence, I had tried to comprehend the federal charges for conspiracy to distribute marijuana. “No guns, no money, no drugs,” I had argued with my court-appointed attorney.
“The government can prove conspiracy through hearsay testimony from the snitches,” he had said right before we proceeded to trial, a little bit too late by then. More than a few snitches testified against me (including the leaders of the conspiracy) to obtain a reduced sentence for their misdeeds. On the other hand, my attorney failed to call any witnesses—not my family, not even me.
I spent a year and a half at the Harris County jail after my arrest. Then, I was transferred to a federal maximum-security prison in Beaumont, Texas. It had earned the name “Bloody Beaumont”. The violence was savage and often unexpected. No hand-tohand fighting—arguments and disagreements were settled with homemade shanks. Gang members tried to keep a handle on the facility through prison politics. It worked some of the time. Mostly it ended with someone getting stabbed, often resulting in death. Then there were the money extortions. The rapes of the weak and vulnerable. The heroin overdoses. The torture of the inmates housed in the Special Housing Unit (“the hole”.. And of course, the long-term lockdowns in our prison cells.
The Years Begin to Go By
I continued to suffer from depression and anxiety. I earned more than one disciplinary infraction for not following the rules, and for getting high on drugs. I couldn’t seem to adapt. I couldn’t face the grim reality that I was going to serve decades in prison. I began to trade my food trays for sleeping pills so I could sleep all day and night—ineffective ways to numb the pain of being away from my wife and sons and try to escape the hopelessness of my dismal situation. I didn’t cut my hair or shave or iron my prison greys. The other prisoners and gang members left me alone. They thought I was losing my mind. Even my cellmate just let me be.
Shortly thereafter I was diagnosed with a thyroid condition. They sent me out to the community hospital for surgery. When I was brought back to prison, I was denied medication for more than three weeks. I almost died.
Weeks and months came and went. Every day I woke up to the same prison reality: violence, tasteless and inedible food, missing my wife and children, indefinite lockdowns, and the constant psychological torture doled out by my captors. The reality was made worse by the fact that I had lost my visits and phone privileges for a year—due to disciplinary write-ups and incident reports. Penned letters to my children and wife became hard to write because of the way I was feeling; because of the demons of depression.
Finding Strength in Faith
Then one day I was reminded of the faith I once professed. The higher power I turned to after I was released from suicide watch in the county jail. A faith that wavered when I’d think of my sentence and the financial difficulties my wife was facing out in the streets.
But despite my wavering and doubting faith, it was faith that lifted me out of the pit of desperation and hopelessness. It was faith that delivered me from a depressive state of mind I wore like a dirty cloak threaded with doubt and despair. It was this same faith that comforted and carried me when my wife left me after five years of incarceration. I cried, no doubt. Not because she left, but because the system destroyed our marriage, and severed the relationship I had with my three sons; a broken relationship that continues today. I’ve never had the opportunity to meet the eldest of my sons in person. The youngest one, Austin, struggles with mental instability and roams the streets without any direction.
Year after year I have experienced loss, violence, psychological turmoil, and trauma. I’ve missed many of my sons’ birthdays and all their graduations. I’ve spent every holiday and waking moment in a place of solitude, darkness, and negativity. The punishment I received for a non-violent marijuana crime was constantly hanging over my head. I’ve asked for clemency, no doubt. But at this stage, it doesn’t really matter. Four presidents have denied me mercy. Bush, Obama, Trump, and now Biden have all said “We deny you reprieve.”
Now it’s 2025. I’ve been in prison for 27 years—and counting. Faith is the mechanism keeping me alive. Without it, I’d have taken my own life long ago. Others have done it. Hanging a sheet over the sprinkler rail, shooting up an overdose of heroin mixed with fentanyl, and slitting a wrist with a razor blade. Faith is what’s compelling me to not go out like a victim, to not allow this prison experience to define me for what it is worth.
Plus, it’s a little bit late to surrender. I’ve already carried the heaviest load. A few more summers and winters and I’ll be home. A few more years to the finish line and I’ll earn my crown for not giving up; for not breaking. For not accepting the words of the prosecutor when I refused to snitch, “I am going to bury you alive!”
Prosecutor, you did not win. You lost. Forty years have taught me resilience. Forty years has given me the freedom to choose how to respond to what happens to me at any given moment—even if that moment is about to reach 10,000 days in prison.
Edwin Rubis is a non-violent cannabis prisoner serving 40 years in federal prison. He has been in prison since 1998.
You can help Edwin obtain his freedom: tinyurl.com/FreeEdwinRubis
You can send Edwin a personal text message through Corrlinks: (256) 770-4280
You can also support Edwin by buying his book “Unlocking Potential: Life Tips To Finding Your Greatness” on Amazon.
POT BROTHERS AT LAW
Q&Awith MARC & CRAIG WASSERMAN
By Dustin Hoxworth & Jessica Reilly-Chevalier
In a world where cannabis laws continue to evolve, knowing your rights and how to protect them is more important than ever. The Pot Brothers at Law, Marc and Craig Wasserman are world-renowned for their expertise in cannabis law and have become some of the most trusted voices when it comes to educating the public on how to safely navigate encounters with law enforcement. Their simple yet powerful mantra of "Shut The Fuck Up" emphasizes the importance of staying silent and protecting your freedom.
By following their advice, you avoid self-incrimination and safeguard your rights, which will make sure you remain on the right side of the law and hopefully out of jail. Whether you’re a cannabis consumer or advocate, listening to the Pot Brothers is essential for navigating the legal landscape with confidence and security, which is why we thought a Q&A with the Brothers would not only be relevant, but extremely useful to us all.
Above all, remember: cops are not your friends.
1. What's the number one thing people need to know if they're stopped by cops?
When you see lights pull over immediately in a safe space, turn off the engine, roll down the driver's window enough to pass documents (if tinted windows roll them all down), and place your hands on the steering wheel. Keep your license, insurance, and registration clipped to the visor so when you have to reach for it, your hands move from the steering wheel right up to the visor to grab and hand to the cop. If they tell you to exit the vehicle you do so, so they are not ripping you out of the car, as we all have seen.
Do not get confused between complying with their demands and them saying you are “not cooperating with them.” Cooperation means complying with their physical demands and handing over registration, ID, and insurance. It does not mean you have to discuss your day with them or answer any of their questions.
2. Can the cops lie to you?
Yes!!! Let’s say that again—YES YES YES!!! They can say whatever they want to get you to talk. They are trained this way to get you to talk and ask questions, even if it is small talk. They will try to imply
you have something to hide if you do not talk or do not consent to a search. Do not fall for this tactic. Simply indicate you are invoking your constitutional rights.
3. I get arrested for cannabis—what do I need to do next?
You need to keep your mouth shut the entire time while in custody. Call the person you trust to help bail you out. It's always a good idea to have someone you trust have the number to a bail bondsman just in case you need to bail out. That’s step one. Step two call 855WASSLAW
4. What do I do if the cops don't know the law? (like using the smell of cannabis ALONE as probable cause to search my car)
All you can do is stick to our 29-word Script, Shut the F@CK Up and NEVER CONSENT TO SEARCHES. It’s your attorney’s job to know the law.
The last thing you want to do is try and show up the cop that you know more than them AT THE TIME OF THE STOP, (a lot don’t like that.) Whether or not they know the law will show up during the court case.
Again, never consent to the search, no matter what. If you do, then we cannot fight the search, EVEN IF IT WAS ILLEGAL AND LAW ENFORCEMENT LIED
5. If I'm a medical patient traveling over state lines, what do I need to know about protecting my medicine?
There is nothing you can do to protect it, it’s ILLEGAL, PERIOD! Always keep it in the trunk in a smell-proof container, if you are unsure of any state laws, as the smell may be probable cause to search your entire vehicle, or that alone may not be probable cause.
The best course of conduct is to google the state you are passing through, look at their possession laws and make sure your car does not smell going through those states.
6. I have CBD, but the cops thought it was THC. I'm in a prohibition state. What should I do?
Hopefully, you stuck to The Script and kept your mouth shut. Once the case starts your attorney can have the evidence tested. If it tests as CBD with less than .3% THC, case dismissed.
7. If I get a ticket for weed-related charges (like carrying more than the legal limit) should I try to fight it myself, pay the fine, or pay a lawyer?
NEVER try to fight it yourself. Consult an attorney always. When we are doing consultations, we tell you the hard cold truth (whether you like it or not.) With a criminal defense case, you either have something that’s defendable or you’re fucked and need to cut a deal.
8. The cops arrested me for cannabis and used excessive force. What are my rights and recourse?
This is where it’s so important to use “The Script” and adhere to our suggestion that you comply with all physical commands. When they use physical force, they claim it’s for their protection and safety. If you have said the 29 words politely, complied with physical commands, and still they beat you up, you will have a great civil rights case to pursue.
9. Weed is legal in many states. Are people still being arrested for cannabis?
Yes, we get cases every week for possession of over the legal limit, sales, and transportation charges. Cannabis is NOT fully legal in ANY state. There is partial legalization and partial decriminalization. In each state where they say it is “Legal”, “Adult Use” or even “Medical”, there are still limits and laws that can be broken that people can get arrested for.
Possession of more than 1 oz in California is a misdemeanor; some other states have higher limits. You simply cannot buy 28.5 oz of legal cannabis at a licensed store in California because that’s .5 grams more than the 1 OZ limit if it is adult use.
In California, if you have your medical card, you can possess up to 8 oz. We highly recommend people get their medical cards, even if in a state that has adult use. That is the law in California, we always recommend Googling your State on the limits for adult use and medical, as they are different in each State as well.
10. I can't afford an attorney. What resources can I share with my public defender to fight my cannabis charges?
For cannabis cases, there is great information on norml.org, along with attorney referrals. You can also use a public defender, which at times can be very helpful. With AI and ChatGPT, you can find a lot of great information about the laws in your state that could help you in court.
POT BROTHERS AT LAW 29 WORD SCRIPT
“Why did you pull me over?”
“I’m not discussing my day.”
“Am I being detained, or am I free to go?”
If they say you’re detained, you say “I invoke the Fifth.”
At this point, you stop talking completely. If they continue questioning you after invoking the Fifth?
Ask for your lawyer. once you’ve invoked the Fifth—shut the f@ck up.
PRO TIP: Silence is your shield. Use it wisely.
BLOCK CHERRY
Lineage: Black Cherry Punch x Tropicana Cookies
Photo by Derrall Peach
‟ THE MOST POWERFUL WEAPON ON EARTH IS THE HUMAN SOUL ON FIRE. ”
— Ferdinand Foch
THE MAKING of a GENTLEMAN SMUGGLER
By Bri Smith
The Vietnam War and the Civil Rights Movement were in full swing when it all began for Barry Foy. It was the late 1960s, and Foy was living in Columbia, South Carolina, where the Country’s largest Army training base, Fort Jackson, was located. This base saw hundreds of thousands of combat-ready military personnel preparing to risk their lives in a foreign war.
A young and whip-smart Foy had friends and acquaintances on both sides of the political spectrum—some in the military and others on the front lines of the civil justice movement. But regardless of their perspectives, they all found themselves sitting at the same bartops downtown to unwind after a hard day’s work. While the smell of whiskey and scotch tinged the bar’s air, many of Foy’s friends and acquaintances yearned for the aromas of something a little more skunky.
“Hey, Foy, d’you know where I can get some weed?” they’d ask.
Foy, a natural problem-solver and entrepreneur, saw an opportunity to fill a need. Before long, he wasn’t just helping a friend or two.
“I found myself bringing enough for all the guys. Maybe 50 or 60 guys every Friday or Saturday night,” said Foy. It was a way for people to process everything that was happening, and to cope with what they knew was coming.
“I was filling a desperate need. One thing led to another, and I connected with some folks in Jamaica. We were young and adventurous. So I went out to Jamaica and secured some product to come back. Selling to GIs was the launching pad for smuggling pot into the United States.”
A New Normal and New Locations
As Foy embarked on journeys to Jamaica, Colombia, and Lebanon, he realized it was time for a better location. That’s when he relocated to Florida.
From about 1971 through the mid-’70s, Foy and his crew of smuggling friends felt fairly safe. The police were clueless as to what was happening right under their noses—hundreds of pounds of cannabis routinely making their way to the U.S. via Foy’s fleet of sailboats. With sophisticated decoys, complex laundering operations, and hidden treasure troves of their profits, the gentlemen smugglers and their lady pirate compatriots seemed to defy all efforts of local police and investigators.
As Florida became a battleground for smuggling other drugs into the United States, Foy felt pressed to leave. He didn’t want any part in violence or narcotics. As soon as he felt them catching on, they’d relocate.
The War On The Kingpin
When Reagan started pouring taxpayer dollars into the War on Drugs, the Gentlemen Smugglers started to feel the heat. What had started as shipments of 400 lbs in the mid-’70s, turned into several hundred thousand pounds (370,000 lbs to be exact) in the mid-’80s. With each turn, the Feds got closer and closer, but couldn’t ever catch them in the act. This made the Feds double down on Foy in a sting they called Operation Jackpot.
“It gradually got to where the government was determined to stop us. I was on the run for three and a half years—from ‘81 to ’85.” Foy recalled.
“They were always looking. Harassing my family, friends, and associates—trying to intimidate them. They’d pressure people, accuse them of harboring a fugitive, and threaten them with 20 years if they didn’t divulge numbers and info. Through intimidation, they got a lot of information.”
The Feds started to track where money was being spent, and small mistakes formed the cracks in the protective shield they had built for themselves.
“They never caught me doing any overt acts—sitting on a boat full of bales or moving product. We’d be somewhere, and they’d get there a day late. We consistently outfoxed them.”
They never would catch Foy and his sophisticated crew of smugglers in the act, but they sniffed out the money and followed the trail. They tracked them to their auto-body shops, tracked their real estate transactions, found their attorneys, banks, and eventually, where they lived. The Feds used the offshore corps Foy and his crew set up for transactions to find out who they were, and what their full list of assets were. That helped them build their case against the Gentleman Smugglers.
Every Race Comes To an End
In March of 1985, Foy had planned a delivery for New York City. He packed 12 bags, his wife, and children, and boarded a flight from Aspen to New York. But the Feds had other plans. After years of tailing the Gentlemen Smugglers, a contact in New York City divulged Foy’s alias and travel plans. The Feds were ready and waiting at the airport for his arrival.
“They were on the flight. I looked at the back of the plane. I looked at my kids and wife. But there was nowhere to go. I didn’t put up a fight. I knew it was over and they arrested me onboard.”
Foy was sentenced to 18 years behind bars for his role in smuggling nearly a half million pounds of flower and hash from Jamaica, Colombia, and Lebanon.
Surviving Behind Bars
The things you’ve heard about being behind bars are true. There’s violence. The food is horrible. You’re removed from almost all the luxuries of the outside world, including small things like doing your own laundry, making food, or even picking what to watch on TV. Foy went from living the life of an ocean-sailing, weed-smoking, cash-rich free agent to having his every move monitored.
“They tell you when to eat, sleep, shit. It took some getting used to. I decided I’d make the most of it. I went back to school to get my BA in business. I wasn’t going to let the time do me,” Foy recounted.
After a few years, he was placed in the kitchen as a cook. He told tales of happily corrupting the guards to get him whatever
he wanted—fine cheeses, olive oil, liquor, and… you won’t believe this. Weed.
“The prison yard was huge. We could slip off to smoke a joint without tipping anyone off. The hard part was getting it in,” smiled Foy. “We could get twenty dollars worth of quarters each week to use in vending machines. I’d take $300 or $400 in quarter rolls and tape them to the guard’s chests to get me things I wanted.”
What stuck out to Foy was the abundance of great people who accompanied him in prison. Kind people, smart people.
People who didn’t agree with the laws or who got caught up in technicalities now spent their time as prisoners, all while those who were deemed fit to enforce the rules were subject to their own lawlessness and bribes—up and down the system. Nevertheless, Foy enjoyed being ‘one of the good ones’.
“I was well taken care of and I took care of people. I developed a routine and that helped the time go by. I made the most of my time.”
As we discussed his experience in prison, he paused to breathe and wiped tears from his eyes. In all the storytelling and recounting of facts, it all came rushing back. While there were moments of glory, wealth, and a righteous bucking of the system over this plant, what choked him up was the memory and pain of being separated from his wife and children.
“They were 2 and 4 when I went in. They were teenagers when I got out. I had a great wife and she did an amazing job raising them. It took us a while to adjust back into the family unit when I got out in 1995—approximately 11 years later. Orgs like the Last Prisoner Project stepped in to help provide some support to families, but the government is very draconian. They don’t care about the impact on the family,” Foy stated emphatically.
Eleven Years Changes A Man
On the day Foy was released, he felt numb. “They just drop you out and give you no support, therapy, or counseling of any kind. You’re in a totally different world than it had been 10 years prior. Cell phones and computers had become popular while I was in prison. It was all new to me.”
After prison, they sent Foy to a halfway house to reacclimate. He had work release each day but otherwise was confined to the halfway house.
“I sat outside and watched the cars go by and it made me dizzy. They were going too fast at just 25 miles an hour. You don’t realize just how fast things move when you’re forced to slow down.”
Foy stopped again to take a moment to breathe and shed a few tears. As we walked through the intimate details of his experience, everything resurfaced.
“They take everything you love—your family, your kids, so much of your life is taken from you. Even just a day can change you. But 11 years really changes you. It’s very emotional. I am in therapy now and I get help to deal with these dark moments so I can continue to become a better person. I know I don’t ever want to go back.”
Once a Gentleman Smuggler, Always A Gentleman Smuggler
Having re-acclimated to life outside the prison system and reunited with old friends and family, Foy and his old partners set off on a multi-year film project documenting the stories of the Gentleman Smugglers. They started discussing the opportunities that legalization and the Farm Bill were presenting them.
Henry McMaster, a classmate Foy attended school with years ago and hard-pressed U.S. State Attorney who headed up Operation Jackpot now serves as the governor of South Carolina. I think it’s safe to say he won’t be changing his mind regarding cannabis anytime soon. But what couldn’t stop Foy in the ‘70s and ‘80s won’t stop him today. While Foy is now committed to doing things by the book, he’s poised to use the book to get what he wants.
30 years removed from his final days behind bars, Foy is back in the cannabis game under the same moniker from his glory days.
“I don’t have too much fear—that’s what got me in trouble… but I still know what state I’m in. I know if I’m walking around with a bag of weed, I can get in trouble. So, I founded the brand in Massachusetts, where cannabis is legal. People respect the legacy of the brand and what I went through, and I’m very appreciative of that. People know we’ve paid our dues.”
Foy has gone on to launch the brand in several legal states and sells hemp products under the same brand name in states where cannabis is still illegal.
As we wrapped up our conversation, I asked how he felt today. After regaining his freedom, rebuilding his relationship with his children, and reclaiming his moniker, he’s a happy man. He hopes to witness federal de-scheduling or legalization in his lifetime. His wish is to see more people in the cannabis industry focused on helping those who are still serving time for non-violent cannabis offenses. To learn more about Foy’s brand and the epic stories of running from the law visit www. gentlemansmugglers.com
ByMattJerome
Cannabis is one of the strongest and most unique friendships I have. I think of it as my stoic confidant with an infinite number of faces, each one whispering balance back into my life. A friend who has always been there for me without judgment, only aid. Akin to our real friends, some bonds stand above the rest. We develop friendships that survive time, distance, and silence. Friendships where the conversation is never over, it's simply unfinished - no beat skipped.
Reuniting with these connections is an irreplaceable feeling. To unexpectedly see an old friend and remember all the memories you have made together is magic. For me, cannabis is no different. Names like Skunk, Widow, Northern, Blueberry, Sour Diesel, and Romulan stir up these feelings of longing. I truly miss these friends. As a medical patient, my life has been saved more than once by each of them, and I know I’m not the only one. This is why my standards are as high as they come. As a patient and Ganjier, I crave the craft experience every single time. I crave… the traditional market.
Who is Victoria Cannabis Company?
Thanks to the Victoria Cannabis Company, of Vancouver Island, British Colombia, I’ve been bestowed this nostalgia. From my first puff, I could taste the 25+ years of legacy experience and passion. Flavours of my past filled the palate and mind, forcing me to stop dead in my tracks and savour the moment with closed eyes.
VCC’s main goal is to represent the historic traditional market of Vancouver Island, a place near to every Canadian enthusiast’s heart. It is an island that has brought us so many wonderful cultivars that acted as the foundational pillars of today's cannabis. Like much of history, these relics have been cast aside for newer and more vibrant cultivars, but Kyp Rowe and his team, like me, believe in the past.
VCC is proudly doing the work necessary to preserve and reintroduce these cultivars in style through their beautiful new Farmgate outlet. This location will act as the flagship 'front of house’ to their multi-license establishment, where VCC has curated a selection not available anywhere else in Canada. As you shop, you will be close to the plants with the chance to genuinely meet people who know them as intimately as possible. It's truly an experience.
The choice was tough, but one of these exceptional selections I chose to review is Rainbow Marker, bred by L.I.T. Farms and expertly grown by Taylor King and the V.C.C. team. It is a cross between Permanent Marker and Sunset Sherbert 11. As a truly unique cultivar, it's easy to see why it made the cut. Enjoy!
Aroma 8.4/10
Earthy, peppery, buttery, oily turpentine with a light floral essence. Strong gas-base with a detergent-like flare. Intense, clean, and crisp. Slight spice and earthy quality to the mix. Herb and pepper. Always drawn back to the detergent-like soapy aroma. It has a dairy-toned kick to it. Makes me imagine a hunk of butter melting in turpentine on a campfire, in the middle of a gas-soaked forest.
When milled, the pepper, earth, and fuel aroma stand tall in the foreground of the buttery, oily detergent. Fuel has evolved and become sweeter, reminiscent of a classic OG. Very light and fresh while maintaining pungency.
Appearance 8.3/10
Healthy, light green base with vibrant purple and crimson hues and flickers. Healthy blood orange pistols. Fantastic trim job that has kept the majority of the trichomes in good shape. Frosty nugs that hold consistency throughout the bud. Simply gorgeous cannabis.
A Ganjier Review of Rainbow Marker by Victoria Cannabis Company
Flavor 8.6/10
Oily, gassy astringent comes through heavily. Full-bodied complex smoke with a very satisfying mouth feel. Smooth but intense. Has a fruity/floral taste to it that wasn't present in the aroma—lillies and blackberries. Aptly named as I'm getting flavors of colored markers from my childhood (you know the ones). Its clean astringent base with floral fruit and gas overtones are incredibly well-complimented. One of the most complex smoke I've come across in a while. Layers upon layers with this cultivar.
Well done, Kyp. My joint is burning like a candle.
Experience 8.9/10
Halfway through the assessment I genuinely debated just stopping to enjoy this cannabis. It's one of the highest compliments I can give. My body is extremely relaxed, calm, and balanced and I can feel the mind getting there, quickly. This is genuine medicinal cannabis. Balance is being achieved effectively and efficiently. My pain begins to dull, my mind begins to slow, and my thoughts become brighter. I feel better discernably than I did before I started smoking. Something any patient needs. This is crisp, flavorful, effective cannabis at its finest.
Prison Laffy Taffy RecipE
By Kelly Kreutzer
Iwanted to highlight the creativity and resourcefulness of incarcerated individuals through a recipe that was created in prison. I discovered this Prison Laffy Taffy recipe on the Prison Journalism Project website, which features independent journalism by those behind bars: prisonjournalismproject.org. The recipe was created by E.D.H., a poet from Compton, Los Angeles, currently serving time in California and aiming to publish his work under a pen name.
Ingredients
• 6 oz package of powdered nondairy creamer
• 8 single-serve packs of any flavored Kool-Aid
Supplies
Plastic bowl
Plastic Knife
Plastic spoon
Plastic/latex gloves
Unused plastic bag
If you’re fortunate enough to cook on the outside, substitute 1 tablespoon of the powdered creamer with infused sugar or kief for an extra twist.
Directions
1. Pour the creamer into the plastic bowl.
2. Add the Kool-Aid packs on top of the creamer.
3. Pour in 2 tablespoons of water and mix thoroughly (no more than that to avoid compromising the consistency.)
4. Knead the mixture by hand, blending the powder with the wet ingredients.
5. Shape the mixture into a ball.
6. Stretch and fold the ball together, then roll it back into a ball.
7. Repeat steps 5 and 6 until the mixture is smooth.
8. Flatten the mixture onto the unused plastic bag.
9. Cut into pieces.
10. Enjoy!
A
DAUGHTER'S JOURNEY
AN INTERVIEW with JASMINE SCARMAZZO: BORN into
CANNABIS ACTIVISM
By Daniel Crawford
Prior to 2004, it was unlikely for children outside of California to have had a parent return home from a long day of work carrying the unmistakable aroma of weed. For a young child born into a family with a parent who has been in the cannabis industry since its inception, and who now owns one of the first medical dispensaries, this reality is simply a normal part of life.
If you are familiar with cannabis incarcerations, you may have heard of Luke Scarmazzo. Cannabis arrests and the prison sentences that followed can seem like a thing of the past with how quickly legalization has spread across the country. But there are those who are still paying the price, locked away, while a billion-dollar industry unfolds without them.
Luke began running a legal California medical dispensary in 2004 under the Prop. 215 and in 2006, he was arrested by the DEA in a raid of his dispensary. Even though state law allowed the dispensary, the Federal Government did not.
The EarlY Years
As those with generational connections to cannabis say, Jasmine Scarmazzo was “born into” the cannabis industry in 2002. She was in kindergarten when her father, Luke, was arrested and sentenced to nearly 22 years in Federal prison in 2008.
Hearing her story immediately hit me in the feels. I couldn’t help but think of my own daughter and how she would feel and react and the hurt she would experience. My little girl is the same age Jasmine was when her father was first incarcerated. I could feel what her dad must have been feeling when it all went down and it was gut-wrenching just to imagine.
Jasmine could recall from very early on there was something special and different about her family from the other families in her community. Owning the first legal dispensary in the Central Valley, California Healthcare Collective, in the early 2000s wasn’t exactly a normal childhood experience.
Even though she was young and didn’t fully understand the underlying politics, she could sense a division within their conservative community about the way her family was perceived. There was a distinct split between those who supported and praised their efforts and those who thought they were doing something terrible. When Jasmine’s father was arrested, her entire life turned upside-down in the blink of an eye.
For Jasmine, time barely ticked by as she began counting down the days, months, and years until her dad would finally get to come home. She adapted to a new life in a single-mom household. As she grew, she wished her dad was able to protect her and her Mom from the normal wares of life, but nevertheless, the family persisted. Unfortunately, as the years dragged by, this reality became their normal.
Growing Up—Legal Rollercoasters
Parenting can be a formidable challenge even in the most ideal situations, but parenting effectively from prison presents a unique set of obstacles. Jasmine’s mother played a vital role in nurturing her relationship with her father, bridging the physical distance between them. Jasmine’s father was able to remain a constant presence in her life, attending parent-teacher conferences, ballet and piano recitals, and sports matches in spirit, even though he couldn’t be there in person. This allowed Jasmine to maintain a strong bond with her father through some of life’s most pivotal moments.
Having a close relationship with her father allowed Jasmine to know her dad was somewhere and she was waiting for him. There was always hope of an early release. After all, the industry was not only budding in California but also spreading like a weed across the country.
Jasmine moved to Jersey City when she was 18 to be closer to her extended family. It was here she began working as a bartender and modeling. After turning 21, she got her start in the cannabis industry.
Year after year, for 15 years, Luke’s case was up for appeals. Each denial would take the family on a roller-coaster ride they would never have chosen to get on. In 2016, after 10 years in prison, President Obama was petitioned for commutation. Luke
Daniel: How was your relationship with cannabis growing up?
Jasmine: I grew up around cannabis. I didn’t hate it, but I hated what it was becoming without my dad. My dad, just like my mom, is one of my best friends. He’s a superhero. He’s such a boss to me. I can’t wait to walk in his footsteps and really put our story out there and try to make positive change with it.
As those with generational connections to cannabis say, Jasmine Scarmazzo was “born into” the cannabis industry in 2002. She was in kindergarten when her father, Luke, was arrested and sentenced to nearly 22 years in Federal prison in 2008.
was denied after his business partner, Ricardo Montes, who was serving a similar sentence, received clemency
When President Trump was about to leave office in January 2020, Jasmine and her family were notified Luke would be among those pardoned. The paperwork, they were assured, was on the President’s desk.
His bags were packed, but for untold reasons, Trump never signed his pardon. Jasmine and her family would have to wait another devastating three years before he’d actually be released from prison.
Luke’s Homecoming
A petition filed in 2019 for Luke’s compassionate release was finally granted in February 2023 by the US District Court of Eastern California. Early that morning, Jasmine received a phone call from her father. “I’m coming home today.” After asking if he was serious, reality started to set in. She screamed with joy until the neighbors asked if everyone was alright. She booked a plane ticket and for the first time in 15 years got to hug her father as a free man. It was a surreal feeling after so many close calls and missed opportunities.
Q&A with Jasmine
Since his release, Jasmine has come full circle and is now working in the cannabis industry with her father. They are business partners with their brand Prophet. Ironically, Luke is unable to consume or possess cannabis due to his federal probation.
Daniel: Did your perception change from when you were a kid? Because I could imagine being sort of spiteful about a plant that ultimately caused your dad to go to jail.
Jasmine: I just had so many mixed emotions about how I wanted to support this upcoming industry without my dad here. I didn’t know where my place was.
Going to the East Coast and meeting a bunch of advocates was a huge part of my heart shifting for the plant. There were so many people who cared and advocated for him to come home and I met the women who advocated for me my whole life. They literally showed up for my dad in ways that he couldn’t.
I was like, Okay, I want to do exactly what you’re doing and meet little girls like me who are going through these feelings.
My feet are completely planted in advocacy. It is such a huge thing for me to change the mass incarceration of cannabis prisoners. There are around 3000 cannabis prisoners still incarcerated, and I think half of them have families. So just spreading awareness now, loving the plant, and finding my connection with the plant is special and I’m evolving with it right now.
Daniel: An absolute full circle for you and your dad to now be able to grow your business together.
Jasmine: Yes, it’s so cool, working with my dad and just being his right hand. It is so awesome to see the respect that he has in the industry and how much people care.
I lived in Modesto, California my whole life. Everyone’s dads are in prison. Everybody consumes cannabis. This is the norm. This is the regular. But it’s not normal. I didn’t know that my whole life, it’s not supposed to be like that. Now that I’m in a different position looking at the bigger picture. All I want to do is help.
Home Grown with Jim Berry
Welcome back to Home Grown! I feel blessed to not have a relatable story for this issue. I have not, nor has anyone dear to me, been in any serious legal trouble over the use or cultivation of this miraculous plant.
The closest I’ve ever come was sweating it out with a sheriff’s deputy as we stood outside my home. Back in those days, law enforcement had a hard-on for caregivers. My neighbor had his caregiver grow raided by the sheriff’s department a couple of months prior. He was nowhere to be found and they were asking me if I knew anything about his activities or whereabouts.
Of course, I said nothing helpful—because snitches get stitches. But we had this conversation right next to where I was venting heat from my grow room out the side of my house. To the unaware, it just looked like an oversized dryer vent. As for the smell, let’s just say, HUGE shoutout to Phresh inline carbon filters.
That conversation was it. He left and I finished my panic attack, smoked a joint, and went about my day. I wasn’t arrested. I didn’t go to jail. I certainly didn’t go to prison, as many have and where many still sit today. It’s important to honor them and tell their stories. Many literally paved the way for my cozy little home that I get the opportunity to share with you.
Feeding Salts v. Soils
In this issue, I am going to tackle one of the most heated, most controversial, most polarizing issues in cannabis… feeding with salts v. soils.
In order to grow a thriving, happy cannabis plant, a lot of boxes have to be checked – the right light, temperature, water, CO2, and, of course, nutrients. There are 17 elements that are essential for proper plant growth. The plant is able to uptake three of these (hydrogen, oxygen, and carbon) directly from the air and water. The rest are absorbed through the root system from the substrate.
That substrate could be made from any number of materials, but as home growers, soil, coco, and rockwool are mostly commonly available. Rockwool and coco are inert, having little to no nutritional value for the plant. They are just a place for nutrients, water, and oxygen to be available to the plant through the root system, or rhizosphere.
Soils have nutrients already available from the decomposed organic matter that makes up part of its structure. A wellmanufactured soil will be nutritionally complete: plenty of water and air-holding capacity and the proper pH for plant growth. Whether it has enough nutrition for the plant’s life cycle will depend on the demands of the plant and the overall volume of soil available to the plant.
All three of these substrates have the right pH. Coco will often have perlite added to improve air-holding capacity. But coco and rockwool rely on a steady supply of fertilizers to feed the plant. These fertilizers are typically dissolved into water before you irrigate the plants.
Unlike soil, the amount of substrate is less relevant, as long as the plant has a steady supply of fertilizers and water. In fact, it is often easier to manage the amount of fertilizer available to the plant in a smaller container. But the smaller the container, the more often it will dry out and the more often you will have to water. If you choose to grow in an inert substrate, you may eventually look into an automated irrigation system that you can set to water multiple times a day while you’re living your life.
eventually have to feed the plant additional fertilizers. If I plan on irrigating with just plain water, I may plant into a pot that is 15 gallons or even larger. After a few cycles, you’ll find your sweet spot.
As a new grower, I started in soils, as they can be more forgiving. As a more experienced grower, I came back to soils. I’ve not only learned to maximize my yields, but I also enjoy the overall bouquet and effects of a soil-grown product.
Herein lies the controversy: does soil actually produce a more robust flower? Many would argue no. I disagree. But as your experience grows, you’ll get to decide for yourself. Each of us will develop our own style over time. There is no one perfect way to grow. You’re only competing with yourself and how well you did on your last round.
What’s Up With the Pot?
How big of a pot should you use? It depends on the substrate. I often suggest to new growers that if they choose coco, start with a one or two-gallon pot. Rockwool comes in blocks and a 6” cube is common, equal to about a gallon of substrate.
With soil, I like to say, “Go big, or go home.” But you’re already there. So start with at least a cubic foot or about 7 gallons. Even with a large pot, don’t be surprised if you
If you decide to start in soil, it can be simple: use (at minimum) 15 gallons of good-quality soil and irrigate with plain water. If you live in a municipality that treats the water with chlorine or chloramine, it’s a good idea to dechlorinate the water before you use it. If your water has chlorine, you can just fill a container and let it sit for 24 hours with no lid. The chlorine will slowly evaporate. Add a simple air bubbler to the container and the chlorine will evaporate much faster. If your water has chloramine instead, you’ll need to treat it
with an agent to remove the chloramine, something readily available at an aquarium supplier or online.
You don’t need to dechlorinate your water, but chlorine will kill bacteria and fungi that are living in the soil. Many of those microbes are beneficial to the plant, so removing the chlorine first will ultimately contribute to the overall health of the plant.
Overwatering, pH, and Electrical Conductivity
Probably the biggest mistake I see new soil growers make, besides choosing too small of a pot, is overwatering. Soils are
capable of holding much more water than coco or rockwool and roots need to breathe. An oversaturated pot is also a breeding ground for bacteria that is not beneficial to the plant. Try to keep the plant consistently moist. If you see excessive water running out of the bottom after a minute, fungus gnats flying around, or your pots are sitting in standing water, you’re watering too much.
Coco and rockwool hold less water. You almost can’t overwater them. But since the plant relies on a steady supply of fertilizers, it is much easier to over or underfeed them. For this reason, I recommend that you pick up a couple of tools that will make your life a lot easier: a pH (part hydrogen) meter and an EC (electrical conductivity) meter. You could pick up a set for as little as $20 on Amazon or spend $250 on a reliable combination meter from Bluelab.
The EC meter measures the amount of electrical resistance in your solution, which gives you an accurate idea of how concentrated the solution is. To keep it simple, aim for an EC of about 2.5. Adjust this number lower while they are vegging, or increase it if you notice a hungry plant in flower.
Mix your fertilizers according to the manufacturer’s recommendations, then measure the EC. If the EC is too low, add a bit more fertilizer. If the EC is too high, dilute the solution with plain water until the numbers hit.
will eventually cause the EC inside of the pot to spike. In simple terms, the water essentially becomes too thick with fertilizer and the plant isn’t able to drink efficiently. The plant won’t be able to properly cool itself and certain nutrients could reach toxic levels.
The build-up of nutrients will also affect the pH, likely lowering it. If the pH gets too low (or too high), the plant will no longer be able to uptake certain nutrients at all, which will cause a cascade of issues. Again, see the chart.
With coco and rockwool, It’s a good idea to slowly overwater them regularly. Not every time, but just a bit, enough to produce a little runoff. It’s the fluid that has slowly seeped through a saturated substrate and eventually out of the bottom. And each time, it will carry with it some of those extra fertilizers, helping prevent them from building up in the substrate.
Each element is absorbed best by the plant at a specific pH, different for each one. A pH meter will allow you to make sure that the pH of your solution is set to a “happy medium” where all elements can be absorbed efficiently enough. A good rule is to keep the pH of your solution between 5.8 and 6.0. Check out the nutrient uptake chart for reference. After mixing your nutrient solution, check the pH. Liquid products for adjusting the pH up or down are available at a hydroponic store or online. I recommend mixing in tiny amounts and rechecking the pH a few times. These products are usually fairly concentrated and it’s easy to overuse them, causing dramatic shifts in pH.
Whether you are lightly feeding soils, or consistently feeding rockwool or coco, there will be a propensity for unused fertilizer to build up inside of the container. That build-up
Measure the EC and pH of that runoff. Comparing those readings to the readings of your fertilizer solution gives you an idea if you are overfertilizing. If the numbers are drifting significantly, you’ll need to produce more runoff or cut back on the concentration of your fertilizer.
If you’re growing in soil, producing runoff is unnecessary and counterproductive. You’re already overwatering and you’re flushing valuable nutrients and microbial life right out the bottom. If you’re fertilizing soils, you may want to produce a little bit of runoff from time to time to check the EC and pH. Don’t be surprised if the EC of that runoff is very high, especially early in the grow cycle. I’ve seen EC readings from soil runoff that were over 6.0 and yet happy, healthy plants without a care in the world. Expect to see higher pH readings, even a little over 7.0. It’s completely natural for cannabis in soil and an excellent indicator that the pot is very much alive with beneficial bacteria, as they are largely inhibited and even killed by more acidic conditions.
This is just a primer on fertilizing options and techniques. But hopefully, it’s enough to set you on your journey or give you a lightbulb or two. Never give up on the journey. Never be done learning.
“ MARIJUANA IS AN ANCIENT MEDICINE BOTH SPIRITUAL AND PHYSICAL, AND ADDS COMFORT, EQUAL TO ANY HUMAN, IN MY DAILY LIFE. ”
— Sudi “Pebbles” Trippet
I had become a socialist & revolutionary.
PAYING TRIBUTE TO A LEGEND
A CONVERSATION with PEBBLES TRIPPET
By Leah Cerri
What do those of us working in the cannabis industry owe to those who came before us, particularly the advocates and activists who risked their freedom? What debt is due to those who gave so much so that we could openly enjoy this plant and be part of this community? These are questions I have been pondering since my time speaking with Pebbles Trippet.
Now 82 years old, Pebbles’ health is failing. She has COPD from Chronic Bronchitis. I had to wait several days until she felt well enough to speak with me. Each sentence was taxing. She relies on an oxygen tank to catch her breath. Initially, she seems very frail, but the spark in her eyes and the spirited fight in her voice, tells the tale of a life spent working for justice and dedicated to others.
I’ve read about your legal case and legacy as an advocate but I don’t know a lot about your childhood. Can you tell me about your early years growing up in Tulsa?
I came from a very dysfunctional family. I was the oldest of three sisters. I was born during World War II. My father was a lawyer and businessman who became a convicted swindler.
Unknown to me, he was amassing millions of dollars by ripping people off in tax shelters. He got away with it for 20 years until they finally caught him. The judge was a law school buddy, so he gave him one day in jail and a fine. He got a really good deal. My mother was a housewife. They were not a good mix. She came from a prominent Tulsa family, and she began drinking early on.
I read that you first became involved in protests against the war in Vietnam. Is that the first issue that mobilized you? Can you share about your civil rights work and how you got involved?
Mainly, I was motivated by the Civil Rights movement, the Emmit Till lynching and the Montgomery Bus Boycott. The 1955 bus boycott in Montgomery Alabama was the biggest influence on me. I was 13 and I watched it carefully. The bus boycott succeeded by staying together and being disciplined as a team.
At the time, Black people were basically the only people riding the buses, so when they organized and stopped, you’d only see empty buses driving all around the city. It made me realize, ‘That's how you win.’
In High School, I became friends with one of the four African American students at the school. I snuck her into the drive-in movie theater in the trunk of my car and then when it was clear, she would sit in the front with me as equals. In 1960, I became part of a team of activists who integrated the Tulsa Oklahoma lunchrooms, under the leadership of the Oklahoma City NAACP.
I went to college at the University Of Wisconsin at Madison and received several administrative violations, for staying out all night learning how to make love. They kicked me out. I went to the University of Oklahoma and I called an anti-war demonstration. 50 people showed up and we became a presence on the campus from then on. At some point, a bomb came in my front door, sent by the Minutemen. I was up reading at 3 am. Luckily, it didn’t go off. They weren't very good at what they did.
I was getting involved in feminism and the anti-war movement. There was not a day in the world that I didn't wake up thinking of the Vietnamese people and their
...the Trippet Standard... Having a standard named after me is
no small thing in itself.
fight. I spent four years in New York working against the war in Vietnam. Eventually, I got tired of New York. It’s cold, emotionally speaking and I was very friendly. I used to say ‘good people is my people.’ And New York didn’t care. So I left.
How did you first get involved in cannabis advocacy?
I had long dropped out of college to be an activist. I didn’t get busted for a while, but I was aware of the bad laws and took notice of what I’d learned from the bus boycott. I had become a socialist and revolutionary.
I have a good friend named Geb and we were both in the Socialist Workers Party. The SWP knew my opposition to the war and their anti-gay policy. Being bisexual, it appealed to me to oppose that openly. They brought me up on charges and kicked us out. I had already decided that they were too backward, those policies, the anti-gay policy, and the anti-weed policy were no good for me, not me!
I became a part of the pro-pot movement in 1972. It had just formed. We had gathered 100200 people to bring a statewide ballot for a vote. It's very difficult to do, it takes half a million signatures. We made it. We got all the signatures, got it on the ballot, and got 1/3 of the vote, 30 percent. I thought that was fantastic. We had never spoken to the American people about this and they came out with a decent amount of support. I said let's do it again next year. We made it on the ballot again but the Government wouldn't let us have it. So we didn’t get anywhere on the second try.
There is a procedure called the Amicus Brief, a friend of the court brief, where you ask the court to allow you to go to the US Supreme Court after losing in the lower appeals court. The brief was very simple. It said you have to be able to carry your medicine with you if it's otherwise legal to possess. Prop 215 made it legal to use, cultivate, and possess, but not transport. I was carrying leaf when I was busted. I needed it for medical use, for migraines I had since childhood.
Me and Geb sent 40 copies to the U.S. Supreme Court. The court said “rejected” and the Amicus Brief effort ended there, but I learned how to do it and I learned lawyers were not going to work for me or honor my position.
When it came time for the appeals court to consider my transportation case, which was a felony, the court grilled the lawyer that Tony Serra recommended. This lawyer wasn't any good, like all of them. So I fired him.
Susan Jordan, the well-known attorney, wanted to take the case and actually got it, through the backdoor. When I spoke with her and asked what would happen if we disagreed, she said that as the attorney, it would be up to her. So I fired her too.
The third thing was retroactivity because I was busted in all those counties before the law changed. So that’s three wins. But unfortunately, Dr. Mikuriya was investigated and prosecuted. They went after him and he had a heart attack, but he was our ticket to freedom and I honor him to this day.
I feel to this day, it was all well worth it, those 10 years worked out in my favor.
How do you feel about cannabis legalization and advocacy today?
I had already decided that they were too backward, those policies, the antigay policy, and the anti-weed policy were no good for me, not me!
In the meantime, Prop 215 passed in 1996, and in 1997 was our appeal. The court said you win, you are right, if you carry medicine that's otherwise legal for you to possess, you must be able to transport it with you, or the law is unconstitutional. But the prosecution disagreed and they decided on the standard.
Then in 2010, the county case came in front of the Supreme Court, and they affirmed I was right and instituted the Trippet Standard. Still to this day, the prosecutors don't recognize it. Because the prosecutors have decided that they still are not going to let the Trippet Standard stand, they still prosecute as if there is no Supreme Court ruling in my favor.
How do you feel about The Trippet Standard and it being named after you?
I won three things in the appeals court. The first thing was transportation applicability. They made it an implicit right since it wasn’t included in 215, and it became the 5th right in Prop 215.
The second thing I won was the Trippet Standard. It’s a general quantity standard, it allows you to have a “reasonably related” amount for your medical condition, and it prevails to this day even though they are ignoring it. Having a standard named after me is no small thing in itself.
The regulations are contrary to our community interests... it's not legalization. I've come to feel decriminalization is perhaps better than legalization. That's the point, to decriminalize it. Take the crime out of it. Stop the punishments.
The regulatory approach completely bamboozled us. Everyone is waiting in line for politicians to keep promises that mean nothing. Every marijuana law has a tax act attached to it. In Mendocino County, in particular, there is a section at the end of the law that covers “violations deemed misdemeanor.” If we know they are going to recriminalize us in the regulations, what have we gained? People are paying all this money for nothing. Most have gone back underground. Prohibition prevails.
Your fight helped pave the way for those of us who consume and work in cannabis today to do so openly. Do you hear that a lot from people and do you feel that your sacrifice is appreciated by the industry?
I do feel some [gratitude] now. But when I was challenging the laws, I wasn't supported. I became unpopular. I remember when I was working on the Amicus Brief, I asked Jeff Jones of the Oakland Cannabis Buyers Club if he could help to make the 40 copies of the brief to save me some money. He said they would do nothing to enable me to file my brief. That’s an example of the lack of support I came to expect in general.
Sometimes people come up to me now to thank me. I accept their love and change of heart. Although in my condition, just talking is hard and I often don’t want to. I need to conserve my energy for when I need to talk to people.
I have almost exhausted my funds. I’m trying to figure out how I can survive, now that I can't go out on the streets and vend. What’s next for getting a little scratch coming in.
If you feel called to make a financial contribution to help Pebbles, you can send it to: P.O. Box 1213 Laytonville, CA 95454 pebblestrippet@gmail.com
DRIVER,
SMUGGLER, ADVOCATE
AN INTERVIEW with RANDY LANIER
By June Blankin
If you are over 40 years old, you can probably recall the propaganda of D.A.R.E., Just Say No, and other anti-drug campaigns of the last four decades. The ads for these programs seemed to be in a constant loop on TV and radio. If that wasn’t enough, people would come to your school and preach the gospel of The War on Drugs and you had better listen!
A key part of these campaigns was our government’s belief that in order to deter criminals, drug offenders were given maximum sentences when caught, even when many of these crimes were non-violent. Congress supported these efforts, and even today, many people are still incarcerated while violent criminals have been paroled before them.
Knowing there were harsh laws in place, what made men and women take the risk to smuggle cannabis into the US? What inspired Randy Lanier, an accomplished race car driver, climbing to the top of his field, to risk it all?
The 1970's: A Dealer’s Dream
The 1970s were many things, but for a cannabis smuggler, it was the dream decade. Cannabis left the counterculture of the 60s to find herself becoming mainstream by the 70s. Herb was being smuggled from Mexico, Central America, the Bahamas, and other parts of the world. People from all walks of life were consuming, and there was money to be made, if one was willing to take the risk. Randy was 15, in high school, working construction and selling cannabis. He spent the next few years of his life establishing himself as a dealer bringing the contraband in via boat from the Florida canals. He was also busy getting married, having a baby, and becoming a racecar driver.
South Florida in the 70s, before the building boom, had many remote places to hide your stash and money. Houses sat on several acres and prices were affordable, so Randy
was able to purchase several homes to store his product and a place to hide the money. Randy paid cash for everything. He started a Jet Ski Rental business to legitimize his earnings. He fulfilled his dream of racing cars and became very good at it. He accomplished this all while smuggling more and more cannabis into the US.
Everyone Randy met seemed to be in the smuggling business, so life was great! The runs got larger and eventually Randy and his team met a group in Columbia that cultivated amazing cannabis. He now had a direct connection to the product, but it was 1982 and times were beginning to change. Reagan was president and the War on Drugs was full steam ahead.
The Anti-Drug 1980's
By the early eighties, cocaine had started to surpass cannabis as the drug of choice and the Reagan administration was hell-bent on keeping all drugs out of the US. History has shown prohibition doesn’t work, but the President was determined and he had the full support of the Congress behind him.
They concentrated on South Florida as the main source of where cannabis and cocaine were smuggled in. Overnight, the Coast Guard and Customs were outfitted with all the boats, radars, guns, and money needed to get those breaking the law.
Fast forward to 1987 and Randy’s fast-paced life came to a screeching halt while fishing off the coast of Antigua. He was picked up by the FBI and extradited to Illinois to face charges of creating a criminal enterprise, distribution of cannabis, and impeding the IRS. In total, he was sentenced to life, plus 45 years for all 3 charges.
Prison, 1987
Randy wrote his first night in prison felt like an “endless darkness, disappointing his parents and never getting to live with his children or wife.” Some days felt ok, but many brought dark, loneliness, and guilt of not being with your family or providing for them. It took seven years for the Feds to seize all his money and possessions. His family became targets for more arrests, accused of aiding and abetting, whether they did or not. Worst of all, Randy could do nothing because he was in jail.
Days turn into weeks, weeks into years, and years into decades. Randy helped other prisoners endure their stays in prison. He stayed mentally alert by taking classes and running the prison grounds to stay fit. Suddenly, it had been 19 years on the inside. All Randy could do was keep moving forward.
Randy says it was his empathy that saved him from the madness of his confines. He was able to help others, and through good behavior was eventually moved to a lower-security prison. Every few years, a parole hearing would happen, but the answer was always no. Randy kept the hope alive that one day it would change.
27 Years Behind Bars
27 years went by and Randy was granted an early release from prison. Rule 35 allows for a reduction in federal prison sentences under certain circumstances. Under the conditions of his release, Randy had to stay in a halfway house for six months on his way to freedom.
He was lucky: his wife Pam and children had been supportive through the years while many in similar positions lost their families. He served his time in prison and since his release had helped others find the path to becoming empathetic and grateful. During Randy’s prison term, the War on Drugs had become a complete failure. It was most successful at decimating families and bankrupting them in the process.
During the years of Randy’s incarceration, cannabis began to be hailed for its medicinal value, was decriminalized in many states, and became accepted by the masses. States were passing medical cannabis programs, opening dispensaries, and more. Many advocacy groups formed to help educate and advocate for the release of non-violent cannabis prisoners. Some of these groups advocated for Randy and to this day, he returns the favor.
Today, Randy is an ambassador for Freedom Grow. A 501c3 organization, Freedom Grow’s mission is to bring light to a dark cell. They advocate for the release of nonviolent cannabis prisoners and assist those still incarcerated with ‘The Wish Program.’ The program helps with commissary money, continuing education, family outreach, and much more. There would be no cannabis industry without those who were arrested and still serve time for a plant that heals. NO ONE should be in jail for a plant!
If you would like to donate, you can do so at freedomgrow.org/ donate/
By Rob Sanchez
Reeform is a brand partnership between Weldon Angelos and Oaksterdam University to share his story and to help those that have been affected by the war on cannabis. Weldon was charged with a felony and a minimum sentence of 55 years for his first and only cannabis offense in 2004. This is longer than the minimum jail time somebody could get for hijacking or kidnapping— for selling a little over $300 dollars of cannabis.
He served 13 years before being released, thanks to advocacy that he continues to pay forward with this brand. Weldon and Oaksterdam provide scholarships and educational programs to help rebuild and restart life for pardoned and released prisoners while advocating for pardons and cannabis law reform. Bringing his story full circle, Weldon is now the CEO and Founder of the Weldon Project, still selling the plant he loves but now on a bigger scale with a purpose.
Freeform Strain Reviews
Happy to see this available here in Las Vegas, I picked up two strains to review: Solitary Haze and Konvict Kush!
From the strain names to the packaging, the story is front and center here. Along the top of the bag, you can see lines representing all 55 years of Weldon’s sentence with the 13 years he served colored orange. The black and orange packaging stands out on the shelves and features Weldon at the DJ decks with bars visible behind him. Each bag has the strain label in the upper left corner showing the cross, top terpenes, and tasting notes, all of which should be standard for branding and packaging these days as it sets expectations and draws attention to the terps.
Solitary Haze
Solitary Haze is a cross between Animal Mints and Bubba Kush. I really couldn’t resist this one with Bubba Kush in the lineage. When I was cultivating, we had a cut of Pre ‘98 Bubba Kush that was top-notch, so I try to smoke it if I find it these days. The dominant terpenes are Caryophyllene, Limonene, and Linalool promising a floral/herbal citrus experience.
The bag opened with a burst of citrus. Exploring the aroma further, I found that the bright citrus tones were tempered and rounded by floral notes. The two flavors were woven together with a thin thread of familiar earthiness, like having a glass of freshly pressed orange juice after doing yard work.
The aroma itself was moderate; I had to really break some of the buds up to get a better sense of things. Trichome coverage was dense with a fair amount of the trichome heads still intact which can be hard to do with bagged flower in today’s supply chain. The bud structure was dense and the product was perhaps a little on the dry side. We are in the middle of the desert here after all, but it was right on the line of dry enough and too dry which impacted the aroma and flavor. Speaking of flavor, I didn’t get much from the dry hit except for echoes of citrus. Lighting this one up, the inhale brought the citrus and floral notes back and the exhale tasted of oranges spiced and roasted over a campfire. The flavor lingered on the palette well and coaxed you back for another hit or two.
Effects were felt quickly: a heady high with a bit of a euphoric rush before mellowing out into a long-lasting experience. Coming out of the bag with ~25% THC and terpenes at
difficult to focus on one note, like the spice for example, because the pepper and pine were fighting for attention. It had an interesting aroma and was more powerful than the Solitary Haze in that department. Smelled like pine needles and black pepper all ground up and sprinkled on a fresh piece of melon. While I don’t think that would taste good, I can assure you it smells wonderful.
Again, this flower smelled great, but maybe not as great as it could have. It was a little dry and maybe just over that line into too dry as well leading to a more powdery grind. I’m sure it was pretty loud a few weeks after the harvest as the trichome coverage on it was very dense, giving it an almost fuzzy look with many of the trichome heads intact to deliver that goodness.
The grind opened the aroma up and allowed the flavors to spread out bringing out the melon flavor more to balance the pine and pepper. The dry hit was moderate with a decent representation of the aroma in the hit. While smoking, the inhale was smooth and light on flavor. The exhale brought the pine and pepper to the palette and left a resounding note of spice. It was a nice clean smoke all the way down to the crutch.
overall duration didn’t seem to be as long as the Solitary Haze. I did enjoy this one though; it was a heavier high, more thoughtful and sedative.
Lab results showed ~27% THC with top terpenes at 6.6 mg/g (Alpha-Pinene), 4.8 mg/g (Myrcene), and 1.8 mg/g (Beta-Pinene). Both of these pinene isomers are found in coniferous plants. Alpha-pinene is fairly common in cannabis, but beta-pinene is unique and not found in the top three terpenes often. Together, they create that pine smell we associate with the forest and what I’ll now associate with Konvict Kush.
Reeform is doing a great job bringing unique flower to the market and fighting a noble fight for cannabis prisoner advocacy while they’re at. It’s difficult to hear these stories and to see members of the cannabis community still behind bars. Building a brand that puts this issue front and center is bold and needed to enact the change and hasten pardons across the nation. If you see the Reeform brand in your shop, please contribute to the cause, give it a try, enjoy the high, and share the love.
INTERVIEW with TUCKY BLUNT
By Sara Payan
Sara Payan: Hello, everyone, and welcome to Planted with Sara Payan. Today, we have Alfonso “Tucky” Blunt on the show, the CEO of Blunts and More, the very first equity-owned cannabis dispensary and consumption lounge.
Tucky, welcome to the show.
Tucky Blunt: Thank you for having me.
Sara: The question I always like to ask all my guests is, what was your first cannabis experience?
Tucky: My first experience of being around cannabis that I can remember, and my mom has a picture to confirm it. I was maybe two. We had two diaper bags in the car, in the back seat with me. I was in my car seat. One diaper bag was my diaper bag. The other diaper bag was my parents, and I went in their bag looking for a bottle and dumped out all the weed. And then my first experience smoking weed I was 13. I started smoking at 13, stopped for about three years, and started back at 16.
Sara: You were involved in cannabis when there was substantial risk. One of the stories that you told me the first time we met was about where your dispensary was versus where your first big experience with the law was. Is that correct?
Tucky: Literally. Like you said, I've been selling in Oakland since I was 16 in 2000. So, from 1996 until 2005, I had no run-ins with the police. It was because of how I sold my cannabis.
I sold my cannabis at work. I was never really on what we call a turf or a block, or I wasn't outside
advertising to the police that I was selling weed. I already knew it was illegal, so I had to figure out a way to get the money without being in trouble.
One of the guys I was buying my product from called the police on me and told the police about me selling weed. I didn't ever think that that would result in me owning a dispensary. That was 2005. The main reason I got caught up was because I was selling weed on a turf at that moment. I'm from the turf, but I don't sell on the turf. I just hang out. So I'm like, man, I'm gonna come over here and start selling. Long story short, I had a good six-, eight-month run, and then the dude snitched on me.
Twelve years later, I heard about the equity program, and through that process, I opened my store in 2018, 13 blocks from where I got arrested in 2005. I didn't plan that. I tell everybody all the time that was the heavenly father. If somebody's watching me that I'm not knowing is watching me, that's my spirit guide. But my getting told on led to me opening the first dispensary, an ex-felon for cannabis sales. Crazy.
Sara: That's crazy. And it is, in many ways, a story of restorative justice. I mean, you're a fifth-generation Oakland resident. It's almost poetic it was right by where you got busted.
Tucky: Yeah. I tell people all the time, I always approached selling weed as a business. I guess you could call it a hustle or a grind or whatever. That's just a term that people naturally give it. I wanted to be legal though. From the first day I heard about dispensaries in 1999, I wanted
This interview is an edited transcript of Sara’s podcast interview with Tucky. To hear the full version, check out the “Planted with Sara Payan” podcast.
to open one. I just couldn't believe it. I'm like, wait, they're selling weed out of a store? That's what I'm trying to do. And lo and behold, it happened.
Sara: How was that process for you?
Tucky: Having an actual partner where you sit down and do an operating agreement and all that stuff, I never dealt with that before. So the business acumen that I had was limited. My partner at the time supposedly had a better business acumen on the cannabis side. So, I could use what I learned in the streets and what I knew about certain stuff.
Once we got the license, there was no money, no grants, no loans, there was nothing. Our license was free because it was social equity, but you still had to find somebody willing to let you borrow or have, I don't know, let's just say, a million to three million dollars to open a store. All you're hearing is we get a chance at ownership, but what does that really mean once you actually get the license?
I love the equity program. I appreciate what Oakland did. Like with most programs, you have to start it and see what happens. It's time now for that fine-tuning. ‘Cause social equity has not panned out like it should be, in my opinion.
Sara: There's a lot of romanticism about what we do. And there are a lot of people who do not understand that the green rush has been over for a long time. How little people make is insane. The lack of common sense that the government has around helping operators succeed in running their businesses is astounding.
Tucky: And that's what pisses me off. I can buy liquor and do this and do that. And I've got to jump through none of the hoops. They need to just deschedule it, not reschedule, because this is a plant. This is like corn. This is a farmed commodity. Why are we treating it differently, because y'all don't know how to tax it or don't know how to make money off of it?
Sara: Yeah. I can see where that would be. I don't think people realize how hard it is to be able to get the funding to do this. It's a real crash course.
Tucky: It's hard. I closed the location on 66th to relocate. My landlord told me he wasn't going to renew my lease. Before we closed, I saw maybe 80 to 100 people a day and maybe a 39-to-49-dollar ticket. That's basically a million and a half a year. I spent $23,000 a month just on rent, utility, and security. And I tell people all the time getting in this space is cool, but I would advise you to not plant-touch coming in; I would advise you to do something ancillary to make your money.
I always say that they don't understand that if y'all lowered the taxes, we can make way more money for y'all. Because if the taxes are lowered, the people are going to spend more money, which in turn gives you more what? More money. That's Business 101.
Perfect example: I'm going to start doing a delivery service. I don't have to charge as much for the products. I can still buy it for the same price I bought them when I was at the dispensary level, but my markup doesn't have to be as high. Why? Cause I'm not paying overhead. So I can lower my price to the consumer. They're going to buy more. That means I'm going to sell more. That means I'm going to make more money. They don't get that.
It all starts with the voting, Sara. If we're not voting locally, we can't have these conversations with the people about what they need to do because, by the time it gets to the president, it's too late; he's just administering the laws given to him from the legislative and the judicial. It's too late to complain, and believe it or not, that has a lot to do with what's going on in the cannabis space right now: voting on a local level.
Sara: Yeah, I got to congratulate you on the pivot. Being able to figure out how to do what you love and pulling it all together.
Tucky: Hell yeah. And that's why I believe in positivity and try to not be negative for long. That's why it is what it is. Look for the positive. Somehow, some way, I wouldn't have made it if I hadn't got snitched on. You know what I'm saying? Like my son, he's sitting out here with me now. I wouldn't have met his mom had I never got snitched on, period. It wouldn't have happened. I had to work ‘cause I was on probation. That's where I met my wife. If I’d never got caught up, I'd have never met my wife. I know what weed has done for me, period. It's crazy. How does stuff come full circle?
Sara: The world is weird. Isn't it?
Tucky: Come on now. You can't write that. It was meant for me to be with her. It was meant for me to have kids with her. Had it not been for Kim, had it not been for me catching my case, had it not been for me being transferred, weed is what keeps me here, weed is how I buy everything that I do in my life, weed is how I take care of my kids.
Sara: You're a wise man. You've learned from everything, and you’ve gleaned goodness from everything that you've done. That's the name of the game. And kudos on the pivot. When you’re looking into the future, what are you excited and hopeful about?
Tucky: I'm working on a book now. I still do consulting and teaching. So, I'm definitely excited about doing that. I try not to take too many students at once, but I do like four students at a time every quarter. We just bought our first home, so I'm happy about that. I'm just excited that I got a new outlook and still was able to have my brand.
Sara: I love it. Well, when I went into your store, you created a very special place. You made a safe place for people to be and feel seen, and I appreciate what you do. And I'm excited to see what's happening with your delivery business.
Tucky: It's crazy. I've recreated what I did when I got arrested, and I'm doing it now.
Thank you for sharing your platform.
IMPRIS O NED for NON-VIOLENT CANNABIS O FFENSES
NAMES & SENTENCES CORRESPOND TO PHOTOS ON THE BACK COVER
