Chapter 18  
Committees & The Ripples of Change

On her 31^st birthday, Alice stood in the middle of five acres of land affectionately referred to as Uncle Sam’s Pot Farm. DARAC was taking a "field trip" and Alice was brushing shoulders with an elite group of farmers — the legal marijuana farmers employed by the U.S. government.

The 1978 crop was mostly gone, harvested just a week or so earlier. All that was left was a field of dark delta mud littered with broken stalks drying on black plastic tarps in the hot sun. In the center of the plot were a few plants of the indica variety, shorter and more bushy than their sativa cousins.

"Specialty items," noted Carlton Turner dryly. The director the University of Mississippi Research Institute of Pharmaceutical Sciences (RIPS) was giving the DARAC members the grand tour. Turner, a thin, oddly behaved fellow, referred to all marijuana not in his 5 acre fiefdom as, "Cannabis which has escaped from cultivation." There was not a hint of amusement at such a notion. Marijuana, in his mind, was "a crude drug."

The farm was surrounded by a double fence of barbed and razor wire. Between the two fences was a path for guard dogs. Watch towers with search lights stand at the corners of the barren enclosure, empty now because the pot had been harvested.

Looking about the acreage Alice was astonished at how small five acres could be. The cute references to the Pot Plantation had implied a huge operation but it was tiny. Much of the land wasn’t even tilled. "How," she wondered, "could this farm grow enough marijuana for New Mexico, Florida, Louisiana, and Illinois?"

The small group scuffed about in the dirt, posed for some pictures and then returned to the RIPS facilities where Alice was introduced to an aging southern gent; a professor of Botany with a mane of snow white hair and gracious Mississippi manners. Unlike Turner, who greeted inquiries with a tinge of paranoia, the old botanist was delighted by Alice’s interest in his arcane endeavors. Without hesitation he pulled out a large scrapbook to show her his favorite marijuana leaves from past harvests.

Officially, the Mississippi "pot plantation" began its work in the late 1960s. It was obvious to Alice that the farm had been in operation much longer. The elder Botany professor with his treasured book of long-ago harvested leaves suggested the pot plantation was decades old.

v v v v

The farm had been an interesting sideshow but the real item on the agenda which had captured Alice’s attention was "Discussion of proposed protocols for Schedule I drugs."

Jim Ripple’s protocol had been submitted several months before and Alice was certain it would be part of the presentation. The Ripples had become regular correspondents with both Alice and me. Mildred was feisty and determined. She was not going to let Jim go blind if there was something that could help him. Jim’s family had a long history of glaucoma. His mother and a brother had been blinded by the disease, their eyeballs literally rupturing from elevated pressures. Mildred would not let that happen to Jim.

The elderly couple lived in the southernmost deserts of Arizona, three hours from Tucson, not far from the Mexican border. Their doctor was sixty miles away. Their remoteness seemed daunting but Mildred had painstakingly put together the necessary pieces to apply for permission to use marijuana. In July, Jim’s doctor had submitted an IND protocol, copied almost word-for-word, from my approved Compassionate IND.

To make certain that compassion prevailed, Alice discussed the case with Tom Collier who, in turn, discussed it with a friend in Arizona. Before long Mildred and Jim had the high-powered, Phoenix-based legal firm of Brown & Bain at their disposal.

Once Brown & Bain got involved the FDA became more helpful. Ed Tocus did not want a replay of my case. A glaucoma patient — an aging, retired cowboy — suing the government for marijuana was certain to attract media attention and garner public sympathy.

Mildred lined up some political support by contacting Senator Barry Goldwater and asking for his help in expediting Jim’s request. She also enlisted the support of Senator Muriel Humphrey, widow of former vice president Hubert Humphrey. There had been rumors that Mr. Humphrey had used marijuana during his chemotherapy treatments.

Now, in a sterile room in Mississippi, Jim Ripple’s fate was being discussed and it was tying Alice’s stomach in knots.

There was grousing from some committee members about letters from a lawyer and the Senators. Repeatedly the committee returned to regulatory procedure and the inappropriateness of releasing an unapproved drug to a "single patient" who was clearly not part of any "viable research." There was worry about precedents and not much concern about an ailing cowboy who had exhausted all conventional routes of treatment.

Finally Alice could contain herself no longer and raised her hand. "I am not sure it is appropriate for members of the public to make comments," Alice began politely, "but I think you have got to realize that marijuana is unlike other drugs that go through the IND process. I know this case you are talking about. I know the individuals involved and I know that the man has used marijuana illegally."

The committee listened respectfully as Alice continued. "You’ve got to remember that marijuana is available to people, and that is the big difference between it and the other drugs you are dealing with. I think it is far better for this man to receive marijuana through his doctor than to find it on the street."

"You say you know this specific case, the 65-year old man?" the DARAC chairman asked.

Alice explained the human side of a case known to DARAC as Protocol K and the members listened, some with open amazement. Protocol K would survive DARAC. Jim Ripple’s protocol would be approved in early October. But the Arizona cowboy would not get his legal marijuana any time soon.

v v v v

Alice’s excursion to the "pot plantation" raised many questions. Indeed we had a growing list of questions. There was Mildred’s recanting of Tocus’ curious claim that "all the marijuana has been destroyed." There were the references to Nabilone at the Perry Committee. What was that? And now there were these curious hints of a long established marijuana farm in the Mississippi Delta.

We decided to file a freedom of information request to see what we could learn about the government’s production of marijuana and, while we were at it, we asked for minutes from any committee meetings at which medical marijuana had been discussed in the past two years.

The FOIA materials arrived very fast.

The large packet contained detailed information on annual production, stockpiles of raw material and a complete inventory of finished, pre-rolled marijuana cigarettes. There was enough budgetary information to calculate the cost of production: Uncle Sam spent about 90 cents per ounce to grow marijuana, with two-thirds of this cost going to security. The actual price of production minus security came to 30 cents per ounce.

Given these figures, is it any wonder pharmaceutical companies promoting expensive synthetic drugs have little interest in pursuing marijuana’s therapeutic utility? Sure, marijuana might aid the afflicted. But how could a pharmaceutical company profit from such a cheap, easy-to-produce product? This is a bottom-line question that animates the prohibition. Beyond dogma there are dollars.

Also in the materials were pages of minutes from various government agencies that had been discussing marijuana’s medical use, including the mysterious "Current Status" meeting which had taken place, we learned, in May 1978, about the time of my legal suit against the government. The minutes, which were no more than two pages in length, summarized the day-long meeting and provided us with information on Nabilone as well as some other tidbits which would become extremely critical in the coming year.

The FOIA materials would also give Alice an unexpected opportunity to travel to the Southwest. Her knowledge of the price of marijuana production — gleaned from the FOIA-obtained reports — legitimized her status as an "expert witness" at a trial in New Mexico involving a rather unsavory individual who was an informant for the government and was trying to collect his bounty following the arrest of some major drug smugglers. Not exactly the type of case with which we wanted to be associated but the attorneys were convincing and there was a large expert witness stipend.

Further rationalization came when Alice reasoned she could use the opportunity to meet people in New Mexico and Arizona with whom she had been working for almost a year.

So, in December 1978, after testifying in Las Cruces, Alice flew into Albuquerque and met Lynn’s family who lent her Lynn’s car for her travels to Sante Fe. There she met with officials to discuss the still inactive state research program. New Mexican officials were hopeful the marijuana would arrive soon.

Then she traveled to Arizona and spent an afternoon with the Ripples. They too were still waiting for the promised marijuana.

In the great Southwest there was much anticipation for the New Year.

On her 31^st birthday, Alice stood in the middle of five acres of land affectionately referred to as Uncle Sam’s Pot Farm. DARAC was taking a "field trip" and Alice was brushing shoulders with an elite group of farmers — the legal marijuana farmers employed by the U.S. government.

The 1978 crop was mostly gone, harvested just a week or so earlier. All that was left was a field of dark delta mud littered with broken stalks drying on black plastic tarps in the hot sun. In the center of the plot were a few plants of the indica variety, shorter and more bushy than their sativa cousins.

"Specialty items," noted Carlton Turner dryly. The director the University of Mississippi Research Institute of Pharmaceutical Sciences (RIPS) was giving the DARAC members the grand tour. Turner, a thin, oddly behaved fellow, referred to all marijuana not in his 5 acre fiefdom as, "Cannabis which has escaped from cultivation." There was not a hint of amusement at such a notion. Marijuana, in his mind, was "a crude drug."

The farm was surrounded by a double fence of barbed and razor wire. Between the two fences was a path for guard dogs. Watch towers with search lights stand at the corners of the barren enclosure, empty now because the pot had been harvested.

Looking about the acreage Alice was astonished at how small five acres could be. The cute references to the Pot Plantation had implied a huge operation but it was tiny. Much of the land wasn’t even tilled. "How," she wondered, "could this farm grow enough marijuana for New Mexico, Florida, Louisiana, and Illinois?"

The small group scuffed about in the dirt, posed for some pictures and then returned to the RIPS facilities where Alice was introduced to an aging southern gent; a professor of Botany with a mane of snow white hair and gracious Mississippi manners. Unlike Turner, who greeted inquiries with a tinge of paranoia, the old botanist was delighted by Alice’s interest in his arcane endeavors. Without hesitation he pulled out a large scrapbook to show her his favorite marijuana leaves from past harvests.

Officially, the Mississippi "pot plantation" began its work in the late 1960s. It was obvious to Alice that the farm had been in operation much longer. The elder Botany professor with his treasured book of long-ago harvested leaves suggested the pot plantation was decades old.

v v v v

The farm had been an interesting sideshow but the real item on the agenda which had captured Alice’s attention was "Discussion of proposed protocols for Schedule I drugs."

Jim Ripple’s protocol had been submitted several months before and Alice was certain it would be part of the presentation. The Ripples had become regular correspondents with both Alice and me. Mildred was feisty and determined. She was not going to let Jim go blind if there was something that could help him. Jim’s family had a long history of glaucoma. His mother and a brother had been blinded by the disease, their eyeballs literally rupturing from elevated pressures. Mildred would not let that happen to Jim.

The elderly couple lived in the southernmost deserts of Arizona, three hours from Tucson, not far from the Mexican border. Their doctor was sixty miles away. Their remoteness seemed daunting but Mildred had painstakingly put together the necessary pieces to apply for permission to use marijuana. In July, Jim’s doctor had submitted an IND protocol, copied almost word-for-word, from my approved Compassionate IND.

To make certain that compassion prevailed, Alice discussed the case with Tom Collier who, in turn, discussed it with a friend in Arizona. Before long Mildred and Jim had the high-powered, Phoenix-based legal firm of Brown & Bain at their disposal.

Once Brown & Bain got involved the FDA became more helpful. Ed Tocus did not want a replay of my case. A glaucoma patient — an aging, retired cowboy — suing the government for marijuana was certain to attract media attention and garner public sympathy.

Mildred lined up some political support by contacting Senator Barry Goldwater and asking for his help in expediting Jim’s request. She also enlisted the support of Senator Muriel Humphrey, widow of former vice president Hubert Humphrey. There had been rumors that Mr. Humphrey had used marijuana during his chemotherapy treatments.

Now, in a sterile room in Mississippi, Jim Ripple’s fate was being discussed and it was tying Alice’s stomach in knots.

There was grousing from some committee members about letters from a lawyer and the Senators. Repeatedly the committee returned to regulatory procedure and the inappropriateness of releasing an unapproved drug to a "single patient" who was clearly not part of any "viable research." There was worry about precedents and not much concern about an ailing cowboy who had exhausted all conventional routes of treatment.

Finally Alice could contain herself no longer and raised her hand. "I am not sure it is appropriate for members of the public to make comments," Alice began politely, "but I think you have got to realize that marijuana is unlike other drugs that go through the IND process. I know this case you are talking about. I know the individuals involved and I know that the man has used marijuana illegally."

The committee listened respectfully as Alice continued. "You’ve got to remember that marijuana is available to people, and that is the big difference between it and the other drugs you are dealing with. I think it is far better for this man to receive marijuana through his doctor than to find it on the street."

"You say you know this specific case, the 65-year old man?" the DARAC chairman asked.

Alice explained the human side of a case known to DARAC as Protocol K and the members listened, some with open amazement. Protocol K would survive DARAC. Jim Ripple’s protocol would be approved in early October. But the Arizona cowboy would not get his legal marijuana any time soon.

v v v v

Alice’s excursion to the "pot plantation" raised many questions. Indeed we had a growing list of questions. There was Mildred’s recanting of Tocus’ curious claim that "all the marijuana has been destroyed." There were the references to Nabilone at the Perry Committee. What was that? And now there were these curious hints of a long established marijuana farm in the Mississippi Delta.

We decided to file a freedom of information request to see what we could learn about the government’s production of marijuana and, while we were at it, we asked for minutes from any committee meetings at which medical marijuana had been discussed in the past two years.

The FOIA materials arrived very fast.

The large packet contained detailed information on annual production, stockpiles of raw material and a complete inventory of finished, pre-rolled marijuana cigarettes. There was enough budgetary information to calculate the cost of production: Uncle Sam spent about 90 cents per ounce to grow marijuana, with two-thirds of this cost going to security. The actual price of production minus security came to 30 cents per ounce.

Given these figures, is it any wonder pharmaceutical companies promoting expensive synthetic drugs have little interest in pursuing marijuana’s therapeutic utility? Sure, marijuana might aid the afflicted. But how could a pharmaceutical company profit from such a cheap, easy-to-produce product? This is a bottom-line question that animates the prohibition. Beyond dogma there are dollars.

Also in the materials were pages of minutes from various government agencies that had been discussing marijuana’s medical use, including the mysterious "Current Status" meeting which had taken place, we learned, in May 1978, about the time of my legal suit against the government. The minutes, which were no more than two pages in length, summarized the day-long meeting and provided us with information on Nabilone as well as some other tidbits which would become extremely critical in the coming year.

The FOIA materials would also give Alice an unexpected opportunity to travel to the Southwest. Her knowledge of the price of marijuana production — gleaned from the FOIA-obtained reports — legitimized her status as an "expert witness" at a trial in New Mexico involving a rather unsavory individual who was an informant for the government and was trying to collect his bounty following the arrest of some major drug smugglers. Not exactly the type of case with which we wanted to be associated but the attorneys were convincing and there was a large expert witness stipend.

Further rationalization came when Alice reasoned she could use the opportunity to meet people in New Mexico and Arizona with whom she had been working for almost a year.

So, in December 1978, after testifying in Las Cruces, Alice flew into Albuquerque and met Lynn’s family who lent her Lynn’s car for her travels to Sante Fe. There she met with officials to discuss the still inactive state research program. New Mexican officials were hopeful the marijuana would arrive soon.

Then she traveled to Arizona and spent an afternoon with the Ripples. They too were still waiting for the promised marijuana.

In the great Southwest there was much anticipation for the New Year.