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By Peter H. King

April 22, 1998

THE FIGHT OVER MEDICAL MARIJUANA

SONORA, Calif.—Monday was judgment day in Department Two of Tuolumne County Superior Court, with a couple dozen defendants awaiting their sentences. Some shuffled awkwardly into the courtroom in orange jail uniforms, legs shackled in chains. Others came in civilian clothes with their families, hopeful that the judge might be softened by a mother’s presence, or at least by a clean T-shirt.

Mainly this seemed to be a routine, dreary lineup of robbers, parole violators, drunken drivers. One fellow, at least, was notable for his creativity under pressure: He had pulled a gun in an insurance office and demanded cash. Told there was none, he said, well, fine, make me out a personal check. Needless to say, Lt. Columbo would not be required to crack the case.

Also there was the matter of the People of California vs. Myron Carlyle Mower. Now here was an interesting true crime tale. Mower is a severe diabetic, legally blind, unable to hold down food. The only thing that seems to help his condition is marijuana. Mower believed Californians had cases like his in mind when they voted in 1996 to legalize medicinal marijuana.

The law believed different.

Guess who won?

Eighteen months have passed since 5.3 million Californians voted for it, and still the battle over medicinal marijuana rages on. Perhaps this is because Proposition 215, like most initiatives, was about more than what was printed on the ballot. It became a chance for the citizenry to question, however obliquely, the whole War on Drugs strategy.

"The only time I have observed his condition to be medically improving," his doctor noted in a letter filed with the court, "is when he has been home and is reporting smoking marijuana on a daily basis. He cultivates a small number of plants in his home for personal use only."

The drug law enforcers didn’t buy the diagnosis. Acting on an anonymous tip, investigators raided his house last summer and discovered 31 plants. This, they concluded, was 28 plants too many. All but three were ripped out, and the detectives went looking for Mower. They found him in the hospital, hooked to a morphine drip.

"My health was all in that garden," Mower told them. "You guys don’t know what you’ve done to me."

In the hospital interview—conducted before Mower was read his rights— he acknowledged that he also was growing marijuana for two other sick people. He later recanted this statement, and attempted in trial to demonstrate that his garden’s potential yield was hardly abundant. He was convicted nonetheless. Mower had grown more plants than Tuolumne County deemed necessary, and that was that.

"I’m a felon now," he said glumly in court Monday. When they called his name, he put a hand on his lawyer’s shoulder and followed her to the defense table. His face was a sickly blend of gray and yellow. He said little, and the judge pushed through the paces.

Had the probation report been read to him?

Yes, your honor.

Was he willing to sign it?

Yes, your honor.

His attorney guided his hand to the appropriate line. Mower signed—a promise to limit his pot garden to three plants, and to pay more than $1,000 in fines, and to submit to five years of house searches and drug tests. They even made the blind man surrender his driver’s license. In exchange, the people of California agreed not to stick Mower’s failing body in state prison for the crime of growing medicine. He better be grateful.