Walker and Rikalo understood the evils of marihuana – when you blow tea, you’re spitting in the face of the corporate oligarchy. Whacky weed had been illegal a scant decade when Carole and Carolyn copped, in flagrant violation of the Fat Cat Protection Act.
The Indian hay’d been nixed by a man named Anslingler, big enchilada at the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs. Anslinger harbored a pathological hatred of jazz music. You do the math.
How did he get the job? His wife’s uncle gave it to him. That guy’s name was Andy Mellon. He had a pal named Hearst. Hearst had cotton textile mills, and endless acres of harvestable trees. Had another pal named DuPont. DuPont had just patented a paper-making process utilizing wood pulp. Also had losta oil, from which one makes plastics and cellophane and whatnot. They banned hemp in ’37, came out with nylon in ’38.
Hearst sold a lot of papers screaming about reefer madness. And C&C went to the pokey. Not that these girls cared whit one about Betsy Ross’ flag being made from hemp. They wanted to take a trip with Mary Warner, and apparently knew her travel agent.
Their potpad (how did the boys in blue gumboots get in there, anyway?) has fallen to this apartment complex. In all likelihood the smoke in this Hollywood hemp hotel is as thick as our smaze-laden air on a summer’s day.