The Pleasant Probation of Tommy Chong

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http://www.alternet.org/drugreporter/21447/

 

The Pleasant Probation of Tommy Chong

By Dave Shulman, LA Weekly

Posted on March 8, 2005,

http://www.alternet.org/story/21447/

 

Tommy Chong never was much of a stoner, but one of his most popular

characters ( " Man " ) was. So when Tommy's son Paris put Man's face on

the surfaces of seditiously shaped blown glass (bongs, pipes) and was

blatantly entrapped into sending 5,000 bucks' worth across state lines

to undercover feds, Ashcroft's Justice Department took the opportunity

to send Tommy to the Wackenhut-managed Taft Correctional Institution

for nine magical months, to punish him not only for financing and

promoting his son's glass-blowing studio but for, as the federal

prosecutor put it, " glamorizing the illegal distribution and use of

marijuana " in entertainment products that " trivialize law-enforcement

efforts to combat drug trafficking and use. "

 

At the time – two years ago – it might've seemed to anyone watching

the ensuing " mission accomplished " -style press conference that

Ashcroft was, well, confused. By bringing up Chong's so-called

glamorizings and trivializings as aggravating factors, the Justice

Department appeared unable to distinguish creator from creation,

portrayal from endorsement. The result was that, of the 55 people

similarly Ashcrofted all over America in " Operation Pipe Dreams " (yes,

that was the sting's actual name), only one was incarcerated: Tommy Chong.

 

Let's apply the Justice Department's rule to lesser crimes against

humanity: If, for example, Harvey Keitel and 54 others get pulled over

for driving 75 in a 65 on the 405, shall justice be served by sending

home the 54 others with speeding tickets but sending Keitel to the

slammer, because he played Sport in Taxi Driver, Mr. White in

Reservoir Dogs and Judas Iscariot in The Last Temptation of Christ?

 

" All they knew, " Chong says, " was that my popularity commanded their

attention. They couldn't give a shit if it was the stoner character

that they put in jail, or me. It was all the same to them. They just

wanted to show the entertainment world that we're vulnerable. 'You do

something that we don't like, you're going to end up in jail.' That's

the message they put out.

 

" I call this the Tsunami Government. This government is just like the

tsunami. It's coming in, it's going to wreak havoc and desolation, and

then it'll go out. It'll disappear. So we just have to live through it. "

 

Chong and I are lounging on a Starbucks patio at the far west end of

Sunset Boulevard, just down the hill from his house in Pacific

Palisades, ingesting government-approved mind-bending caffeine

cocktails. Not long after his release from prison, Chong accepted an

offer to perform in The Marijuana-Logues, an off-Broadway stage

production written by Arj Barker, Doug Benson and Tony Camin and

directed by Jim Millan. He spent much of this past winter doing eight

shows a week at New York's Actors Playhouse, until Ideal Entertainment

Group and Magic Arts & Entertainment picked up the show and sent it

out on a North American tour that includes two shows at the Wilshire

Theater this Saturday night. [Editor's Note: The Marijuana-Logues tour

has been cancelled, and Chong barred from performing the play, until

his parole is up this summer.]

 

" When I was doing the show in New York, " says Chong, " every day I'd

walk to the theater, and I'd be walking on air, because I'm going to

do a play! I loved it. Loved it! Any excuse to live in New York and do

art. Has to be one of the most rewarding experiences in the world. "

 

Chong's long career began in 1938 in Edmonton, Alberta, where he

commanded the attention of his parents by shitting his diapers,

dribbling and crying for milk. After World War II, the family moved

down to a town called Dog Patch, on the outskirts of Calgary, so that

his father, who'd been wounded in the war, could be close to a

veterans hospital. In Dog Patch, Tommy learned at a very young age

that he didn't want to live in Dog Patch, so he quit school, became a

musician, moved to Vancouver, co-wrote a minor Motown hit with Bobby

Taylor and the Vancouvers, started a comedy troupe called City Works,

met Cheech Marin and formed Cheech & Chong. Cheech & Chong performed

sketch comedy all over North America, moved to Los Angeles, and put

together a wildly popular series of comedy albums and high-grossing

movies.

 

Now 66 years old, Tommy Chong radiates the temperament of a warm and

articulate monk. We talk about jazz, we talk about comedy. I mention a

recent show at the Universal Amphitheater, a duel between Bill Maher

and Dennis Miller.

 

" Mmm! " Chong says through his sandwich. " Dnna-Mnna! "

 

" What – were you there? "

 

" No. I was just on his show. "

 

So we analyze the (de-)evolution of Dennis Miller. Chong's theory:

" Dennis Miller morphed into what he really was, which is a

trend-seeker. When he was younger, he kept looking for his niche. And

when he found out that he could agree with Bush and Ashcroft with no

problem, he found it.

 

" And he looks at Bill O'Reilly, and he looks at Rush Limbaugh, and he

doesn't care. I mean, he's like an actor. He's looking for conflict,

you know? The funny thing is, Dennis Miller got me back into comedy. "

 

" How so? "

 

" We were at the same club in Vancouver on New Year's Eve, 1991. Dennis

Miller and I, sitting together. He's a very quiet guy. He was very

respectful of who I was. Almost in awe, you know ... Tommy Chong! And

I say, 'What are you up to later, later on in the week? Let's hook

up!' And he says, 'Well, I gotta do this little gig.' He was doing

these little comedy clubs, for spending money. So I went to the show.

And before the show I went backstage to the little dressing room, and

he's back there pacing back and forth.

 

" He said, 'Do you still get nervous before you go on?' And I looked at

him, and I kind of cracked up, because I hadn't been onstage for a

long, long time. But I said, 'Yeah, I guess I do' – you know, just

going along with him. Then I sat in the audience, and he comes out and

starts doing pot jokes! Didn't go over with his audience, so he

recovers with, 'What am I doing? Tommy Chong's here, and I'm doing pot

jokes? Am I crazy?' You know, that kind of thing.

 

" Anyway, that night in the club, I looked around and I got caught up

in it again, and I thought, 'I'm gonna do this.' So then I went back

to L.A. and started, at the little comedy clubs around town. Didn't

see Dennis Miller again for 10 years, and then I'm on his show. You

should look at the show, it's pretty funny. He's got this little

pseudo-Crossfire kind of panel going with these so-called left-wing

writers or whatever, and he's trying to get a little [conflict] thing

going with his right-wing Nazi attitude. He's telling the writers,

'Didn't the Iraqi election put a smile on your face? I mean, you've

got to admit that that's pretty nice, seeing America spreading freedom

like that.'

 

" So when I got out there, I said, 'I just want to tell you, Dennis.

You know, it's nice that the Iraqis can vote, because I can't. You

know why? Because your buddies put me in jail for selling bongs, and

now I can't vote because I'm a felon. Thanks a lot, man.' And he says

something like, 'Oh, yeah. I heard you were ... uh ... – you know,

faking like he didn't hear about it. And then I got around to New

Year's Eve in Vancouver in '91, and he's kind of, 'Uh ... oh ... I

don't really remember.' And I said, 'Well, you were really stoned, so

you probably ..., and he really freaked. Says, 'I'm not a bud man! I

wasn't stoned!'

 

" But I understand him. He's a jockey, and the horse he was riding kept

coming up second, so he changed horses. And now, with this sucker – he

thinks it's gonna win, but it's gonna come in dead last. "

 

" It's like watching someone who's wearing a bad toupee, and they think

no one can tell. "

 

" Exactly. "

 

One of the requirements of Tommy Chong's probation is regular drug

testing. " Every time I get tested, I ask questions about it, and I

watch how they do it. They try to fake you out. The test results'll be

coming in, and they'll give you that look, you know? Like, 'Oh ...

mm-hm ... oh ... sure is taking a lo-o-ong time to come up. You sure

you haven't been doing drugs?' And I can just see some poor stoner

going [does frantically guilty Man voice], 'OK! OK! I did! I did!'

 

" And the other thing they do is, they look at it to see if there's

excess water in your urine, because people can flush their systems

out. You just drink a ton of water and the tests come out fine. So now

if they decide there's too much water in your urine, they can fail you. "

 

It's been over two years now since Chong has smoked pot.

 

" I'm as clean as a whistle, " he says. " I never did smoke that much

pot; never was a big pothead. I was more of a weightlifter. Maybe once

in a while, you know, after a hard day of shooting or something like

that, I'd kick back. But you can't exercise and be high. It's

impossible. You can't do a lot of things when you're high. Like, you

can't shoot a movie. You can't be an actor in a movie. I know, because

I tried all sorts of ways of being in character, and the best way is

to be totally straight. The best way in life is to be totally

straight. Because the body has incredible combinations of chemicals

that will react just on sight, taste, touch – just on your senses.

 

" That's why people that have an education, you know, that's why they

spend time in art museums, or reading good literature or listening to

good music. Because it affects the body's chemistry in such a way that

it produces a very mellow high that you can never reproduce with any

kind of drugs. You can't even come close to that. Maybe heroin, maybe,

is the closest. And this is what you learn as you live. But on the

other hand, pot is the best recreational substance for teenagers,

athletes, people who have naturally high adrenaline. Because the pot

takes the edge off the adrenaline, and it also clears your mind of it,

and then you can see things a lot clearer. "

 

Chong has a phone interview scheduled with someone named Debbie from

something called Pollstar, so we head back up the hill, talking about

high-mileage vehicles and biodiesel and the education system and being

nice to people we've never met and other pinko commie leftist lunatic

things.

 

Back at Chong's house, I'm unwinding on a couch in front of the coffee

table, writing a letter of apology to the squirrel I mercy-killed the

day before. Chong, meanwhile, sits, then stands, then wanders around

the house and repeats the process as he pours himself into that phone

interview with Debbie of Pollstar.

 

" Yeah! Oh, yeah! It was great! We sold out every night! "

 

The house Tommy shares with comedian Shelby Chong, his wife and

partner for the last 30-plus years, is pretty fucking wonderful. It's

been my experience that pads of the wealthy and well-known aren't very

instantly comfortable, but this one is. Lounging on a comfy couch in a

bright and friendly foyer with a wonderful view of lush green gardens

out back and a huge skylight directly above ... I'm not used to

working this hard this early. So thank you, Debbie of Pollstar, for

asking all the things I was going to ask after I'd had more coffee.

 

" Are you familiar with the I Ching? " Chong asks Debbie. " OK, I threw

the I Ching while I was in prison, and the first thing the I Ching

told me to do was get off this 'the injustice of it all' kick. And the

second thing it told me was, You're going to have a reunion, and it's

gonna be great. So everything was good after that. I couldn't be

bitter, because of all the years that I've been, you know, doin' the

talk, what it came down to was that I had to do the walk.

 

" Well, here I'm talking about a substance that's put people in jail

for 20, 30 years. In some cases, life. Just recently up in Utah, some

guy got 55 years for selling an ounce of pot to an undercover agent.

 

" Hello? You there? Hello?

 

" Aw, we got cut off, " Chong tells me. " Shit. I hate it when I'm

talking to an empty phone. Especially when it's that good shit, you know? "

 

" That's why I'm recording it. Want me to play it into the phone when

she calls back? "

 

The phone rings, but not the one in Chong's hand. Dead battery. Phones

throughout the house continue to ring. Chong rushes toward them, but

by the time he reaches one, they've stopped. So he finds Debbie's

number, sits, sighs and calls back. " This is the last one, " he tells

me, gesturing triumphantly with the handset.

 

" The last phone? "

 

" The last phone interview. Hello? Hi, Debbie. No, it was mine. The

battery ran out. Yeah. No, you have to be nice to the phones. Can't

cuss 'em out. If you cuss 'em out they'll stop working on you. Same as

your computer. You cuss out your computer, it'll just freeze on you.

 

" So ... where did we stop?

 

" Yeah. So it was easy to be a 'pot comedian' in the Nixon or Clinton

era – not so much Reagan. You know, I left the country when Reagan got

in; I went to France. And when George Bush Jr. got in, my instincts

told me it was time to go – I'd felt that we had grown above that, you

know? But when it came down [bush again], it was like, 'Oh, well I

guess we haven't.' But I owe it to the culture. I can't run this time.

I owe it to the culture to stay, and use whatever they throw at me,

and use it like you do karate: Use that energy and turn it around. And

that's what I've done.

 

" Yes. Very much so.

 

" Well, there you go. Unfortunately, the American justice system is

just riddled with lies and inconsistencies. Yeah. It's very, very

inconsistent in that way. It's hip to have slaves, then it's not hip

to have slaves, then it's hip to have slaves again. They call them

'migrant workers.' Or 'kids,' or 'teenagers.' Yeah. But you know, in

this country it's all about the vote. And these people are whores for

the vote. They'll do anything they can, say anything they can, to get

that vote. To get the power, which means money. But in the long run,

what we learn, over and over and over again, is that if it's built on

lies it'll crumble. Basically.

 

" Well, see, what happened with Cheech, Cheech has an education. He's

very bright, and he got tired of being typecast as 'the stupid

Mexican.' And so he wanted to show everybody, including Mexicans, that

there was a brain in there. And I don't blame him. I respect him for

it. He never wanted to break up the act, he just wanted the freedom to

go do his own stuff.

 

" It's inevitable.

 

" No. When I get off probation, that's it. That's it. Because by then

I'll be into That '70s Show, I'll be into the movie, I'll be into all

sorts of stuff. We're lookin' at a tour, doing some new music. Plus,

my wife and I, we've still got our act, which we performed two weeks

ago in Toronto. We're taking that act, and we're gonna make a TV show

out of it.

 

" Thanks.

 

" OK, Debbie. Bye-bye. "

 

Chong hangs up, raises his arms and makes with a high-pitched " Whoo! "

followed by a big grin, a delighted sigh of " That's it! " and a small

" Yaaaaayyy! "

 

" That's it for the day? " I ask.

 

" Three-thirty I got a radio thing, then I gotta get into my movie. "

There's also, of course, the matter of the video interview – any

minute now, as soon as Francis, Josh and Rob, the guys from the

Marijuana Policy Project Foundation, arrive. More coffee now or never.

 

" Hey, " I say. " Is there still coffee left from before? And if so ...

and can I stay for dinner and move in? "

 

Chong heads for the kitchen. I can't decide which is less polite:

sitting and waiting on my kind host while he labors over the coffee

paraphernalia, or wandering back uninvited into his kitchen to offer

to help. I wander.

 

" Anything I can do? "

 

" That's OK, man. I'll make you coffee. " He's toweling out the bottom

half of a stovetop espresso pot. " I like to make coffee. " He spoons

out some fine-ass ebony dust into the carrier, screws the top on and

brings the fire up on the stove. And we just hang out in the kitchen

while the stuff cooks.

 

The Chong kitchen is just about the nicest, friendliest kitchen you'd

ever want, filled with all sorts of old-fashioned God-stifling

paraphernalia: a pepper mill (that could easily be used to conceal an

ounce or more of cocaine); pots and pans (for cooking up batches of

methedrine with intent to sell); candles (that could be used to cook

heroin or light joints); even a sink with running water (could be used

to drown a puppy) (or a squirrel). It's hard to imagine this place on

that morning, exactly two years ago, at 5:30 a.m., when DEA agents

with helicopters, news cameras, visors, flak jackets, automatic

weapons and Fox News trucks went rushing around, kicking in doors,

yelling, " Clear! Clear! "

 

" You know, " says Chong, " I really enjoyed my time in Taft. We were in

the middle of a wildlife preserve. Right in the middle. And it

preserved tarantulas – you know, the big hairy ones – and snakes.

Lotta snakes. " He also made 60 cents a day to sweep up, clean things.

And did some gardening. And meditation. And sweat lodges.

 

" How much longer's your probation? "

 

" Until July. Most of the rest of my probation time will be spent on

the road. It's perfect. It'll keep me out of trouble, you know? " Chong

will be touring with The Marijuana-Logues through mid-May, after which

he'll get back to work writing the screenplay for a reunion movie with

Cheech, with whom he recently performed, for the first time in 20

years, at the U.S. Comedy Arts Festival in Aspen.

 

Back in the foyer, the MPPF guys are setting up for Chong's next

interview, this one with a video camera. So Chong heads back, and I

top off my lovely ceramic mug of thick brown drugs and soon follow.

 

As I settle back down in the comfortable couch, Shelby's heading out

the door. Says a quick hello to everyone and a warm, quick goodbye to

Tommy, and leaves.

 

" That's the reason why I'm anybody, " Chong sighs, smiling a Man smile,

still intoxicated, 30 years later, by his wife. " She's the brains

behind the operation. Whenever I don't do what she says, I end up in

jail. "

 

" So you've done everything she's said except for once. "

 

" Yeah, " Chong laughs. " Oh, she's great. "

© 2005 Independent Media Institute. All rights reserved.

View this story online at: http://www.alternet.org/story/21447/