16 of 16 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A Must Read, June 23, 2006
This review is from: Burning Rainbow Farm: How a Stoner Utopia Went Up in Smoke (Hardcover)
There are at least a couple of reasons you have to get this book -- one is that the events described are so disturbing that it's amazing they are so little known, and even more pertinent today in an era of ever increasing governmental encroachment on individual privacy. Two guys, Tom Crosslin and Rollie Rohm, had their land, their kid and eventually their lives taken for what were essentially misdemeanor crimes. Kuipers is to be commended for bringing this incident to the public's attention, and trying to make Rainbow Farm as famous as Ruby Ridge or Waco.
Another reason to pick up Burning Rainbow Farm is that it's a really good book. The basis of any kind of literary excellence, fiction or non-fiction, is character, and in Tom Crosslin, Kuipers has found one superbly memorable character. Crossllin is masterfully traced from his boyhood to his tragic end, and the reader is able to see how the very traits that made him so magnetic; his pugnacity, his stubbornness, and his idealism, also led to his downfall. Also present are the other elements of good writing -- setting, pace, and finely crafted prose -- and the end result is a book that is both an enlightening experience and a good read. Highly Recommended!
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18 of 19 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Martyrs Who Should Never Have Been, July 17, 2006
This review is from: Burning Rainbow Farm: How a Stoner Utopia Went Up in Smoke (Hardcover)
It isn't explicitly in the Bill of Rights, but it ought to be: The Right to Be Let Alone. The story of two martyrs who died pursuing this right is told in _Burning Rainbow Farm: How a Stoner Utopia Went Up in Smoke_ (Bloomsbury) by Dean Kuipers. The story of Tom Crosslin and his partner Rollie Rohm never got all the attention it deserved, since the dramatic climax happened on the Labor Day weekend just before 9/11. Kuipers brings it back, a detailed and intelligent look at the way the War on Drugs has been waged within our borders. You don't have to be in favor of legalization of drugs or even decriminalization of marijuana to realize that this sad battle which reflects badly on all participants never should have happened.
Tom met Rollie, a handsome seventeen-year-old, in 1990. Rollie had been married and had a son whom he adored, but it was love at first sight when he and Tom met. With Rollie, Tom purchased 34 acres of farmland in rural southwest Michigan, and they named it Rainbow Farm. Tom's construction crew and odd-job men became a sort of commune for the farm, a place of remove, where Tom and Rollie and their work crews and friends could have cookouts and parties and not worry about bothering or being bothered by those around them. They were eager for a lot of different types of people to show up at Rainbow Farm, have fun, and be left alone. "This is a place about alternative lifestyles," Tom liked to say. "Being gay is just one of 'em. Smoking pot is just one of 'em. There's a bunch more, and this is a place where people can be free." They started having pot festivals, refusing to allow harder drugs, and refusing to let people sell pot, but encouraging sharing. The local prosecutor didn't like it, and fired with the possibility of claiming the valuable land as assets for the cops, he was eventually able to charge Tom and Rollie with manufacturing drugs. They Rollie knew that they would be losing the farm if they went to trial, and having said sad goodbyes to many who had come to hang out there over the years, they forced a last stand. Tom got assault rifles and let any potential invaders know that the farm was mined and booby trapped (but it was not). He set the buildings of the farm on fire, and fired at police. The FBI was called in, and no one found a way to break the siege, which inevitably led to Tom's and Rollie's deaths.
Tom and Rollie do not turn out to be flawless heroes; Rollie may have just been going along with Tom's plans, but Tom's plans did include the weapons, and firing at police and a helicopter. Their persecutors, however, should not have been hounding him over the years for a relatively harmless weed which drug warriors can't differentiate from truly harmful substances. Rainbow Farm sounds as if it was a happy and useful place, and the world is worse off without it. Tom and Rollie were, before the persecution took hold, philanthropists, Republicans, and prosperous businessmen. This is a story vividly told, and valuable, but sadly, this is just one of thousands of stories of wasted lives and wasted legal efforts as the persecution of marijuana users continues.
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11 of 11 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Up in Smoke: Kuipers Explores a Utopia Gone to Pot, July 17, 2006
This review is from: Burning Rainbow Farm: How a Stoner Utopia Went Up in Smoke (Hardcover)
Surrounded by forces in blue, and most every other color of uniform, Rainbow Farm blazed in a fury of flames while guns were trained on the two owners as they emerged: first, Tom Crosslin, 46, then his much younger lover, Rolland "Rollie" Rohm, 28. Crosslin was shot through the forehead by a FBI sharpshooter. Rohm emerged into the open field 12 hours later and, after setting fire to the farmhouse where he had lived with Crosslin since the early 90s, was hit by the bullet of a Michigan State Police sharpshooter. The bullet first split the butt of Rohm's rifle before entering his chest, splattering him with blood but leaving him on the ground still alive. Or so some say. After that, questions arise, still unanswered.
"The most intriguing stories take place under our very noses," says Dean Kuipers, author of "Burning Rainbow Farm: How a Stone Utopia Went Up in Smoke," when I spoke to him recently during his book tour, making a stop in Kalamazoo. Kuipers, deputy editor at LA City Beat in Los Angeles, California, but with deep roots in southwest Michigan, couldn't let go of the story since he first read about it in the Kalamazoo Gazette in September 2001. He is a well-trained journalist; good stories eat away at him until transformed into print.
Kuipers started to piece together the story of "a hippie campground famous for peace, love and weed." As the story took shape, Kuipers wrote an article in 2003 that appeared in Playboy Magazine. He wrote: "On the day that he purchased Rainbow Farm, Tom Crosslin said destiny had led him to the place. By the late 1990s, the farm would become a well-known stop on the hippie trail, a scenic overlook for the migratory flocks of travelers and Phish fans who crisscrossed the country. For thousands of blue-collar pilgrims who stopped there looking for a few days of fun and freedom in Michigan's vacation lands, it was a benevolent little campground. And on any other Labor Day they would have been there: thousands of happy stoners setting up tents for Crosslin's annual marijuana-legalization fest, a party he'd named Roach Roast."
Crosslin, Kuipers writes, "came from a world of muscle cars, factory work, girls and getting stoned." He'd quit school around 10th grade and had been working ever since -- at a little bit of everything. He was a factory worker and a truck driver, he managed a car wash, worked in construction, started his own string of businesses, and purchased property as investments. He married, then divorced, coming to the realization that he was gay. He loved a good, raucous party, and he was known for his cookouts, well lubricated with cases of beer, serving vegetables he grew in his garden. Fun-loving and easygoing, Crosslin was known to be rather promiscuous... until he met Rollie Rohm. The two fast became something of an odd couple. While Crosslin was then 34, Rollie was all of 16 years old, a school dropout too, sporting a first moustache to match his long blonde hair. In spite of his youth, he had already fathered a son, Robert, married briefly, more out of a sense of responsibility than love. Rollie had grown up being bounced from foster home to foster home, and it was undeniable that Tom Crosslin was something of a father figure to him, taking him under his protective wing. They became inseparable.
Eventually, the two moved from Elkhart, Indiana, to Vandalia, Michigan, because Crosslin had found what seemed like his and Rollie's utopia -- a farm that could be home to both of them and the little boy, Robert, as well as a place where all would be welcome. The party that would never have to end. A beer-swilling and pot-smoking good ol' boy, Crosslin saw this farm in the country as a place where they could gather with friends in peace while getting on a buzz, harmless fun, and keep it all legal because he had firm rules about no selling, no dealing, no hard drugs.
Complaints about the festivals were mostly about noise and litter, not about drug use. Rainbow Farm had its own security system patrolling the grounds, including the Michigan militia, although without use of weapons, relying only on presence and the ever-watchful eye. Crosslin would not give in to use of hard drugs because he understood that this was crossing the line, not something of interest to him personally, and would endanger his property.
Kuipers writes about the escalating tension between Rainbow Farm and law enforcement with a journalist's professionalism. He states the facts, quotes the witnesses, interviews all who are willing. He cites the war of lawsuits and filed complaints, contained to paper until it no longer was.
Crosslin was defiant, he had made the war on drugs his own, and he was going down fighting. As law enforcement tightened their circle around the farm, he and Rohm drew up wills, passed out belongings, and loaded their guns. The day they were to show up in court to face charges (see the book for detail on these), they instead set fire to the farm. News helicopters circled overhead, smelling a messy story, and the FBI and state police were called in as reinforcements.
As the final day dawned, 120 law enforcement officers surrounded the farm. Friends tried to convince Crosslin and Rohm to surrender -- themselves and the farm -- even as the smoke rose from the various buildings, but Crosslin stood firm. He was in this for the long haul. When coffee ran out, he headed towards a neighbor's farmhouse on a path out back, brought the coffee back, then, deciding he needed the coffeepot, too, he headed back. It was on this second return trip that the FBI shot Crosslin; stories conflict on who shouldered their weapon first.
Rohm was alone at the house, and what exactly happened next varies even more than the stories woven around Crosslin's death. A miscommunication? Too quick a draw? Rohm had agreed over the phone to surrender after dawn. Just before he emerged, the farmhouse began to burn, smoke and flames rising, and Rohm came out carrying a firearm. Reports say he appeared frightened and confused. He wasn't used to making decisions without his partner. Running from the house, he seemed to stop in confusion, changed direction to run back to the house again. A state police vehicle appeared, and someone said Rohm shouldered his weapon, ready to fire, but never did. Instead, a bullet from a state trooper's firearm brought him down. He was handcuffed, still alive, maybe.
Kuipers writes: "The official version of events -- that Crosslin and Rohm both raised their rifles -- was soon disputed. Within days, investigations were launched by the families, the prosecutor, the state's attorney general, the state police, the FBI, even the Michigan militia. The lawyer handling a wrongful-death suit for Rohm's estate says the state police account of Rohm's death is seriously flawed... the police case is forensically baseless."
Adding fuel to the Rainbow Farm fire is a finding later in an autopsy done on Rollie Rohm. His testicles were missing, recently, it seemed, cut off. Why? By whom? For what purpose? The wrongful-death case is still pending, and readers of Dean Kuipers's book, Burning Rainbow Farm, will find themselves intrigued, perhaps even rethinking the war on drugs and how far we are willing to take it.
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