Jack was pissed off, and rightly so. Reefer Madness nonsense, all those decades of weed demonization—it fueled him. He couldn’t stand bullshit. Took it straight to public access TV, small-town protests, roadside rallies, bookstores—wherever someone was willing to listen, he’d go. Wouldn’t shut up, and thank God. He made hemp legal talk before legalization was cool. Not some polished, PR-friendly activist—he was raw, awkward, but relentless. And you don’t see that kind of fierce anymore. What you’ll find now is remnants, the echoes of his rants, in little corners like where the ethos of resisting propaganda still grows, literally, leaf by leaf.