Mischievous Rosie as I remember him!
Probably, the fondest memories of my teenage years unfolded when I spent two semesters at Rochdale College in 1969.
Rochdale College (an 18-storey twin concrete tower) was situated at 341 Bloor Street West at the edge of the University of Toronto campus.
In 1970 (the 2nd year in operation) it became the largest co-operative student residence (of the three-hundred in existence in North America).
Yorkdale was alive and thriving with beatniks and hippies and the influence of that subculture would soon rock the very core of Rochdale - and eventually - bring the house down.
I was just 17, and actively pursuing my creative pursuits, with a big focus on painting and writing.
That year there were two landmark events in my artistic endeavours.
At the College gallery which fronted on Bloor, I installed my first exhibition of fine line drawings and abstract expressionist paintings.
And, after submitting a rough collection of poems to Victor Coleman at Coach House Press (located at the rear of the school) I was elated to learn that the renowed editor chose a piece of prose to include in a special collection (IS 8).
Coach House Presshttp://www.chbooks.com/During that time frame, I also became fairly well-known around hogtown as "The Dancer", and a street performer.
In fact, at a rally on Baldwin Street one fine day, I gained staggering notoriety when I was arrested for dancing on a police car (and allegedly disturbing the peace).
That year, I also met Gerome (Jerry) Ragni - one of the authors of the Rock Musical "Hair".
Under a curious set of circumstances - and at the urging of Jerry - I almost ended up on stage in the Toronto production (fate had other plans).
Post: 11/29/07Hair (the Musical that got away)
http://ijulian.blogspot.com/2007/11/hairthe-musical-that-got-away_29.htmlOver the course of that year, many lost and celebrated souls, passed through Rochdale's hallowed halls.
Shortly after I became a resident, for instance, I struck up a friendship with renowned Sci-Fi writer (and editor) Judith Merrill.
Post: 12/02/07Judith Merril / Sci-Fi (Editor)
http://ijulian.blogspot.com/2007/12/judith-merrilsci-fi-writer-lovely-lady.htmlInitially, in its creative heyday, Rochdale was a hub of artistic activity.
Rochdale Museumhttp://homepages.nyu.edu/~spores01/rochdale.htmlBy early 1970, however, the college became overrun with hapless hippies with no direction and a posse of local drug dealers anxious to feed the pot and acid heads in attendance.
At this juncture, from a creative standpoint, the college began to falter.
The artists and scholars packed their bags and moved on - and the depraved prevailed - amidst cries of outrage from neighbors, politicans, and law enforcement (until they were eventually locked out).
As I struggled with the dilemma of locating new digs at an affordable rent, a neighbor two doors down in the ashram section of the 6th floor room I was leasing, invited me to tag along with a handful of his pals who were setting out across Canada (to the West Coast) in a VW van.
In restrospect?
Yes, how cliche!
Count me in, I chirped to "Rosie", who was orchestrating the trip out of necessity (I later learned on the eve of our departure).
In those days, I was pretty clueless about the insiduous drug scene (and sex, for that matter).
So, when Rosie moved in shortly after my own arrival at Rochdale, it didn't phase me much when I spied an endless trail of colorful characters traipsing to and from his digs all hours of the day and night.
"He's just popular," I recall saying to another resident who conjectured that Rosie was flipping lids of marijuana and hits of acid (LSD) at five and ten dollars a pop.
The charismatic kid from Belleville was actually Bob Rowbotham - who would later be busted for a shipload of drugs - and carve a niche for himself as the biggest drug dealer in Canada at the time.
Since I was there at the beginning, I witnessed the humble beginnings of a nefarious underworld enterprise, that would eventually span the globe.
Part of the reason Rosie was inclined to drive out to Vancouver on that specific occasion was triggered by the fact that he learned from his grapevine of inside sources that the RCMP was about to bust his ass.
Yup, Rosie was hot!
I recall a mystifying day when the likable kid from the outskirts sat solemnly in his tiny room attired in a natty-suit (replete with sloppily-knotted tie), and slicked- down " do" that effected the image of a pimply-faced nerd, with bible in hand.
On notice that the cops were on the way to toss his digs, with the ultimate aim of hauling him off to the local slammer, Rowbotham was inclined to play a game of cat-and-mouse.
That day no drugs or paraphanelia were found on the premises (Rosie cleaned house the night before their celebrated raid).
In disgust, they departed with a warning.
"Get out of town, kid."
So, he did.
Well, we all did, in the spritely-colored beat-up van (the following day).
Actually, it was earlier minor drug bust, which led Rosie to Rochdale in the first place.
Robert W. Rowbotham was charged and convicted of trafficking marijuana at seventeen years of age and sentenced to thirty days in provincial jail.
"That first week in the Belleville bucket and then three weeksafter that in Birch Rapids were the worst bit in my life, bar none," remembered Rosie.
"I was alone and completely out of place in jail. After the jail experience I couldn't get my head back into school or Belleville. My feet were itchy."
A free art school had recently opened by the name of Rochdale, he recalled to one reporter years later, and it piqued his interest.
The college was "a Mecca of free-thought and expression where the only criteria to enroll were open and unjudgemental thinking" he mused in one in-depth interview.
Many artists and musicians attended the campus.
Subsequently, Rosie fit into the free-spirited environment perfectly; in fact, in about two seconds flat, he was turning up at all the "in" parties, courting exotic strangers just passing through, and engaging in lively debates with celebrated key-note speakers who were invited to lecture often amid a swirl of controversy.
Rosie also loved the ladies (and they him).
Indeed, there was always a constant flow of liquor, pot smokers, and pizza-delivery men knocking at the door after midnight and into the wee hours of the morning.
"It certainly wasn't a traditionally dry educational facility," recalled Rosie later in prison.
"Rochdale was a mosaic of culture, art, music, expression and inspiration. We wanted to make a difference in the world, and we did!"
"There was this incredible mix of young people from all walks of life, from all over the world. There wasn't the violence and tension of the nineties. Kids today think we were joking when they hear we were saying things like peace, love and groovy. But we lived it, believed in it!"
"The drug dealing was far from an elaborate scheme; but, more of an extension of the times. There were young people from all over the world talking, debating, protesting, and basically growing up around Rochdale. The American draft dodgers had few options when it came to making money, and they seemed to have contacts all over the continent."
"I was the local boy who knew how to get things done, not to mention I never missed a good party. In contrast to the sleazy speed-dealers of the time, people could come to Rochdale and get a good, fair deal, with no chance of rip-offs or violence. We weren't out to hurt anyone. In a way, we viewed it as providing a youthfully naive public service with an element of adventure. We were just hippies having fun."
Until the cops turned up the heat that week in April (1970).
After a few long good-byes (and late-night parties) we hopped into the bus and headed West.
In Alberta, there was one close call.
An aggressive cop pulled us over - and instructed us to haul our sorry hippie asses out onto the side of the busy highway - as he searched for the demon Mary Jane (killer pot) and drug paraphanelia.
Nada!
Unfortunately, there was one other prevailing bad memory, too.
Deep into the trek cross-country, one of Rosie's long-haired pals started to scratch up a storm.
Upon close inspection, the gang of us were mortified to learn, that he was suffering from a nasty infection of the crabs (lice).
You got it.
Within hours, we were forced to dash into a pharmacy and purchase some nasty-smelling lotion, to zap the little blood suckers into oblivion.
In those days, we thought we had it bad, when promiscuous or unclean behaviour led to a scandalous social disease (gonorrhea, for instance).
But, at least during that unhibited liberated era, sexual partners didn't have the dreaded thought of being infected with HIV or A.I.D.S. hanging over their heads like the sword of Damacles.
If I had a magic wand, I would turn back the clock, so that teens today would have the chance to experience a little intimacy (and romance) with another human being without the thought of walking a tightrope between life and death (or having the need to interrupt an impromptu passionate clinch for a second or two until rubber could be slipped on for protection).
By the way, the troupe eventually sauntered into Vancouver relatively unscathed.
Having spent a few months in the pretty seaside town previously (in Kitsilano at Point Grey) I jumped into the swim of things (no problem).
However, for Rosie - the sprawling sleepy B.C. town - was a big yawn.
So, his feet got itchy once again.
At this juncture, he got wind of the fact there was a drought back east (shortage of pot) so he hatched a scheme.
There was enough cash in his wallet to snap up a couple of bricks (lbs) of marijuana from a trusted cohort on the east side of town.
Eureka!
He quickly made the clandestine purchase, rented a hotel room, and began to break the stash into little baggies he figured he could sell at twenty-five or thirty dollars a pop in dried-up Toronto.
There also was another advantage in those days that drug cartels don't enjoy today that egged him on without worrying about any legal consequences.
In the early seventies, there weren't any security checkpoints at the airport (or body searches conducted)
to complicate the business-at-hand.
Consequently, a light bulb went on inside Rosie's mischievous little head.
He hired two pretty young ladies to dress up in upscale two-piece suits (a little reminiscent of those worn by stewardesses) and haul the hooch in their carry-on bags through the busy airport with staff being none the wiser.
While the mules sat at one end of the plane, Rosie perched at the other, keeping a watchful alert eye on his investment.
Just like a scene out of a movie, dudes!
Once the supply was quickly gobbled up, Rosie trotted back to Vancouver and laid down cash for five more bricks, then repeated the scenario.
I was astounded to learn from a mutual circle of friends later (I was in California by then and lost touch with Rosie) that ballsy Rosie was importing shiploads of marijuana and hashish into the country.
Now, Rosie was a major player in the illicit drug trade, operating out of a business front by the name of "Sweetwater" in downtown Toronto.
Whew!
I'd personally never be able to deal with that kind of pressure.
Even Rosie came close to emotional collapse on occasion.
For example, Rosie was known to dip into a stash and get a little too high - at which point - the paranoia would set in.
I expect that when he met his contacts at rendez-vous points on those occasions, he imagined the Feds would be flying in through the doors and windows off of the rooftops to bust his butt, at the drop of a tie-dyed shirt.
I later learned that the RCMP wanted to bust him earlier on, but elected to shadow him 'til the true identities (and whereabouts) of his high-level drug contacts could be secured before moving in.
Rosie's entrance into the International drug trade was due to a chance meeting with an American journalist by the name of Richard Stratton.
Originally, he sauntered into the intriguing picture to write a story for Rolling Stone Magazine.
Stratton and Rosie became thick as thieves.
"Rosie was charismatic and intelligent," recalled Stratton in one interview with the press.
"He had a belief in the marijuana subculture. It was a philosophy that he was actually living. He made moral choices and he was a moral outlaw. He was not a criminal."
Before long the two were launching "alternative marketing projects."
Richard had some big contacts throughout the US and Rosie knew world-wide suppliers.
In a nutshell - product, a market, and an abundance of willing workers in the transportation end - were the keys to their success.
The cold hard cash started rolling in!
The dynamic duo mesmerized everyone they encountered as they charted their course; indeed, along the way the charismatic partners managed to attract the attention (and kindship) of notable social, musical, and literary icons of the time.
What a charmed life they led!
At one point, members of the controversial Black Panther Party sauntered into Toronto, and scouted them down for local support.
It was not unusual to catch Pulitzer prize winning author Norman Mailer, poet Allan Ginsberg, and rock stars - such as Alice Cooper, Steve Miller, and members of the band "Free" - partying at Rochdale after concerts that were organized by mecurial Rosie and his merry gang of drugsters.
After one such show, it was widely reported in the media, that Rosie received a lifetime ban from a popular Japanese restaurant for allegedly pouring five grams of hash oil onto the grill while dining with Alice Cooper.
But, it all came to a screeching halt.
On January 8 (1974) the Feds broke down Rosie's door - snatched up the goodies - and dragged the shocked hipster off to the local pokie.
He was charged with conspiracy to import a ton of hashish at Pearson International Airport.
Rosie spent a whole year in custody pending trial.
But, he didn't stand alone, in the aftermath.
DJ's at ultra-cool CHUM (rock station) continued to support Rosie on a regular basis as the case mounted.
Meanwhile, Rosie maintained he would never change his views on marijuana, regardless of the fact he was facing a long haul in prison.
Norman Mailer, the day after presenting an Oscar at the Academy Awards, appeared as a character witness at his trial.
"It is bad for karma and bad for the cosmos to put Robert in jail," testified Mailer.
"He should not be condemned as a common criminal. I look at him more like a modern day rapscallion rogue, like Errol Flynn as Captain Blood."
In spite of the glowing references, Rosie was sentenced to fourteen years in prison for conspiracy to import, and headed off to Federal Prison.
But, Rosie kept his wits about him, and adapted to life behind bars.
After being processed in the ancient inner sanctum of the Kingston Penitentiary, Rosie was transferred to one of Canada's toughest prisons (Millhaven Maximum Security Institution).
After a year, he was transferred to the Medium Security facililty at Collin's Bay, since he had no history of violence in his criminal record.
Steve Reid, author of "Jack-Rabbit Parole," documented Rosie's arrival in print.
"Into the yard arrives a young, skinny combination of Albert Einstein and a Fabulous Furry Freak Brother. Before long he had most of us laughing with his great sense of humor and charm. He reminds me of a character from a Tom Wolfe or a Ken Kesey novel. He's a fun-loving trickster who always brings out the kid in everyone he meets. He very much personifies the Sixties, yet had no problem integrating into the stoic prison environment."
In 1980, after four years in federal custody, Rosie was released on an appeal after his lawyer - Ed Greenspan - successfully argued his case before the court.
During his incarceration, he managed to obtain his High School Diploma, in addition to a degree in Business Administration (Seneca College).
But, his personal life was in total disarray.
His wife and three children abandoned him, for starters.
And, since Rochdale had long since closed, it appeared there was nowhere for the notorious drugpin to alight.
As fate would have it, Rosie ran into former business associate, Richard Stratton.
Stratton's fortunes had flourished and his successful operation now spanned the globe.
The spoils of his endeavours allowed him to indulge in fast cars, loose women, and pricey streamlined Learjets.
Soon, Rosie and Richard were in league with each other once again.
Now the tawdry life and times of Rosie took a sinister turn down a treacherous path.
Through a Middle Eastern contact, the drug Kings arranged an eight-ton load of hashish to be shipped from war-torn Lebanon to the U.S. and Canada (with the assistance of the Christian Falangist Army).
Because of the nature of the transaction, the Israeli Army was contracted to undertake the mission which was not politically correct for Israel.
No questions were raised, curiously.
As the old rusty trawler, loaded with eight tons of hashish and five-hundred pounds of hash oil, plowed its way through the US Seventh Fleet enroute to New York, attentive eyes were focused on the clandestine operation.
It should be noted for the record, that the CIA had made arrangements for the military to turn "a blind eye" to the whole charade, with full co-operation of the Drug Enforcement Agency in the United States.
Once the cash was transferred to pay for the cargo the arrests were made.
In the final analysis, the Lebanese army got their money, and the police a high-profile drug seizure.
There was also a bit of a double-cross, though.
To the surprise of the agents who raided the dockside warehouses, only one-and-a-half tons of the original eight tons, were on hand.
Although demands were allegedly made for the return of the "stolen" merchandise, CIA pleas were ignored.
Ah, no honor among thieves, eh?
Rosie again found himself fighting the state over cannabis products.
His lawyers argued that archaic prohibition laws were the problem, not him, or a harmless plant.
Rowbotham supporters packed the courtroom daily; oftentimes, a noteworthy celeb would make an appearance, too.
Canadian rock star Neil Young, for instance, appeared as a character witness prior to sentencing.
"These men didn't cross any moral lines," Young lamented.
"They didn't sell hard drugs and didn't hurt anyone. I smoke grass daily and I pay more taxes in a year than this whole courtroom combined."
In response, the judge openly criticized the popular crooner, in respect to his opinion on pot smoking.
Federal prosecutors requested a life sentence and a stiff $500,000 fine be imposed as penalty.
Rosie - old lucky Pierre - ended up with twenty years on the books.
Richard, was hard-done by, and was sentenced to twenty-five years in the US.
Facing alot of time on his hands, Rosie immersed himself in educational pursuits..
Between 1986 and 1989, he completed a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology with honors, from Queens University.
Although incarcerated, Rowbotham maintained his commitment to civil liberties and social reforms and often challenged laws and set precedents in Canada's Federal Courts.
In fact, his personal appeals and retrials were overwhelming in number and complexity.
Any number of law students would be able to recite Supreme Court Decisions summarily named thereafter in the lawbooks with direct reference to his case(s) as follows:
"Regina vs. Rowbotham"
After an eight-year legal battle, Richard Stratton won his appeal and was released from federal prison.
In prison, he wrote a book titled "Smack Goddess".
Once he was a free man again, Stratton resumed his career as a writer.
Later, Richard married Kim Wozencraft, a former Texas Police Officer.
After refusing to falsify testimony (and admitting to using drugs herself in order to infiltrate the drug world) Kim was sentenced to one year in prison.
Her critically-acclaimed book "Rush" was made into a feature film.
Richard and Kim proceeded to launch a publication called "PrisonLife Magazine."
In addition, they produced a glossy hard-hitting publication dubbed:
"The Voice of the Convicted"
Richard and Rosie re-united in order to give the publications an International flair..
Inside federal prison, Rosie became Canadian Managing Editor of "PrisonLife", for example.
"This magazine will tell people what really goes on behind bars. And it will prove that prisoners have a lot to say," the editors insisted in one of their first news releases.
"Prisoners have the right to hope, they have a right to opportunities that will enable them to change the behavior that led them to crime, and they have a right to re-enter society after they've done their time. Prisoners have a right to become welcome members of society instead of brutalized and brutal outcasts."
Shortly after Rosie took on "PrisonLife Magazine", a want-ad in the local Kingston newspaper piqued Rosie's curiosity.
A TV show produced by Kingston Cablenet called "CONtact" needed a new host.
Rosie was hired on and llater renamed the program "PrisonLife Television".
There was no looking back.
"PrisonLife Television" was structured as a weekly talk-show which focused on dispelling myths about the criminal justice system.
The crew and host of the show consisted primarily of prisoners on passes from area federal institutions.
Prisoners, wardens, politicans, lawyers, and journalists were some of the varied guests that sat in the hotseat.
One particularly informative episode dealt with the subject of "Sex offenders in Prison".
Dr William Marshall, an expert in the development of successful treatment programs for adult sex offenders, was a guest.
"To be separated from your children is a painful reality for prisoners. To be locked behind a fence, unable to reach out, when my children were so severely suffering, most certainly were the worst moments of almost twenty years of incarceration. My goal was to educate and be educated by interviewing Dr Marshall," Rosie noted in one interview at the time the show aired.
On October 6, 1997, the Kingston newspaper ran a front page article with the following headline:
"Rowbotham Finally Free!"
After close to nineteen years of incarceration for trafficking in cannabis, Rosie walked out of Frontenac Institution in Kingston, to continue his sentence on parole at a halfway house in Toronto.
"I've had nineteen years to relax. It's time to get on with life," Rosie excited roared with enthusiasm.
He made such an impression with the producers of one show that interviewed him on the heels of his release, that they offered him a broadcasting job at the studio.
For the first time in Canadian history, CBC National Radio was raving about an ex-con, who would host a show which focused on prison issues.
His first three interviews were with his friend Guy Paul Morin, Chinese dissident Harry Wu, and a Professor of Economics (Michel Chossudovsksy) who conducted an expose on money-laundering.
The programs were an overwhelming success and received praise from both mainstream listeners and CBC Radio Executives.
Negotiations started up with HBO documentary producers for potential film projects, too.
Here is one of the last comments Rosie uttered during that time frame while riding high on a media storm.
"As always, I'm committed to my values and encouraging social change. This time not as a rebel, or a modern-day drug pirate, but as a member of the media. This country of ours is a great place to live, but we've always got to work to make it better. I've got lots to say and I'm not shy," concluded Rosie, with an infectitious wink and a smile.
Where is Rosie now?
News at 11!
Good friend Judith Merril resided at Rochdale!
(Jazz lover)
\
