The End of the Dream by Ann Rule

marijuana and they realized it would be a much bigger score than the “Catholic Banana Farm.” In their island social circle, good marijuana was highly desired. The group frowned on cigarettes, but not on pot smoking. They selected their marijuana the way a generation older might have picked a fine wine.
    (Scott himself preferred female, sencea pot. ) They lived in a place and during an era where their youth happily isolated them, and they were benignly alienated from anyone over forty. So, when they found the field of illegal marijuana, they made plans to liberate it.
    This time, they returned to the field with a beat-up old car to bring home a load of “produce.” They cut the mature marijuana plants and piled them onto the roof of the car, and when they could get no more in the front and back seats, they filled the trunk to bursting. They had less than a mile to drive to get back to The Shire. Literally buried in pot, they peered over the fragrant leaves and steered precariously down the road. “I went into Scott’s room late that night, “ Marge said. “And there were Kevin and Scott in a room filled with marijuana plants they had cut down. They were pulling the leaves off the stems and asked me to help them. There was this very intense energy in that room.” Watching them, Marge shook her head slowly, strangely revulsed by the smell of their sweat in the warm room. In the previous weeks, she had put a lot of house plants in Scott’s room, and they had all been thriving. Now, she saw that they were suddenly limp and wilted.
    “Look what you’re doing to them, “ she scolded Kevin and Scott. “Look around and see them. They’re practically crying out they’re scared that they’ll be the next to be pulled out of the soil and have their leaves torn off. I can’t even stay in this room.” Scott looked at her as if she’d gone crazy, but Kevin understood what Marge was saying and bent his head. She could tell he felt bad. “The next day, the pot was gone, “ she said. “With some extra care the house plants all survived the orchids and all.
    “ Kevin never knew where Scott had gone to sell the leaves they’d spent all night stripping. But, somehow, Scott had known just what to do.
    The next day, he handed Kevin $2,000. Kevin was dumbfounded. It had been a long time since he had had anywhere near that much money. They laughed uproariously. They hadn’t taken all the “hippie’s crop, “ but they had taken enough to make a bundle of money. To them, it wasn’t stealing, it was more like a chess game. Marge and Kevin and Scott were a happy trio.   They showed off and she took pictures. She forgave them for the marijuana incident. In June 1976, some friends of Kevin’s docked their boat in the harbor. One of the men, Rich, had gone to high school with Kevin. Kevin asked Marge if she wanted to go out with them to a Mexican restaurant. The sailors hadn’t had real food or drinks or fun for a long time. Marge agreed to join them. Rich was quite taken with Marge that night, and later when he came out to stay on the tomato farm. The attraction was to be the end of the good times that Kevin, Scott, and Marge had shared. The crew of the sailboat explained that they alternated choosing new crew members, and it happened to be Rich’s turn to pick someone to sail with them for the next three weeks. Kevin said he wouldn’t mind going, but Rich shook his head. “Nope. This time we want a woman. We’re sick of looking at our own ugly, bearded faces. I pick .. . Marge.” Marge smiled and nodded. It would be another adventure. South Dakota, then Honolulu, and now, the open sea. Anyway, this leg of the trip was to be a short one.
    She only planned to sail with them to Fiji, and she had enough money to buy a plane ticket back to Hawaii. “Once in Fiji, I decided to stay with the boat and sail to New Zealand, “ she recalled. “The boat was staying there six months. My money for a ticket from Fiji to the U.