Cannabis Heroes: Bill Logan and the Fight for Justice in California

CANNABIS HEROES - IN MEMORIUM WILLIAM (BILL) LOGAN (D. Jan 16 2026)

Bill Logan is not a well-known name in the California marijuana movement, but he deserves hero status.

Bill was a country lawyer serving the farm communities in the Central Valley. His cases were mostly misdemeanors, traffic offenses, domestic violence. But in 1990’s in the areas where he was practicing, the cops and prosecutors were stepping up the War On Drugs thanks to grants from the feds. Prosecutors in the farming communities where he worked specialized mostly on cultivation, sales and possession of more than an ounce, any of which could result in jail or prison.

Bill was an avid cannabis enthusiast, but he had never grown a green plant. He didn’t know what to ask the prosecution’s “experts” about plant yield or personal use. He knew they had no expertise, but he didn’t know how to demonstrate it. One day in1988 he cold called me at my office and asked if I would be an expert witness testifying against the state expert. I answered with a definitive NO.

Then he asked if he could visit to discuss witness handling. We spent a long afternoon discussing cases. That meeting intrigued me so much that it resulted in my agreeing to work with him as an expert witness.

Most of the cases were what is called Williamson Hearings, when the judge would determine whether the marijuana was grown or possessed for personal use or sale. Prosecutors and state’s witnesses never saw a personal use case.

The prosecutors were ignorant cowboys who had a free rein in court. Every plant weighed a pound or more even if it was mature and one could see that it tiny. It was always the most potent bud the officer had ever seen. The statements were ridiculous, but the defense had no witness to rebut their claims, so the judge heard only one side. Things usually did not go well for the defendant.

Prosecutors were surprised to find that the defense had an expert witness. They looked at me with contempt. There I was, in a cheap suit, a layperson trying to play in the big league of Victorville or Three Rivers courts. They knew they were the professionals, and I was an amateur to be swung around and tossed into the legal dustbin.

We were a team and developed strategies around each case. Inspect the evidence. Talk at length with the defendant. Investigate the state’s witness. Then we spent hours smoking and driving to the court cases. And working on strategies. Let me give you a few.

There was a survivalist type fellow who took a kayak to the Hetch Hechy in California. It’s a reservoir that is legal to look at, but not touch. He was dressed in loincloth and was instantly arrested when he returned to shore from an island in the lake. 

As we discussed the case, we realized it was a loser because of the illegality of the restricted water destined for people to use. We decided we had to take the incident and the defendant out of the reservoir. Several joints later on the drive we came up with an idea. Let’s take the court to an amusement park. That certainly sounded less serious than the sacred water.

He was charged with growing on the island, but neither the cops nor the prosecutors went out there to look at the evidence. And when searched him, they found a stash of seeds. Based on his loin cloth costume, the trip to the island and the seeds, the state expert said that based on his experience he determined that the defendant was growing.

Now it was my turn on the stand. Logan asked me if he was growing, and I said he wasn’t. End of questions by the defense. The prosecutor named all the contentions of his lazy witness. Then I said He decided not to grow.  The enigmatic answer that Logan and I planned intrigued the prosecutor, and he violated a fundamental law of the courtroom - never ask aa question you don’t know the answer to.

“Why did you say he wasn’t growing?

He decided not to?”

“Yes. First, when he came back he still had the seeds, so there’s no indication that he planted any. And he noticed that the ranger had seen him. It’s like an amusement park.”

“Like an amusement park?”

“Yes. There’s a big Ferris Wheel and he thought he would take a ride so he bought a ticket and stood in line. Then he looked up and saw how high up he’d be in that little cab and he decided not to go. He bought a ticket but decided not to ride. He never planted the seeds.”

The jury agreed. Not guilty.

The most notorious state witness was a flatulent fellow named Charlie Stowell, with the nickname, “One Pound Charlie.” He was a big-wig in the narc hierarchy and ignorant with a big ego and high opinion of himself.

He would make stuff up as he testified, and without an expert to challenge him he was a great storyteller. Everything weighs at least a pound because the narcs voted on it at a convention. He couldn’t recall exactly when the vote took place or if it was in Atlanta or Atlantic City. He had taken cannabis recognition classes but couldn’t remember who taught them, when that happened, or what books were referred to. He had also gathered info from former defendants but could not remember their names.

Logan started gathering his testimony from his different cases and we saw that his lies overlapped and contradicted one another. In order to testify as an expert, you have to prove that you have more information than the average lay person. The opposition lawyer questions you in a Voire dire, which roughly translates to Look and Say. Logan had him on the stand.

When you tell the truth you don’t have to remember what you say, but when you lie, you better have a good memory, or the stories won’t add up. After a vigorous cross, the judge said he’d let him testify but take his voir dire into account.

As Logan and I passed him after the hearing Charlie turned to us and said, “Got past you this time, Ed.”

I turned and looked deep into his eyes and said, “It’s the last time, Charlie. The last time.”

He retired a week later, and many of the prosecution’s experts, soon lost their taste for testifying.

Logan changed the courtroom atmosphere throughout the state from his perch in Three Rivers.

Goodbye Bill. Love You. Miss you.