He Faced Music, And It’s Not Bad
It figures there’d be a smoldering joint in any story about a hippie named Buzz.
And so it goes with the strange saga of Buzz Vineyard. Day after day, in the cluttered woodshop behind a shabby house in North Central Spokane, Buzz could be found laboring at his two favorite pastimes:
Building gorgeous, world-class acoustic guitars and toking enough grass to put a Rastafarian congregation in detox.
“In all the years I did it, I never met anyone who could smoke me under the table,” says Buzz, 45, who estimates his weekly “doobage” intake at something over a couple ounces.
Of course, that was before cops came pounding on his door with a warrant in hand.
These days Buzz says he avoids the demon weed like Nixon snubbed the press. Nobody needs to remind Buzz that he is the luckiest ex-pothead in town.
But for a few quirks of karma, he could be facing five to 10 years in federal prison. Instead, the other day in Superior Court Buzz was given 30 days’ community service.
A sympathetic Judge James Murphy, prosecutor Claude Montecucco and defense lawyer Charlie Dorn agreed Buzz was worth a pound of compassion because there wasn’t an ounce of evidence he was peddling the stuff.
“I’m glad I got the case,” says Murphy. “It’s nice to find a gem among the droppings.”
The road to sobriety for Buzz began about a year ago. Police, acting on a snitch’s tip, hauled 153 marijuana plants out of the ramshackle house.
It’s no surprise a man with such incredible cannabis consumption would turn to gardening.
Not long ago any busts involving 100-plus plants went to federal court, where growers routinely got five-year minimum sentences. More time was tacked on for living near schools and other factors.
But the feds are up to their shoulder holsters in crack cases. Marijuana prosecutions are lower priority, which is why the prosecution of Lawrence Michael Vineyard remained on the local level.
That’s his real name. Although the nickname “Buzz” certainly fits, it doesn’t have anything to do with getting high. It was given him as a baby by his grandmother.
Buzz’s dumb luck continued when Dorn heard about the man during a chance encounter with a mutual friend. The Harvard-educated attorney loves underdogs and took the case for one of Buzz’s fine guitars. That Dorn doesn’t play is beside the point.
“He’s a completely harmless guy,” says Dorn, a former District Court judge. “All he wants to do is build guitars.”
Not just any guitars. Tim Olsen, president of the Guild of American Luthiers, ranks Buzz’s level of craftsmanship among the country’s elite makers.
Unfortunately, Buzz is no salesman. He’s never been successful at marketing his guitars, often selling them for far less than they are worth.
Too proud for welfare or food stamps, Buzz exists in squalor. “His dogs eat better than he does,” adds Dorn.
And so the lawyer went to bat for this man who is so brilliant in some respects, so tragic in others. Dorn got the charge against Buzz reduced from felony manufacturing to felony possession.
For the first time in his legal career, Dorn invited the prosecutor to come meet his client where he lives. This kind of thing never happens, but Montecucco broke protocol.
“This certainly was an exceptional case,” says Montecucco, who realized Buzz was no dealer, just a sad guy with a sadder story.
Buzz’s mom died of cancer when he was 13. He was put in a foster home and ran away. Buzz lived on the streets, moved to San Francisco in the 1960s and became a hippie.
He played guitar and then learned how to make them. Drugs went with the life. Because of dope, Buzz did 25 days at the Geiger prison outside of Spokane in 1985.
Somewhere up above, maybe a guardian angel named Jerry Garcia is watching over this hippie named Buzz.
“I’ll build guitars until I can’t build any more,” he says. “How it will all work out, well, I haven’t a clue.”
, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: Color photo