Shasta County Sheriff Captain Forrest Bartell was ice-cold. There aren’t many people I’ve met who intimidate me, but Captain Bartell was one of them. An imposing hulk of a man, he took over the assignment of the Shasta Lake sheriff substation at the rank of captain approximately a year after 530 Collective opened. Word had quickly spread, as it does in small towns, that he was vehemently opposed to “dope.”
I remember sitting across from him in his office the first time I met him face to face and wondering if he ever smiled; my next thought was that arresting me that day probably would have accomplished precisely that.
When I first spoke with Captain Bartell on the phone, I invited him to come to the collective for a site visit. He turned me down flat. He said unless it was a call for service, he was never going to set foot in my establishment. In an effort toward politeness, he told me that I was welcome to come meet with him at his office. I took him up on that offer, and I met with him in his office that same day.
It was a brief meeting, and I knew going in that I could not have high hopes of winning him over. My goal for the meeting was to simply make his acquaintance and demonstrate that I did not have horns, a rather humble bar.
The captain was professional yet frosty. He made it very clear that he was completely against my operation but also that he respected the will of the city officials who had granted me the permit. Being stuck between these two opposing realities, he crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his chair, and glared at me over the rim of his glasses.
I think even his mustache resented my presence.
I told him that I respected his position and could even empathize with the conflict the existence of my store created for the law-enforcement officials who had previously spent their entire careers chasing down cannabis and its operators. I asked him to extend my offer of a site visit to any of the officers within his ranks who might be interested.
He said he would convey the message, and I left his office with my tail between my legs.
I would learn in subsequent years that in many ways, Captain Bartell was a study in contradictions. The chilly cop exterior that made him so excellent at his job and intimidated the hell out of the fledgling cannabis operator sitting across from him well concealed one of the warmest hearts I have ever had the privilege to know; he would become the most unlikely of friends and, along with his family, a lifeline in one of my darkest hours.
But on that first day, he was anything but my friend. Daunted but not vanquished, I knew that somehow, I had to integrate law enforcement into my outreach plans.
In 2009 and 2010, I had no idea what other cannabis store owners were doing as far as direct law-enforcement outreach, but my instincts told me it was somewhere between not much and nothing. In some cities, the stores were not even permitted, so the last thing any operator wanted to do was draw the cops’ attention. I decided to go in the exact opposite direction.
There was nothing Machiavellian about my outreach intention. I have never viewed the cops as my enemy. Additionally, it was never my goal to change law enforcement’s opinion about cannabis as a whole; that seemed too daunting a task. Rather, my intent was that the local force should see my operation as a viable, permitted business like any other in town and that they should see me as any other business owner. I had to personalize both my store as a local business and myself as an individual. This meant outreach, engagement, and most important, getting them inside the building.
Despite not viewing the cops as enemies and despite my belief that my outreach was absolutely critical, I must admit that it wasn’t always comfortable. But the work needed doing, and so I pushed my discomfort and nervousness aside and did what needed to be done. I still wish cops smiled more.
Over the next couple of months, several deputies and sergeants came through 530 Collective’s doors to see the facility for themselves and to hear my perspective on the industry. They joked that their vehicles in my parking lot were probably terrible for business, and they were right. From where I stood in the Collective lobby, I could see the customers’ cars slowing down to pull into the parking lot but then driving off at the sight of the cop cars. The couple of hours immediately after any law-enforcement visit were always slow as customers were afraid to come in, thinking the store was getting raided. Although the cop visits may have resulted in some missed sales, the outreach was important to me, as I diplomatically explained to customers when their curiosity got the better of them and they came back.
The law-enforcement officials who made the effort to visit the collective and see for themselves what the operation was like were always appreciative of my candor. I explained to the cops as part of their site visit that I felt transparency was critical to both my operation and its ability to successfully integrate into the community. I always made sure to thank them for their willingness to keep an open mind. They, in turn, were respectful and often offered suggestions to improve security. They also always made sure I knew that Captain Bartell sent them.