For those of us who think America's drug war has been the most pointless, besotted binge since Robert Downey Jr. went to the Burning Man Festival, it's been hard to find a good hero for our cause. A couple of statesmen have spoken up — Jesse Ventura and Ralph Nader — but it's low on their priorities, far outstripped by the more pressing ambition of not being laughed at.

Still, from time to time, someone will arise literally from the ashes, reeking of patchouli and offering himself as our king. In South Jersey this year that man was R. Edward Forchion, known to the Courier-Post receptionists as Weedman — as in "Guys, the Weedman is in the lobby again."

Forchion is a very relaxed, bearded man with a Rastafarian hat and short dreadlocks, at least from what I can see in his photo. I've never met the guy. Nor am I likely to. He will be in jail for the next two to 10 years for a series of arrests between 1997 and 2000 in which he had a total of 55 pounds of marijuana.

I don't think that in any three-year period I have ever used 55 pounds of anything. Except Reddi Wip. Long story.

But he is an imperfect symbol like all the others. Sure, he spent the last few years alternately running for office and getting arrested. But that's what every other politician does. And Forchion didn't even make any money at it.

Weedman seemed to run for office every year, sometimes for two positions at once. In the 8th District Assembly race last year, he got about 1 percent of the vote — which is actually not bad when you consider that he never raised any campaign funds, had drug charges pending against him the entire time, and campaigned largely by smoking marijuana in front of government officials — at the Liberty Bell during the Republican convention in Philadelphia, on the floor of the New Jersey State Assembly, in the office of a congressional representative, and so forth.

His platform isn't as spurious as it appears. Hundreds of thousands of people get busted for marijuana every year. And you, helpful citizen, pay for the courts and the prisons. You may have noticed that the United States has a disproportionate number of its inhabitants in jail. You also may have noticed that this has had no effect on drug activity overall. Sure, pot use dipped among teen-agers this year, but the market for the cheaper and more dangerous Ecstasy has skyrocketed like ... well, like a teen-ager on Ecstasy.

And you may have noticed, finally, that most of the people you know who smoke dope hold down jobs and get through life just fine. In fact, three people who are believed to have used illegal drugs are the president, whoever the president-elect is, and whoever the president elect's opponent was. Since they didn't get caught and have their lives ruined, they now oversee the catching and ruining of others.

It is, politely put, inconsistent. So Forchion did something philosophically very consistent indeed, although in a strictly pragmatic sense it could be better described as nuts. He smoked dope on the courthouse steps. And got arrested. Again.

When jail seemed imminent after awhile, he panicked briefly and ran to Canada, begging the Cuban embassy to take him in. But working for the betterment of a nation sometimes means entering one of its jails. This paper's editorial page double-dog dared Forchion to come back to America and take his medicine, and he, by gosh to his credit, did.

So does he get to be our poster boy? Well, he wasn't a pure case. Along with the drug offenses, he was also sentenced for possession of a stolen handgun and stealing gambling chips at an Atlantic City casino, which kind of dilutes the marijuana protest. I mean, some other day down the line, you might try legalizing owning a hot gun and stealing casino chips. But for cryin' out loud, focus!

He also was found to have a dozen marijuana cigarettes in his shoe when they took him from court to jail, by the way. But that may only prove that if you go through 55 pounds of pot in three years, you're apt to forget where you put all of it. For example, on Thursday I was trying on my old batting helmet and ... Hey! Reddi Wip!

Ah, but we shouldn't make fun of the poor guy. He got busted on a bad law and he eventually marched into court on his own. But there is a bright spot. Even though he's in prison now — living on rain water, stale bread and sea shells, and writing his memoirs in an ink comprised of food coloring and his own tears — it'll have only a marginal impact on the quality of his dope.

Even there, the drug war has failed. Even there.