Editor’s note (4/11/2026): Following publication of this piece, we learned that Joe Keith Bickett was arrested in Austin the night of the premiere party for assault with injury (family violence). Through a publicist, filmmakers Evan Mascagni and Drew Morris offered the following comment: “We were unaware of the charges at the time and were only recently informed of them so we cannot speak to the particulars of the case.” Bickett’s lawyer has not responded to our request for comment.
I’ll admit it – South by Southwest does not make me fall in love with Austin all over again. In theory, it represents the essence of what makes Austin special: a magical meeting of the greatest up-and-coming voices in tech, film, music, education, and culture. How some cynical Austinites see it: another corporatized travesty generating outrageous prices, diabolical traffic, and a new set of West Coasters convinced they want to move here during the 10-day period the city’s weather teases us with false spring.
What would a conference killjoy such as myself be doing downtown waiting outside Devil May Care at 11pm on the very first night of SXSW? I was waiting to shake the hands of the Cornbread Mafia.
If you didn’t catch the premiere at SXSW, it is well worth seeking out the forthcoming true crime documentary Cornbread Mafia, the true story of the largest domestic marijuana syndicate in U.S. history, when it gets picked up for distribution. The documentary, directed by Evan Mascagni and Drew Morris, tells the story of Kentucky farmers Joe Keith Bickett and Jimmy Bickett, veteran Bobby Joe Shewmaker, and Johnny Boone (known as “the Godfather of Grass”) and their exploits in the underground marijuana industry throughout the late Seventies and Eighties.
The film itself features gorgeous farmland shots, lively interviews, and engaging animation that brings life and interest to the narrative exposition. (I’m not a film critic, but I’m doing my best.) For me, it’s rare for a documentary to keep me hooked from beginning to end, but I never so much as checked my notifications during the 90-minute runtime, and not just because it’s a story about weed.
The story begins in Kentucky in the fall of 1978. The doc opens with Joe Keith Bickett narrating the story of the first time law enforcement busted the group, burnt their marijuana crops, and hauled his associates off to jail. Joe Keith Bickett himself ran. “Big fat-ass sheriffs,” he laughs to the camera. “Wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of them catching me on foot, I’ll tell you that.” And yes, the audience is blessed with an animation of these so-called fat sheriffs bouncing down the hill as they attempt to catch Bickett.
As the story goes, the sheriffs burnt down two out of the three marijuana crops the group was growing. From his cell, Jimmy Bickett overheard the cops discussing plans to burn down the third and final crop that night after watching a boxing match between Muhammad Ali and Leon Spinks. After Joe Keith Bickett paid bail, the gentlemen gathered some help, waited until nightfall, and snuck in the back way during the evening match to harvest the 5-acre crop before law enforcement could arrive. They succeeded, taking the last load of crops out at 5 o’clock in the morning. When the cops arrived, everything was gone, except for one big plant they left right in the middle of the field.
The film is chock-full of such clever escapades, hijinks, and run-ins with the law. It showcases the hippie movement, the return of vets from the Vietnam war, the disenchantment of the population with the government, and the center of that Venn diagram: the rise in popularity of marijuana in the States. At one point, we see the infamous clip of Nixon stating that America’s public enemy No. 1 is drug abuse.
My favorite mafia member was Bobby Joe Shewmaker, the veteran, who helped the Bickett brothers turn their marijuana farming into a viable business. Shewmaker helped them grow the crops inside the cornfields, the tall stalks providing camouflage, giving rise to the nickname the Cornbread Mafia. When the business first started taking off, marijuana possession was a misdemeanor, much like a parking ticket, Shewmaker says in the doc. It was just a minor inconvenience to get busted. The most time anyone did back then was 30 days.
The film details the many ways in which the town economy was stimulated, with many people outside the main group benefiting financially from storing the crops, selling the product, and providing equipment. The gang even donated part of the profits to the local church. The lawyers and DEA agents interviewed express amazement at the fact that no one in the town ever turned them in.
“We were always distrustful of the law,” says Joe Keith Bickett.
“I’ve never liked cops. Just telling it like it is,” says Jimmy Bickett.
Then the Eighties brings Reagan’s “war on drugs” into full force. Marijuana becomes a felony.
Growers start getting busted constantly and people are going to jail. The Cornbread Mafia expands to other states. Police officials hold a press conference asking members of the community to report any marijuana sightings, but no one ever does.
Ultimately, the Cornbread Mafia was apprehended, starting with one of their Minnesota farms, which led to the discovery of all the others. Joe Keith Bickett was sentenced to 25 years. Jimmy Bickett and Johnny Boone were sentenced to 20 years. My man Bobby Joe Shewmaker was sentenced to 30.
In Johnny Boone’s final remarks at his sentencing, he said, “Your honor, we don’t deny we broke the law. I offer no excuse. I only say that because of the poverty in our area, marijuana is one of the things that helps put bread on the table for people. We’re not criminals, your honor. We’re not the kind of people to go out and harm people. We were working with our hands on the earth that God gave us.”
In prison, Joe Keith Bickett studied the law and helped many of his fellow inmates to mitigate their sentences. Many of them later received clemency from Obama or had years shaved off their sentences. But Bickett was never able to change the sentencing for himself or the rest of the Cornbread Mafia.
After two decades, all members have been released and reunited with their families. They came out of prison to a world of dispensaries and legalized cannabis. I can only imagine how surreal it must have been to grow up in rural Kentucky, spend 20-plus years in federal prison, and eventually find yourself enjoying bottle service in the fuchsia glow of an Austin bar at SXSW celebrating the premiere of a documentary about your story. It was surreal for me to find myself sipping on a Cornbread Mafia THC seltzer and shaking Joe Keith Bickett’s hand. It served as a reminder that thick-accented anti-cop rural farmers are the backbone of this country, and that we must pay due respect to our marijuana forefathers who paved the way for the joints we smoke today.
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This article appears in April 3 • 2026.
