The Birth of NECANN: From Snow‑Bound Boston to a Northeast Cannabis Hub
In February 2015, Marc Shepard found himself outside a Boston beer hall at 5 a.m., chipping ice from the steps while a historic snowstorm blanketed the city. The first NECANN show seemed destined to fail: freezing weather, a venue with icy entrances, and a last‑minute scramble to avoid overlapping with the Patriots’ Super Bowl.
Yet when the doors opened at 9 a.m., a line curled around the corner. Attendance exceeded the room’s capacity, forcing NECANN to halt ticket sales at the door for both days. At that point, adult‑use cannabis was still illegal in Massachusetts, and most East Coast operators had little more than a medical‑market foothold.
Shepard recalled telling his partner the next day, “Good news, I think we’ve got something really good here. Bad news, I’m retiring from the newspaper industry. I’m going to do this.” That moment marked the shift from alternative journalism to cannabis event production.
From Alt‑Weeklies to Weed Weeklies
Before cannabis conventions, Shepard spent more than 15 years in alternative newspapers—working with titles like the Boston Phoenix and Providence Phoenix. Those outlets treated culture, politics, civil rights, and drug policy as interconnected beats, a mindset that later proved useful when the print industry began to wane.
As print revenue declined, events became a lifeline for many alt‑weeklies. Beer festivals, concerts, and ticketed gatherings offered a way to leverage existing reader bases, venue relationships, and advertiser networks. In 2014, while serving as publisher at Dig Boston, Shepard asked whether a cannabis‑focused event could work in Massachusetts.
Medical cannabis was legal, but adult‑use remained prohibited. CBD sellers still faced raids, and the legal boundaries of a cannabis expo were unclear. The inaugural NECANN was deliberately educational—no sales floor, no polished industry, just a room full of people eager for information and community.
That room changed Shepard’s trajectory, leading him to co‑found NECANN (New England Cannabis Conventions) and dedicate himself to building a platform rooted in local markets.
The Case for Staying Local
Between 2014 and 2017, cannabis conferences proliferated across the country. Shepard acknowledges that early success often came down to timing rather than a secret formula. The real challenge emerged as the market matured.
Unlike established industries where major manufacturers return year after year, cannabis operators frequently disappear, merge, pivot, or fold under shifting taxes and local ordinances. Shepard noted, “In the cannabis industry, they go out of business or fold or change, not by the day, by the hour.”
This volatility means NECANN cannot rely on a static exhibitor list. Instead, the organization prioritizes constant outreach to new businesses, sponsors, and local players. By offering smaller booths and lower barriers to entry, NECANN attracts a diverse mix of entrepreneurs rather than depending on a few high‑dollar sponsors.
Shepard explained his philosophy: “I would rather have a hundred $1,000 advertisers than four $25,000 sponsors because if one of them becomes unreasonable, I have to drop them because they’re 25 % of my business. With many small partners, losing one is only a 1 % hit.”
The Massachusetts Fight Is Back on the Table
NECANN’s Boston show carries extra significance as the birthplace of the organization and a annual hub for the Northeast cannabis community. In early 2026, reports from GBH indicated that the State Ballot Law Commission dismissed an objection to a proposed measure that would let voters reconsider adult‑use legalization. Ballotpedia described the 2026 initiative as seeking to repeal sales while allowing limited possession, and Marijuana Moment noted that lawmakers declined to act, leaving activists to gather signatures for a November ballot.
Shepard did not treat this as background noise. He warned, “If the people in the industry and those who support cannabis don’t come out and vote, we could be faced with cannabis being outlawed again in Massachusetts after November.”
In response, NECANN programmed at least one session on every track addressing the ballot question, focusing on concrete actions attendees could take between the event and the election. Shepard reflected on the symmetry: a decade earlier, NECANN’s Boston events urged voters to approve legalization; now, the same audience is asked to defend what they helped win.
Why the Northeast Became the Room Everyone Wants In
Although NECANN’s name references New England, its Boston convention has long drawn participants from New York, New Jersey, Maine, Vermont, and beyond. As mature Western markets tightened, companies began looking east for growth, strengthening the region’s pull.
NECANN responded with two deliberate shifts away from standard trade‑show economics:
- Paying speakers rather than expecting free “exposure,” which Shepard said improved programming quality and demonstrated respect for contributors’ expertise.
- Offering free admission for buyers, helping owners and purchasing decision‑makers access the floor without a paywall.
Shepard also rejected the notion of viewing competing events as threats. “If eight different things are going on, it’s better for the attendees and the industry,” he said, arguing that a bustling schedule of panels, parties, and mixers makes the market appear larger, more professional, and harder to ignore.
Minnesota Gets the NECANN Treatment
After establishing events in Pennsylvania, Boston, and Vermont, NECANN turned to Minnesota in May 2026. The official schedule listed the Minnesota Cannabis Convention for May 14‑15, 2026, at the Minneapolis Convention Center.
Rather than arriving with a sales pitch, Shepard’s team spent roughly a year and a half embedding themselves in the local scene—sponsoring existing events, joining organizations, and promoting others’ work before asking for participation.
“Our model was to spend about a year and a half introducing ourselves to the Minnesota market,” Shepard explained. “We sponsored all the existing events there, supported the people that built the Minnesota market, and paid into their efforts.”
The Minnesota convention featured programming from local organizations, the Minority Cannabis Business Association, social‑equity opportunities, Minnesota‑based exhibitors, and tribal license holders. True to NECANN’s commitment, at least 10 % of exhibit hall space was donated to social‑equity licensees or applicants; Shepard noted the final allocation reached about 15 %, inclusive of tribal participants.
Such allocations aim to counter the pay‑to‑play dynamic that can marginalize those most impacted by prohibition, acknowledging who should be present in the conversation even if structural barriers remain.
The Trade Show as Political Infrastructure
It’s easy to dismiss cannabis conferences as collections of lanyards, tote bags, and buzzword‑laden panels. Yet Shepard’s journey underscores why the rooms themselves matter.
Before investors, regulators, or mature markets existed, there were gatherings of patients, growers, lawyers, activists, operators, journalists, and curious outsiders with business cards—people trying to turn a countercultural idea into something tangible. NECANN survived by recognizing that cannabis is not a single national market but a patchwork of state laws, local politics, cultural norms, and licensing battles.
What works in Humboldt may not translate to Maine; what sells in Colorado could mean little in Minnesota; and a policy that feels safe in Massachusetts can return to the ballot a decade later. Shepard’s background in alt‑weekly journalism instills a skepticism toward power, a loyalty to local scenes, and an aversion to polished PR—qualities that continue to shape NECANN’s approach.
He frames the central question for the industry: Did you build anything for the community before you passed the invoice?
Reflections
Marc Shepard did not build NECANN by pretending the cannabis industry was clean, stable, or easy. He built it around the opposite truth: this sector is volatile, hyper‑local, politically exposed, and populated by people striving to stay alive long enough to matter.
The first frozen Boston show—snow‑plowed steps, uncertain attendance, a line that formed anyway—remains a fitting origin story. Ten years later, the stakes are higher, the venues are more polished, and the badges are better printed, but the core mission persists: bring people together, hand the microphone to those doing the work, and remind everyone that legalization is not a trophy to shelve; it’s an ongoing fight that can resurface when the room grows complacent.
Photos courtesy of NECANN Here
