TRUCKER'S ORDEAL HIGHLIGHTS DRUG-SENTENCE DEBATE

Al Dilts watched his life fall apart on the side of a west Texas highway on
Feb. 17, 1999.

Watched as police pulled 556 pounds of marijuana from a hollowed-out
steamroller that Dilts, an independent trucker from Odessa, Mo., was
hauling on his flatbed truck from El Paso to Weatherford, Texas.

Dilts said then -- and maintains now -- that he didn't know about the drugs.

He immediately told authorities all he knew -- whom he was hauling for,
where the man's business was, where they could find him. Even offered to
take part in a controlled delivery of the load.

Much later, prosecutors lauded Dilts' help.

"Defendant Dilts has continued throughout the course of this
investigation...to provide completely candid information to the best of his
knowledge in response to all law enforcement inquiries," wrote federal
prosecutor C. Richard Baker in a letter to the judge in the case. "The
government notes that Dilts' assistance was timely, and that his
information was truthful, complete and reliable. Additionally, Dilts'
cooperation involved danger and risk of injury to himself and his family."

All that help didn't do Dilts, 66, much good.

The federal government seized his truck, under drug forfeiture law, and
sold it at auction.

He spent $50,000 -- retirement money -- on lawyers.

Sentencing guidelines for federal drug crimes guaranteed a prison term for
him, no matter how much he helped.

And the man for whom Dilts was hauling the marijuana never was arrested,
according to a spokesman for the U.S. Customs Service.

So Dilts, a 40-year veteran of long-haul trucking, is serving a 30-month
federal prison term for drug-trafficking -- the only man punished for this
particular crime.

Instead of preparing to marry his fiancee, Dorothy Peppers, he bunks in
with 57 other convicts in a dormitory at the minimum-security prison camp
at Leavenworth.

Dilts' situation arouses little pity from many in the law enforcement
community.

"Let me ask you something," said Ronnie Stiltner, the Texas police officer
who found the marijuana. "Somebody gets caught with that much dope, how
much trouble you think they ought to be in?"

It's that question that troubles many in the debate over federal drug laws.

Federal drug crimes are governed by mandatory minimum sentences and
sentencing guidelines that limit the types of deals prosecutors can make
with cooperative witnesses, and that limit the ability of judges to
consider the merits of individual cases.

Even for a churchgoing senior citizen who doesn't drink or smoke; a man
whose last brush with the law was in 1953, when he was 17 and he and some
friends took someone else's car for a joyride.

Some prisoners are serving longer times for lesser crimes, but Dilts'
sentence is an example of the unfairness of federal sentencing procedures,
many say.

"If you break the law, there should be a consequence," said Monica Pratt,
spokeswoman for Families Against Mandatory Minimums, a Washington, D.C.,
advocacy group that opposes the sentencing structure for federal drug
crimes. "But the punishment needs to fit the crime."

Easy pickings

Looking back, Dilts figures some folks would have thought the arrangement
looked shady.

The payments that always came in cash. The deliveries to garages and
storage facilities instead of construction sites.

Later, he told authorities that although he didn't know he was hauling
drugs, he didn't necessarily want to know if things weren't on the up-and-up.

After all, when you're an independent owner-operator netting about $18,000
a year, you take whatever loads come your way.

Even the cash payments and the drop sites weren't that odd in the trucking
business, Dilts said.

"I've had loads in the past that paid cash, lots of them," Dilts said.

As for the drop sites, "I was always under the assumption that's where he
worked on his stuff at," Dilts said.

Besides, the customer seemed like a nice guy.

"He was clean-cut, about as friendly as can be," Dilts said. "He never
seemed nervous or anything. Everything was always easygoing."

They met outside Chicago in 1997, when Dilts was hauling under contract for
another company. The man hired Dilts to deliver some equipment to a farm
outside El Paso.

There were eight loads in all, over a period of about a year and a half.
The first two loads, both farm equipment, paid about $800 each; the last
six, all steamrollers, paid $1,800 each.

Good money, no matter what.

In trucking, during tough economic times, a lifeline.

During the last 15 months, about 5,000 trucking companies have gone
bankrupt and about 200,000 trucks have been taken out of service, said Todd
Spencer, executive vice president of the 67,000-member Owner-Operator
Independent Drivers Association in Odessa, Mo.

Factors include deregulation, which makes it tough to get a good wage, and
rising fuel costs, which take a big bite out of earnings.

Plus, with the growth in trade between Mexico and the United States, more
trucks are making runs to border cities like Laredo and El Paso.

"There are a lot of trucks waiting, looking for something they can load
back out of the area," Spencer said.

Easy pickings for drug traffickers in need of unsuspecting mules.

"I'd suspect most drug shipments that cross the border, the driver has no
idea," Spencer said.

"It's a common situation. The idea (Dilts) had a deliberate role in it is
unfair and impractical."

Especially to those who know Dilts.

"He seems to be a typical Midwesterner," said Fred Herron, senior pastor of
Vineyard Christian Fellowship Church in Kansas City, which Dilts attended.
"Goes to work, works hard, makes money for his family, has a sense of duty
and commitment....I wouldn't guess he'd have anything to do with drugs
whatsoever. He's older than my dad. He's been trucking for years. It just
doesn't add up."

When asked if Dilts deserved a 30-month prison sentence, Baker, the
prosecutor, said: "You need to call Congress."

Minimum sentencing standards and sentencing guidelines date from concerns
about lenient judges and from the crack epidemic of the 1980s. The
sentencing system was designed to imprison drug kingpins, provide
nationwide uniformity in sentences, and to help stanch the flow of drugs in
the United States.

Since the guidelines were instituted, crime rates have fallen dramatically,
especially in minority communities, pointed out David Muhlhausen, a policy
analyst with the Heritage Foundation.

"Part of it may be that they're removing the bad elements in those
communities," he said. "There are anecdotal examples of egregious
sentences. But anecdotal examples won't provide us with the best way to go."

Critics -- including many judges -- say they have put many people in prison
for long periods who are only tangentially related to the drug trade, or
who, like Dilts, are first-time, non-violent offenders.

"They're terrible," said retired U.S. District Judge Stanley Sporkin, a
Reagan appointee who served on the bench in Washington, D.C. "Just awful.
What guidelines do is they say one size fits all. When you're dealing with
people's liberty, that's not the case. There are times when you want to
take a chance on somebody."

Since the advent of those standards and guidelines, the percentage of drug
convicts who make up the federal prison population has risen from 38
percent in 1986 to about 60 percent last year, according to Families
Against Mandatory Minimums.

Before leaving office in January, President Bill Clinton commuted the
sentences of several persons serving such sentences.

Peppers wrote to Clinton asking for help for Dilts, but never got a response.

Bound for Leavenworth

Dilts' trip through the judicial system began when Stiltner pulled him over
for a traffic violation.

A veteran drug cop, Stiltner saw some suspicious paint on the sides of the
steamroller. With Dilts' permission, Stiltner scraped off the paint and
found a hidden, sealed compartment. Inside: 164 packages containing 556
pounds of marijuana.

"If I'd have thought there was anything wrong or illegal about what I was
hauling, why, I knew that drug task force car was in that area probably 10
miles before I ever saw him," Dilts said. "If I'd known something was going
on, I could have pulled off somewhere and just parked it until he got out
of the area. But for the life of me, I had no idea that there was anything
wrong."

Dilts hired Randy Wilson, an Abilene, Texas, lawyer, for $20,000, and told
authorities everything he could.

Dilts wasn't formally indicted until Feb. 15, 2000 -- nearly a year after
his arrest.

During the delay, Wilson wrote a letter to Dilts, saying, "I think the
prosecutor handling your case has forgotten about it....I do not want to
bring it up with them at this time."

Wilson advised Dilts to "just go on with your life."

But going on with their lives wasn't that easy for Dilts and Peppers.

"We knew it could come back to haunt us," Peppers said. "We knew somehow or
some way it would eventually turn up."

When the indictment finally did come down, Dilts switched lawyers, hiring
Douglas C. McNabb of Houston for $30,000.

Dilts did end up with a deal in return for his cooperation. The deal,
worked out within the parameters of sentencing guidelines for drug crimes,
called for Dilts to serve 24 to 30 months. Without cooperation, the
mandatory sentence for Dilts' crime is five to 40 years in prison and a
fine of up to $2 million.

The guidelines allow prosecutors to take into account a defendant's
previous record, the assistance he provided and other factors.

Even then, a sentence must be within the preset range for the offense. And
there is no parole for the offenses.

Prosecutors recommended to U.S. District Judge Sam Cummings that Dilts
serve the low end of that sentence -- 24 months -- and that his time be
served in a federal boot camp.

But things didn't work out that way for Dilts.

First, Cummings -- known as "Maximum Sam," according to Wilson -- sentenced
Dilts to 30 months -- the high end -- with no explanation.

The sentence is not much different from the average sentence served by
federal marijuana offenders, which is 33.7 months, according to the U.S.
Sentencing Commission.

McNabb filed a motion noting that prosecutors had recommended a lower
sentence and asking Cummings to reconsider. Cummings rejected it without
comment.

Then, the Bureau of Prisons refused to send Dilts to boot camp, because at
his age and with his record he didn't fit the profile of the typical boot
camp inmate.

So Dilts was sent to Leavenworth.

Back to work

Dilts makes the best he can of prison.

He keeps busy by driving the prison van around the Leavenworth compound.

He's glad he is in the minimum-security camp, not "the big house" next door.

He weighed 240 pounds before he went in, and prison food has him down to 220.

And he has memorized the day he'll be home with Peppers, with time off for
good behavior: Nov. 18, 2002.

Life won't get easy after that, though.

After spending $50,000 on lawyers, Dilts is broke. He'll have to hit the
road again when he is out of jail, a 68-year-old man with creeping
arthritis trying to patch his life back together.

"I never have wanted to retire," Dilts says with a weak smile. "Not me. I
like to work. I'd like to just keep on doing it."

If Dilts does start driving again, he'll be working for others, paid by the
mile. With his money gone, Dilts can't afford to replace the equipment
seized and sold by the government.

"That was my whole life," Dilts said, tears filling his eyes as his
stoicism finally cracked. "That was my whole future."

Other truckers should learn from Dilts' tale, Spencer said.

"Be very, very, very careful with any load, and make certain you've got
proper paperwork to the extent that you can," Spencer said. "But that won't
guarantee you won't get stuck in a similar situation....There is simply no
way that an individual is going to be able to spot something."

Meanwhile, the man for whom Dilts was hauling the steamroller remains free.
Dilts' cooperation helped authorities connect the man to another drug
shipment they intercepted -- that one involving 934 pounds of marijuana.

"They could have made the bust on the distributor," Wilson said. "We gave
them all the information they needed....This guy was still calling Al two
weeks after he got out of jail, wondering where his steamroller was."

According to Baker's letter to Judge Cummings, the man was under
investigation by Customs officials.

Dilts, resigned to serving his time, can't understand why the crime's
mastermind remains free, more than two years after his own arrest.

"After I was sentenced, I told Mr. Baker I'd be willing to help if they
came across this guy, if they needed me to testify and all that," Dilts
said. "They never have called me....It's just so unfair. They get me and
they stop."