CLEMENCY FOR DRUG SUPPLIER CHAFES OFFICIALS

Carlos Vignali never really fit in with the rest of a gang that funneled
cocaine into the Twin Cities a decade ago.

His California life was fast cars, movie stars and lots of money. The lives
of his drug-ring peers consisted of crack houses in sketchy neighborhoods
and airplane rides with drugs strapped to their waists. When a few of them
went to California to meet Vignali, court records say, the car they rode in
broke down.

Most of his peers admitted to their involvement in the cocaine ring and
pleaded guilty. Vignali hired high-priced lawyers from Minneapolis and
California and fought his conviction every step of the way. And his wealthy
family apparently enlisted some of California's most powerful people --
including a Catholic cardinal -- to lobby for his release.

In a surprise to Minnesota officials, President Bill Clinton in his last
moments in power commuted Vignali's 15-year sentence on federal drug
charges. Vignali, 30, was set free in January, six years into his prison
sentence -- an outcome that troubles Minnesota prosecutors, police and the
judge on the case. While Vignali certainly lived a privileged life, he was
also a major player in what was one of Minnesota's largest drug rings, they
say.

Vignali's commutation is fueling cynicism about the justice system, said
U.S. District Judge Dave Doty in Minneapolis. Doty oversaw the Vignali case
but was not asked his opinion on the possibility of clemency. ``If I had
been, I would not have supported it,'' Doty said.

In at least two other cases, Doty has submitted his support of leniency.
But those were for criminals on the fringes of a drug ring serving long
federal sentences. Vignali was a major player in a drug ring, he said.
Court records say Vignali was a supplier.

"This case is about cocaine and money, lots of cocaine and lots of money,''
Denise Reilly told jurors during opening statements in Vignali's trial.
Reilly, then a federal prosecutor, is now a Hennepin County District Court
judge, who didn't want to comment on the case.

Life Of Privilege

According to testimony and statements from his attorney during his trial,
Vignali grew up in a wealthy family. His father, from Argentina, and his
mother, from Puerto Rico, both ran fledgling businesses when they met more
than two decades ago in Maryland. They eventually moved to California and
had four children.

His father, Horacio Vignali, started an automobile body repair shop that
eventually flourished near downtown Los Angeles. But that wasn't their only
source of income; the family made a fortune in real estate, Carlos
Vignali's attorney Dan Davis told jurors.

The family settled in an affluent neighborhood, down the street and around
the corner from movie stars. And the body shop evolved into a magnet for
car collectors and the wealthy seeking specialized auto care.

Carlos Vignali worked in the family shop, but he ventured into other
businesses as well. He owned an interest in a company called Fellon
Records, which specialized in Hispanic rap music. He produced a rap album
for a group called Brownside and is even seen in a picture on the cover of
the album "Gang Related.''

Vignali's family, for all its influence, could not escape the impact of
drugs, court records show. Vignali "lost'' a brother, and almost lost a
sister to drugs, his attorney Dan Davis told jurors in his opening remarks.

About 1,900 miles away, the Williams family was entrenching itself into the
underground world of drugs in the Twin Cities. The matriarch of the
operation was Shirley Williams. Two of her children, and several dozen of
their friends, set up a cocaine distribution ring in the 1980s that grew
into one of the state's biggest drug operations, according to federal court
records in Minneapolis. One investigator at the time said the ring was
capable of ``baking'' up to 2.2 pounds of cocaine and getting it onto the
streets within an hour.

Williams and her helpers set up a number of crack houses across the Twin
Cities. The group would take kilograms of cocaine, bake it into "crack''
and sell it on the streets for big profits.

To make it work, though, they needed the drug. That is where Vignali came
in, said B. Todd Jones, the former U.S. attorney for Minnesota who was an
assistant in the office in 1993 and helped investigate the ring.

The Williamses relied on a number of suppliers through the years. By early
1993, they had turned to Vignali, who, prosecutors said, at first was
providing drugs to another of the Williams ring's suppliers. According to
Reilly's courtroom remarks, Vignali would ship kilograms -- one kilogram is
about the size of two bricks and, at the time, was selling for $20,000 to
$25,000 wholesale -- to the Williams ring in Minnesota.

According to prosecutors, Vignali kept at a distance, relying on postal
services to transport his drugs. But at least once, the ring's couriers
went to Los Angeles to meet Vignali. A broken-down car didn't hamper their
plans; they bought 3 kilograms of cocaine from him, according to testimony,
and handed over about $70,000.

Vignali was arrested in 1993 when federal and Minneapolis officials busted
the drug ring, searching homes in Minnesota and California, arresting 30
people and confiscating more than $300,000 cash, a dozen guns and several
pounds of cocaine.

Vignali, arrested in California, has said he is innocent, a scapegoat for
the drug dealer who gave his name to investigators. And it wasn't until his
trial, his attorney told jurors, that Vignali ever stepped foot in Minnesota.

Officials Frustrated

"He didn't have to,'' said Investigator Tony Adams, one of the Minneapolis
police officers who worked two years to bust up the drug ring. Vignali was
the supplier.

"He was the man. He was the reason that cocaine was making it to Minnesota
from California,'' said Adams, who is disgusted by the clemency. A lot of
people worked a lot of hours trying to stop the flood of cocaine on
Minnesota streets. Getting a major player like Vignali was essential, he said.

Clinton has not given any detailed explanations of the reasons behind his
twilight pardons and commutations. But the former president has said
mandatory sentences for nonviolent offenders are often too long in many cases.

Adams isn't the only one worried his work has been compromised. Federal
prosecutors in Minnesota, and even the judge who oversaw the case,
expressed frustrations with Clinton's commutation.

"What can I do?'' asked a frustrated Jones.

"There is an appearance of unfairness,'' said Paul Engh, the attorney who
represented Gerald Williams, Shirley Williams' son, who was convicted for
his part in the cocaine ring. What several in the case found most troubling
is the possibility that influence can trump justice.

Vignali's family is reportedly a contributor to California politicians and
apparently has the attention of Alejandro N. Mayorkas, the U.S. attorney in
Los Angeles, who made inquiries into Vignali's case. And the Los Angeles
Times reported earlier this week that influential California congressmen
and civic leaders -- including Los Angeles Cardinal Roger M. Mahony --
lobbied the White House and Justice Department on Vignali's behalf. That
was after Horacio Vignali had given more than $160,000 to California
politicians in recent years, the newspaper reported.

Minnesota officials involved in the case were taken aback. Those contacted
could think of no local official backing clemency for Vignali. As the
Minnesota U.S. attorney last year, Jones sent a letter objecting to
Vignali's bid for clemency.

While Vignali is now out of prison, several of his counterparts remain
behind bars, including dealers with lesser roles in the Williams ring.
Shirley Williams was released from federal prison last year.

Political influence means something, said Craig Cascarano, a Minneapolis
attorney who represented Todd Hopson, who was convicted along with Vignali
for being part of the same drug ring. Hopson filed his own letter seeking
clemency.

"I filled out a pardon application, too, but it seems that my application
must of got thrown in the trash sence (sic) Vignali's father gave money and
I didn't,'' Hopson wrote Cascarano from his prison cell in Rochester, Minn.

Cascarano may seek a motion for an early release for his client. Unsure of
his chances, at least he should try, Cascarano said.

"Equitable circumstances should dictate; my guy should get out,'' Cascarano
said of Hopson. "Unfortunately, I don't have the inroads to the presidency
someone else did.''