A WRINKLE IN DRUG TRADE

Just before nightfall, a swarm of D.C. narcotics officers barged into the
brown brick duplex on Polk Street NE. In the kitchen, near the back door,
sat Luella Grant, 76, a rotund woman with a cane and arthritic hands.

"I was scared to death," Grant said, recalling the raid. "They started to
tear up the house -- I was so nervous."

She complained about suddenly feeling gravely ill. She insisted she knew
nothing about any drugs. But two female officers frisked Grant and found 65
rocks of crack worth $650 stuffed in her brassiere, court records show.
Although she professes her innocence today, she eventually pleaded guilty
to cocaine charges and was given a suspended prison sentence in December 1998.

Alvin Smith, 63, wasn't so fortunate. Last month, he limped into a D.C.
courtroom with a cane, his body riddled with arthritis, and was sentenced
to a year in prison for selling heroin.

Smith and Grant are part of a small group in the District that few realize
exists: people 60 or older who get busted selling crack, heroin, marijuana
or prescription painkillers. They're generally small-time players trying
for extra income in a violent trade dominated by young men.

It's unclear just how many older people are involved in the drug trade. But
the numbers in the District -- and elsewhere in the country -- are quite
small, authorities said. A total of 41 people 60 or older were charged in
D.C. Superior Court with selling drugs in 1998 and 1999, the last years for
which records are available. In the preceding two years, 32 were charged.

The numbers may climb, experts said. "Given that heroin addicts are living
to surprisingly ripe ages, we may see more of these activities," said Peter
Reuter, a professor of public policy at the University of Maryland who has
studied the District's drug market.

At a time when many of their contemporaries have built nest eggs, these
seniors sell drugs to make ends meet or to sustain a drug habit, or both.
Some have lengthy prison records.

"When you're older and less financially able to take care of the many needs
you have, it becomes exceedingly attractive to make a lot of money
quickly," said Patricia Bloom, director of the Center on Aging and
Developmental Disabilities at the University of Miami School of Medicine.
"They're less able to get a job like a younger person could."

Some older drug dealers operate out of their homes, while others sell on
the streets or outside methadone clinics, police say. Before getting busted
in June, Smith says he sold heroin on North Capitol Street for several months.

As he tells it, sitting in the D.C. jail, he was no stranger to the
streets. His past includes decades of crime: peddling heroin, street
robberies and burglaries; an on again, off again heroin habit spanning
nearly 40 years; and stints in prison.

In January 1999, Smith was released from a Maryland prison after serving 10
years for a street robbery. He moved in with his sister in Landover.
Several months later, she moved in with a friend in Upper Marlboro, which
"put me in a homeless situation," Smith said.

He said he collected $500 a month for disability because of his
debilitating arthritis. For five months, he lived in a homeless shelter in
downtown Washington.

He returned to using heroin, snorting $10 to $20 worth a day. Bored and
wanting extra cash, he began selling drugs.

"It was something to pass the time," he said. "I couldn't get no job with
my arthritis."

Smith worked for a 45-year-old man, a friend's relative, who headed a small
crew of dealers near the Fort Totten neighborhood in Northeast Washington.
First, he simply stood on the street and held the drugs. When crew members
ran out of drugs to sell, the boss would get more from him, he said.

"Young [drug bosses] know they can trust the older people; they ain't going
nowhere," he said.

Smith worked about two hours a day and was paid $20, plus a $10 bag or two
of heroin. Then he started selling directly, he said. He figured the police
would never suspect a man with a cane who moved rather tentatively. He said
he knew about eight other people his age selling in the North Capitol corridor.

Some days he sold about 60 $10 bags of heroin, he said. He made $2 a bag
and averaged about $400 a week. He eventually moved in with another sister.

By selling, he said, he had power on the street. No one was going to mess
with him, like they did with some of his contemporaries who don't sell drugs.

"If you work the streets, you don't have that fear," he said. "You have
people watching out for you."

On June 28, someone else was watching out for Smith: the police. They
busted him after receiving a tip that he was selling.

Police say that older dealers such as Smith often go unnoticed unless
someone snitches on them. Last year, D.C. police officer Gary Roberts
recalled, an informant told him about a senior citizen who was selling
crack on his beat, in the 1300 block of Fifth Street NW.

"I said, 'You've got to be kidding,' " Roberts said.

A few days later, he pulled up and spotted Nathaniel Cargill, 79, sitting
on a chair a few feet from the curb.

"Is it true what I heard about you?" Roberts asked. He said Cargill denied
he was selling drugs.

Undeterred, Roberts checked the immediate area to see whether Cargill was
hiding drugs. A few feet away, under a tree, he found a brown paper bag
containing rocks of crack.

"I picked it up and said, 'Whose dope is this?' "

"That's all I got; it's mine," Cargill blurted out, according to Roberts,
who arrested him. He pleaded guilty to a cocaine charge and was placed on
six months' probation. It wasn't his first infringement; in 1996, he
pleaded guilty to cocaine charges and possession of a sawed-off shotgun and
was sentenced to two years' probation.

Cargill said dealing was the "only way he could make money," Roberts
recalled. "He said the young boys delivered 10 or 12 or 15 bags to sell a day."

Today, Cargill insists on his innocence and says that in both instances,
the drugs belonged to someone else. He also denied that he made
incriminating statements to Roberts. He said he pleaded guilty in both
cases to "get it over with."

Most older drug dealers work for younger people. Or sometimes grandsons and
nephews "come to visit and may want to use the apartment to sell," said
Madison Jenkins, the D.C. public housing police chief. In some instances,
the young ones pay for use of the unit.

Jenkins said his department is investigating about a half-dozen senior
housing units where drug sales -- by relatives or the seniors themselves --
are suspected.

Narcotics officers said they think Grant was selling crack for a young
relative, but he was never charged. On April 16, 1998, about a dozen police
officers raided her home.

She complained that she was suffering a heart attack. Police suspected she
was faking but called medics, who found nothing wrong, said D.C. police
Detective Lauren McBain, who has since left the department. Soon after,
McBain said, Grant tried to hit her with her cane as she and another female
officer frisked her.

Though she pleaded guilty and received a one-to-three-year suspended
sentence, Grant today paints a different picture of her involvement. "I
never sold no drugs," said Grant, now 78. "I just got caught with it."

She said she found the crack on her front porch and stuffed it into her
bra. "I thought it was candy," she said. "I ate one of them."

Authorities said they often consider an older offender's age when dealing
with them. Assistant U.S. Attorney Benjamin Friedman said Grant was charged
with a felony because of the quantity of drugs police found on her, but
"usually we [would] give someone that age a break if it were less."

Friedman added, "We weren't looking to put her in jail." The authorities
just wanted her to stop selling, he said.

D.C. Superior Court Judge Michael L. Rankin, the presiding judge in
criminal court, said "age is simply one factor" in sentencing. Judges also
consider criminal records, the likelihood of rehabilitation and the danger
a person poses to society.

One recent Friday morning at D.C. Superior Court, Judge Patricia A.
Broderick had to calculate those concerns. It was time for Alvin Smith's
sentencing.

Clad in an orange prison jumpsuit, Smith stood impassively as the judge
commented to him that he had gained weight, that getting off drugs had done
him good. Several months had passed since he was busted for selling heroin.

His attorney, Joan Millman, told the judge that Smith needed treatment for
his heroin habit, not prison, even though he had violated parole. Smith
also pleaded for treatment.

"The time has come and the time has well passed," Broderick retorted,
noting that his criminal record spanned nearly 40 years. She sentenced him
to two to six years in prison, suspending all but a year.

"I'd like to see you enjoy your last years," she said.

Several weeks later, the 63-year-old Smith reflected on his latest setback,
which may include returning to Maryland to serve time for violating parole.

Sitting in a small, nondescript room at the jail, Smith said he has no
regrets about selling heroin, only that he got caught. And despite the many
bumps, he said he has lived a good life, although he acknowledged he has
fallen short on accomplishments.

"All my sisters got jobs, my brothers had jobs," he said. "They had houses
and cars, and I didn't have none of that."

These days, he happily gets lost in novels -- a secret, he said, to passing
the time. He's grateful the judge gave him a break on his sentence, and he
hopes to take advantage of that when he goes free.

"The judge handed me a second chance," he said. "I'm gonna find something
else to do besides getting high. I want to be able to help people older
than me, maybe deliver some food or push their wheelchair."