OVER-THE-TOP STORIES FROM AN UNDERCOVER COP

Life Isn't All Misery For Those Who Wage War On Drugs, Doug Clark Discovers.

Spokane - Harold Davidson, 69, is one of those animated characters who
can't sit down with his buddies without being asked to tell a few war stories.

Who can blame them?

Davidson spent the last 20 years of his working career as an undercover
federal drug cop. His tales are a lot spicier than the usual
weather-related retiree chit-chat.

Since his 1991 retirement, Davidson lived in Sandpoint with Janet, his wife
of 49 years.

He grew up on New York's Long Island, which adds to his yarn-spinning
capabilities. He still speaks in one of those East Coast brogues we
Northwesterners find irresistible.

So whenever Davidson finishes a story, his pals usually utter the same words.

"You oughta write a book."

After hearing this a few hundred times, Davidson finally got the message.

The result is the good-humored "Narc -- The Unconventional Life and Times
of a Federal Narcotics Agent" ($19.95, Amazon.Com and VirtualPublications.com).

Davidson fought in the War on Drugs and came away grinning.

"All those shows you see on TV and the movies about cops being uptight,
well, it isn't true," says Davidson. "Cops over time develop a pretty good
sense of humor."

He became a fed rather late in the game. After working for municipal police
departments, he signed up for government work in 1970.

Davidson was two months shy of 40.

Back then, the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) was known as the
United States Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs (BNDD).

Enduring the inevitable wisecracks about his geezerdom, Davidson survived
the intense physical training. He became the oldest special agent hired by
either the BNDD or DEA.

Davidson's first surveillance could have been his last. He and partner, Tom
Krentler, were given a beat-up old Mustang and told to drive to a location
in Detroit and wait for a drug buy.

They did as they were told and found themselves sitting conspicuously in an
all-black neighborhood. "Now here were two white guys... trying to appear
nonchalant," writes Davidson.

When a group of nearby kids disappeared, Davidson and Krentler didn't think
anything of it. A half-hour later, the youths returned with a Molotov cocktail.

Before the officers could react, the rag was lit and the bottle was tossed.
It exploded with a flaming "wumph!" fortunately missing the car.

"Thank the Lord he was small and couldn't throw very far," writes Davidson
of the kid who threw the bomb.

Davidson spent the last few years of his career working out of the Spokane
office.

Earl Hicks, Spokane's assistant U.S. attorney, calls Davidson "one of the
finest DEA agents" he's ever worked with.

Here, Davidson was involved in a number of major cocaine trafficking cases.
He remembers one big bust at the Ramada Inn where the DEA seized a kilo of
coke and arrested Vaughn Jipner, a musclebound dealer from L.A.

"Jipner was a mess," writes Davidson. "He'd been tooting cocaine when the
bust went down and blood was freely flowing from his nostrils.

"Now that he was cuffed, he had tissue paper stuck up his nose. It was
quite a sight."

No one will ever accuse Davidson of being soft on drugs. Or of mincing words.

Dealers and addicts, he says, are "the dregs of humanity and it's no great
loss to the world if they drop dead."

This is not to say that Davidson ever abused any of his, ahem, clients. A
master at convincing those he arrested to roll over on their doper pals,
Davidson subscribed to the "catch more flies with honey" school of
interrogation.

"I got along with most all the crooks," says the storytelling ex-narc.

"You don't have to treat 'em like dirt. You treat 'em like dirt, you're
never gonna get anything."