HOMELESS RISK JAIL, RUN DRUGS FOR CASH

Dealers Recruit Couriers, Say Investigators, Among People Whose
Situations Are Already So Desperate That They Have Nothing To Lose

SAN DIEGO -- Philip Ginder was living on the streets and in homeless
shelters when he met a recruiter with a tempting offer.

"He said, 'You want to make some money running drugs across the
border?' and I jumped at it," Ginder, 41, recalls. "Now, I wish I
hadn't done it."

Ginder got caught.

U.S. Customs Service agents arrested him with nearly 226 pounds of
marijuana as he returned to San Diego from Tijuana, Mexico, in a stolen
2000 Ford Expedition last month. The Iowa native, who says he's been
homeless since he was 16, faces five years in prison.

No one knows how often homeless people are used as drug couriers,
because Customs and the other federal agencies that patrol the nation's
borders don't keep statistics on the issue. But Ginder was at least the
sixth arrested in less than a month at crossings in Southern
California.

The reason is simple. Mexico's drug cartels look for couriers desperate
enough to risk prison for the $500 to $1,200 typically paid to smuggle
the contraband, said Larry Latocki, assistant special agent in charge
of the San Ysidro office of the Customs Service.

"They'll take advantage of anyone," Latocki said.

Men like Ginder are ideal candidates. Unable to read or write, he has
few job prospects. He had been living in San Diego, sometimes staying
at the Saint Vincent de Paul shelter, for three months when he met the
recruiter on a downtown street.

At the time -- a day before his Aug. 22 arrest -- he was in an area
frequented by the homeless, near where the Padres are building a new
baseball stadium.

Ginder is vague about the details. The recruiter was in his 40s and
clean-cut, spoke fluent Spanish and English, and gave his name as
Butch. He offered $1,000 for the job.

"I had no idea how much I'd be bringing or what type," Ginder said. "I
knew it was drugs."

The scenario, vague as it is, sounds both plausible and familiar to law
enforcement officials and people who work with the homeless in San
Diego.

Counselors at Saint Vincent de Paul last year even posted signs warning
residents about the offers, said Al Cook, the shelter's director of
support services.

"You've got to realize, the people we serve are a vulnerable
population," he said. "When someone comes waving easy money in front of
them, it's a strong temptation."

Even the risk of prison isn't terribly intimidating to someone who
sleeps outside, said Bob McElroy, president of a homeless assistance
agency called the Alpha Project.

"Some of these guys are living in the canyons," McElroy said. "They're
thinking 'Hey, if I get busted, I'm going to get three hots and a cot
for a year or so.' There's no risk."

Security guards at the shelters run off anyone they suspect of
recruiting. Customs and other law enforcement agencies, working with
local police, try to arrest them. But no one expects recruiters to
vanish as long as Southern California remains a busy drug corridor

Last year, Customs made 4,300 seizures of marijuana, cocaine, heroin
and methamphetamine at the five crossing points along the state's 140-
mile border with Mexico. The marijuana alone totaled 385,000 pounds;
the cocaine nearly 10,000 pounds.

Between Aug. 10 and Sept. 4, agents arrested six homeless couriers
carrying 545 pounds of marijuana. Five were in San Diego and one was in
Tecate to the east, according to court records.

Contraband is hidden in secret compartments in gas tanks, or in the
roof or sides of cars and SUVs. But it's become harder to pull it off:
Agents have become proficient at detecting hiding spaces, they can
monitor how often a vehicle crosses the border, and dogs that can
detect the scent of narcotics are used at every port of entry.

Often enough, the driver gives it away with shaking hands or other
signs of stress.

That's what happened to Ginder. The recruiter took him to Tijuana the
night before the job, paid for a haircut and bought him new clothes. It
was his first time in Mexico.

"I was nervous, real nervous. I was up the whole night the night
before," he said.

That apparently showed when he reached the San Ysidro Port of Entry, an
often chaotic, 24-lane complex that is the world's busiest border
crossing. A Customs inspector was suspicious enough to check the
Expedition in a law enforcement database to learn it was stolen.

After a search turned up the marijuana, Ginder confessed. He was
charged with one count of smuggling and bond was set at $25,000, which
he can't pay. He's awaiting his fate at a federal jail in downtown San
Diego and a public defender told him to expect a five-year sentence.

"I'm depressed. I'm mad," he said. "I want to get out of here in the
worst way."