COCAINE BUST UNRAVELS TIGHT-KNIT COMMUNITY IN TULIA TULIA

Four of Mattie White's six children are in jail.

So are her brother, her niece and her son-in-law.

All but one were arrested on the same day in the same small town for the
same offense: selling cocaine. Just after dawn on July 23, law officers went
to the homes of White's relatives and dozens of other Tulia residents,
flashed arrest warrants and took them away, many still in their underwear.

"It tore me apart," said White, a 47-year-old prison guard who now cares for
her daughter's two young children. "I just don't understand it. This has
affected my life 120 percent."

Like a pulled thread that unravels a garment, Swisher County's biggest-ever
drug bust is destroying the fabric of the small black community in the
Panhandle, White and others say.

Others blame the damage on the prevalence of crack cocaine, which they say
justifies the operation and the large number of arrests.

Of the 357 blacks who reside in Tulia, 32, or one of every 11, was arrested
as a result of an 18-month undercover investigation. Of the 45 people
indicted, 43 were arrested and two remain at large. Most of the 11
non-blacks who were arrested had close family or social ties to the black
community, residents said. The suspects ranged in age from 16 to 60. Most
had prior criminal convictions, many of which were not drug-related, on
charges ranging from Driving While Intoxicated to Endangerment of a Child.

"The population is small, and there was a large number of blacks arrested,"
said Iris Lawrence, a board member of the National Association for the
Advancement of Colored People in Amarillo, 48 miles to the north. "The
question is: Were they the only people in Swisher County dealing drugs?

Lawrence added that the civil rights organization is monitoring the cases.

The undercover officer's strategy was to mingle with the community and
purchase drugs, said Lt. Mike Amos, head of the Amarillo-based Panhandle
Regional Narcotics Task Force, a state-funded agency that sends narcotics
agents to 26 counties. It just so happened, Amos said, that the agent was
befriended almost immediately by a black man who was trusted within the
community.

"He took him around and introduced him to all of his friends dealing dope,"
Amos said. "It worked out that most of the people the gentleman knew were
black. That is all there is to it. Our main purpose is to get into the
community and purchase narcotics. ... we told him to buy from ... whoever
was selling the dope."

The sweep -- conducted by five state, county and local law enforcement
agencies, including the Tulia Police Department -- resulted in an overflow
of prisoners at the jail that had already been filled to capacity. Some
prisoners had to be transferred to jails in neighboring counties. Boarding
the suspects, then trying them, has seriously strained the county's
financial resources, leading to a 5.8 percent tax increase.

Still, local officials consider the drug bust an unmitigated success. They
dismiss assertions that race played a role and say the heavy jail terms --
one Anglo man was sentenced to 434 years -- were justified.

"This is a good, wholesome community, and I think a large part of the long
sentences is that we have conscientious people sitting on the jury,"
District Attorney Terry McEachern said. "I have had nine juries, and nine
juries have hit them hard.

"The public pays me to prosecute criminals, and it doesn't make any
difference to me if they are black, white, Asian, pink, purple or green,"
McEachern said. "Everyone has their reasons, but I don't care about their
reasons. If they commit a crime, they have to be prosecuted."

Some in Tulia find it a stretch to believe there were so many drug dealers
operating in a less-than-affluent farming town of 5,220, just about one
square mile in size.

"There are drugs here in Tulia, but there are not 40 black drug dealers in
Tulia," said Gary Gardner, a white farmer.

Dr. Robert Shearer, professor of criminal justice at Sam Houston State
University in Huntsville, said Tulia's drug activity isn't that unusual for
a rural Texas community these days. A mobile society, accessible borders
with other states and Mexico, and its remoteness make Tulia ideal for
drug-dealing, he said.

"Because they are isolated, they think no one is paying attention to them,"
Shearer said of dealers. Ironically, the presence of a state prison in Tulia
might also draw trafficking to the area because of high demand for smuggled
drugs by inmates, he added.

Bereft of fast-food restaurants and strip shopping centers, the seat of
Swisher County revolves around the town square and Friday night football.
Tulia is nearly 48 percent white, more than 44 percent Hispanic and nearly 7
percent black. Cowboy boots and overalls are always in vogue, and $2.50 buys
a cheeseburger and fries at the Tulia Pharmacy across from the courthouse.

The town, which lies between Lubbock and Amarillo, has seen its share of
economic hard times.

The per capita income is $11,000 -- $8,700 below the state average --
according to Claritas, an independent marketing data company in Arlington,
Va. Many residents make their living farming corn, wheat or cotton or
raising cattle. Even the sheriff and district attorney moonlight as farmers.

"There are not a lot of opportunities for young people here," said County
Judge Harold Keeter, who also serves as the county's financial officer. "If
they stay, there just isn't a lot for them. They become disillusioned and
depressed and get into other things to get away."

Like drugs.

School Superintendent Mike Vinyard said students disclosed in a 1994 survey
that a large percentage were using illicit drugs.

For years, local officials had clamored for ways to combat the problem.
Undercover operations were launched and random, mandatory drug testing for
students in extracurricular activities was implemented in January 1997. In
1998, a year after the testing began, 10 of 385 tests administered came back
positive. The following year, 14 of 954 were positive. So far this year, six
of 808 tests have come back positive, mainly for cocaine and marijuana,
Vinyard said. Last year's bust was prompted by numerous complaints from
residents, Sheriff Larry Stewartsaid.

"I knew a lot of stuff was going on," Stewart said. "You get a lot of phone
calls saying, `Did you know about so and so.' I knew we had a problem."

The sheriff, with approval from county commissioners, contacted the
narcotics task force.

Tom Coleman, 41, a former Cochran County deputy sheriff, was recruited as an
undercover investigator and sent to Tulia. A lanky, long-haired Anglo,
Coleman took a job sorting livestock at the local cattle auction and quickly
made contacts in the town's small black community.

A major break was striking up a friendship with Eliga Kelly, a trusted,
hard-drinking African-American in his 60s, who is known around town as "Man
Kelly," the sheriff said. The pair were seen cruising around town in
Coleman's pickup, and Kelly introduced him to his social circle.

Then, law enforcement officials said, Kelly helped Coleman score drugs.

Coleman, who was publicly identified when he later testified as a named
witness at all of the subsequent trials, spent more than a year accumulating
evidence. He bought more than $20,000 worth of cocaine, methamphetamines and
marijuana, mostly in small amounts of less than three grams, said Lt. Mike
Amos, head of the regional drug task force.

On July 20, after reviewing the evidence obtained by Coleman, a grand jury
handed up 132 indictments for drug-related offenses. Three days later,
officers fanned out across Swisher County with arrest warrants.

The 23 detained that day quickly pushed an already full jail far past its
26-prisoner capacity. With prisoners sleeping on the floor, authorities
shipped some off to jails in neighboring counties. Some of those arrested
were already in jail on different charges. Others were picked up in
following weeks in Midland, Oklahoma and on the Mexico border.

Swisher County officials knew that waging a war on drugs in Tulia would cost
them. No one expected the bill to run so high.

So far, housing and prosecuting inmates has cost Swisher County $120,000,
and is expected to reach $230,000 this year; the county's annual budget is
$3.2 million, Keeter said.

"We knew we had an undercover agent in town, but as far as scope, we had no
idea it would turn into something this large," the county judge said.

The normally sleepy courthouse, which used to handle two or three trials a
year, has been busy with an average of three a month since the bust.

To date, each of the 37 suspects prosecuted has been convicted. Twenty-eight
accepted plea bargains; the remainder pleaded either not guilty or no
contest in jury trials, McEachern said. Six are awaiting trial.

Some had prior drug convictions, he said, and the local juries are sending a
statement with the heavy jail sentences they are handing down.

The stiffest so far -- 434 years -- was given to William Cash Love,, an
Anglo man who has a child with Mattie White's daughter, Kizzie White.

Love, who was on probation for other drug-related offenses, was charged with
eight counts of selling drugs, including two counts of selling drugs within
1,000 feet of a school, a first-degree felony, the district attorney said.

Joe Moore, 57, described by residents as the center of the black communityin
Tulia, was sentenced to 90 years for selling cocaine to Coleman. Moore had
two prior convictions for felony drug dealing, McEachern said.

The lightest sentence went to Ramona Strickland, 25, a black woman who
received a $2,000 fine for delivery of cocaine. Eliga Kelly, Coleman's first
contact in the black community, was given 10 years' probation and a $1,000
fine in a plea bargain, McEachern said.

"Part of the agreement for Kelly was that he testified against other
defendants, and he has testified in two trials," the prosecutor said.

The sting and the sentences have stirred strong emotions, both pro and con.

Residents like Doyle Hutson, an Anglo who manages a motel, applaud the
effort and say they are willing to shoulder the expense if it means keeping
drugs off the street.

"The cost is just something we have to bear," Hutson said. "You can't have
these guys around doing what they want to do -- especially drugs."

But others, particularly in the black community, are outraged.

The arrests have broken families. Grandparents have taken over parenting
duties from adult children now behind bars, and their neighborhood has lost
much of its life.

"You used to see them all running around together, and now it is real quiet
because all of the kids are in jail," said Ida Smith, one of a group of
women who gathered at her modest red-brick home and reflected on how "It" --
the bust -- changed the community. Her daughter, Yolanda Smith, was
sentenced to six years after accepting a plea bargain.

Chandra Vancleave, , an Anglo woman who dates Mattie White's son Kareem
nodded in agreement.

"All of the people we hung out with are locked up, every last one of them,"
she said. "They don't care nothing about you if you're black or if you run
around with blacks." Many of the relatives contend that the sentences aren't
warranted and have intimidated other suspects into accepting plea bargains
for crimes they didn't commit.

"After they gave Moore 90 -- and Cash 400 -- years, they all wanted to
plea," Mattie White said. "They see what the other ones are getting and they
don't want that."

The district attorney dismisses such contentions.

"I offered them pleas, and I wasn't unreasonable," McEachern said. When
"they didn't take them, the jury made a decision."

Wherever the truth lies, residents say the impact on families cannot be
denied.

"There is nothing you can do," said White, who is currently seeking a second
job so she can support her two small grandchildren. Her daughter, Kizzie
White, received 25-year sentence for selling cocaine and her son, Donald
White, received a 12-year-sentence. Another son, Kareem White, is in jail
awaiting trial. A fourth son is serving a prison sentence for rape.

"I think I cried a whole week when they gave my daughter time," White said.
"I'm struggling now to take care of her kids. But these are my children and
these are their children. I have to do what I have to do." The sheriff said
he sympathizes with the families whose relatives are in jail, but said it
was worth it and that he would do it all again.

"Everybody in jail has mothers, fathers, kids and family," Stewart said.
"These are just folks, they are not my enemies, but they have done something
to violate the law.

"What choice do I have. To ignore it?"