POLICE OFFICERS ARE WEARING BADGES OF DISHONOR

Justice: The rise and fall of one Georgia policeman illustrates a growing
national problem of cops being convicted of serious crimes.

BUTNER, N.C.--In six years on the Savannah, Ga., police force, Officer
Ralph Riley made 600 drug-related arrests. A tough, aggressive cop who
boot-strapped his way out of public housing to earn a degree in criminal
justice from Savannah State College, Riley built a reputation for
skillfully handling dangerous undercover assignments. He dreamed of joining
the federal Drug Enforcement Administration and maybe becoming a lawyer.

Today, Riley is serving nine years in the federal penitentiary here--one of
11 Savannah-area officers arrested in an FBI sting in September 1997 on
charges of protecting illegal drug shipments.

The story of how one Georgia policeman went from role model to convicted
felon casts a revealing light on an alarming national problem: the rapidly
rising number of police officers convicted of serious crimes--most of them
involving drugs and directly related to their law enforcement duties.

The number of federal, state and local officials serving time in federal
prisons, mostly for drug-related offenses, has multiplied five times in
four years to nearly 550 this year, according to government data.

Just a few weeks ago, for example, 44 police and other law enforcement
officers in the Cleveland area pleaded guilty to drug charges growing out
of an FBI sting.

"It's particularly worrisome to see an increase in cases where you have
criminals masquerading as police officers," said Mark Codd, chief of the
FBI's public corruption unit. "The ultimate corruption of the system is to
have police become active participants in the trafficking of drugs."

While police corruption has long plagued the nation's largest metropolitan
areas, it is now spreading to the suburbs and medium-sized cities. For
example:

* In Mount Vernon, N.Y., the chief of detectives and a second highly
celebrated detective were arrested and accused of seizing illegal gambling
proceeds for their own use and taking payoffs for allowing gambling and
drug operations to function.

* Three former police officers in Palisades Park, N.J., will be sentenced
this month on convictions stemming from entering and burglarizing homes
whose security alarms had gone off.

* The sheriff, five deputies and the justice of the peace in Starr County,
Texas, pleaded guilty in March to taking bribes in return for setting low
bonds for people who had been arrested.

But Riley's case is particularly revealing because he is one of the star
performers in a program developed by the FBI to combat police-related
crime. He sat for a two-hour videotaped interview for use in instructing
other police officers, particularly those with little experience, to avoid
the temptations and corrupting influence of illegal drugs.

"Respect your oath," Riley said during the interview, choking with tears.
"If you break it, you will suffer severe consequences. I know from
real-life experience."

One Officer's Path to Destruction

The road to ruin for Riley was mapped out not by criminals but by fellow
police officers. He began violating his oath by entering into a police
culture in which bending the rules to get arrests and convictions was
widely considered to be part of the game.

On one of his first days as a rookie, Riley said, a veteran officer told
him: "All that stuff you learned in training school you can forget. This is
the real school now. Do what you have to do to do your duty and survive."

Riley soon concluded that officers who were considered the best "didn't
always follow the rules," and that was the top of "the slippery slope,"
according to Codd.

"Once you start out violating seemingly inconsequential regulations," Codd
said, "it's a short trip to the point where you begin accepting money for
doing heinous illegal acts."

Riley, now 33, is married and the father of a 10-year-old daughter. He
recalls how he used to take her to cheerleader classes and help her with
homework. He regularly gets letters in prison from her and his wife, a
hospital secretary.

Riley grew up in a drug-infested public housing project. His mother was a
hospital orderly who divorced from his father when he was 6. Riley helped
care for his younger brother and two younger sisters, cooking for them and
dressing them for school, Laura Riley recalled in an interview.

"He never gave me a minute of trouble and never messed with any drugs," she
said. "He used to tell the young drug dealers they better cut that out or
they would wind up dead or in jail."

Throughout high school and his first year at Savannah State, Riley worked
as chief custodian at the Savannah Science Museum. Across the street from
his home lived two of his high school classmates, Purvis Ellison, now a
Boston Celtic, and a youth known as Johnny Smooth.

When he enrolled at Savannah State, Riley recalled, "Johnny Smooth wanted
to know why I went to school and worked. He said he was going to be a dope
dealer and pimp and make some money." True to his word, Johnny Smooth
became one of Savannah's biggest dealers--until he was caught and landed in
Butner penitentiary.

Riley, a Marine Corps Reserve sergeant who scored a perfect 300 on the
Marines' physical fitness test, joined the Savannah police force in 1988
and was soon assigned to a drug-busting unit headed by Sgt. Billy Medlock,
a tough veteran who became his close friend.

On the streets, Riley was feared by drug dealers who could not understand
why someone who had grown up in their kind of poor neighborhood could go
after them so aggressively.

Even as an ordinary patrolman, Riley had embraced the widespread practice
of accepting discounted meals and ignoring other relatively minor
department rules. Now he moved into major infractions: roughing up suspects
and shading his testimony to get convictions.

"Drugs were a dirty business, but we had to present it clean in court,"
Riley said in a Times interview at the prison. "That's one thing which I
considered to be small, but of course it's quite serious."

Community leaders praised Riley not only for making his many drug busts but
also for teaching criminal justice at a local college and tutoring
elementary school students. He also lectured at boys' and girls' clubs on
the dangers of becoming involved with gangs and illegal drugs.

Beneath the surface, however, Riley was sliding ever faster down the
slippery slope.

Working undercover, he said in the FBI interview, he witnessed many
"horrible and dangerous scenes" and became less sensitive to taking risks
and breaking rules. Using his fists and sometimes a baton to rough up
pushers, he compiled a thick file of complaints about excessive force.

Riley said he felt protected by the police force's unwritten code of
silence. He told of introducing a rookie policeman to the code by
committing him to silence after seizing the gun of a suspect and firing
shots over the suspect's head.

Seeing all the drug money on Savannah's streets, Riley soon felt entitled
to some. He saw dealers in their teens and early 20s making up to $1
million a year. His annual salary: $32,000.

So after a crack house bust, he turned in only $16,000 of the $20,000 in
cash he seized and split the $4,000 with Medlock.

The result? Police Chief David M. Gellatly, who knew nothing of the skim,
praised Riley for producing $16,000 for the city treasury.

Riley was lured into the FBI sting by Medlock. As Riley told it, Medlock
knew of his "insatiable appetite" for the hot nightclubs four hours away in
Atlanta. He introduced him to a man he called Antonio Lopez, who got them
into a club where Prince, Riley's favorite singer, was appearing.

Unsuspecting Pair Lured Into Trap

What neither Riley nor Medlock knew was that Lopez was an undercover FBI
agent from Miami whose real name was Anthony Velazquez. And Velazquez had
already snared Medlock by paying him to provide protection for what he told
Medlock up front were illegal drug shipments.

Medlock brought Riley and Michael Holmes, a state juvenile justice officer,
in on the scheme but told them it was to protect shipments of diamonds, not
drugs.

Velazquez appeared to be a smooth, sophisticated operator. He paid Medlock
$8,000 for escorting the first shipment through Savannah and gave him
$6,000 more to split between Riley and Holmes.

Because neither Riley nor Holmes was aware of the financial arrangements or
knew that drugs were supposed to be involved, Medlock gave them only $200
each. Riley thought that was not bad pay for 30 minutes of escorting a
shipment of diamonds.

One day, as the sting unfolded, Riley learned about Velazquez's financial
arrangements with Medlock and the supposed involvement of drugs. He was
furious--not about the drugs but about the money.

That night, according to Riley's wife, Michelle, he stormed into the house,
grabbed a shotgun and vowed: "I'm gonna kill Billy Medlock. He took my
money. I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch."

Riley left home with the shotgun and lured Medlock to a parking lot before
Velazquez, guaranteeing that he would get his fair share of any future
payments, persuaded him not to carry out the threat.

One evening, Riley was sitting in a patrol car in downtown Savannah when
suddenly his car door was flung open by a police lieutenant and a man
wearing a dark blue FBI vest. They were pointing pistols at his head. Like
the hundreds of drug pushers he had arrested, he was quickly handcuffed.

His arrest shocked most of his fellow officers. Det. Devonn Adams, who
worked with him on drug busts, said: "We would see a teenager driving a
$40,000 Lexus, and we knew he was a drug dealer. It was frustrating, but I
thought [Riley] was fighting his frustration by putting those kind of folks
in jail. We both used to go to the boys' club and warn the kids about the
dangers of drugs and gangs."

No one was more shocked than John C. Watts Jr., a lawyer who had been
Riley's friend and commanding officer in his Marine Corps Reserve unit. "He
always showed good judgment, and I could trust him with anything," Watts said.

Riley, represented by Watts in the FBI sting case, agreed to plead guilty
rather than risk a trial and possible life sentence. And he agreed to
testify against Medlock.

Medlock was convicted and sentenced to 22 1/2 years. One officer was
acquitted, but the other eight, all relatively inexperienced, either
pleaded guilty or were convicted and received long sentences. Two got life.

Riley's mother, a devoted Baptist who had brought him up in the church, has
not lost her faith. "It could have been really ugly and nastier. The Lord
was wonderful the way he looked out after Ralph."

Times staff writer Ronald J. Ostrow contributed to this story.

Checked-by: Pat Dolan