TOUGH SENTENCE IS DEATH SENTENCE FOR SMALL-TIME CRIME

A woman who shared my name, Susan Lampert, died a month ago today and
her death troubles me.

While we met only a few times - all at the Dane County Farmers'
Market - our common name bonded us and we had at least one mutual
friend. I wondered if she cringed when she would see me in the
newspaper, shooting off my mouth.

I certainly cringed when I finally saw her in the newspaper.

It was last June, when a farm near Lodi was busted as a marijuana-
growing operation. Actually, I heard about it because some of my
competitors at a rival news organization mistakenly (and gleefully)
thought I had been busted.

I hated to ruin their fun.

But the bust was no laughing matter for the other Susan Lampert, who
was sent to federal prison for her role in the operation. It was a
tragedy that ultimately led to her death at 57.

The last time I saw her, in the mid- 1990s, she was still healthy and
working at a Madison research company.

Since then, according to family and friends, she had contracted lupus
and also suffered chronic pain from a broken back and depression. She
couldn't work and was living on Supplemental Security Income and was
on the waiting list for a rent-subsidized apartment in Lodi.

She supplemented her income by selling flowers and vegetables at the
Lodi Valley Farmers' Market.

Peg Zaemisch, managing editor of the Lodi Enterprise, wrote a warm
tribute after Lampert's death, calling her "The Flower Lady," and
describing her typical attire: a big straw hat and brace supporting
her tiny body. Zaemisch questioned whether federal prison was too
harsh a sentence for an ill woman who had no criminal record.

After an afternoon spent reading Lampert's file at the federal
courthouse, I'm angry and sad.

Lampert's daughter, Casey Looze, said her mother moved in several
years ago with a longtime family friend, Terrance Larson. She got
free rent in exchange for cleaning the house and doing chores on the farm.

Those chores included watering Larson's marijuana seedlings, which
Lampert cared for along with her own flower and vegetable seedlings.

"She knew about what was going on," Looze said, of Larson's marijuana dealing.

Her attorney told the court she had hoped to move out, and was afraid
of Larson, sometimes spending the night in her car because she had
nowhere else to go.

"He started going insane; she was afraid of his temper," Looze said.

Lampert finally got her subsidized apartment, but three days before
she was to move in, Columbia County deputies visited the farm after a
road rage incident in which Larson forced an elderly couple off the
road. The deputies saw and smelled the marijuana.

Lampert, who was away from the farm baby-sitting, turned herself in.

Looze said her mother nearly died while at the Columbia County Jail
after her arrest. Looze said she took prescriptions to the jail, but
her mother never got them. By the time she was released three days
later, she was seriously ill.

"She couldn't walk, talk or chew," Looze said, of her mother's
condition following her jail stay. "It was like taking care of a baby."

Lampert's bad luck continued when the case was sent to federal court,
and she drew "Maximum John" Shabaz, a judge known for throwing the
book at defendants.

Larson, who has a long record of traffic, disorderly conduct and
other offenses, admitted selling large quantities of marijuana (most
of it grown elsewhere) and forfeited his farm. He got 80 months in
prison, and is currently being treated at a prison hospital in
Rochester, Minn. (Court documents suggested he suffered from mental
illness and drug addiction.)

Lampert also pleaded guilty; her daughter said her lawyer thought she
would get no more than probation and a six-month prison term.

A number of Lodi people wrote to Shabaz asking for leniency.

Shabaz said he wondered why, if she had so many friends, none of them
offered her a place to live. He also said he imagined that a number
of people in Lodi would like to see her locked up.

He's right about that. After Zaemisch wrote the "flower lady"
tribute, she and I both got angry unsigned notes from a Lodi parent
whose daughter was introduced to marijuana as a high school freshman.
The writer said the police and school have to do more about drugs.

I understand the writer's anguish. But I also think our hysteria over
drugs has created a court system that doesn't distinguish between the
drug kingpins and the little people. I hope the writer stands by her
daughter and is there for her so that when life deals out bad luck,
it doesn't trap her in a downward spiral of bad decisions and worse
consequences.

That's what happened to the woman who shared my name.

Shabaz heard arguments that Lampert was too ill to be sent to prison,
but declared that she would get adequate health care there. He
sentenced her to 26 months in prison.

Susan Lampert died of congestive heart failure March 2, shortly after
being assigned to a minimum-security camp for women east of St. Louis.

"It breaks my heart that she went to federal prison," Looze said,
adding that her mother's letters indicated she wasn't getting
adequate medical care. "This lady was so sick, so frail. It just
breaks my heart."

In the ultimate irony, on March 14, the 7th U.S. Circuit Court of
Appeals in Chicago sided with Lampert and ordered her conviction
vacated. On March 18, Shabaz followed the directive of the higher
court and signed an order dismissing the indictment against her.

But by then, the gentle Earth Mother who shared my name had been dead
for 16 days.