DRUG CULTURE BRINGS BACK DAYS AS POLICE REPORTER

The younger generation unknowingly may never have noticed, but the drug
scene just "ain't what is used to be," and the drug kings themselves are a
bit responsible. They seem to avoid prison, while the crackdown continues
on the "small fry" whose little marijuana cigarette gets them many years
behind bars.

The "dirty work" is passed on to young men and women who end up serving
"mandatory minimum" terms for what used to be misdemeanor violations.

Even the Federal judges are complaining about the relatively new "mandatory
minimum" terms for non-violent drug law violators. A group of the judges
recently spoke out, branding the laws harsh and unjust. They must follow
the sentencing laws and can do nothing about the matter from their court
jurisdiction.

"Where are the drug kings?," they asked.

The drug scene change -- the narcotics themselves, the types of violations,
the police concentration on finding large quantities of dope -- reminds me
of my first introduction to narcotics violations while a young police
reporter for The Daily Sun. In those days, drug addicts were the real
culprits. Most of those arrested were addicts. They were victims needing
treatment, and the drug kings took advantage of their situation.

For example, thefts of morphine from physicians were common practices.
Doctors made house calls and always carried along their little "doctor's
bag" which often was left parked in the physician's car. Also, prescription
pads were regularly stolen from doctor's offices, and forged prescriptions
for pain-killing drugs were written and passed on to pharmacists.

Caught up in this serious Corsicana felony crime wave was a wayward
teen-aged girl I first became acquainted with earlier when she was
convicted as a juvenile delinquent. (Her identification will be withheld,
and we'll just call her "Jamie Ruth". I first interviewed the pretty little
girl in the county jail pending her transfer to the Girls Training School
(Reformatory) at Gainesville. Boys were sent to the Reform School at
Gatesville. These schools no longer exist.

I covered all of the delinquency trials back then -- in the fifties -- and
I wrote a lot of sad, human stories about many youngsters. And Jamie Ruth's
association with the drug crowd brought her into court on several occasions.

Her pattern of behavior continued, as a young adult at age 18, when she
began associating with underworld narcotics figures -- one local drug king
in particular, and several older women addicts who involved the young girl
in their illicit activities.

A local druggist identified Jamie Ruth as one who had passed forged
prescriptions for Dilaudid, a strong pain-killer rarely prescribed by
physicians. (One doctor told me he had been practicing medicine for 40
years and had never prescribed it.)

Jamie Ruth was arrested, based on the pharmacist's report to authorities.
The next day, the sheriff called me.

"We've got Jamie Ruth over here," he began, "and she insists on talking to
you."

"What does she want with me?" I asked.

"I don't know," the sheriff replied. "She just told me she wanted to talk
'to that newspaper reporter named Johnson.'

Can you come to the Courthouse right now?"

"I'll be there in a few minutes to see what this is all about," I agreed.
"But it sounds to me like she needs a lawyer."

I went directly to the Sheriff's office and was taken to see Jamie Ruth in
an adjoining confinement room. She greeted me with a bright and cheery smile.

"I appreciate you coming down here," she began. "They're holding me for
forging a prescription for drugs, and I need your help."

"Maybe you should get a lawyer," I told her. "What can I do?"

"You know a lot about me," she continued. "I have a drug problem, all
right, as you well know, and I got that prescription filled for my own use,
but I haven't done any of that forgery stuff."

Suddenly I came up with an idea of how possibly to prove her innocence, I
gave her a piece of paper and asked for hand writing samples, dictating
some of the words. I knew she had little or no schooling and was limited in
her reading and writing abilities.

The forged prescriptions had the words "Severe Hemorrhage" written at the
bottom -- an advisory physicians gave pharmacists when prescribing powerful
drugs like Dilaudid. Jamie Ruth couldn't even spell hemorrhage. Further
investigations by sheriff's deputies and questioning her relatives and
acquaintances confirmed my suspicions.

"Just tell the truth to the officers," I advised her. "They have the
evidence that you passed the prescription, but you didn't steal the
prescription pad and you didn't forge the writing on the prescription. All
you did was go to the drug store and get the drugs. Right?"

She agreed, cooperated with the sheriff's officers in the arrests of the
drug ring, subsequently did a plea bargain on the prescription passing
charge, receiving a light sentence. The forgery charge was dismissed.

Later, after her release from the penitentiary, Jamie Ruth was back in the
County Jail. She had the jailer call me, and I interviewed her about her
recent prison life. She said two things vividly stood out in her memory
about penitentiary life.

"I could get all the drugs I wanted in prison," she said, smiling. "But I
had to fight off the girls!"

At the time, Jamie Ruth was headed back again to the State Penitentiary.

"But I don't really mind," she said. "It's not such a bad place."