TEXAS FREES 12 ON BOND AFTER DRUG SWEEP INQUIRY

TULIA, Tex. - In the same warm third-floor courtroom where
she was convicted three years ago, Kizzie White was told this
afternoon to go home. She searched the packed room for her son,
Cashawn, 6, who had lived with relatives since she went to prison and
who, for the rest of the afternoon kept one small hand touching her
- - her hand, her ear, her neck.

Joe Moore, 60, clutched a crumpled shopping bag. In it were gifts he
had asked his lawyers to deliver like bubble bath, a toothbrush, cocoa
butter and hair conditioner. Mr. Moore, a hog farmer, had been craving
a long hot bath for the four years that he spent in a prison in
Abilene, he said.

A third man left the courthouse and went home as fast as
possible.

"I've got to get to my kids," he called out as he pushed to the
exit.

They were among 12 inmates released on bond, most of the remaining
people behind bars stemming from a drug sweep in 1999 that led to
convictions against 38 people, most of them black. Lawyers and
advocates have pointed to the case as an example of racism in law
enforcement, and the narcotics agent who organized and carried out the
sweep has been criticized for his tactics, racial comments and history.

Still, as the former prisoners and their families celebrated this
evening with barbecued ribs and hot links in the basement of the
Swisher County Memorial building, their lawyers warned that their
legal troubles were not ended.

Ron Chapman, a retired judge who has presided over hearings in the
case, ordered the prisoners released after Gov. Rick Perry signed a
special bill this month to allow that unusual step. The State Court of
Criminal Appeals and the Board of Pardons and Paroles are reviewing
the case. Those outcomes will decide whether any convictions stand and
whether the 12 people might return to prison.

"It's a significant day, but it's not the end at all," said Vanita
Gupta, a lawyer with the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund Inc.
"Our clients are walking out under the cloud of conviction."

In fact, some defendants struggled before they went to prison. Some
were unemployed, their lawyers said, and others had criminal records.
At the hearing, Judge Chapman urged them to avoid trouble.

"There are a great number of people who have a great deal of time,
effort and faith in each of you invested," he said. "Your friends and
loved ones are counting on you."

As they left the courthouse, some former inmates outlined plans -
for engineering school, for road trips, for a big first meal on the
outside.

"I just want to go on with my life," said Mr. Moore, adding that he
was not certain what that may mean.

Since he was sentenced to a 90-year term for the delivery of cocaine,
he said, he did not know what had happened to the 350 hogs that he
cared for on 30 acres.

"I don't know," he said. "I've been locked up. I want to go home, look
at TV and stay out of trouble."

Some of the lawyers said they planned to deliver a blunt message for
their clients when they met with them privately, leave Tulia.

"It's going to be impossible to stay here," said Jeff Blackburn, a
lawyer from Amarillo.

The prisoners will encounter the jurors who convicted them, Mr.
Blackburn said, adding:

"These folks will have virtually no chance if they stay here. They
will be arrested for spitting. They will be pursued to the ends of the
earth."

If the prisoners had harsh feelings about Tulia, a dusty town of 5,000
between Amarillo and Lubbock, they were not saying so tonight.

"There's no doubt about it, we have great people here in Tulia," said
Freddie Brookins Jr., who was serving a 20-year sentence for the
delivery of cocaine.

As lawyers, reporters and relatives gathered at the courthouse, far
fewer white residents showed up. The cases have stirred deep racial
tensions, and the reactions of the white majority were all but silent.
Almost no one, not even officials, would offer opinions about race
relations here.

"It's a great community with great people," Sheriff Larry Stewart
said. "That's it. That's all I'll say."

On nearby streets and in nearby stores, some white residents, all
refusing to be quoted by name, questioned whether the defendants were
not guilty of drug crimes and faulted the news media for unfairly
portraying an entire town as racist by pinning the work of one
troubled officer on an entire community.

Thomas Coleman, the former undercover narcotics agent who carried out
the 18-month investigation as part of the Panhandle Regional Narcotics
Task Force, was named the state's Lawman of the Year shortly after the
arrests. But his credibility - and the case itself - have
unraveled. In April, he was charged with lying under oath about his
background at a hearing related to the drug cases.

Mr. Coleman has an unlisted telephone number. His lawyer, Cindy
Ermatinger of Waxahachie, did not return a call.

Early on July 23, 1999, as television cameras captured their images,
the 46 people whom Mr. Coleman said he had bought drugs from were
arrested. Thirty-nine were black. No drugs, weapons or large
quantities of cash were seized.

At least two of the 38 people who were convicted remained behind bars
this evening because of legal complications.

Mr. Coleman's methods raised questions. He did not record his
purchases, and he worked alone. His notes sometimes consisted of his
jotting down broad information about sales on his leg.

The cases had inconsistencies, too. Tonya White's lawyers proved that
she withdrew $8 from a bank in Oklahoma on the day she was reportedly
selling drugs here.

"I knew something would come up to prove I was innocent," Ms. White
said. But three siblings, including Kareem and Kizzie, went to prison.
Both emerged today.

In a crush of television cameras, Kizzie White, 26, stood with her son
and a daughter, Roneisha, 9. Ms. White looked down shyly at the
reporters and the constant questions. She said she had missed her
children bitterly.

"I wanted to be there for them," she said. She saw her children eight
times in prison, she said. She was allowed to call them for a few
moments every 90 days, and she wrote to them three times a week to
remind them that she loved them, she said. Their names are tattooed in
fancy script on her shoulder and neck.

For now, Ms. White said, she will stay in Tulia. But she said she was
thinking about moving to Houston, perhaps to attend nursing school.

Sometime, she said, she will explain all that happened.

"What I want to do now is to be the best mother I can," she
said.

Roneisha turned to her mother, who was talking with a reporter, and
asked, "After this, can we go now?"