'BAMA JUSTICE

Selling Grass Buys Teen 26 Years

Webster Alexander is 19 and his life's dreams are already lost.

A teenage fervour for marijuana has cost him more than lapses of memory or
bronchitis. Alexander's relationship with pot has cost him 26 years, a hit
by the drug war in the U.S. designed to stop the use of marijuana.

But the results have been questionable as the U.S. continues to have one of
the highest marijuana consumption rates in the world.

In the buckle of the Bible Belt is Moulton, Ala., a town not much bigger
than a black-eyed pea, lost in America's Deep South. The folks who live
here don't normally get much international interest. They like it that way.

But that changed in January when Lawrence County Circuit Judge Philip Reich
sentenced Alexander to 26 years in prison after convicting him of selling
28-gram handfuls of marijuana on four occasions to an undercover cop
masquerading as a student.

It was Alexander's first offence and he pleaded guilty. His sentence -- a
plea bargain -- can't be appealed, but his lawyer is working to show
Alexander has changed his life.

A judge can give Alexander probation instead of jail time for some, or all,
of the 26 years.

"That's a long, long time to go," he says. "I am just so sorry for what
I've done. I want the court to see that. I am a completely different man
than I was then."

Alexander's story first appeared on news wires in January, a nondescript
account filed by an Associated Press reporter who lives nearby. But when
pro-marijuana activists caught wind of it, Alexander's face was soon
plastered on posters, first in Canada and then around the world.

Sympathizers cried foul over what could be one of the harshest sentences
given to a first-time offender convicted of small-time dealing.

Comparative sentencing statistics aren't available in the U.S.

A similar conviction in Canada would likely lead to a conditional sentence
or a fine. Those convicted for running multimillion-dollar grow operations
rarely see jail here.

If there is any such thing as a good ol' southern boy -- using the best
possible meaning of the phrase -- Alexander is it.

Rugged and weathered with a farm-tough bluntness, mixed with tender
sweetness, Alexander is all Alabama. He was raised in a dirt-brown trailer
on the limb of a horizon-swallowing cattle pasture where he continues to
make his home.

He grew up with two brothers, two step-brothers and a sister. One brother
is in jail, another in the air force. He would be living with his parents,
sister, niece, nephew, a pit bull named "Redneck," a dachshund with a nose
for trouble, cages full of chickens, 10 miniature goats and cockatiels.

With a C average, football was his future. Entering high school, Alexander
was a top player in the county. The trophies he earned line shelves inside
a garage his dad turned into a rec room.

FIRST JOINT AT AGE 9

Alexander was counting on a college scholarship to pay for an education
that, he hoped, would lead to a job as a phys. ed. teacher and basketball
coach.

But his conviction means he can't earn a scholarship, can never be a
teacher and makes him ineligible for a post-secondary loan, according to
state law. He can't even vote.

Marijuana was part of the culture Alexander grew up in. His dad has been
busted twice, most recently in 1999, and grew plants on the property.
Alexander smoked his first joint when he was just nine years old. At 17, he
was smoking regularly.

"A lot of the reason I started smoking was my friends because they all did
drugs and it just seemed like the thing," Alexander says.

"If I never got started on drugs, none of this would have happened."

Last February, Alexander needed just a couple of credits to get his high
school diploma. That's when a 19-year-old transfer student enrolled at
Lawrence County High. The second day the "new kid" was in school, he was
making plans to buy pot from Alexander, who had no idea he was befriending
a 26-year-old narc from the Lawrence County Drug Task Force.

On April 9, as the agent set up his fourth buy from the teen, police
swarmed the Alexanders' trailer. The gig was up. They arrested Alexander at
gunpoint. His mom Wanda called during the raid, when police were in her home.

"I asked to speak with my son and the man who answered said, 'This is the
Lawrence County Sheriff's Department, you can't talk to Webster,' " Wanda says.

"All I could think was 'I got to get home. I got to get home to my baby.' "

Wanda says she couldn't believe what she saw when she made it home.

"My house was destroyed and they had taken my baby to jail."

Alexander was charged with four counts of distribution of marijuana, one
count of first-degree possession and one count of possession of drug
paraphernalia for rolling papers, scales and a pipe.

"When they first got to my house, I was good," Alexander says. "I thought
it was going to be how when other people get busted, they go in and soon
are released.

"But I found out that wasn't going to happen to me. The cell door slammed.
The bars crashed shut in front of me and I realized how serious it was. I
was scared to death that I was never going to get out."

His uncle was able to put together the $90,000 needed to bail him out.

'HE'S JUST A CHILD'

The news of Alexander's arrest was actually welcomed by his family. They
wanted him off drugs and this was possibly the wake-up call they had been
seeking. But when Wanda was told how many years in prison the prosecution
was seeking, everything changed.

"If they had busted him and not tried to hang him, I would have shook their
hands but they're trying to hang my son," Wanda says.

"That's what I don't understand. He's just a child."

Enter John Mayes, a lawyer for 26 years, the only one in the county who
handles nothing but criminal cases. He is big, conservative and southern.
In his small brick office in the middle of Moulton, he has a portrait of
Ronald Reagan and a life-size painting of Gen. Robert E. Lee, who led the
South in the Civil War. He calls people from the north "Yankees."

Even for a staunch southern conservative, marijuana laws seem oddly harsh
in Alabama. The state does not differentiate between so-called hard drugs,
such as heroin and cocaine, and a soft drug like marijuana.

"Alabama does not rehabilitate criminals," Mayes says. "We just punish
them. They don't even teach trades in prison."

When Mayes worked out Alexander's plea bargain, his office was bombarded.
Powerful marijuana lobby groups swung into action and soon everybody wanted
to talk to Mayes: CNN, New York newspapers, media in Holland.

"I could have been a celebrity but I do not want that," he says. "I didn't
do any interviews. I'm here to help Webster."

The pro-marijuana lobby group NORML (National Organization for the Reform
of Marijuana Laws) was the first to make contact. It posted Alexander's
story on the Internet. Representatives called the Alexanders and promised
what seemed like the world. Webster's mom says they promised to launch an
appeal and pay for her son's defence.

"We're just a small-town country family, we didn't know what to do, we
didn't know how to contact these people," she says.

"The marijuana groups promised us so much. They said they would help and
they wanted us to fire John."

Pro-marijuana groups also wanted Alexander to be a spokesman.

"There is no question in my mind if the marijuana groups were involved,
Webster would have no chance at probation and he would be going to jail for
every one of those 26 years," Mayes says.

"And they'd probably raise money using his name as he was serving those 26
years.

"There were people who were going to say, 'Judge, don't put Webster to
prison because the law he was convicted under is stupid and if you weren't
so stupid, judge, you would realize these drugs should be legal.' "

PEN LIKE 'A GARBAGE CAN'

Alexander's family never saw a nickel from any marijuana group. And they
kept Mayes, who is leading an appeal.

Meanwhile, Alexander undergoes regular drug tests and has been clean for a
year. He also got a high school diploma from a private school. He
volunteers with young kids, telling them his story, warning them to try and
live a good, clean life.

"I just hope I can go to college and live a good life," Alexander said. "I
am just hoping I can turn this all around."

Mayes is with him.

"The penitentiary is no place for a young person," Mayes said. "It's like
throwing someone in a garbage can."