STING STILL BURNS: COLEMAN SHORTS LONG ARM OF THE LAW

TULIA - In the early morning hours of July 23, 1999, dozens of
gun-toting officers fanned out through the Panhandle town of Tulia.

By nightfall, 16 percent of the town's black population was behind bars.

A single narcotics agent, Thomas Rolland Coleman, had scored 132
separate narcotics buys over an 18-month period.

Larry Stewart, Swisher County's popular sheriff, hailed Coleman as "a
man of integrity and professionalism," and reassured the public that
"we're not going to put somebody in jail on a maybe."

Stewart and District Attorney Terry McEachern heaped superlatives on
their star witness till the poor man's knees buckled and the Texas
Narcotics Control Program named him Lawman of the Year.

Since no one had witnessed Coleman make a single buy, everything
hinged on the agent's credibility.

A long string of public officials and eight Tulia juries bet the
mortgage money on a man they didn't know. The result: a raft of
convictions and a firestorm of controversy.

Coleman will shortly return to the witness stand to testify against
Tanya Michelle White and Zuri Bossett in trials stemming from the
1999 sting.

Everything still hinges on the agent's credibility.

Since so little is known about how Coleman spent his time on the mean
streets of Tulia, it is fortunate that we know so much about his pre-
Tulia and post-Tulia record.

Coleman got his start in law enforcement with the Pecos County
Sheriff's Department.

"His dad was the best and the most honest officer that ever lived,"
former Sheriff Bruce Wilson told me recently, "but Tom Coleman ain't
worth shooting. If I had 20 people in prison on the word of that man,
I wouldn't be able to sleep at night."

Coleman gets similar reviews in Cochran County.

Two weeks after Coleman disappeared from Morton in the middle of a
shift, Sheriff Kenneth Burke fired off a stern letter to the Texas
Commission on Law Enforcement.

"Mr. Coleman should not be in law enforcement," Burke stated sharply,
"if he is going to do people the way he did in this town."

To back up his allegations, Burke attached letters he had received
from local businesses claiming that Coleman left town owing a total
of $6,931.82.

Short months into the Tulia sting, Stewart arrested his deputy on a
warrant filed in Cochran County.

When Coleman assured Stewart that his legal problems had been
resolved, the agent was returned to the streets of Tulia where he
continued to work without supervision.

The Tulia drug trials had almost run their course, McEachern now
claims, before Stewart even bothered to inform the district
attorney's office about Coleman's legal problems in Cochran County.

By that time, Coleman had signed on with the Chambers County
Narcotics Task Force, east of Houston. Mike Little, district attorney
for Liberty and Chambers counties, was particularly impressed that
his new hire had been named Texas Lawman of the Year.

"It is obvious now that we made a mistake," Little admitted recently.
"We found out about it, we took the necessary action with respect to
his employment, and we hope to not repeat that mistake again."

Coleman, reports indicate, was unable to account for task force money
when a surprise audit was run.

But Coleman was still Lawman of the Year and it wasn't long before
Joe Grubbs, district attorney for Ellis County, hired him to work
undercover.

Nine months later, a female confidential informant was accusing
Coleman of badgering her for sexual favors, even suggesting that he
might "loan her out" to other police officers.

Claiming to be her husband, Coleman signed a credit application on
her behalf using the alias TJ Dawson, the same street name he had
employed in Swisher County.

Still, Coleman's advances were consistently rebuffed, and he
retaliated by betraying the informant to two Waxahachie women she had
made cases on.

The women, predictably, beat the informant senseless.

When her allegations against Coleman came to the attention of the
district attorney, she easily passed a polygraph test.

Coleman refused the polygraph, turned down a chance to resign
gracefully, and was summarily terminated.

The Texas Narcotics Control Program must wish they had named somebody
else Lawman of the Year for 1999.

Nonetheless, having hitched their wagon to Coleman's star, Panhandle
officials have little choice but to stand by their man.

Jurors, on the other hand, are blessedly free to acknowledge the
obvious: Tom Coleman deserves our pity, not our trust.