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The420Guy
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TULIA, Texas--What happened here is not simply a study in black and white,
despite the skin colors of its characters. It is not purely a story of
stupidity and arrogance, though both are prevalent.
It is a tragedy of small minds and made-up crimes that eventually created
one of the worst miscarriages of justice in Texas history. If it weren't
so awful, some of what happened in this tiny town might be comical, given
the buffoonish protagonist and his inability to keep his stories straight.
Thomas Roland Coleman, the son of a locally famous Texas Ranger, drove
into this dried-up place and cruised the battered roads where black people
live. For 18 months, beginning in 1998, he said he was T.J. Dawson, a
laborer whose girlfriend needed cocaine to get in the mood for sex.
He was really an undercover cop for a drug task force based in Amarillo.
Coleman was allowed to work alone for the Panhandle Regional Narcotics
Trafficking Task Force. He kept no written records, save incident reports
filed with seized evidence, reports later determined to be false. No
photographs were taken. No video was shot. No one observed his buys.
Every ensuing conviction relied on one thing: his word.
By the time he finished testifying, 38 people, 35 of them black, had been
convicted of selling small amounts of cocaine and sentenced to prison for
as long as 90 years. For this, he was named Texas' outstanding narcotics
officer in 2000.
Problem is, the star witness lied on the stand and several other places.
Another problem-- Swisher County District Attorney Terry McEachern,
Sheriff Larry Stewart and District Judge Ed Self, who heard most of the
cases, knew the witness had a tarnished record in law enforcement. That
information was kept from jurors and from defense attorneys.
The arrests accounted for about 10 percent of Tulia's black residents.
The Tulia cases have languished for four years. Last Monday, 12 people in
state prison were released on their own recognizance pending a ruling from
the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, which could take as long as two
years. Four others remain in custody.
Despite ongoing federal and state investigations, not one conviction has
been overturned, and no action has been taken against officials from
Swisher County.
The state appointed two special prosecutors earlier this year to hold
hearings to determine whether Coleman's testimony was indeed the sole
basis for conviction in four cases. And to find out whether the
prosecution team withheld information damaging to their star witness. The
answer to both questions: yes.
Retired Dallas District Judge Ron Chapman--appointed after Self recused
himself--stopped the hearings one day after Coleman took the stand, saying
Coleman was committing ''blatant perjury.''
A stipulation signed in May by the judge, the special prosecutors and
defense lawyers working pro bono for the NAACP Legal Defense and
Educational Fund in New York, said all 38 convictions should be
overturned, including 27 plea bargains signed to avoid lengthy prison
terms.
Coleman is ''the most devious, nonresponsive witness this court has
witnessed in 25 years on the bench in Texas,'' the judge wrote. Coleman
also was a bigot who used the ''n'' word on the job, testimony showed.
Examples of Coleman's perjury, the document said, included testifying that
he'd never been arrested ''except for a traffic ticket back when I was a
kid'' and that he'd left previous law enforcement jobs ''in good
standing.''
In truth, Coleman was arrested in August 1998, in the middle of the Tulia
investigation, on charges of theft and abusing authority while a deputy
with the Cochran County sheriff's office.
He had walked off that job and skipped town owing more than $7,000 to
local stores that extended credit because he was a deputy, and stole more
than 100 gallons of gasoline from county pumps, documents and testimony
showed. Charges were dropped when Coleman made restitution.
He'd also abandoned a previous deputy's post in Pecos County, just before
he was about to be fired for lying, documents said.
The 129-page finding also faulted local officials for:
* Allowing Sheriff Stewart to testify that he hadn't received any negative
information about Coleman ''despite the fact that he himself arrested
Coleman'' on the Cochran County warrant.
* Portraying Coleman in court as an exemplary officer with no criminal
record.
''It was a comedy of errors, it just wasn't one mistake,'' said Lubbock
criminal defense attorney Rod Hobson, one of the special prosecutors. ''It
was the task force, McEachern, Coleman, everyone involved screwed up,
practically.''
Tulia, population 5,000 and dropping, isn't much more than a wide spot in
the road between Amarillo and Lubbock.
Black residents, who number about 400, mostly work behind the scenes, in
the fields, the restaurant kitchens and the nearby prison. Some live on
welfare in federally subsidized housing--and it is from these ranks that
Coleman culled most of his cases.
Coleman first went after local troublemakers identified by the sheriff,
according to defense lawyers. The sheriff denied those claims. Then
Coleman went after their families and friends, until he had 46
indictments.
On July 23, 1999, Coleman, flanked by other officers, rousted people from
their beds and paraded them across the courthouse lawn before a tipped-off
media gantlet. No drugs or paraphernalia or money or guns were found. The
now-defunct local paper, the Tulia Sentinel, ran a headline declaring
''Tulia's Streets Cleared of Garbage.''
Pig farmer Joe Welton Moore was the first to go on trial. He was the drug
kingpin of Tulia, authorities said. He lived in a shack with a dirt front
yard. After a one-day trial, Moore--who has a previous narcotics felony on
his record-- was sentenced to 90 years. He was among those released last
week.
All of the busts were for powder cocaine, which is heavier and more
expensive than the rock variety. Texas law allows stiffer punishments for
heavier seizures. This point was not lost on defense attorneys who later
reviewed the lengthy jail terms meted out.
Drug laws also allow longer sentences when sales are made near schools or
parks. Conveniently, defense attorneys said, Coleman reported nearly all
of his purchases near these locations.
Also, defense attorneys note, the cocaine evidence was of inferior
purity--in some cases as low as 2 percent. The average purity of street
sales is at least 60 percent, crime statistics show.
Defense attorneys speculate Coleman smashed rock cocaine and mixed it with
a white substance to manufacture evidence. Hobson thinks Coleman was sold
a diluted product by some Tulia residents who saw an opportunity to make
money off this new guy in town.
''I'm not saying now and I have never said that all these people are
innocent,'' Hobson said. ''But here's the thing--out of 38 people, if even
one of them is innocent-- then how can you base a conviction on Coleman's
word in any one of these cases?''
One defendant died before trial. Seven cases were dropped. Some defendants
proved they were elsewhere when Coleman said he bought drugs from them.
Tanya White--who was living in the next state--was at an Oklahoma City
bank cashing a check, bank records showed. Billy Don Wafer was at work and
produced his boss and time card to prove it.
Hobson was appointed to represent Coleman and his employers. Instead, he
felt ethically bound to indict him. ''The star witness doesn't tell the
truth--I mean, what am I supposed to do?''
Three counts of aggravated perjury were filed in April over Coleman's
evidentiary hearing testimony. It's too late to charge him for his trial
testimony; the statute of limitations has run out.
Coleman is free on bail pending trial. His phone is disconnected, and his
attorney, Cindy Ermatinger, did not return phone messages. Nor did
McEachern, Stewart or Self. All three have denied wrongdoing.
A threatened civil suit against Swisher County was dropped in exchange for
a total settlement of $250,000 for the defendants. But Hobson said neither
money nor scandal has changed Tulia.
''I mean, the depth of dumbness of the people I'm working with,'' he said.
''I'm telling you, this thing could happen again tomorrow up there. I
mean, they have learned nothing.''
Author: Deborah Hastings
Source: Chicago Sun-Times
Contact: letters@suntimes.com
Website: index
Pubdate: Sunday, June 22, 2003
despite the skin colors of its characters. It is not purely a story of
stupidity and arrogance, though both are prevalent.
It is a tragedy of small minds and made-up crimes that eventually created
one of the worst miscarriages of justice in Texas history. If it weren't
so awful, some of what happened in this tiny town might be comical, given
the buffoonish protagonist and his inability to keep his stories straight.
Thomas Roland Coleman, the son of a locally famous Texas Ranger, drove
into this dried-up place and cruised the battered roads where black people
live. For 18 months, beginning in 1998, he said he was T.J. Dawson, a
laborer whose girlfriend needed cocaine to get in the mood for sex.
He was really an undercover cop for a drug task force based in Amarillo.
Coleman was allowed to work alone for the Panhandle Regional Narcotics
Trafficking Task Force. He kept no written records, save incident reports
filed with seized evidence, reports later determined to be false. No
photographs were taken. No video was shot. No one observed his buys.
Every ensuing conviction relied on one thing: his word.
By the time he finished testifying, 38 people, 35 of them black, had been
convicted of selling small amounts of cocaine and sentenced to prison for
as long as 90 years. For this, he was named Texas' outstanding narcotics
officer in 2000.
Problem is, the star witness lied on the stand and several other places.
Another problem-- Swisher County District Attorney Terry McEachern,
Sheriff Larry Stewart and District Judge Ed Self, who heard most of the
cases, knew the witness had a tarnished record in law enforcement. That
information was kept from jurors and from defense attorneys.
The arrests accounted for about 10 percent of Tulia's black residents.
The Tulia cases have languished for four years. Last Monday, 12 people in
state prison were released on their own recognizance pending a ruling from
the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, which could take as long as two
years. Four others remain in custody.
Despite ongoing federal and state investigations, not one conviction has
been overturned, and no action has been taken against officials from
Swisher County.
The state appointed two special prosecutors earlier this year to hold
hearings to determine whether Coleman's testimony was indeed the sole
basis for conviction in four cases. And to find out whether the
prosecution team withheld information damaging to their star witness. The
answer to both questions: yes.
Retired Dallas District Judge Ron Chapman--appointed after Self recused
himself--stopped the hearings one day after Coleman took the stand, saying
Coleman was committing ''blatant perjury.''
A stipulation signed in May by the judge, the special prosecutors and
defense lawyers working pro bono for the NAACP Legal Defense and
Educational Fund in New York, said all 38 convictions should be
overturned, including 27 plea bargains signed to avoid lengthy prison
terms.
Coleman is ''the most devious, nonresponsive witness this court has
witnessed in 25 years on the bench in Texas,'' the judge wrote. Coleman
also was a bigot who used the ''n'' word on the job, testimony showed.
Examples of Coleman's perjury, the document said, included testifying that
he'd never been arrested ''except for a traffic ticket back when I was a
kid'' and that he'd left previous law enforcement jobs ''in good
standing.''
In truth, Coleman was arrested in August 1998, in the middle of the Tulia
investigation, on charges of theft and abusing authority while a deputy
with the Cochran County sheriff's office.
He had walked off that job and skipped town owing more than $7,000 to
local stores that extended credit because he was a deputy, and stole more
than 100 gallons of gasoline from county pumps, documents and testimony
showed. Charges were dropped when Coleman made restitution.
He'd also abandoned a previous deputy's post in Pecos County, just before
he was about to be fired for lying, documents said.
The 129-page finding also faulted local officials for:
* Allowing Sheriff Stewart to testify that he hadn't received any negative
information about Coleman ''despite the fact that he himself arrested
Coleman'' on the Cochran County warrant.
* Portraying Coleman in court as an exemplary officer with no criminal
record.
''It was a comedy of errors, it just wasn't one mistake,'' said Lubbock
criminal defense attorney Rod Hobson, one of the special prosecutors. ''It
was the task force, McEachern, Coleman, everyone involved screwed up,
practically.''
Tulia, population 5,000 and dropping, isn't much more than a wide spot in
the road between Amarillo and Lubbock.
Black residents, who number about 400, mostly work behind the scenes, in
the fields, the restaurant kitchens and the nearby prison. Some live on
welfare in federally subsidized housing--and it is from these ranks that
Coleman culled most of his cases.
Coleman first went after local troublemakers identified by the sheriff,
according to defense lawyers. The sheriff denied those claims. Then
Coleman went after their families and friends, until he had 46
indictments.
On July 23, 1999, Coleman, flanked by other officers, rousted people from
their beds and paraded them across the courthouse lawn before a tipped-off
media gantlet. No drugs or paraphernalia or money or guns were found. The
now-defunct local paper, the Tulia Sentinel, ran a headline declaring
''Tulia's Streets Cleared of Garbage.''
Pig farmer Joe Welton Moore was the first to go on trial. He was the drug
kingpin of Tulia, authorities said. He lived in a shack with a dirt front
yard. After a one-day trial, Moore--who has a previous narcotics felony on
his record-- was sentenced to 90 years. He was among those released last
week.
All of the busts were for powder cocaine, which is heavier and more
expensive than the rock variety. Texas law allows stiffer punishments for
heavier seizures. This point was not lost on defense attorneys who later
reviewed the lengthy jail terms meted out.
Drug laws also allow longer sentences when sales are made near schools or
parks. Conveniently, defense attorneys said, Coleman reported nearly all
of his purchases near these locations.
Also, defense attorneys note, the cocaine evidence was of inferior
purity--in some cases as low as 2 percent. The average purity of street
sales is at least 60 percent, crime statistics show.
Defense attorneys speculate Coleman smashed rock cocaine and mixed it with
a white substance to manufacture evidence. Hobson thinks Coleman was sold
a diluted product by some Tulia residents who saw an opportunity to make
money off this new guy in town.
''I'm not saying now and I have never said that all these people are
innocent,'' Hobson said. ''But here's the thing--out of 38 people, if even
one of them is innocent-- then how can you base a conviction on Coleman's
word in any one of these cases?''
One defendant died before trial. Seven cases were dropped. Some defendants
proved they were elsewhere when Coleman said he bought drugs from them.
Tanya White--who was living in the next state--was at an Oklahoma City
bank cashing a check, bank records showed. Billy Don Wafer was at work and
produced his boss and time card to prove it.
Hobson was appointed to represent Coleman and his employers. Instead, he
felt ethically bound to indict him. ''The star witness doesn't tell the
truth--I mean, what am I supposed to do?''
Three counts of aggravated perjury were filed in April over Coleman's
evidentiary hearing testimony. It's too late to charge him for his trial
testimony; the statute of limitations has run out.
Coleman is free on bail pending trial. His phone is disconnected, and his
attorney, Cindy Ermatinger, did not return phone messages. Nor did
McEachern, Stewart or Self. All three have denied wrongdoing.
A threatened civil suit against Swisher County was dropped in exchange for
a total settlement of $250,000 for the defendants. But Hobson said neither
money nor scandal has changed Tulia.
''I mean, the depth of dumbness of the people I'm working with,'' he said.
''I'm telling you, this thing could happen again tomorrow up there. I
mean, they have learned nothing.''
Author: Deborah Hastings
Source: Chicago Sun-Times
Contact: letters@suntimes.com
Website: index
Pubdate: Sunday, June 22, 2003
