From: brians@atlastele.com (Brian Sheets)
Newsgroups: misc.legal,misc.conspiracy,alt.activism.d
Subject: Forfeiture article 2 of 4 (LONG)
Date: 6 Oct 92 14:17:56 GMT
Distribution: usa
Organization: Atlas Telecom Inc.
Disclaimer: Views expressed do not necessarily represent those of my employer.

---

STEREOTYPES TRIGGER STOPS

     in Memphis, Tenn., in 1989, drug officers have testified, about 75
percent of the people they stopped in the airport were black. The latest
figures available from the Air Transport Association show that for that
year only percent of the flying public was black.

     In Eagle County, Colo., the 60-mile-long strip of Interstate 70 that
winds and dips past Vail and other ski areas is the setting of a class-action
suit that charges race was the main element of the profile used in drug stops.

     According to court documents in one of the cases that led to the suit, the
sheriff and two deputies testified that "being black or Hispanic was and is a
factor" in their drug courier profile.

     Lawyer David Lane says that 500 people - primarily Hispanic and black
motorists - were stopped and searched by Eagle County's High Country Drug Task
Force during 1989 and 1990. Each time, Lane charged, the task force used an
unconstitutional profile based on race, ethnicity and out-of-state license
plates.

     Byron Boudreaux was one of those stopped.

     Boudreaux was driving from Oklahoma to a new job in Canada when Sgt. James
Perry and three other task force officers pulled him over.

     "Sgt. Perry told me that I was stopped because my car fit the description
of someone trafficking drugs in the area," Boudreaux says. He let the officers
search his car.

     "Listen, I was a black man traveling alone up in the mountains of Eagle
County and surrounded by four police off icers. I was going to be as
cooperative as I could," he recalls.

     For almost an hour the officers unloaded and searched the suitcases,
laundry baskets and boxes that were wedged into Boudreaux's car. Nothing was
found.

     "I was stopped because I was black, and that's not a great testament to
our law enforcement system," says Boudreaux, who is now an assistant basketball
coach at Queens College in Charlotte, N.C.

     In a federal trial stemming from another stop Penny made on the same road
a few months later, he testified that because of "astigmatism and color
blindness" he was unable to distinguish among black, Hispanic and white people.

     U.S. District Court Judge Jim Carrigan didn't buy it and called the
sergeant's testimony "incredible.

     "If this nation were to win its war on drugs at the cost of sacrificing
its citizens' constitutional lights, it would be a Pyrrhic victory indeed,"
Carrigan wrote in a court opinion. "If the rule of law rather than the rule of
man is to prevail, there cannot be one set of search and seizure rules
applicable to some and a different set applicable to others."

---

LIVELIHOOD IN JEOPARDY

     In Nashville, Tenn., Willie Jones has go doubt that police still use a
profile based on race.

     Jones, owner of a landscaping service, thought the ticket agent at the
American Airlines counter in Nashville Metro Airport reacted strangely when he
paid cash Feb. 27 for his round-trip ticket to Houston.  "She said no one ever
paid in cash anymore and she'd have to go in the back and check on what to do,"
Jones says.

     What Jones didn't know is that in Nashville - as in other airports many
airport employees double as paid informers for the police.

     The Drug Enforcement Administration usually pays them 10 percent of any
money seized, says Capt. Judy Bawcum, head of the Nashville police division
that runs the airport unit.

     Jones got his ticket. Ten minutes later, as he waited for his plane, two
drug team members stopped him.

     "They flashed their badges and asked if I was carrying drugs or a large
amount of money. I told them I didn't have anything to do with drugs, but I had
money on me to go buy some plants for my business," Jones says.

     They searched his overnight bag and found nothing. They patted him down
and felt a bulge. Jones pulled out a black plastic wallet hidden under his
shirt. It held $9,600.

     "I explained that I was going to Houston to order some shrubbery for my
nursery. I do it twice a year and pay cash because that's the way the growers
want it," says the father of three girls.  The drug agents took his money.

     "They said I was going to buy drugs with it, that their dog sniffed it and
said it had drugs on it," Jones says. He never saw the dog.

     The officers didn't arrest Jones, but they kept the money. They gave him a
DEA receipt for the cash. But under the heading of amount and description,
Sgt. Claude Byrum wrote, "Unspecified amount of U.S. currency."

     Jones says losing the money almost put him out of business.

     "That was to buy my stock. I'm known for having a good selection of
unusual plants. That's why I go South twice a year to buy them. Now I've got
to do it piecemeal, run out after I'm paid for a job and buy plants for the
next one," he says.

     Jones has receipts for three years showing that each fall and spring he
buys plants from nurseries in other states.

     "I just don't understand the government. I don't smoke. I don't drink. I
don't wear gold chains and jewelry, and I don't get into trouble with the
police," he says. "I didn't know it was against the law for a 42-year-old
black man to have money in his pocket."

     Tennessee police records confirm that the only charge ever filed against
Jones was for drag racing 15 years ago.

     "DEA says I have to pay $900, 10 percent of the money they took from me,
just to have the right to try to get it back," Jones says.

     His lawyer, E. E. "Bo" Edwards filled out government forms documenting
that his client couldn't afford the $900 bond.

     "If I'm going to feed my children, I need my truck, and the only way I can
get that $900 is to sell it," Jones says.

     It's been more than five months, and the only thing Jones has received
>from DEA are letters saying that his application to proceed without paying the
$900 bond was deficient. "But they never told us what those deficiencies were,
says Edwards.

     Jones is nearly resigned to losing the money. "I don't think I'll ever
get it back. But I think the only reason they thought I was a drug dealer was
because I'm black, and that bothers me."

     It also bothers his lawyer.

     "Of course he was stopped because he was black. No cop in his right mind
would try that with a white businessman. These seizure laws give law
enforcement a license to hunt, and the target of choice for many cops is those
they believe are least capable of protecting themselves: blacks, Hispanics and
poor whites," Edwards says.

---

MONEY STILL HELD

     In Buffalo, N.Y., on Oct. 9, Juana Lopez, a dark-skinned Dominican, had
just gotten off a bus from New York City when she was stopped in the terminal
by drug agents who wanted to search her luggage.

     They found no drugs, but DEA Agent Bruce Johnson found $4,750 in cash
wrapped with rubber bands in her purse. The money, the 28-year-old woman said,
was to pay legal fees or bail for her common-law husband.  After he began
questioning her, Johnson realized that he had arrested the husband for drugs
two months earlier in the same bus station.

     Johnson called the office of attorney Mark Mahoney, where Ms. Lopez said
she was heading, and verified her appointment.

     Johnson then told the woman she was free to go, but her money would stay
with him because a drug dog had reacted to it.

     Ms. Lopez has receipts showing the money was obtained legally - a third of
it was borrowed, another third came from the sale of jewelly that belonged to
her and her husband, and the rest from her savings as a hair stylist in the
Bronx.

     It has been more than nine months since the money was taken, and Assistant
U.S. Attorney Richard Kaufman says the investigation is continuing.

     Robert Clark, a Mobile, Ala., lawyer who has defended many travelers,
says profile stops are the new form of racism.

     "In the South in the '30s, we used to hang black folks. Now, given any
excuse at all, even legal money in their pockets, we just seize them to death,"
he says.

---

TRIVIAL PURSUIT

     "If you took all the racial elements out of profiles," you'd be left with
nothing, says Nashville lawyer Edwards, who heads a new National Association of
Criminal Defense Lawyers task force to investigate forfeiture law abuses.

     "It would outrage the public to learn the trivial indicators that police
officers use as the basis for interfering with the rights of the innocent."

     Examination of more than 310 affidavits for seizure and profiles used by
28 different agencies reveals a conflicting collection of traits that agents
say they use to hunt down traffickers.

     Guidelines for DEA drug task force agents in three adjacent states give
conflicting advice on when officers are supposed to become suspicious.

     Agents in Illinois are told it's suspicious if their subjects are among
the first people off a plane, because it shows they're in a hurry.  In
Michigan, the DEA says that being the last off the plane is suspicious because
the suspect is trying to appear unconcerned.

     And in Ohio, agents are told suspicion should surface when suspects
deplane in the middle of a group because they may be trying to lose themselves
in the crowd.

     One of the most often mentioned indicators is that suspects were traveling
to or from a source city for drugs.

     But a list of cities favored by drug couriers gleaned from the DEA
affidavits amounts to a compendium of every major community in the United
States.

     Seeming to be nervous, looking around, pacing, looking at a watch, making
a phone call - all things that business travelers routinely do, especially
those who are late or don't like to fly - sound alarms to waiting drug agents.

     Some agents change their mind about what makes them suspicious.

     In Tennessee, an agent told a judge he was leery of a man because he
"walked quickly through the airport."  Six weeks later, in another affidavit,
the same agent said his suspicions were aroused because the suspect "walked
with intentional slowness after getting off the bus."

     In Albuquerque, N.M., people have been stopped because they were standing
on the train platform watching people.

     Whether you look at a police officer can be construed to be a suspicious
sign. One Maryland state trooper said he was wary because the subject
"deliberately did not look at me when he drove by my position." Yet, another
Maryland trooper testified that he stopped a man because the "driver stared at
me when he passed."

     Too much baggage or not enough will draw the attention of the law.

     You could be in trouble with drug agents if you're sitting in first ?lass
and don't look as if you belong there.

     DEA Agent Paul Markonni who is considered the "father" of the drug courier
profile, testified in a Floncia court about why he stopped a man.

     "We do see some real slimeballs, you know, some real dirt bags, that
obviously could not afford, unless they were doing something, to fly first
class," he told the court.

     The newest extension of the drug courier profile are pagers and cellular
telephones.

     Based on the few cases that have reached the courts, the communication
devices - which are carried by business people, nervous parents and patients
waiting for a transplant as well as drug couriers - are primarily suspicious
when they are found on the belts or in the suitcases of minorities or
long-haired whites.

     For police intent on stopping someone., any reason will do.

     "If they're black, Hispanic, Asian or look like a hippie, that's a
stereotype, and the police will find some way to stop them if that's their
intent," says San Antonio lawyer Gerald Goldstein.

---

THE PERFECT PROFILE

A DEA agent thought that former New York Giants center Kevin Belcher matched
his profile. When Belcher got off a flight from Detroit March 2, he was stopped
by DEA's Dallas/Fort Worth Airport Narcotics Task Force.

     The Texas officers had been called a short while earlier by a DEA agent
at Detroit's Metro Airport. A security screener had spotted a big, black man
carrying a large amount of money in his jacket pocket, the Detroit agent
reported to his Southern colleagues.

     Belcher was questioned about the purpose of the trip and was asked whether
he had any money. He gave the agents $18,265.

     Belcher explained that he was going to El Paso to buy some classic old
cars "1968 or '69 Camaros are what I'm looking for." Belcher, whose
professional football career ended after a near-fatal traffic accident in New
Jersey, told the agents he owned four Victory Lane Quick Oil Change outlets in
Michigan. The money came from sales, he said, and cash was what auctioneers
demanded.

     A drug-sniffing dog was called, it reacted, and the money was seized.

     Agent Rick Watson told Belcher he was free to go "but that I was going to
detain the monies to determine the origin of them."

     In his seizure affidavit, Watson listed the matches he made between
Belcher and the profile of "other narcotic currency couriers encountered at
DFW airport."

     Included in Watson's profile was that Belcher had bought a one-way ticket
on the date of travel; was traveling to a "source" city, El Paso, "where drug
dealers have long been known to be exporting large amounts of marijuana to
other parts of the country"; and was carrying $100, $50, $20, $10 and $5 bills,
"which is consistent with drug asset seizures."

     Watson made no mention as to what denomination other than $1 bills was
left for non-drug traffickers to carry.  "The drug courier profile can be
absolutely anything that the police officer decides it is at that moment," says
Albuquerque defense lawyer Nancy Hollander, one of the nation's leading
authorities on profile stops.

---

WIDE NET CAST

     Officials are reluctant to reveal how many innocent people are ensnared
each day by profile stops. Most police departments say they don't keep that
information. Those that do are reluctant to discuss it.

     "We don't like to talk much about what we seize at the (Nashville) air
port because it might stir up the public and make the airport officials unhappy
because we are somehow harassing people. It would be great if we could Keep the
whole operation secret," says Capt. Bawcum, in charge of the airport's drug
team.

     Capt. Rudy Sandoval, commander of Denver's vice bureau, says he doesn't
keep the airport numbers but estimated his police searched more than 2,000
people in 1990, but arrested only 49 and seized money from fewer than 50.

     At Pittsburgh's airport, numbers are kept. The team searched 527 people
last year, and arrested 49.

     A federal court judge in Buffalo, N.Y., says police stop too many innocent
people to catch too few crooks.

     Judge George Pratt said he was shocked that police charged only 10 of the
600 people stopped in 1989 in the Buffalo airport and decreed encroaching on
the constitutional rights of the 590 innocent people.

     In his opinion in the case, Pratt said that by conducting unreasonable
searches: "It appears that they have sacrificed the Fourth Amendment by
detaining 590 innocent people in order to arrest 10 who are not - all in the
name of the 'war on drugs.' When, pray tell, will it end? Where are we going?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DRUGS CONTAMINATE NEARLY ALL THE MONEY IN AMERICA

     Police seize money from thousands of people each year because a dog with a
badge sniffs, barks or paws to show that bills are tainted with drugs.

     If a police officer picks you out as a likely drug courier, the dog is
used to confirm that your money has the smell of drugs.

     But scientists say the test the police rely on is no test at all because
drugs contaminate virtually all the currency in America.

     Over a seven-year period, Dr. Jay Poupko and his colleagues at Toxicology
Consultants Inc. in Miami have repeatedly tested currency in Austin, Dallas,
Los Angeles, Memphis, Miami, Milwaukee, New York City, Pittsburgh, Seattle and
Syracuse. He also tested American bills in London.

     "An average of 96 percent of all the bills we analyzed from the 11 cities
tested positive for cocaine. I don't think any rational thinking person can
dispute that almost all the currency in this country is tainted with drugs,"
Poupko says.

     Scientists at National Medical Services, in Willow Grove, Pa., who tested
money from banks and other legal sources more than a dozen times, consistently
found cocaine on more than 80 percent of the bills.

     "Cocaine is very adhesive and easily transferable," says Vincent Cordova,
director of criminalistics for the private lab. "A police officer, pharmacist,
toxicologist or anyone else who handles cocaine, including drug traffickers,
can shake hands with someone, who eventually touches money, and the
contamination process begins."

     Cordova and other scientists use gas chromatography and mass spectroscopy,
precise alcohol washes and a dozen other sophisticated techniques to identify
the presence of narcotics down to the nanogram level one billionth of a gram.
That measure, which is far less than a pin point, is the same level a dog can
detect with a sniff.

     What a drug dog cannot do, which the scientists can, is quantify the
amount of drugs on the bills.

     Half of the money Cordova examined had levels of cocaine at or above 9
nanograms. This level means the bills were either near a source of cocaine or
were handled by someone who touched the drug, he says.

     Another 30 percent of the bills he examined show levels below 9 nanograms,
which indicates "the bills were probably in a cash drawer, wallet or some
place where they came in contact with money previously contaminated."

     The lab's research found $20 bills are most highly contaminated, with $10
and $5 bills next. The $1, $50 and $100 bill usually have the lowest cocaine
levels.

     Cordova urges restraint in linking possession of contaminated money to a
criminal act.

     "Police aid prosecutors have got to use caution in how far they go. The
presence of cocaine on bills cannot be used as valid proof that the holder of
the money, or the bills themselves, have ever been in direct contact with
drugs," says Cordova, who spent II years directing the Philadelphia Police
crime laboratory.

     Nevertheless, more and more drug dogs are being put to work.

     Some agencies, like the U.S. Customs Service, are using passive dogs that
don't rip into an item or person - when the dogs find something during a
search. These dogs just sit and wag their tails. German shepherds with names
like Killer and Rambo are being replaced by Labradors named Bruce or Memphis'
"Chocolate Mousse."

     Marijuana presents its own problems for dogs since its very pungent smell
is long-lasting. Trainers have testified that drug dogs can react to clothing,
containers or cars months after marijuana has been removed.

     A 1989 case in Richmond, Va., addressed the issue of how reliable dogs are
in marijuana searches.

     Jack Adams, a special agent with the Virginia State Police, supervised
training of drug dogs for the state.

     He said the odor from a single suitcase filled with marijuana and placed
with 100 other bags in a closed Amtrak baggage car in Miami could permeate all
the other bags in the car by the time the train reached Richmond.

     And what happens to the mountain of "drug-contaminated" dollars the
government seizes each year? The bills aren't burned, cleaned, or stored in a
well-guarded warehouse.

     Twenty-one seizing agencies questioned all said the tainted money was
deposited in a local bank - which means it's back in circulation.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POLICE PROFIT BY SEIZING HOMES OF INNOCENT
PART THREE: INNOCENT OWNERS

     The second time police came to the Hawaii home of Joseph and Frances
Lopes, they came to take it.

     "They were in a car and a van. I was in the garage. They said, 'Mrs.
Lopes, let's go into the house, and we will explain things to you.' They sat in
the dining room and told me they were taking the house. It made my heart beat
very fast."

     For the rest of the day, 60-year-old Frances Lopes and her 65-year-old
husband, Joseph, trailed federal agents as they walked through every room of
the Maui house, the agents recording the position of each piece of furniture
on a videotape that serves as the government's inventory.

     Four years after their mentally unstable adult son pleaded guilty to
growing marijuana in their back yard for his own use. the Lopeses face the
loss of their home. A Maui detective trolling for missed forfeiture
opportunities spotted the old case. He recognized that the law allowed him to
take away their property because they knew their son had committed a crime on
it.

     A forfeiture law intended to strip drug traffickers of ill-gotten gains
often is turned on people, like the Lopeses, who have not committed a clime.
The incentive for the police to do that is financial, since the federal
government and most states let the police departments keep the proceeds from
what they take.  The law tries to temper money-making temptations with
protections for innocent owners, including lien holders, landlords whose
tenants misuse property, or people unaware of their spouse's misdeeds. The
protection is supposed to cover anyone with an interest in a property who can
prove he did not know about the alleged illegal activity, did not consent to
it, or took all reasonable steps to prevent it.

     But a Pittsburgh Press investigation found that those supposed safe-guards
do not come into play until after the government takes an asset, forcing
innocent owners to hire attorneys to get their property back - if they ever do.
"As if the law weren't bad enough, they just clobber you financially," says
Wayne Davis, an attorney from Little Rock, Ark.

---

FEARED FOR THEIR SON

     In 1987, Thomas Lopes, who was then 28 and living in his parents' home,
pleaded guilty to growing marijuana in their back yard. Officers spotted it
>from a helicopter.

     Because it was his first offense, Thomas received probation and an order
to see a psychologist. From the time he was young, mental problems tormented
Thomas, and though he visited a psychologist as a teen, he had refused to
continue as he grew older, his parents say.

     Instead, he cloistered himself in his bedroom, leaving only to tend the
garden.

     His parents concede they knew he grew the marijuana.

     "We did ask him to stop, and he would say, 'Don't touch it,' or he would
do something to himself," says the elder Lopes, who worked for 49 years on a
sugar plantation and lived in its rented camp housing for 30 years while he
saved to buy his own home.

     Given Thomas' history and a family history of mental problems that caused
a grandparent and an uncle to be committed to institutions, the threats stymied
his parents.

     The Lopeses, says their attorney Matthew Menzer, "were under duress.
Everyone who has been diagnosed in this family ended up being taken away.  They
could not conceive of any way to get rid of the dope without getting rid of
their son or losing him forever."

     When police arrived to arrest Thomas, "I was so happy because I knew he
would get care," says his mother. He did, and he continues weekly doctor's
visits. His mood is better, Mrs. Lopes says, and he has never again grown
marijuana or been arrested.  But his guilty plea haunts his family.

     Because his parents admitted they knew what he was doing, their home was
vulnerable to forfeiture.

     Back when Thomas was arrested, police rarely took homes. But since,
agencies have learned how to use the law and have seen the financial payoff,
says Assistant U.S. Attorney Marshall Silverberg of Honolulu.

     They also carefully review old cases for overlooked forfeiture
possibilities, he says. The detective who uncovered the Lopes case started a
forfeiture action in February - just under the five-year deadline for staking
such a claim.

     "I concede the time lapse on this case is longer than most, but there was
a violation of the law, and that makes this appropriate, not money-grubbing,"
says Silverberg. "The other way to took at this, you know, is that the Lopeses
could be happy we let them live there as long as we did."  They don't see it
that way.

     Neither does their attorney, who says his firm now has about eight
similar forfeiture cases, all of them stemming from small-time crimes that
occurred years ago but were resurrected. "Digging these cases out now is a
business proposition, not law enforcement," Menzer says.

     "We thought it was all behind us," says Lopes. Now, "there isn't a day I
don't think about what will happen to us."

     They remain in the house, paying taxes and the mortgage, until the
forfeiture case is resolved. Given court backlogs, that likely won't be until
the middle of next year, Menzer says.

     They've been warned to leave everything as it was when the videotape was
shot.

     "When they were going out the door," Mrs. Lopes says of the police, "they
told me to take good care of the yard. They said they would be coming back one
day."

---

"DUMB JUDGMENT"

     Protections for innocent owners are a neglected issue in federal and state
forfeiture law," concluded the Police Executive Research Forum in its March
bulletin.

     But a chief policy maker on forfeiture maintains that the system is
actively interested in protecting the rights of the innocent.

     George J. Terwilliger III, associate deputy attorney general in the
Justice Department, admits that there may be instances of "dumb judgment." And
says if there's a "systemic" problem, he'd like to know about it.

     But attorneys who battle forfeiture cases say dumb judgment is the
systemic problem. And they point to some of Terwilliger's own decisions as
examples.

     The forfeiture policy that Terwilliger crafts in the nation's capital he
puts to use in his other federal job: U.S. attorney for Vermont.

     A coalition of Vermont residents, outraged by Terwilliger's forfeitures
of homes in which small children live, launched a grass-roots movement called
"Stop Forfeiture of Children's Homes." Three months old, the group has about 70
members, from school principals to local medical societies.

     Forfeitures are a particularly sensitive issue in Vermont where state law
forbids talking a person's primary home. That restriction appears nowhere in
federal law, which means Vermont police departments can circumvent the state
constraint by taking forfeiture cases through federal courts.

     The playmaker for that end-run: Terwilliger.

     'It's government-sponsored child abuse that's destroying the future of
children all over this state in the name of fighting the drug war," says Dr.
Kathleen DePierro, a family practitioner who works at Vermont State Hospital,
a psychiatric facility in Waterbury.

     The children of Karen and Reggie Lavallee, ages 6,9 and 11, are
precisely the type of victims over which the Vermonters agonize. Reggie
Lavallee is serving a 10-year sentence in a federal prison in Minnesota for
cocaine possession.

     Because police said he had been involved with drug trafficking, his
conviction cost his family their ranch house on 2 acres in a small village 20
miles east of Burlington. For the first time, the family is on welfare, in a
rented duplex.

     "I don't condone what my husband did, but why victimize my children
because of his actions? That house wasn't much, but it was ours. It was a home
for the children, with rabbits, chicken, turkeys and a vegetable garden. Their
friends were there, and they liked the school, " says Mrs. Lavallee, 29.

     After the eviction, "every night for months, Amber cried because she
couldn't see her friends. I'd like to see the government tell this 9-year-old
that this isn't cruel and unusual punishment."

     Terwilliger's dual role particularly troubles DePierro. "It's horrifying
to know he is setting policy that could expand this type of terror and abuse to
kids in every state in the nation."

     Terwilliger calls the group's allegations absurd. "If there was someone
to blame, it would be the parents and not the government."

     Lawyers like John MaeFadyen, a defense attorney in Providence, R.I.,
find it harder to fix blame.

     "The flaw with the innocent owner thing is that life doesn't paint itself
in black and white. It's oftentimes gray, and there is no room for gray in
these laws," MaeFadyen says. As a consequence, prosecutors presume everyone
guilty and leave it to them to show otherwise. "That's not good judgment.  In
fact, it defies common sense."

---

PROVING INNOCENCE

     Innocent owners who defend their interests expose themselves to
questioning that bores deep into their private affairs. Because the forfeiture
law is civil, they also have no protection against self-incrimination, which
means that they risk having anything they say used against them later.

     The documentation required of innocent owner Loretta Steams illustrates
how deeply the government plumbs.

     The Connecticut woman lent her adult son $40,000 in 1988 to buy a home in
Tequesta, Fla., court documents show.  Unlike many parents who treat such
transactions informally, she had the foresight to record the loan as a mortgage
with Palm Beach County.  Her action ultimately protected her interest in the
house after the federal government seized it, claiming her son stored cocaine
there. He has not been charged criminally.

     The seizure occurred in November 1989, and it took until last May before
Mrs. Steams convinced the government she had a legitimate interest in the
house.

     To prove herself an innocent owner, Mrs. Steams met 14 requests for
information, including providing "all documents of any kind whatsoever
pertaining to your mortgage, including but not limited to loan application,
credit reports, record of mortgages and mortgage payments, title reports,
appraisal reports, closing documents, records of any liens, attachments on the
defendant property, records of payments, canceled checks, internal
correspondence or notes (handwritten or typed) relating to any of the above
and opinion letter from borrower's or lender's counsel relating to any of the
above."

     And that was just question No. 1.

---

LANDLORD AS A COP

     Innocent owners are supposed to be shielded in forfeitures, but at times
they've been expected to become virtual cops in order to protect their property
>from seizure.

     T. T. Masonry Inc. owns a 36-unit apartment building in Milwaukee, Wis.,
that's plagued by dope dealing.  Between January 1990, when it bought the
building, and July 1990, when the city formally warned it about problems, the
landlord evicted 10 tenants suspected of drug use, gave a master key to local
beat and vice cops,. forwarded tips to police and hired two security firms -
including an off -duty city police officer - to patrol the building.

     Despite that effort, the city seized the property.

     Assistant City Attorney David Stanosz says "once a property develops a
reputation as a place to buy drugs, the only way to fix that is to leave it
totally vacant for a number of months. This landlord doesn't want to do that."

     Correct, says Jerome Buting, attorney for Tom Torp of Masonry.

     "If this building is such a target for dealers, use that fact," says
Buting.  "Let undercover people go in. But when I raised that, the answer was
they were short of officers and resources."

---

IT LOOKS LIKE COKE

     Grady McClendon, 53, his wife, two of their adult children and two
grand-children - 7 and 8 -- were in a rented car headed to their Florida home
in August 1989. They were returning from a family reunion in Dublin, Ga.

     In Fitzgerald, Ga., McClendon made a wrong turn on a one-way street.
Local police stopped him, checked his identification and asked permission to
search the car. He agreed.

     Within minutes, police pulled open suitcases and purses, emptying out
jewelry and about 10 Florida state lottery tickets. They also found a
registered handgun.

     Then, says McClendon, the police "started waving a little stick they said
was cocaine. They told me to put on MY glasses and take a good look. I told
them I'd never seen cocaine for real but that it didn't look like TV."  For
about six hours, police detained the McClendon family at the police station
where officers seized $2,300 in cash and other items as "instruments of drug
activity and gambling paraphernalia" a reference to the lottery tickets.

     Finally, they gave McClendon a traffic ticket and released them, but kept
the family's possessions.

     For 11 months, McClendon's attorney argued with the state, finally forcing
it to produce lab test results on the "cocaine."

     James E. Turk, the prosecutor who handled the case will say only "it came
back negative."

     "That's because it was bubble gum," says Jerry Froelich, McClendon's
attorney. A judge returned the McClendons' items.

     Turk considers the search "a good stop. They had no proof of where they
lived beyond drivers' licenses. They had jewelry that could have been
contraband, but we couldn't prove it was stolen. And they had more cash than I
would expect them to carry."

     McClendon says: "I didn't see anything wrong with them asking me to
search. That's their job. But the rest of it was wrong, wrong, wrong."

---

SELLER, BEWARE

     Owners who press the government for damages are rare. Those who do are
often helped by attorneys who forego their usual fees because of their own
indignation over the law.

     For nearly a decade, the lives of Carl and Mary Shelden of Moraga,
Calif., have been intertwined with the life of a convicted criminal who
happened to buy their house.

     The complex litigation began when the Sheldens sold their home in 1979,
but took back a deed of trust from the buyer - an arrangement that made the
Sheldens a mortgage holder on the house.

     Four years later, the buyer was arrested and later convicted of running
an interstate prostitution ring.  His property, including the home on which
the Sheldens held the mortgage, was forfeited. The criminal, pending his
appeal, went to jail, but the government allowed his family to live in the home
rent-free.

     Panicked when they read about the arrest in the newspaper, the Sheldens
discovered they couldn't foreclose against the government and couldn't collect
mortgage payments from the criminal.

     After tortuous court appearances, the Sheldens got back the home in 1987,
but discovered it was so severely damaged while in government control that they
can now stick their hand between the bricks near the front door.

     The home the Sheldens sold in 1979 for $289,000 was valued at $115,500 in
1987 and now needs nearly $500,000 in repairs, the Sheldens say, chiefly from
uncorrected drainage problems that caused a retaining wall to let loose and
twist apart the main house.

     Disgusted, they returned to court, saying their Fifth Amendment rights had
been violated. The amendment prohibits the taking of private property for
public use without just compensation. Their attorney, Brenda Grantland of
Washington, D.C., argues that when the government seized the property but
failed to sell it promptly and pay off the Sheldens, it violated their rights.

     Between 1983 and today, the Sheldens have defended their mortgage through
every type of court: foreclosures, U.S. District Court, Bankruptcy, U.S.
Claims.

     In January 1990, a federal judge issued an opinion agreeing the Sheldens'
rights had been violated. The government asked the judge to reconsider, and he
agreed. A final opinion has not been issued.

     "It's been a roller coaster," says Mrs. Shelden, 46. A secretary, she is
the family's bread-winner. Shelden, 50, was permanently disabled when he broke
his back in 1976 while repairing the house. Because he was unable to work, the
couple couldn't afford the house, so they sold it - the act that pitched them
into their decade-long legal quagmire.

     They've tried to rent the damaged home to a family - a real estate agent
showed it 27 times with no takers- then resorted to renting to college
students, then room-by-room boarders. Finally, they and their children, ages 21
and 16, moved back in.

     "We owe Brenda (Grantland) thousands at this point, but she's really been
a doll," says Shelden. "Without people like her, people like us wouldn't stand
a chance."

---
Continued...
-- 
Brian Sheets				"TRUCK?! What truck?"
153 N. Hayden Bay Dr.			 
Portland, Or 97217			   -Raiders of the Lost Ark
Newsgroups: misc.legal,alt.politics.correct,soc.college,sci.econ