By Monica Alonzo
By Stephen Lemons
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Dulce Paloma Baltazar Pedraza
By Ray Stern
By Pete Kotz
By Monica Alonzo
By New Times
The news that Rick Romley is a candidate to become the nation's next drug czar is vivid evidence that irony is alive and well.
Romley -- the Maricopa County attorney since 1989 -- would set all kinds of new precedents for drug czardom.
He would be our first drug czar who has admitted to smoking pot -- and actually inhaling.
He would be the first whose home state embraced sweeping liberalization of drug policy. The electorate adopted a forgiving treatment-first, incarcerate-later policy that served as a stunning rebuke of Romley's lock-'em-up philosophy.
He would be the first who served as landlord of a crack bar.
Rick Romley is the Robert Downey Jr. of drug prosecutors.
On September 5, 1989, Bush went on national television to declare his amplification of Nancy Reagan's "Just Say No" campaign. He launched his own jihad on drugs. The president clutched a bag of crack cocaine that he said had been purchased by undercover officers right across the street from the White House. (Agents had lured the dealer to that site.)
In the wake of his melodramatic show-and-tell, the president cited Maricopa County as the cutting edge in zero-tolerance drug enforcement. TV network marionettes descended on the Valley to see for themselves. They talked to Romley and his partner in crime-fighting, Phoenix Police Chief Ruben Ortega, who had formed something called the Demand Reduction Task Force. Their slogan, "Do Drugs/Do Time," was ubiquitous. The program was designed to deter casual drug users. Its most high-profile enforcement effort saw 30 people busted for possessing marijuana at a Paul McCartney concert.
The network news crews never made it to Club 902, a saloon on West Van Buren Street. A significant segment of the club's clientele was drawn by a flourishing illicit drug trade. The crack cocaine marketplace in the club's parking lot was maddeningly transparent. Undercover officers made busts there with regularity. Residents and neighborhood activists pleaded for intervention. The Guardian Angels, a vigilante group, patrolled the premises, attempting to discourage the hoodlums.
All the while, Rick Romley and his sister held two liens on Club 902. The note generated nearly $1,000 a month.
The Guardian Angels confronted Romley during a neighborhood meeting. The prosecutor feigned ignorance. New Times' Michael Lacey wrote a series of devastating columns about Romley's crack den.
How did Romley respond? Not by divesting himself of the blighted site, but by declaring a conflict of interest. He shifted prosecution of dealers arrested there to the Arizona Attorney General's Office.
Romley wasn't involved in the drug transactions himself, so his conscience was clean.
"Why hasn't the bar license been lifted?" a Romley spokesman asked at the time. "If it's so dirty, why doesn't the liquor department close it down?"
The answer to that question did nothing to absolve Romley. It turned out that the Phoenix Police Department was not fulfilling its duty to inform liquor authorities of the open-air pharmacy.
Whenever police are called to an establishment that sells liquor, they are required by law to report it to the state Department of Liquor Licensing and Control. But with his buddy, Chief Ortega, presiding over the cop shop, there was little danger of that happening.
Throughout 1989, the cops filed a total of 127 arrest or incident reports related to Club 902. More than half of the incidents were drug arrests. But not one of those occurrences showed up in the nightclub's file at the liquor department.
New Timesblew the whistle on Club 902. The state liquor department -- infamous for its inertia -- moved expeditiously to revoke the club's liquor permit. That spelled the end of the drug bash at Romley's property.
No wonder some people say Rick Romley would make a crack drug czar.
It's no surprise that a prosecutor once portrayed as an anti-drug role model would surface as a candidate to become the nation's drug czar, the official overseeing the nation's $20 billion annual drug-control program. The White House Office of National Drug Policy, which the czar oversees, is charged with attacking "illicit drug use, manufacturing, and trafficking, drug-related crime and violence and drug-related health consequences."
But much of the drug czar's focus has shifted to Central and South America, where costly military tactics have come to the fore (with little apparent impact). Romley does have military experience -- he lost both his legs at the knee in Vietnam -- but he's no General McCaffrey.
I'd like to ask Romley how he'd defeat the sophisticated drug cartels. I'd like to ask him lots of things, but, as usual, he was not available to speak to me. His spokesmen were not commenting on his prospects for the Cabinet-level post.
Romley's detractors say his blind intransigence is no friend of justice.
And his record as a drug scourge is nothing to write home about.
In fact, he seems to have discarded the mantle of anti-drug crusader. His biography on the county Web site contains scant mention of his drug-enforcement credentials. The county attorney's Web page touting drug programs discloses: "Recently, the program shifted focus from the casual adult drug user to deterring teenage experimentation with illegal drugs."