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 Protesters trusted wrong volunteer 10/1/00 - By Craig R. McCoy and Linda K. Harris - Philadelphia Inquirer With police helicopters swooping overhead, the protesters dashed in twos and threes to the waiting van. The 1995 Ford Econoline sped off, bound for Center City. Nervous and full of energy, the demonstrators were ready to leap from the van and block traffic during the Republican National Convention for as long as seven hours. Their mission was carefully planned and rehearsed, but there was one thing the protesters hadn't bargained on. Behind the wheel of the van was Harry, a burly man with a trim goatee. Though his passengers didn't realize it, Harry was an undercover state trooper. He drove the 18 activists right into police custody. Their operation didn't last seven hours. Seven minutes, maybe. The police duping of that vanload of demonstrators on Tuesday, Aug. 1, the most tumultuous day of street protest during the convention, was a pivotal episode in a weeklong battle of wills. Protesters were bent on paralyzing Center City intersections on a day when Philadelphia was in the national spotlight. Police were just as determined to keep that from happening. The protesters' planning was extensive but not without flaw. Before getting into the van, the group even donned diapers - so a trip to the bathroom need not force anyone to give up a position during the blockade. However, the usual adult diapers weren't available that day, so the protesters put on ill-fitting baby diapers. And the protesters hadn't counted on the state police penetrating their ranks. This account is based on interviews with demonstrators arrested in the van - including the Texas couple who unwittingly gave the keys to their van to the undercover agent - and with officials, including one familiar with the undercover operation. The protesters' target was 12th and Arch Streets, outside the Convention Center, where many Republican delegates were touring a replica of the Oval Office and Air Force One at the popular PoliticalFest exhibit. That Tuesday morning, the protesters gathered initially in the courtyard of the so-called puppet warehouse at 41st Street and Haverford Avenue, the massive stone building where 75 activists were arrested that afternoon. There, the protesters made several dry runs of the blockade. They clustered in the courtyard as though in a van and then pantomimed leaping forward, as though jumping onto a street. It was "a pretty pathetic rehearsal," one participant said later. Since the convention, the warehouse and its purpose have lingered in controversy. Although many protesters have insisted that the warehouse was used only to create satirical puppets, a massive float and banners, those in the van acknowledged that it was the initial staging area for their operation. In the warehouse, participants sorted out their roles, with some agreeing to ride in the van to face eventual arrest for the illegal street blockade, and others choosing "low-risk" supporting roles. Harry elected a supporting role. Scott Haws, 33, and his wife, Anne Harkness, 42, of Dallas, agreed that Harry could drive their van as they planned to take part in the street lockdown. "He volunteered to do it," Haws added. Harry had won the trust of the protesters by working hard to help build a massive satirical political float dubbed "Corpzilla." That Tuesday, after an hour of rehearsals at the warehouse, members of the group scattered at noon, agreeing to rendezvous at 2 p.m. at the Comet coffee shop and espresso bar, about five blocks from the closely watched warehouse. As they gathered there, the demonstrators learned that the warehouse was under siege, surrounded by police who eventually arrested everyone inside. In affidavits justifying search warrants for the warehouse and the Ford van, state police later revealed that several troopers, working undercover, had infiltrated the warehouse. State police officials have declined to elaborate on the clandestine operation, but a government official familiar with the undercover work has confirmed what the protesters ruefully came to suspect: that Harry, the man behind the wheel of the Econoline, was a state trooper. Protesters say Harry was among four men who had arrived at the warehouse from Wilkes-Barre five days earlier. A protester named James McGuinness, 44, who has lived in Washington for the last 14 months, let them enter the warehouse. "They came in the daytime," said McGuinness, who was in charge of security at the warehouse. "They said they were stagehands and they were carpenters. They said they were there to support the unions. Since Seattle, there's been a lot of union participation. A lot of people in unions don't look like activists." The four men drew suspicion in some quarters. With their short hair, well-kept goatees, ignorance of politics, and taste for Yuengling beer - an exception to the no-alcohol rule was made for them - they seemed a little "off." Still, they quickly proved hard and capable workers, practically building "Corpzilla" by themselves. Adam Eidinger, 27, of Washington, and his girlfriend, Alexis Baden-Mayer, 26, of Alexandria, Va., became friendly with the carpenters. Eidinger had a special interest in the float: he had rented the flatbed truck on which "Corpzilla" was built. The money came from movie director Robert Greenwald, who had just released the Abbie Hoffman biopic Steal This Movie!. As Aug. 1 approached, according to Eidinger, the four carpenters urgently pushed to have some role in the coming street protests. " 'We want to do some direct action,' " Eidinger recalled one saying. " 'And we want to do it with you.' " On Tuesday afternoon, Harry showed up with the other three union carpenters at the Comet coffee shop. His three companions were sent away. When the protesters dashed out in groups to the van, Harry climbed behind the wheel. "Here's the keys," Haws told him. "You're now the captain." With Harry driving, the van took off. Some of the passengers began to assemble "lock boxes" - contraptions rigged with pipes, wire, chain and mountaineering clamps - which the demonstrators planned to wear to link themselves together, starfish-like, to slow the police job of prying them off the street. "There was a lot of excitement and energy in the van," Haws said. One protester cautioned: "Everybody take a deep breath." The excitement soon turned to high anxiety. Almost immediately, the activists noticed what they took to be an unmarked police car behind them. "Within the first 60 seconds, someone yelled out, 'We're being followed,' " said Eidinger, a self-employed publicist. "The jig was up pretty quickly." "Within minutes, there were cops. It was very obviously planned from the beginning," said protester Soliman Lawrence, 20, of Tallahassee, Fla. Soon, a train of police cruisers was visible behind the van, and what the demonstrators believed were unmarked police cars pulled in front of and beside it. As a police escort took shape, the van rolled west on the Schuylkill Expressway, heading toward the Vine Street Expressway interchange and Center City. Inside, more aggressive protesters suggested that they should leap out right there and block the expressway. Haws recalled the hurried debate. Other people suggested driving straight into New Jersey. "What are we going to do? Do we want to just drive away, abort the plan? There was talk of committing the action where we were," he recalled. Said Eidinger: "We were trying to keep everyone calm in the van. Being followed by the police was something we never anticipated." Demonstrator George Ripley, 52, who had been riding in the passenger seat next to Harry, quickly realized that the protest in Center City wasn't going to happen. "We should have driven out of town," said Ripley, who recently moved to Washington from Homer, Alaska. Harry finally stopped at Vine and Eighth Streets. "He rolled the window down and asked why we were being pulled over," Haws said. "They said it was because the tags were expired, which was untrue. They asked him to step out of the car. They took him away." There, by the highway, the test of wills continued. Police ordered everyone else out of the van. About half refused. On a day when even the asphalt sweated, police then reached into the van and hauled limp demonstrators out one by one to face misdemeanor charges. Handcuffed, the protesters were carried into a waiting police bus. Sitting there, the protest thwarted, the 18 activists looked around and came to a startling realization: Harry wasn't among them. |
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