Smuggling case leaves Guardsman from Fort Worth full of regret

Smuggling case leaves Guardsman from Fort Worth full of regret
By CHRIS VAUGHNStar-Telegram staff writer
Posted on Sun, Jun. 15, 2008

Twelve months and eight days ago, Sgt. Clarence Hodge thought he had all he wanted.

He had 19 years in the Army National Guard. He enjoyed his active-duty assignment on the Mexican border, intercepting drugs and illegal immigrants. He had a great job with Delta Air Lines, close friends, a wife, two daughters.

He was only weeks away from going to warrant officer school, a long-held ambition with more responsibility in the Guard.

Then he lost it all, the moment U.S. Border Patrol agents showed up at his Laredo checkpoint on June 7, 2007, put him in handcuffs, and read him his Miranda rights.

But Hodge, a Fort Worth native now serving time in a federal prison, knew that wasn't when he really lost his freedom. He took it away, all on his own, several weeks before he got arrested.

"I took a chance and got bit," he said. "I always wanted to do the right thing and get by the honest way. Until now. And I'm paying for it."

Hodge's final bill came due in February, when U.S. District Judge George P. Kazen sentenced him to 38 months in prison for his role in an illegal-immigrant smuggling ring operated by three National Guard buddies assigned to a high-profile effort to secure the border.

He pleaded guilty to a conspiracy charge in August 2007, and the government dropped the rest of the charges. Two other National Guard soldiers, Sgt. Julio Cesar Pacheco and Pfc. Jose Rodrigo Torres, both Laredo natives, also pleaded guilty but have not been sentenced. Pacheco's sister and brother-in-law were also indicted in the ring.

Ordered to South Texas for Operation Jumpstart, President Bush's military response to withering criticism of his border policies, the soldiers ended up in national news, seen as an further evidence of the border and its unique ability to corrupt.

People who know Hodge can still hardly believe what he did. "He has always been so on the straight and narrow, no foolishness," said his mother, Marilyn Hodge. "I can't believe my son was involved in criminal activity."

His wife did not return messages left by phone and at their house.

Clarence Hodge Jr. is 37 and the oldest child of a Vietnam veteran and a community activist and Everman school board member. He spent most of his elementary school years at the old-moneyed Fort Worth Country Day School, where his mother remembers him as the only black child in his grade.

He lived a quiet and ordinary middle-class life, working, serving his country, raising a family and making his mother proud -- at least before the summer of 2007, when it all came unraveling.

'I took a chance'

A few weeks ago, the government moved Hodge to an all-male, low-security prison in Texarkana. He shares a cell with four other men, gets up at 5:30, goes to work as a landscaper on the grounds, reads and writes letters and e-mails, and works out every day.

"I'm more or less getting settled in," he said. "I'm not sure how long it's supposed to take, and I'm not sure how long it will take."

The warden denied a personal visit from a Star-Telegram reporter but allowed Hodge to talk on the telephone for 30 minutes.

Hodge repeatedly expressed remorse for his actions, and he apologized to his family, friends and the military for "letting them down." He also indicated that he got involved in the smuggling ring for unselfish reasons, to help Torres out of financial problems, although he doesn't sound entirely convinced that he knows why he did it.

"I think about it every day," he said. "I had almost 20 years in the military. I had 17 years on my day job. I didn't need the money. I took a chance. I saw an opportunity."

The smuggling ring worked like this, according to the government: Hodge checked out a National Guard van for Torres. After getting instructions from Pacheco, Torres picked up the illegal immigrants at the house of Pacheco's sister in Laredo and drove to the checkpoint where Hodge was working. Then Torres would drive north on Interstate 35 to let the immigrants out.

This was Hodge's role in a nutshell -- "I, more or less, turned my head and let him pass." He was nervous every time he did it, he said, but he thought the plan was "flawless."

They succeeded several times in May and early June, helping close to 90 illegal immigrants get deeper into Texas. But on June 7, a Border Patrol agent got suspicious that the van was too heavy to be empty. Torres was followed and later arrested with 24 illegal immigrants hidden in the van. Hodge and Pacheco were arrested within two hours.

Hodge said he agreed to participate in the operation because Torres, a good friend and junior soldier, needed the money.

"They owned a family restaurant, and they owed back taxes," Hodge said of Torres' family. "He had a business also, and it was going in the dumps. He hopped on the [National Guard] mission to make a little money. ... I knew he could capitalize on this situation. ... I knew it was good money for him."

Hodge said he made "a few thousand" dollars, but he wouldn't be more specific. Money, he said, was not his motivation, nor did Pacheco pressure him.

"I've owned up to it," he said. Pacheco "didn't hold a gun to my head. I agreed to it. ... I didn't look at the big picture. I thought we'd make him some quick money, and that'd be it."

Reprimanded by the judge at his sentencing, Hodge openly wept as he apologized for his decisions.

"I never heard Clarence cry before," his mother said. "It made the hair on my arms stand up."

Full of regret

Memorial Day, his first in custody, bothered him greatly. It was, he said, perhaps his lowest point.

"I considered myself a loyal soldier all these years," he said. "I saw all the parades and ceremonies on TV in here. I know I was one of those soldiers at one time. Not now."

No one from the Texas National Guard has contacted him since his arrest, and he is unsure of whether he faces more prison time for violating military law. All three men remain on the National Guard rolls to preserve Lt. Gen. Charles Rodriguez's option of prosecuting them.

Col. Bill Meehan, a spokesman for Guard headquarters in Austin, said Rodriguez "has not made any determination regarding military justice because the civilian criminal justice system still hasn't rendered its final verdicts."

Hodge said he has set short-term and long-term goals in prison and tries to stay busy "instead of sitting and watching TV all day." He hopes to enroll in a class to learn how to install and repair heating and air-conditioning systems.

The hardest part, without a doubt, is being away from his wife and daughters, he said. He hasn't had a visitor since moving to Texarkana, although his mother and daughters are due today for Father's Day.

His mother said she frequently reminds him to not be negative and to stay positive: Make it a good day. Don't say anything about the criminal justice system; it's your fault.

But she also tells him that her support is unwavering.

"I don't like what he did, but I'm still proud of him," she said.

Hodge, wearing a prison uniform, vows to try to restore his life and reputation when he gets out. But he is a guilty man who feels every bit of the guilt.

"I went from role model to scum," he said.

cvaughn@star-telegram.com
CHRIS VAUGHN, 817-390-7547
http://www.star-telegram.com/804/story/700850.html