Mr. Mellow

Price's white allies give him the benefit of the doubt. "I have to be very careful to hold back my judgments that persons of color have to perform better than whites as politicians," says Michael Daniel, a lawyer who has handled some of the city's biggest housing discrimination cases. "I think Price's support [of the Trinity bond proposal] points out that the commissioner is realistic about what can be accomplished. He gets what he can, and he provides for his people."

Trinity proponents insist there's nothing fishy about Price's endorsement. "John Wiley Price was doing the right thing for his district. All the work was going to be done in his district. His endorsement is the least remarkable," says Rob Allyn, a political consultant hired by the pro-Trinity campaign. "The greater question is why would Lee Alcorn, whose unrelenting desire to be on television overshadows everything else, be against it?"

For Dallas County Judge Lee Jackson, head of the commissioners court, Price's support of the Trinity plan came as no surprise. "While he has an image against business and as an obstructer," Jackson says, "that is not what happens on the commissioners court."

It's a regular Tuesday-morning session in mid-May at the Dallas County Commissioners Court, and John Wiley Price, who sits to the left of Judge Lee Jackson, keeps rubbing his eyes as if to wipe away the sleep.

To be sure, county court business is about as exciting as counting pennies. On the agenda this day, the commissioners will consider issues such as settlement payments to a man who was hit by a county vehicle, tax abatements for Southwestern Bell, and approval of an employee health-benefit contract.

Although he looks tired and exasperated at times, Price's attention to detail and sensitivity to staff members initially astounds newcomers to the court who expect the same blustery fellow they see on television.

Among his colleagues and staff, Price has earned a reputation as a perceptive, detail-oriented public servant. "John does his homework," says Commissioner Jim Jackson, a conservative Republican. "I tell my constituents, and they don't always believe me that he is a good commissioner. Sometimes we are on separate sides of the issue. But when we get down to the county business, we are in agreement 99 percent of the time."

A high-level county administrator, who asked that he not be identified, says about Price: "He will bring up an issue that seems bizarre at first, but about 60 to 70 percent of the time he has caught on to something real. There is so much more to him than I thought. I have been so pleasantly surprised. He is just like one of the good ol' boys. One of the Republicans."

Not so long ago, Price's dealings with his fellow commissioners were not so cordial. In the early '90s, Judge Lee Jackson used to snap off the microphone when Price started screaming at his colleagues. One such episode occurred when Price told former Commissioner Chris Semos, who'd presented a resolution to honor a group of war veterans, to "stick it up your ass," according to a magazine account at the time. Price was angry because no minorities were represented in the veterans' group.

At a recent session, Lee Jackson put forth a resolution to honor POWs. "Let us not forget these are the lucky ones," Price said as he eyed the three men--all white--who came forward to receive the county's recognition.

For a split second, Judge Jackson seemed worried. He might have remembered the commissioner's boorish performance of years ago.

Instead, Price softly thanked the men for appearing and moved on to the next bit of county business.

Price's persona in black Dallas, of course, is altogether different. His nightly broadcasts on KKDA-AM are hyped and energized but, like most of talk radio, often pointless. Talk Back Radio opens with Willie D, a rapper who once belonged to Houston's notorious gangsta group the Geto Boys, and closes with Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes singing "Wake Up Everybody."

"That's my classroom," Price says about the show. He brings on guests who represent a wide range of fields and often pitch products. Among them are Thomas Muhammad, a particularly shrill Dallas schools activist and Minority Opportunity News columnist; Delbert Blair, a Chicago-based doctor-turned-health-and-herbs-salesman; and Aaron Thomas, whose Dallas firm offers computer and Internet classes.

Price constantly offers his listeners glib maxims aimed at raising political consciousness. "We will be black," he says when taking a commercial break. He refers to the white-owned station on air as "Liberation radio, the superstation for education and liberation, taking you to a higher level."

Kidd Kraddick, Dallas' top-rated DJ, needn't lose any sleep about Price stealing his place. The Arbitron ratings for the commissioner's show are abysmal. When Talk Back Radio is on, KKDA gets only .6 percent of the listening audience over the age of 12--or 1,800 people at any one time, according to the independent rating service.

Price's show is invaluable, however, as a source of information on traditional black politics in Dallas. He touts black bookstore events, NAACP meetings, and educational outings.

At times, particularly when wayward callers dominate, the show gets downright bizarre. A few weeks ago, Price presented Dr. Blair pitching his herbal remedies under the thin guise of talking about preparing for tornadoes and other natural disasters. But when Price started taking calls, the conversation turned decidedly strange, causing Dr. Blair to ponder whether the full moon had prompted such weirdness.