Mr. Mellow

Under bankruptcy laws, Price normally would have been allowed to keep his Oak Cliff home and one car. Several months after he filed, however, Price wrote to the bankruptcy court about John Nicholas, seeking to keep $60,000 in additional assets, double what he would have been permitted as a single man with no dependents. Bankruptcy trustee Tom Powers says he plans to raise questions about the proposed exemptions--hoping to determine whether Price actually did adopt the child. Price, asked about the adoption in a follow-up interview, declined to discuss it.

Ora Lee Watson, for her part, referred the Observer to the court record. Adoption files are not available to the public, but the computerized index names only Watson as the adoptive parent. The family-court file on the case does say the boy has a "significant relationship with a special friend of his foster family. He often spends time with this gentleman, and he should be recognized as a strong male role model in the child's life."

Price's fortune isn't particularly impressive, according to the figures provided in his bankruptcy claim. Price states he has $339,080 in assets and $398,046 in liabilities, including a $3,000 jewelry-store bill for items he bought shortly before he filed for protection. In his claim, Price lists his annual income as $80,302 from the county and $22,522 from KKDA for his one-hour radio gig five times a week.

But the commissioner doesn't lack for material things. As part of his homestead, Price lists a collection of timepieces, African art, and a fleet of exotic and antique cars that includes a 1948 Pontiac, a 1948 Oldsmobile, and a 1989 Lotus.

Price has tried numerous times to drum up other sources of income. He owned an Exxon station that went bankrupt and a host of other small enterprises, including a Tyco Toys franchise.

He also ran the consultation business with Kathy Nealy, specializing in advising clients about minority protests. Miller reported that their largest client at the time was Darling Delaware, a Dallas-based company that owned animal-rendering factories nationwide. The company's plants were often located in minority neighborhoods, and Price tamped down potential legal troubles for the company in California and Georgia.

These days, the consulting company--which was run from Nealy's home--is past-tense, Price says. The commissioner waves his hand and dismisses the subject. "This," he says, pointing to his desk at the county administrative building, "is a 24-hour job."

Price ran for county commissioner, winning his seat in 1985, on the advice of a former Democratic Texas governor. "Mark White told me, if you can't be governor, be county commissioner," Price says with a laugh.

At the time, Price had already been working for several years in the public sector, serving as a clerk to Justice of the Peace Cleophas Steele Jr. The two met through grassroots political work in the Progressive League, with Steele initially tapping the bright young man to work in his law office. When Steele became a JP, he took Price with him to the courthouse. "Cleo fingered me," Price recalls. "He said I could do the job."

The job--as Price defined it--was a big one. A desperate need existed back then for a court where criminal lawyers could get "examining trials"--hearings held before the DA referred cases to the grand jury. District Attorney Henry Wade tried to discourage judges from making time for such proceedings, but Price, knowing full well the consequences of slap-dash justice in the minority communities, helped keep Steele's court running until the wee hours.

"We worked until midnight if we had to," Price says. He became known among criminal defense lawyers as the guy who could get their clients a hearing before the DA rushed their cases off to the grand jury.

Nowadays, people are asking whether Price has lost the fire he had back then.

For almost a year now, Price has stayed away from front-page controversy.
"People have asked me if he was mellowing," Judge Lee Jackson says.
"There is still only so much time," Price responds. "I've got to try and marshal the forces around the issues. It does not mean I am any less passionate about them."

He also claims he can achieve success these days without waving picket signs. Specifically, he mentions the case of Southwest Airlines. About 18 months ago, he met with Herb Kelleher, the airline's CEO, to press Southwest about affirmative action. Southwest spokesman Ed Stewart says Price wanted to know why Kelleher had not participated in Dallas Together--a corporate-sponsored program designed to foster better racial relations.

The outspoken Kelleher apparently told Price he wanted nothing to do with such "hypocrisy." But he did pass on details about Southwest's employees: The company has 6,192 people of color among its 25,000 employees, and 95 of 658 managers are black or Hispanic. In return, Price, whose sister is a Southwest flight attendant, sent Kelleher a book about a pioneering black woman aviator.

Price warns people not to assume he won't strike again. "I'll still take matters into my own hands," he says. If the issue merits, he adds, sounding a little like his younger self, "I'll resort to whatever is necessary."

The last time Price hit the streets and got a major dose of television air time, he was patrolling Ron Kirk's home with a bullhorn.