Trial By Trial -- Family Of The Accused -- An Emotional Nightmare: It's Gone Beyond Destroying Their Lives'

The crimes: A string of five assaults, three of them sexual, near

Harborview Medical Center in November and December of 1986.

The accused: Tyrone Briggs, black, poor, a former high-school

basketball star whose name became a household word. Community

support groups were organized on his behalf. He has been

photographed repeatedly. His name has appeared in 73 stories in this

newspaper since January 1987.

The victims: Five women - three Caucasian, two Asian; middle-

class; cloaked in the privacy of a system that seeks to protect sexual-

assault victims. They have testified in court, but have not been

identified by the news media. They have not been photographed. One

victim broke her silence for this story.

The case: The defendant was charged with robbery, attempted rape

and assault. The defense argued mistaken identity. The first trial

ended with a hung jury. Jurors in the second trial found him guilty of

all but one charge of attempted rape. The verdict was overturned by

the state Court of Appeals. A third trial is to start April 23.

The stories: The following stories are based on interviews and court

transcripts. They are not about guilt or innocence. They are about the

price of this extraordinary case for the families involved.

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Dorothy Harris bundled against the cold on Dec. 18, 1986, and walked her 9-year-old daughter, Felicia, to her school bus stop across the street from Harborview Medical Center.

The bus stop was only two blocks from their Yesler Terrace apartment, but she always escorted her little girl past the drug peddlers hawking their poisons in the project's alleys. She waited until Felicia boarded the bus before starting home.

As she rounded the last corner, she spotted four or five police cars parked just past her apartment, near the corner of Eighth and Yesler. Curious, she walked through a narrow alley, past her neighbors' porches and the laundry house, until she found the police officers.

Faces peeked through windows, but there were only a few other onlookers standing near the tall, stocky officer blocking the door of an apartment.

A woman was being carried away on a stretcher. Dorothy peered down and looked at the woman's face. It was bruised and bleeding.

She walked alongside. She thought she heard the woman mumur something about her attacker.

``I hope they catch him, too!'' cried Dorothy.

A police officer approached and told her to leave. As she walked away, she shouted, ``They gonna get who did it!''

Five weeks later, Dorothy's 19-year-old son was arrested and charged with the crime.

TYRONE BRIGGS' NAME USED to bring his family nods of approval from strangers.

He was a teen who rose from the Seattle housing project where he was raised to become a high-school basketball star. His name was printed in the sports pages. His high-school career ended with his being named an alternate on a 1986 state all-star team.

He didn't go to college. Instead, he looked unsuccessfully for work off and on for six months before gaining citywide notoriety for being arrested as a suspect in a string of attacks on women near Harborview Medical Center.

The arrest and what's followed have made Tyrone Briggs a household word. For more than three years the lives of his family - his mother, Dorothy; his father, Henry, who does not live with the family; his sister, Felicia; and his two brothers, Eric and Iris - have revolved around the fight to free Tyrone.

``It's gone beyond destroying their lives,'' says Jolinda Stephens, a family friend. ``It's destroying them.''

ON DEC. 27, 1989, TYRONE BRIGGS, 22, pulled on gloves stained with rust, oil and dirt and climbed a small ladder.

He is free on bail, but must wear a bracelet-like electronic monitoring device so his whereabouts is always known. The agreement is that he can live at home and work as a laborer on the shipping docks between trials.

His 6-foot-2-inch frame retains the athletic grace that made him a high-school basketball star. But there is no polished hardwood floor here. No cheering fans. Now he moves against a gray backdrop of industrial buildings, smokestacks and cranes.

Tyrone's father, Henry, is a longtime employee here, a foreman who arranged the job so Tyrone could earn money to help pay court costs.

Henry, who dropped weight working 15 or more hours a day last summer, told family and friends that most of his paycheck is going to the legal fees.

Eric Briggs, Tyrone's 24-year-old brother and the family's eldest son, is working in the distance inspecting cargo. He would rather be working toward a law degree. But Eric has worked the dock for more than a year and says he took the job for his brother. He wants his presence to tell Tyrone: ``I know the work is hard, but I'll work beside you. I'll show you I can make sacrifices.''

Eric's hope is that by late spring his brother's third trial will be over. The jury will find Tyrone innocent, and family members will be free to go on their lives.

THE BRIGGS FAMILY moved to the Yesler Terrace housing project in 1972.

Dorothy's mother had urged her to seek state money to help buy a house so she could move her family away from the projects, but the paperwork and waiting lists always discouraged her.

Their Yesler Terrace quarters were crowded. Dorothy and Eric had their own bedrooms. (Henry and Dorothy were divorced in 1983, although he still spends time with the family.) The rest of the family - Tyrone and Iris, the middle son - shared a set of bunk beds in the remaining bedroom. Felicia slept in a small bed beside them.

Dorothy had a bad back and was unable to work. She was collecting state disability.

She called Eric the ``old man'' around the house. As a youngster he grew into the role after his parents separated. He took on responsibility for handling the bills and calling the school to make sure his brothers were there every day.

ON THE NIGHT of Jan. 20, 1987, Dorothy was lying across her bed to ease the pain in her back. Tyrone walked into the room.

She knew that earlier in the day he'd gone downtown to pay his outstanding parking tickets. But it wasn't quite that simple. He'd been arrested and questioned about the Harborview assaults. Henry had to bail him out.

Dorothy tells what she remembers of the next several days:

``M-mamma?''

``What is it, man?'' Dorothy asked. Her voice carried a faint Southern drawl that hinted at her Louisiana birthplace. She said ``man'' like ``mane.''

``T-they t-thinking a-a-bout p-picking m-me up for s-some kind of r-rape.'' Tyrone's speech carried a stutter he'd had since he was a baby.

``What are you talking about, boy?''

``A-a d-detective said s-she was gonna g-get m-me f-for r-rapes.''

Dorothy was not concerned. She told him they would call the police station to straighten things out.

When Eric got home from playing basketball with his Seattle University team and heard the story, he couldn't resist poking fun at his younger brother.

``How was jail?'' Eric laughed. ``Did you like it? Were you scared?''

The rest of the family jumped in, too.

Eric watched Tyrone grow serious. He repeated that the police had questioned him about the Harborview assaults.

Two days later, the police stopped at the Briggses' house and asked to speak with Tyrone. He wasn't there, but Dorothy and Henry were. They said they'd call when Tyrone arrived.

As soon as the officers left, Henry rushed off and picked up Tyrone from a friend's house and made the call.

The police returned. A detective confronted Tyrone: ``Tyrone, tell your mother what we talked about.''

``I d-d-didn't do a-a-anything,'' he said.

``What are you trying to say?'' asked Henry. ``Are you arresting him?''

The police told the family they were.

``No you ain't!'' Dorothy screamed. ``My son didn't do nothing. What are you arresting him for?''

An officer told her to quiet down because the neighbors were watching. Dorothy could see that neighbors had gathered around the yard near their doorway.

The officers held her back as Tyrone was handcuffed and led outside. He began calling out to her.

``M-Mom!'' he shouted. She saw he was crying. ``M-Mom! D-Don't l-let t-them t-take m-me!''

``Don't take my son!'' Dorothy cried. ``Bring him back inside this house! Bring him back!''

Finally she broke away.

She ran to the fence screaming for Tyrone's return. She watched as the officers put her son into the police car, shut the door and drove off.

SOMETIME AFTER HER son's arrest, Dorothy was looking for a piece of paper on which Felicia kept names and addresses of people involved in the case.

Scrawled over the page in her 9-year-old's tiny handwriting was a note: ``I wish I was dead. They came and took my brother.''

``I never thought children suffered like that,'' said Dorothy. ``I always thought they never knew what was going on.''

Felicia, now 12, is an articulate child whose vocabulary is cluttered with legalese and phrases such as ``railroaded'' and ``set up'' that she uses to describe her brother's case.

Around Tyrone's house, he's called ``The Innocent'' and considered the victim of mistaken identity and zealous police work.

NO ONE HAD EXPECTED Ericto break under the stress. Maybe Dorothy, or Henry, but never Eric.

He surprised everyone.

It was a warm day in mid-August 1987, the third day Tyrone had been home while the jury deliberated its verdict in the second trial.

The brothers had played one-on-one basketball outside. Usually all they discussed was the case, but today their minds wandered. They teased and jabbed one another, just like in their high-school days.

About 4 p.m. the phone rang. The attorney said the jury had reached a verdict.

Eric watched Tyrone rush upstairs to dress and comb his hair. Eric remained in his sweats and T-shirt. ``Are you all right?'' they asked each other on their way to the courthouse.

Eric was too nervous to go in the courtroom. He stayed in the hallway imagining what his younger brother was feeling, and the expressions on his face.

IF ERIC WAS THE old man of the house before Tyrone's arrest, these days he felt like mother and father of the family.

When the attorney needed someone to handle a growing stack of paperwork, Eric stepped in. And when someone had to post bail, work with private investigators, set up bank accounts and help appraise the property being put up for his brother's bail, it was Eric who stepped in. And who else could translate for Henry, Dorothy and Tyrone the legal language and terms judges and attorneys use?

Henry had told Tyrone that the family believed in his innocence and would pay for an attorney rather than use a public defender. But the judicial process overwhelmed Henry and confused Dorothy.

Eric was the ambitious one in the family, a talented basketball player who went to college on scholarships and student loans. He was a business major who dreamed of owning his own business. Tyrone's arrest changed Eric's dream. He now wants to become a lawyer who represents black youths who lack the skills and money to go through the legal system.

But his dream is delayed. His family is depending on him.

``I'm not all that well-educated,'' says Eric. ``But I understand. And my parents are relying on me to come through. School, that will always be there. But this case is one shot. If I don't do it, it won't get done.''

Friends observed his personality changing. He refused to celebrate holidays while his brother remained jailed.

Eric was quiet by nature, but without a choice he found himself thrust into the position of being his brother's keeper and spokesman. He began granting television interviews and making speeches.

He worried constantly. Sometimes he became angry when Tyrone became forgetful and let his own responsibilities for the case slip by.

``He's so scared,'' said Eric's girlfriend, Youlanda Allen. ``Eric's dealing with people on the outside every day while Tyrone is in jail. That's all he thinks about sometimes. All his extra time and money goes into the case.''

BUT NOW IT WOULD be over. Eric waited in the courthouse hallway.

A reporter rushed out of the courtroom, passing him on the way to a telephone booth.

He overheard the reporter say: ``Tyrone Briggs is now a convicted felon who has been found guilty of all but one count of . . .''

Eric's mind went blank. He became dizzy. He felt as if he was going to faint. He pictured himself being locked up. He saw flashbacks of the first trial and the second trial. He felt hurt and anger. He wanted to run and hide. But there was nowhere.

Eric fell to the floor and began to crawl. People tell him that he curled his powerful 6-foot-1-inch frame into a fetal position and wailed.

The television camera crews brought their video equipment down inches from his face to get a close-up.

At home, Dorothy learned more about her youngest son's conviction by watching the television broadcast of her eldest, strongest child sobbing, holding his stomach and writhing on the floor.

When Tyrone emerged from the courtroom, Eric stood up, ran over and gripped him. It felt as if there was an invisible string tugging him to his younger brother. They clung to each other. The guards and attorneys at first were unable to pry them apart.

Henry also tried to pull them apart. He wanted to be strong now, especially since Eric's collapse. He stayed wide-eyed, trying not to blink, knowing tears would begin to flow.

The more the hands tried to pull them apart, the harder Eric embraced his brother.

The attorneys said they would appeal. The judge wanted $100,000 bail, but she released Tyrone on $25,000 and gave him a week to come up with the rest.

That night, Eric and Tyrone sat on the back porch. Their parents decided to leave the brothers alone.

Eric retells that night:

They barely spoke. They just sat next to each other. Eric hugged Tyrone, and stared off into the sky.

``H-How c-c-could this h-h-happen?'' Tyrone said.

Eric felt so hurt.

Their discussion in the next days became a stream of whys: Why did the jury arrive at this decision? Why didn't the attorney fight harder? Why this was happening?

The family couldn't raise Tyrone's bail. The last night Tyrone was free, the brothers stayed up talking until 5 a.m.

Tyrone wanted reassurance the appeal would happen quickly.

Eric wanted to give his brother confidence and hope. So he lied, and said it would.

But he knew the appeal could take more than a year and more money. Right now, the family was emotionally and financially drained.

Eric had taken out three bank loans and invested some of his college scholarship and grant money in the case. (The legal costs were more than $100,000 by the time the second trial was over.)

At 9 the next morning, Tyrone stood handcuffed before the judge.

On Dec. 3, 1987, he was sentenced to 16 years, 3 months in prison.

On July 31, 1989, the state Court of Appeals reversed the verdict on the basis of juror misconduct.

IT WAS DOROTHY who got to break the news, but Eric who reconstructed that day. His mother arrived at the docks. She was smiling.

``Did we win?'' Eric said.

``We won the appeal!'' she cried.

Eric screamed and leaped in the air. He ran to find his father. He hugged Henry, shouting ``We won! We won!''

He took the rest of the day off and drove down the street and honked the horn. He felt as though he has been dead and brought back to life.

ON AUG. 14, 1989, the prosecution announced its intention to seek a third trial.

Eric felt the way he had after the second trial: This case is either like death or a nightmare. But at least when someone dies, you cry and then go on with your own life. In nightmares, you're trapped. They are never-ending.

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A chronology

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1986

Nov. 28: A jogger fights off an attacker on the Seattle University campus.

Dec. 3: A Harborview Medical Center employee's purse is snatched.

Dec. 4: A Seattle attorney is sexually assaulted on her way to work.

Dec. 15: A Harborview employee is robbed and sexually assaulted.

Dec. 18: A Harborview employee is beaten and sexually assaulted.

1987

Jan. 20: Police jail Tyrone Briggs for outstanding traffic warrants, question him about the assaults.

Jan. 22: Briggs arrested.

April 20: First trial starts.

May 12: Jury cannot reach agreement. Mistrial declared.

July 22: Second trial begins.

Aug. 17: Briggs found guilty on two counts first-degree robbery, two counts of first-degree attempted rape, one count of second-degree assault and one count of first-degree attempted rape. Defense will appeal.

Dec. 3: Briggs sentenced to 16 years, three months in prison.

1989

July 31: State Court of Appeals reverses all convictions after finding juror misconduct.

Aug. 14: Prosecutors announce third trial.

1990

April 23: Third trial to start.