Bitterness Lingers Between Madd And Founder

It has been 10 years since one woman, driven by rage and injustice, defied a nation that winked at drunken drivers and the death and devastation they caused.

And in some respects, Candy Lightner wishes she'd never started Mothers Against Drunk Driving, a powerful grass-roots organization historians credit with turning drinking and driving into a national disgrace.

``I wished I would have stayed home and grieved,'' Lightner said of her 13-year-old daughter, Cari, killed in 1980 by a repeat hit-and-run drunken driver near their Northern California home.

``But if that had happened, I probably would have never started MADD because the anger and rage that started it would not have been there.''

National highway-safety officials and experts agree that MADD's impact on society is indisputable, despite the controversy and bitterness that linger after a power struggle five years ago that ended in Lightner's resignation, or demise, depending on whom you believe.

As MADD embarks on its second decade, and thousands of cars and trucks bear witness to its annual holiday red-ribbon campaign, there is a litany of unprecedented accomplishments. Its tireless, devoted volunteers have taken their crusade from meetings around kitchen tables to governors' mansions and the White House, transforming MADD into a slick, savvy organization that raised $43.5 million last year, up from $7.9 million in 1985.

With 400 chapters and 2.8 million members and supporters, MADD has stood on the front line of a decade of change:

-- An estimated 39,000 lives have been saved, as alcohol-related traffic deaths dropped 20 percent.

-- The national drinking age was raised to 21.

-- More than 1,000 new drunken-driving laws are on the books.

-- In some states, victims of drunken drivers now can be compensated by state crime victims' assistance programs, elevating drinking and driving to a violent crime.

If MADD's decade of accomplishments were not lofty enough, even more ambitious long-range goals are planned, including reducing deaths by 20 percent more by year 2000, beefing up education and enforcement, lowering the legal drinking and driving limit to 0.08 from 0.10, and declaring it illegal for anyone under 21 to drive with a blood-alcohol level above .00.

While MADD plows ahead with new goals, its hierarchy snubbed its founder by refusing to invite Lightner to the Aug. 1 anniversary ceremonies in Washington for fear that ``she would have said some thing that would have ruined the whole 10th anniversary.''

``That may be true,'' Lightner said, laughing, in a telephone interview from her Los Angeles home. ``I can understand their feelings. I'm honest and truthful and blunt. I don't have the slightest idea what I would have said.''

Lightner says she's weary of it all and has gone on with her life. When MADD held its anniversary celebration, she was promoting a book on grief she co-wrote, ``Giving Sorrow Words.''

``I had my own anniversary syndrome to go through,'' Lightner said of the 10th anniversary of her daughter's death. ``I am still angry to a large degree that it was her death that caused this movement.''

Next to the internal strife, which Lightner and some MADD officials say have caused disharmony, critics claim that MADD's headquarters has become obsessed with fund raising. They say it has been taken over by professionals who lack Lightner's passion and fire that inspired the organization.

And they say MADD's national headquarters in Dallas shrinks from controversy that might alienate potential contributors.

``MADD has name recognition close to President Bush,'' said John McCarthy, a sociology professor at the Catholic University of America in Washington and a leading expert on MADD. ``They have built, in my view, one of the most vigorous grass-roots organizations in the country.''

McCarthy, who calls MADD a ``professional, greased machine that raises tremendous amounts of money,'' says the group is unusual because of the rapid speed and manner in which it grew.

MADD's allies include politicians, oft-times glowing news accounts and a cozy relationship with the National Association of Broadcasters, which often plugs MADD with free public-service announcements.

Nonetheless, MADD officials counter there has been plenty of adversity. Some of the more visible leaders, including Lightner, have been subjected to death threats or angry phone calls and hate mail.

Hard-core drinkers also got into the act by forming Drunks Against Mad Mothers, or DAMM, which blamed MADD for infringing on their right to drink.

``We have been able, along with other people, to raise the public awareness that drinking and driving is a crime and that it touches everyone,'' said Dorothy Taylor of New Lexington, Ohio, a member of MADD's national board of directors.

Barry Sweedler, director of the Office of Safety Recommendations for the National Transportation Safety Board, said the biggest drop in alcohol-related deaths occurred from 1982 to 1985. Traffic deaths have leveled off since then, which he said still represents an accomplishment.

``I personally feel if it hadn't been for Candy (Lightner) and MADD in the early days and the work it is doing now, we would not have achieved the goals we've had,'' Sweedler said.

But MADD's success story has been tarnished by the rift with Lightner.

Several MADD officials cast Lightner as an iron-willed, charismatic leader capable of turning a country around because she was strong, uncompromising and abrasive.

Some say Lightner was toppled by the same people she thought would help MADD - strong, influential people.

``Candy tried to put powerful people on the board,'' said June Taylor, who joined Lightner's fight after her 17-year-old daughter was killed in 1981 by a drunken driver.

``But the people who got on the board were looking to gain political clout. It is a prestigious position. Candy was aggressive, articulate, a mover and doer, but a poor manager and a poor judge of character, or this would have never happened to her.''