Threats and Triumph
Not surprisingly, some athletes seek anything for an edge. Across America, between 1991 and 2003, steroid use in high schools more than doubled. In the 2004 Texas School Survey of Substance Abuse, over 41,000 Texas 7th- through 12th-graders said they had used the drugs. Many teens find them readily available through local dealers or online.And since few schools test for steroids, kids don't have to worry about being discovered. "Other than pedophilia, it's the most secretive behavior I've encountered," says Charles Yesalis, a Penn State University professor who has studied steroid use for 28 years. Even school officials are in denial, he says. "If I had $100 for every time a coach or principal told me, 'It's a problem, but not in our school,' I'd have a Ferrari sitting in my driveway."
The day after her discovery, Lewis telephoned Colleyville's assistant principal, Ted Beal. She related Bryan's story, and Beal said he would check into it. A few hours later, he called back. There was no problem, football coach Chris Cunningham assured him.
"That's it?" said Lewis.
Without further evidence, Beal told her, there was nothing he could do.
Lewis was livid. They want me to go away, she thought. This 40-year-old mother was no radical. Her political activism went no further than a stint on the board of the elementary PTA, and some campaign work for Colleyville's mayor and George W. Bush.
God knows, she thought, I'm all for high school sports. But I'm not for kids putting themselves in danger. How could it possibly be worth it? The next day, she called the Colleyville Courier.
Over the following week, reporter Scott Price and editor Charles D. Young gathered information from students, coaches and school officials. On October 1, the paper carried the story on the front page. Without identifying Lewis, Price wrote: "It did not take long to validate this mother's concerns. The Courier found knowledge of steroid use at all area high schools."
Within days, the Dallas Morning News was calling. By now Bryan wished he'd never heard of steroids. "It's no one else's business!" he shouted. "Why do you have to go public?" But once Lori Lewis set her mind on something, she rarely backed down. "This is gonna save the life of somebody, somewhere," she told him.
In early February, the Dallas Morning News headlined a page-one series, "The Secret Edge: Steroids in High Schools." Reporters confirmed substantial steroid use in North Texas high schools and devoted a lengthy article to a football player named "Patrick" -- a pseudonym for Bryan.
Frantic, Bryan reached his mother on her cell phone. "Mom, they're calling me 'Patrick,' " he said. His cover was blown. A local dealer was after him, he heard, and varsity football players were planning to rough him up. Someone left a threatening message: "I'm going to beat your ass!"
The school district's executive director of administration, Steve Trachier, had sent an e-mail to senior school officials in September terming Lewis's allegations "unfounded." Coach Cunningham called her a "liar." "You've got a crazy mom looking for someone to blame for her problem," he told the Morning News. (He later apologized publicly for his remarks.)


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