On this street in Anaheim, the neighborhood kids drop their bikes and balls and make a beeline for their mothers to beg for money.

Kids dart toward the truck from between parked cars. Moms give a quick thought to the dangers of traffic.

Soledad Lopez, a Mexican immigrant who is as cautious as any mom on this block, never once considers the dangers inside the truck.

The ice cream man rests his elbows on the counter. Lopez's daughter Diana, a pigtailed 2-year-old, scans the bright pictures of treats. She doesn't want Drumsticks, Fudgsicles or Bomb Pops. Diana wants Mexican candy.

Lopez has no idea that some of the imported candy on this truck is so laced with lead it can cause memory loss, behavioral problems and kidney damage if her daughter eats it regularly.

The California Department of Health Services has documented more than 1,500 tests of Mexican candy since 1993 - and one in four of those results has come up high for lead.

But the state has withheld this information from parents like Lopez, children like Diana and vendors like the ice cream man.

By the time the truck rolls down Diana's street in the spring of 2000, only a handful of people in state offices in Oakland and Sacramento are aware that the little girl's favorite candy has tested high for lead seven times.

Until today, the state's testing records have not been made public.

Orange County Register reporters spent two years investigating the problem: from the chili mills of Aguascalientes, where dangerous levels of lead exist in key candy ingredients; to the makeshift factories of Guadalajara, where unsafe manufacturing practices are routine; to the dirt-floor poverty of Santa Fe de la Laguna, where a village has become contaminated making packages for candy.

But perhaps the most troubling reason lead-tainted candy keeps poisoning children is that government regulators do next to nothing to stop it.

The Register obtained federal and state records that show:

• 112 brands of candy - most coming from Mexico - registered dangerous levels of lead over the past decade. In 101 cases, no action was taken against the candy makers. The results were kept confidential, and the candy remained on store shelves.

• Repeated high tests aren't enough to set off the state's warning system. California health officials issued seven public-health advisories for candy but have done nothing about 37 brands that tested high multiple times. One, the Tama Roca lollipop, tested high 28 times with no action.

• Even when preliminary tests reveal candy samples with dangerous lead levels, regulators haven't always followed up with more testing.

• The state makes no effort to notify candy companies in Mexico when their brands test high enough to harm a child. Candy maker after candy maker said they had no idea regulators had found lead in their products.

The mishandling of this public-health threat has left supermarkets, candy shops, mom-and-pop stores and ice cream trucks as unknowing distributors of toxic treats.

Register reporters bought 74 brands on the state's list of lead-laden candies in Southern California stores - from small ethnic markets in Santa Ana and Anaheim to places like Food 4 Less, Smart & Final, Ralphs, Vons and Gigante. Most of these same candies are widely available from the Oregon border to Mexico.

The Register tested 180 candy and wrapper samples and found high lead in 32 percent of the brands - including some brands regulators haven't bothered to test. Candies were counted as high if they met or exceeded the state's level of concern for lead.

"Children are eating poison," said Leticia Ayala, who works for the San Diego- based Environmental Health Coalition, a nonprofit group that has urged the state to better regulate Mexican candies. "They can't just find that there is lead in candies and sit on the data. ... Parents need to know."

The Mexican government has had little success curbing the problem on its side of the border, and the country's top health official downplayed the dangers of candy in public statements made earlier this month. Other Mexican health officials say they have been trying to regulate candy makers over the past few years - including testing candies and wrappers - and believe that the situation is improving. However, government resources are limited, and many candy makers operate without oversight.

In the United States, no one has a complete grasp of the problem. Officials from several other states where Mexican candy is sold said they conduct few, if any, candy tests. At the same time, hundreds of thousands of children at risk for lead poisoning are not screened by doctors each year, including at least 100,000 in California.

California is seen as a leader in testing candy. In 2002, the state worked with the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to publish a groundbreaking report on the effects of lead-tainted treats.

But the state hasn't capitalized on its findings. Instead of a methodical effort to track bad candy, the health department keeps poor records of its own tests, doesn't log results from other agencies, and discourages county health workers from sending more candy samples for testing, records show.

Just last month - after repeated questioning from the Register - the state issued its first health advisory about candy in nearly three years, targeting Chaca Chaca, a popular treat made of apple pulp and chili powder.

But problems with Chaca Chaca were not new. The candy tested high 17 of 38 times from February 1998 to February 2003, with no state or federal action.

And the cases of lead-poisoned children connected to candy have piled up.

The state has estimated that as many as 15 percent of children in California who are poisoned by lead have eaten Mexican candy. That would mean about 3,000 children during the last three years.

State health workers say that regulating the fast- growing $620 million Mexican candy industry is fraught with problems because they have too few resources, they have no jurisdiction in Mexico, and the amount of lead in candy varies from batch to batch. The state also maintains that there are still bigger battles to fight with lead paint.

"We have a lot more responsibilities than looking for lead in candy," said Jim Waddell, chief of the state health department's Food and Drug Branch.

That does little to help children like Diana.

All spring, the 2-year-old leans into the ice cream truck and points to her favorite - Pelon Pelo Rico, a sugary candy with a chili kick.

Her mother opens the wrapper and places the poison into Diana's tiny hand.

HISTORY OF HAZARDS

Lead has been a documented health hazard for centuries - often called a silent epidemic because symptoms can go unnoticed.

By the 1930s and '40s, widespread childhood lead- poisoning cases prompted the paint industry to reduce lead in its products.

It wasn't until the 1970s that advocates and lawmakers launched an extraordinary public-health campaign nationwide with new laws and public awareness.

Lead was banned from house paint in 1978 and from gasoline in 1986. Today, lead- paint disclosures accompany the sale of all homes, and automobiles have been engineered to run on cleaner fuel.

As a result, the percentage of U.S. children with elevated blood-lead levels dropped from 88 percent in the 1970s to 2 percent in 2000. Statewide, the numbers have dropped dramatically from previous decades. But last year stricter reporting requirements went into effect, and the overall number of lead-poisoned children rose.

In Orange County, the number of lead-poisoned children has risen four out of the past five years. In 2003, candy was suspected as a source of lead poisoning nearly as often as paint, county records show.

About 90 percent of lead- poisoning victims in Orange County are Latino children. Statewide, the number is 75 percent.

Even at low levels, lead can impair intelligence. Researchers at Cornell University found a 7.4-point drop in IQ among children who were exposed to less lead than Diana.

"There cannot be a reasonable justification for having lead in children's candy," said Richard L. Canfield, a Cornell professor who helped direct the 2003 study. "It simply should not be detectable, and, if it is, we need to find out the source, find out how it's getting in there and take the appropriate measures to get rid of it."

KEEPING CHILDREN SAFE

A multilayered group of health-care workers and regulators tries to protect children from lead.

On the front lines are doctors and nurses, who screen at-risk children during annual physicals.

When they find high lead levels in the blood, doctors classify that child as a lead-poisoning case. County health workers then converge on the home, looking for the source of lead.

Investigators gather up likely culprits - paint chips, ceramic pots and candies - and send them to labs.

The state health department oversees the lead-prevention effort. Twelve years ago, the department created the Childhood Lead Poisoning Prevention Branch, a $20 million-per-year program based in Oakland.

The prevention branch works with another arm of the health department - the state Food and Drug Branch - to conduct tests and issue health advisories and recalls.

The job of testing candy has fallen to the state mostly because no one else does it. Part of a network of federal agencies responsible for the safety of the nation's food supply, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration does only limited testing of candy.

When dangerous lead levels are detected, advisories are supposed to be issued and bad candy is supposed to be ordered off shelves.

There have been success stories. Candy in clay pots - tamarind jam contained in a tiny ceramic tea cup - is harder to find since the state warned the public about four of these brands. In some cases, the state has induced candy makers to change manufacturing methods.

But in lead prevention, breakdowns overwhelm successes.

MISSED OPPORTUNITIES

The health department has failed to establish clear standards for dealing with unsafe levels of lead. The state considers it a concern when candy registers 0.2 parts per million lead but rarely acts when candies surpass this threshold.

State officials have been reluctant to take candies off store shelves, saying it is impossible to single out candy as the source of lead without dogged follow-up testing and repeated high results.

The Register found that regulators often don't even try to build a case against candy.

Seventeen brands tested high in their only tests, but there were no follow-ups, records show.

Ten of Mexico's biggest candy makers - with brand names such as Montes Tomy, Limon 7 and Pico Diana - have had repeated high lead tests but have not faced federal or state sanctions. One candy, Lucas Limon, tested high seven times out of seven tests in federal labs, but neither the state nor FDA acted.

The FDA has been even more unwilling than state regulators to go after candy makers.

"These are kind of borderline levels that we're seeing in the candy," Terry Troxell, FDA's director of the Office of Plant and Dairy Foods and Beverages, said in March. "You can imagine that if we took action you would hear from Mexico that we're being too stringent."

But lead levels found in candy are not borderline, the Register found.

More than 80 percent of the state and federal high test results show levels so dangerous that eating one piece could push a child past the FDA's recommended daily limit for lead.

Shortly after Troxell was asked about the agency's history of inaction, the FDA issued a statement April 9 telling parents to avoid Mexican candies. The message mentioned no candies by name.

POISONING CASES MOUNT

In California, state health officials have no hard-and- fast rules for taking action - and no clear strategy.

The history of Pelon Pelo Rico, Diana's favorite candy, underscores the inadequate regulatory efforts.

The candy tested high 11 of 59 times in government laboratories since 1994. It was suspected in a string of poisoning cases along the way, records show. But parents received no warning.

In 1994, investigators suspected that Pelon Pelo Rico poisoned two children in Los Angeles County. Then, in 1999, it turned up in connection with a lead-poisoned San Joaquin County child.

Diana began eating the candy in 2000. She ate it for a year before she was diagnosed as a poisoning victim. After investigators ruled out the usual suspects of lead paint and tainted soil, Pelon Pelo Rico taken from her home was tested in 2001. It was two times higher than the state guideline for lead.

That same year, tainted Pelon Pelo Rico was pulled from the home of a poisoned Sacramento boy. Investigators told the boy's mother candy was the likely cause.

To date, no action has been taken against the maker of Pelon Pelo Rico.

Joe Courtney, chief of care management and research for the lead-prevention branch, said there isn't enough evidence to prove Pelon Pelo Rico is dangerous because it often tests clean.

"You can't really look at Pelon Pelo Rico and say they have a problem," Courtney said.

Company officials say the candy is safe.

"I don't worry about lead in Pelon Pelo Rico," said Javier Arroyo, a spokesman for Grupo Lorena, the company that makes the candy, explaining that its own tests haven't shown high lead.

The candy has proved vexing. After the state conducted its tests, the Register tested 10 samples of Pelon Pelo Rico, and all were clean. Arroyo said the company has been refining its manufacturing process and has made more changes in response to questions from the Register.

When pressed about how many high tests on a single candy brand it would take for the state to issue an advisory, Pat Kennelly, chief of the food-inspection unit, said he would need around 90 percent high tests from several parts of the state. Later, he admitted the state has no real threshold.

But parents say the rate of high tests for candies like Pelon Pelo Rico merits more aggressive action.

"They (state officials) aren't doing anything," said Maria Perez of Sacramento, whose son Jesus was poisoned in 2001. His blood-lead level shot up to nearly three times the federal guideline after regularly eating Pelon Pelo Rico and other Mexican candies. "If the candy has lead, they should make sure it doesn't come here. ... What else has to be done?"

It's not that simple to penalize candy makers, Kennelly said.

"If we don't have that statutory threshold met because we don't have consistently high lead levels in the products, then you've got to test every single (sample) that you pick up at the store," Kennelly said. "And the resources to do that just really are nonexistent."

ANAHEIM GIRL POISONED

Pelon Pelo Rico doesn't look like poison.

Its plastic dispenser has a picture of a wild-eyed cartoon figure in a grass-green skirt. It tastes like someone spilled hot sauce in a sugary fruit roll. When Diana pushes the bottom of the dispenser, out oozes tasty goo.

The little Anaheim girl in the pigtails sucks on the candy like a pacifier.

She can't taste the lead. But by eating enough of it over time, it can travel from her bloodstream to her bones, then to her soft tissue, where it can wreak havoc.

Diana begs her mother every day when she hears "Happy Birthday" tinkling from the ice cream truck. Two or three times a week, Soledad Lopez, the conscientious 18-year-old mom, takes her daughter to the street and buys candy. With no idea of the danger, Lopez feeds the poison to her daughter.

Then, during a 2001 doctor visit required by her health coverage, Diana's blood-lead level registers 25 micrograms, 2 1/2 times higher than the danger level set by the CDC. The news comes during a phone conversation with a nurse at Diana's doctor's office.

Like a scene from a science-fiction movie, white-suited health workers with protective masks show up at Lopez's Anaheim apartment. They scrape paint off walls. They brush up dust from window sills. They confiscate candy from the cupboards.

Diana is in danger.

Worse for Lopez, the source of the danger is somewhere in their home. Cesar Perez, Diana's father, feels pangs of guilt. A furniture painter, he thinks he must have contaminated Diana by touching her with his paint-stained hands.

Perez thinks his daughter is going to die.

STATE STONEWALLING

The state lead-prevention branch is ill-equipped to deal with nontraditional lead sources such as candy, e-mails and memos between health officials show.

Local health workers are discouraged from sending candy for testing after it is confiscated from homes of lead-poisoned children. Other health workers are stonewalled.

In one 1994 case involving a Santa Ana child, an Orange County health worker noted the problem in dealing with a counterpart in Sacramento:

"She said that she discourages our focus on the candies and that if we have the state lab test candy, it will delay the testing of soil and paint, which she considers more important," Dianne Martinez wrote in her notes.

Martinez, who honed her powers of observation as a jail inspector, persisted and got the state to test three lollipops found in the home. All were high in lead.

The state urged other county health workers not to send candy, saying there were no resources to test more.

But candy samples collected by county workers kept coming, a backlog of untested candies accumulated and calls from the field went unheeded, records and interviews show.

In July 2002, Sigrid Anderson, a Fresno County health worker, sent a fax to the state with a picture of Chaca Chaca, a candy named for the sound a train makes.

Anderson's fax contained one simple question: "Is this candy hot?"

The answer should have been yes. State tests had shown the candy to be high in lead eight times since 1998. But Anderson didn't hear that answer - even after the candy registered high nine more times in the next few months in state and federal tests. A state toxicologist told regulators in a June 2003 e-mail that Chaca Chaca proves to be "nearly always positive from virtually every source we test."

Nine more months passed before the state took action.

With dozens of other candies, silence and confusion were the standard operating procedure.

In November 2002, a lead-prevention branch clerk used exclamation points to punctuate an e-mail to her boss about the barrage of candy-related calls she was getting from around the state. One health worker called from Sonoma County.

"He read me a list of the candies to be stuffed in a piñata, and two-thirds of them were ones we have tested and have come back elevated," the clerk wrote. "I don't know what kind of information I should be giving out."

Two months later, Jeff Lane, an Orange County environmental-health specialist, found two other candy brands in the homes of lead-poisoned children.

After county tests showed the candy to be more than twice state guidelines for lead, he asked the state for advice. He called. He e-mailed. He wrote a letter.

The state hasn't answered.

"I just want to know what we should do," Lane said.

One of the candies Lane found, Montes Damy, had tested high before.

COMPANIES IN THE DARK

Internal e-mails and interviews with state officials show a health department paralyzed by fear of lawsuits, although no candy company has sued the state.

"The company will come back with their own test results and sue us," Courtney said.

In a May 2001 e-mail, Courtney warned other state health workers to keep five pages of high-lead candy results confidential. Courtney noted that he already had been contacted by attorneys.

The lawyers for Pelon Pelo Rico were among them, records show.

"I would like to stress that these data are still in draft form and are not for further distribution," Courtney wrote. The state never did release the results.

This fear explains in part why state and federal regulators fail to communicate with the companies that make tainted candies.

One company, Dulces Vero, had to file a Freedom of Information Act request to find out about FDA testing of its own products. The Register found 49 cases where Vero candies tested high in government labs.

Nearly every company contacted by the Register said they were surprised to hear their products contained dangerous lead levels.

Virginia-based food giant Mars Inc. bought Mexican brand Lucas in 2001. Mars says it is so committed to food safety that it doesn't even allow lead-based materials into its factories and requires suppliers to certify that all ingredients arefree of lead.

Mars officials said they learned from the Register that Lucas candies had tested high at least 17 times before Mars bought the Lucas brand.

"I was quite surprised," said Tim Anh, director of quality services for Masterfoods USA, Mars' snack-food subsidiary. "We know the FDA is monitoring this category of products, and we would have suspected if there was an issue they would have put us in detention. ... We have no issues. The product just goes right through."

CANDY A LOW PRIORITY

Courtney, the state's point man for the lead program, has been a passionate advocate for kids and, at times, ineffective.

He has seen the prevention branch chipping away at a problem that might take a sledgehammer to beat.

He works without a secretary in a department filled with temporary employees and interns. He spends 5 percent of his time on candy.

When the lead-prevention branch opened, candy wasn't on the forms nurses used to evaluate environmental hazards.

"Nobody was even looking at candy until we started testing it," Courtney said.

Courtney told the Register in earlier interviews that it was unacceptable if even one in 10 candies tested high. He has pushed for more testing, and he has tried to get more funding.

In an e-mail to a counterpart in April 2002, Courtney expressed frustration that candy tests were not being confirmed quickly. He wanted to use a private laboratory to alleviate the backlog and was told no.

"The children who are being affected are those who don't need additional disadvantages in their lives," Courtney said.

But Courtney also has dismissed positive lead tests and has praised the industry for making big strides, even as candies continue to test high.

Courtney is one of three top health officials who said he wouldn't allow his children or grandchildren to eat certain Mexican candies that have never been the subject of health advisories. Still, Courtney says, he can't just publicly condemn them.

"We can't tell people not to eat them. It would seem culturally insensitive," Courtney said. "We are still working on how to give out a message that is helpful and yet not overly broad and also not so vague."

Officials at the lead-prevention branch continue to struggle with their message.

After repeated questions, Courtney's bosses acknowledged that all Mexican candies pose a risk to children.

"As a policy, we have said this is an issue of eating something healthier and avoiding these candies," said Dr. Valerie Charlton, the lead-prevention branch's director. "It's the same with lead paint. We don't know that a person's specific house is an issue but we are raising an awareness about older houses in general."

But the lead-prevention branch - which lists as a top priority keeping the public informed about lead dangers - has nothing on its Web site about Mexican candies.

LESSONS LEARNED?

Today, when the ice cream truck with its "Happy Birthday" song stops in front of Lopez's apartment, she gathers up Diana and holds her close.

The other kids rush to the street, where a dozen candies that have tested high are available on the truck.

Diana isn't allowed to eat her favorite candy anymore. Lopez feeds her daughter more fruits and vegetables.

But sometimes, Diana still wants Pelon Pelo Rico.

It has been almost three years since Diana's blood-lead level shot to 25 micrograms and investigators focused on candy.

Lopez and Perez still fear the effects of lead on their daughter. At 25 micrograms, lead has the potential to stunt growth, affect hearing and damage the nerves.

Her parents may never know if her development was slowed by lead. Experts say lead can live in a person's system for 25 years, and the damage can be permanent.

The lead in her blood stayed at a dangerous level for more than two years before it dropped to 8 micrograms in her last test.

Today, her parents look at her with a wary eye and some lingering guilt.

"If I hadn't given her those candies, she wouldn't have had that problem," Lopez said.

They wonder what effects the lead had on her developing brain. They watch her as she does her homework. Their kitchen table is anchored by a bowl of fruit. The only candy in sight is M&Ms.

Is Diana easily confused? Can she focus like the other children? Does she retain information? Should her IQ be 20 points higher than it is?

Like the parents of the estimated 3,000 California lead-poisoning victims who have eaten toxic treats, Diana's parents don't know those answers.

So far, teachers say Diana, who just celebrated her 6th birthday, appears fine.

The state's Lead Poisoning Prevention Branch, however, is not getting better.

Pelon Pelo Rico is part of a growing list of candies that have a history of lead but have not prompted health advisories or any other state warnings for parents.

One candy, Tama Roca, has tested high for lead 28 times in 11 years - more than any other candy.

Los Angeles County sent out an advisory against Tama Roca in 2002. Yet the state did nothing.

Another candy, Tablarindo, has tested high 11 times with no state action.

Pelon Pelo Rico, Tama Roca and Tablarindo and at least 52 other candies that have tested high for lead have an ingredient in common that the state has not investigated.

Chili.

The Orange County Register began buying and testing Mexican candy in October 2002.

A total of 180 tests of candies and wrappers were conducted on 25 brands at laboratories.

"Unsafe" lead levels are considered to be those that meet or exceed what state regulators call the level of concern.

The California Childhood Lead Poisoning Prevention Branch sets unsafe lead levels in a standard size (30 grams) candy at 0.2 parts per million and above. The FDA sets that level at 0.5 ppm.

Wrappers must register 600 ppm lead for the state to consider them toxic.

Ultimately, the Register testing found eight brands of candies at unsafe levels 17 times. That means 9.4 percent of the tests came back positive, and 32 percent of the brands had at least one positive test for lead. Federal, state and county laboratories over the past decade have found lead in one of four candy and wrapper samples tested and in 46 percent of the brands.

The Register sent most of its samples to Hayward- based Forensic Analytical, a laboratory that tests candies for the state.

Testing experts were consulted to make sure Register procedures posed no risks of cross-contamination and that candies were stored and handled properly.

Candies were kept at room temperature at the Register building. Each candy was placed in a resealable plastic bag and labeled with the brand name, place and date of purchase. Samples were boxed and sent to Forensic Analytical, typically within days of purchase.

The laboratory used graphite furnace methods, the same method used in state tests.

Here's how it worked:

One gram of each candy sample was poured, packed or smeared into a centrifuge tube. Deionized water and nitric acid were added. The candy then sat for hours, stewing on a sort of hot plate until it was reduced to liquid.

The samples were filtered into smaller, numbered vials to be put in the graphite furnace atomic absorption spectrometer.

A mechanical arm dunked a millimeter-wide straw into each vial, drawing some of the melted candy for testing.

The straw then released the test fluid onto a tiny graphite pan, which heated to a red-hot 1,600 degrees, the temperature at which the furnace's computer was able to register the lead content.

Anything above 0.2 ppm lead was a "hit."

It has taken the state months to get testing done on its candy samples - sometimes as long as 18 months. Forensic Analytical produced results for the Register typically within five days.

The Register spent about $5,000 to test candy - part of a $9,000 testing initiative for this series. All testing inventories and test results are available at www.ocregister.com/lead/

Some 500,000 children identified as at-risk by state law – including those whose families receive public aid and those who spend a lot of time in homes built before 1978 – are eligible for blood-lead level tests as part of well-baby checkups at ages 1 and 2. Blood tests for lead poisoning are free for children on state health aid and vary in cost for others, depending upon insurance coverage and individual doctor and lab charges.

According to preliminary state data for 2003:

• Some 400,000 children were tested, but there is no way to tell how many fell into the at-risk category.

• 8,761 children were found with elevated lead levels, compared with 5,617 in 2002.

• Tens of thousands of children considered at-risk still are not getting tested.

• About 1.4 percent of children tested showed elevated levels of lead at or above 10 micrograms of lead per tenth of a liter of blood. National estimates had set the suspected rate of lead-poisoned children at 2 percent.

The new state law is an improvement over old reporting rules, which required that laboratories only report high blood-lead levels. That made it impossible to know how many children were tested or what percentage of the population is contaminated.

State officials had estimated that less than half of at-risk children were being tested, so the new numbers are encouraging.

“We are very heartened to see that there are much higher numbers,” said Valerie Charlton, chief of the state’s Childhood Lead Poisoning Prevention Branch.

Orange County is monitoring 829 children with elevated lead levels. They join a statewide pool of more than 3,000 children with reported elevated lead levels. State law requires monitoring of children who have two lead-level tests of 15 micrograms or above or one test above 20 micrograms.

New studies show that children with lead levels half that can be at risk.

Factors that keep at-risk children from being tested are many, health officials say.

“ The kids at high risk may not even get to the doctor’s office in the first place,” said Joe Courtney, chief of care management and research for the state’s Childhood Lead Poisoning Prevention Branch.

Many families classified as at-risk visit doctors infrequently. When they do go, it’s usually for an emergency, parents, advocates and officials say.

“We can’t bring them to the clinic. We don’t have insurance,” said Salome Torres, a Santa Ana father, who said he rarely takes his three children to the doctor. “If we go to the doctor, then we don’t eat.”

The problem of lead poisoning still isn’t taken seriously by some in the medical community, health experts say.

“When I talk with pediatricians practicing in the community, they are generally unaware and unconcerned,” said Dean Baker, director of the Center for Occupational and Environmental Health for the University of California, Irvine, College of Medicine.