Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given (2010) (16 page)

His public statement vindicated me in the eyes of his organization, and I believe it started me down the path of recovery and reconnecting
with the African-American community. After that luncheon, Roy invited me to attend a CORE dinner in late January 2008 honoring Martin Luther King. I was told I’d be attending with Senator John McCain and a host of other high-profile politicians and celebrities. I was deeply honored by the request and gladly accepted the offer to attend.

I have never forgotten a rebroadcast speech I heard Martin Luther King give on television when I was in Huntsville prison. He said, “The Bible says an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.” At the time, I remember thinking,
Right on.
And then he said something like “America would be blind and toothless if we lived like that.” I couldn’t get his words out of my mind. I walked around the rest of the day thinking how great this man was. He made an unforgettable impression on me and gave me the gift of realizing that revenge has its price too.

CORE had asked me to speak at the Martin Luther King dinner. As I prepared for the evening, I wanted to find a connection to Dr. King that would make my presence relevant that night. And then it occurred to me that James Earl Ray had been wanted for breaking out of jail by hiding out in a bread truck, making him a flat-out fugitive when he shot and killed Martin Luther King. If I had been bounty hunting back then, he was just the type of guy I would have gone after. Knowing this fact gave me a purpose for being there and an inspiration to speak to the crowd. As I spoke, I thought I did a good job capturing the audience, but someone later told me that T. D. Jakes refused to listen to what I had to say and walked out before I was done.

After I spoke, an African-American woman approached me with her young daughter, a beautiful child wearing a pretty red dress. The little girl couldn’t have been more than ten years old. The mother explained that her daughter was a huge fan of my show and wanted to meet me after she heard that I had said a very bad word. She said they saved up for three weeks to buy the young girl’s dress so she’d have something pretty to wear when she met me. Later that night, someone told me they had actually saved up for months. I said hello to the little girl and told her how sorry I was for what I had said. She looked up at me, with a big ol’ smile and simply said, “I love you and forgive you, Dog.”

My heart melted on the spot and tears streamed down my cheeks. I was so worried I had disappointed this child—that she wouldn’t understand why Uncle Dog used the bad word he did. I was ready to explain myself to her if need be, but she never asked for explanations. Her innocence, love, and acceptance showed me the great power in forgiveness—especially from a child. I will take her love and acceptance with me for the rest of my days.

After my positive experiences with Roy Innis and CORE, I spent the next several months going on what Beth and I dubbed my “Apology Tour.” I knew I could change people’s minds if I was given the chance. I was being horribly misrepresented in the press, and it didn’t look like things were going to turn around unless I could convince people to give me a shot at redemption. If they could give me that, I was positive I would be in their hearts forever.

I attended several events, including holiday toy drives and drug awareness symposiums and town hall meetings, where I could give back to the community. I enjoyed getting out and talking with people at all of those events, but there was one local toy drive in Los Angeles I’ll never forget. I met a father and son who touched my heart. The father, who was not more than just a kid himself, told me he’d never been able to save enough money to buy his son a toy for Christmas. Of course, I thought back to my struggle in buying Tucker his My Buddy doll and remembered how I felt. The young dad went on to tell me his son had no toys at home.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I can’t believe I’m doing this, Dog. I’m reaching out to you, of all people,” he said.

All I could say was “Thank you.”

I hugged the father and then knelt down and put my hands out for his son. He was the real reason I was there that day. I wanted to show how much love I have in my heart for all people, but especially for those who are less fortunate, because I have been there myself. I will never forget those hungry years and I am reminded so often, now more than ever, that we are all the same.

I made a big spectacle out of the three us hanging out the rest of the
day. I gave the young boy a toy truck I’d saved for one special kid. His face lit up with excitement as soon as he saw it. It was rewarding to be able to do something to brighten that young boy’s day. There’s nothing like the love you get from a child. It’s pure, authentic, and real. If enduring the difficult experiences that got me to the toy drive that day was the price I had to pay in order to meet a family like that father and son, then it was all worth it. I’d sit through a grilling on national television every day for a month just to get one smile, one hug, and one “thank you” like I did that day.

My new association with CORE allowed me to affect change in some very unexpected areas. I even found myself in a roundtable discussion with members of CORE, the NAACP, and the ACLU, defending a Hassidic Jewish police officer’s right to keep his beard because of his religious beliefs. I was stunned to hear that a police department was trying to force a good cop off the squad because of his facial hair, which is against department policy. After the ACLU applied enough pressure and threatened to go to court over the officer’s civil rights, the police chief agreed to let him stay on the force if he only worked undercover duty. In the end, the officer called me to say thank you because he could keep on doing what he loved—being a cop.

It wasn’t until I helped the ACLU and CORE to allow that cop to keep his job that I truly realized my mishap could allow me to help others who were suffering. Though I wouldn’t have asked for the attention that was brought upon me after the
National Enquirer
tapes were released, I believe that much more good than harm has resulted from it. The controversy surrounding me was just another mountain I was forced to climb in my life.

In the beginning, my heart was bursting with tears of pain, but now I am filled with tears of joy for the opportunities I’ve had and the changes I’ve been able to make since the story broke. My new role gave me the responsibility of being a racial healer for our country. I was a changed man with a higher purpose.

The strangest part of the Apology Tour was that of all the people I shook hands with and met along the way, I found myself constantly
surprised at how merciful the African-American community was, while the white community remained angry and unforgiving for what I had said. There was even a white supremacy group that was angry with me for apologizing for my careless slip.

In early 2008, I received a call from a well-known member of the KKK asking me to come to Texas to give a speech for their group at an upcoming meeting. I told the man who called me that I couldn’t do it.

“You know me, bro. I’m not like that,” I said.

He pleaded with me that I had an opportunity to use the situation to help lots of people who feel the way the Klan does.

“A lot of us are sick of it, Dog. We are sick of the crime, the assaults, all of it.”

I was getting angry listening to him talk. I said, “You think white men don’t commit the same crimes? I see it every day, brother.”

Not long after that call I read an article on the Internet that said there was a $75,000 bounty on my head because I didn’t promote white pride. I have spent my entire life knowing there is always going to be the presence of good and evil in this world. Evil can come in many forms, such as negativity, discontent, or plain stupidity. Believe me, those forces are almost as strong as the good. There were a lot of thoughts going through my mind when I read that article.

I said, “Come and get me!” after I finished reading the last word. I dared anyone to try to get my badge. I wasn’t raised to give evil forces the power to win. I learned to go with the good because it always prevails. Some people will never understand that. They never gamble on doing the right thing. They see a crime going down and think,
If I get out to help that person, the bad guys will come after me, too.
Or
If I get involved in this robbery, they’re going to shoot me.

Me…I say, “Me and you, right now. Let’s go.” That’s the old fighter in me.

So when I was confronted by a white supremacist from the Aryan Nations after a public appearance, about why I didn’t stand up for what I’d said, the first thing I thought was
I could rip this guy in half.

I remembered the Aryan guys I knew in the joint. I couldn’t go
around with them for two reasons: first, because of my friendship with Whitaker, and second, because I didn’t support their way of thinking.

I looked the muscle-bound, tatted Aryan thug up and down while he was spewing his racist thoughts and knew I could take him for sure. Because I am in the public eye, physical confrontations are no longer my thing. But you can believe I got pretty vocal with that guy. He could tell he was going down the wrong path with me. I got right in his face and told him I didn’t care what his homies thought, I was not a racist and I didn’t think he should say the hateful things that were coming out of his mouth either. By the end of our twenty-minute dialogue, this poor fool was apologizing to me and asking for free
Dog the Bounty Hunter
T-shirts.

I started bawling after he walked away. I was stunned that I was able to turn his twisted thoughts around. I raised my hands in the air and said, “Thank you, Lord.”

One down and, sadly, too many left to go.

(credit: Chaz)

A
lthough I was slowly mending fences in the African-American community, I wasn’t sure all of my efforts would be enough to convince A&E to give me back my show. I was hopeful that I’d be given the opportunity to prove I wasn’t the bad guy the media had made me out to be, but I wasn’t 100 percent sure the network would give me that chance. I’d seen plenty of guys bounce back from drugs or alcohol, but there aren’t many who came back after racial tirades. If the network didn’t believe in me, I would be done in Hollywood. I didn’t care about the celebrity aspect so much as the platform, which allowed me to reach and help a great many people. Helping my brothers and sisters has always been the thrust behind my desire to be in the spotlight.

I worried about the network’s decision day and night. Lots of people told me I had nothing to be concerned about, that after the dust settled everything would turn around. I still wasn’t sure. And then one night I went to sleep and had a dream where I was standing over my own grave. I looked at the headstone and noticed the initials A&E in the bottom right corner. They had made sure I had a headstone. God was showing me everything was going to be all right, that I would get my show back and would soon be doing what I loved most. I woke up the next morning and told Beth about my premonition.

“We’re getting the show back, Beth. I promise you, we will be on the air again soon.”

Sure enough, through the efforts of many supporters and the mercy shown by the network, on February 20, 2008, A&E announced that our show was headed back to television. The executives told me their reason for bringing
Dog the Bounty Hunter
back was plain and simple: Since my show is predicated on second chances, they decided to give me one too. I was in Las Vegas working on a case when I got the good word. In an ironic twist, on the very same day the network gave me back my show, Jesse Jackson accidently used the “N” word during an interview with Bill O’Reilly. I hadn’t been able to figure out why he was in my dream a few months earlier until I heard that news. But when I did, it all made sense. Of course, there was virtually no fallout for Jesse Jackson’s error. In fact, it was all but buried in the press. The upside was that from that day on, my name was no longer uttered every time someone made the same mistake.

The news of our return to television made worldwide headlines. I remember reading the scroll at the bottom of the CNN ticker with tears in my eyes. I was so happy and relieved that I broke down and cried. Everything I had worked for had hung in television purgatory for months. I knew I’d always be able to make a living, but without my show I couldn’t reach the millions of viewers who tuned in every week, with my singular message to help them get a second chance at life. If just one viewer decides to get clean, give up crime, go back to school, or be a better parent because of something on my show, then I am satisfied. Now more than ever, I dedicated myself to reaching out to those folks in any way I could, so I could spread the word that I was there to help them take that first step.

I was looking forward to getting back to work and doing what I love most. Even though the network announced the return of
Dog the Bounty Hunter
in February, we didn’t actually go back into production until April. We shot the new shows in Denver, where each capture we made became headlines in the local papers. Every news story written about me started out with a sentence that read something like this:
“Dog, who used the ‘N’ word, captured another fugitive…”
Once the show was back on the air, however, the tide began to turn toward the way things used to be before the
National Enquirer
story. For the first time in months I felt like people were once again judging me for the good things I was doing and were no longer just pointing the racist finger in my direction.

It felt great to be back in the saddle. I will always be grateful to A&E for their belief in me and the work I do. Everyone at the network assured me that they knew I wasn’t a racist or the kind of person who stood for intolerance. Their kind words meant the world to me. Beth and I sent the president of the network flowers for thirty days in a row as a small token of our appreciation, but they could never convey just how grateful I was to have them in my corner. The card read, “Abbey: Have I thanked you today?”

When they told me they were putting the show back into production, the executives from the network said they had all the confidence in the world that our audience would be there for us when we hit the air—and boy were they right. Our premiere episode debuted with 30 percent more viewers than we had had when we were taken off the air. The Dog was back and bigger than ever.

By the time the show aired, I finally felt free. I was back on television, it felt like I had been forgiven for my ignorance, I was back to bounty hunting, and I was finally out of the federal government’s hold. I no longer had to ask for permission to travel in the United States, as I had while my Mexican extradition case was still open. There were no more restrictions placed on what I could or couldn’t do, and I felt totally and completely emancipated from the hell I’d been living since capturing Andrew Luster. It was as if the slate had been wiped clean—sort of. Despite my being able to travel in the United States, because of my felony conviction I still have to get permission to travel outside the country. I was recently contacted by people in London to go over and help Parliament create a plan to clean up the massive problem they have with violent gangs in and around the city. I was all set to make the trip when I was told England would not grant me a visa to enter the country
because of my criminal history, even claiming that I had been convicted of the same crimes as Jack the Ripper! I was devastated because I was eager to get over there and help clean up their cities and streets.

With all of the good deeds I’ve done over the past thirty-three years, all of the fugitives I’ve brought to face their crimes, and the many hours of community service I’ve put in, I think there should be some type of absolution for my crime. I would rally for a pardon since I didn’t commit the crime I was charged with, but if that wasn’t in the cards for me, I’d like to have my rights restored so I can truly live as a free man. I want to vote in elections. I want to travel to foreign countries. I want to be able to wear body armor to protect myself if I have to. In some states, even if I’m working, I am not even allowed to wear a bulletproof vest. I may think I’m Superman, the man of steel, but out in the field, I have no right to any type of protection if I get shot. That doesn’t seem fair to me. I should have the right to wear a bulletproof vest.

I am an upstanding, productive, respectable member of society and a citizen of the United States of America. I served my time and have given back to my community and country countless times in ways that no other man can match. What else will it take before my country sees me as a valuable asset? Even though we live in a free country, if you’ve been convicted of a felony, you will never really be free here. It’s a harsh reality I have a tough time accepting. How do I win back the respect of my country so it will see me as worthy of these rights?

We all make mistakes in life. Lord knows I am a walking, living, breathing example of that, but I am here to tell you one thing I hope you never forget. As long as you’re willing to take a risk, you will always get another opportunity to do things right. When I was leaving Huntsville, one of the wardens came over to me and said there was no second chance in the joint, only first chances.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked

“Life is what it is, Chapman. If you screw up, you’ll find yourself behind bars like you are now. When we let you go, that’ll be your first chance to make whatever changes you need to live your life on the right
side of the law. Mess that up, boy, and you’ll find yourself singing the prison blues again. There won’t be a second chance for a guy like you.”

Even if I don’t totally agree with what he said, I never forgot the warden’s words that day. Unless they’re back in the joint, I believe most everyone should be given as many chances as it takes until they get it right. So when I talk about second chances in life, I suppose I really mean your first shot at living a good clean life. It takes some people a little more time than others to get that right.

That first chance is the biggest risk of all because it takes guts and courage to allow yourself or someone else to go there. And if you’re lucky enough to get that chance, you better be damned sure you pay it forward. Even if you’re the king of the world, friend, you will someday still meet the Almighty. If you have given your subjects mercy along the way, then the Almighty will surely give it to you. Where mercy is shown, mercy is given. That’s why I never give up on anyone. Deep down, I know we can all turn our lives around if given the chance.

Many people showed me kindness and understanding through their forgiveness of the things I said to Tucker about his girlfriend. Since then, the biggest lesson I’ve learned from that incident is to watch what I say. I finally understood what my mother meant when she warned me about being handed my head on a platter. This was a tough lesson for me—really hard, because I think of myself as an interpreter for those who cannot articulate in a highly educated way. But now I understand I have to watch my language when I translate those messages. I’ve learned that names really do hurt some people, sometimes worse than the deepest cut of a knife or the sensation of a fist to the chin. There are lots of people in the world who can’t get over that type of pain. I’ve been called so many names in my life that I’ve become calloused. That surely doesn’t mean it’s right. In fact, I now know it is terribly wrong.

I’ve also learned to be more humble and caring about people as a result of my reckless use of words. Before I open my mouth these days, I ask myself,
Who is this going to hurt?
I also know I have to make my point in a clear, precise, and educated manner because my old style of
using slang isn’t cool. It does hurt people’s feelings—which was never my intent. As a result, I tend to keep my mouth closed and my ears open a lot more these days.

My mother and I used to talk a lot about the importance of listening. Whenever I spend a few minutes with a fugitive after a capture, or a person who is lost on drugs, or someone who’s love life is all screwed up, I’ll take a few minutes to let them talk about whatever is on their mind. I’ll sometimes sit for fifteen minutes without saying a word while they spill their heart and guts out onto the floor. Mom used to say that my patience and compassion with those people gave them the glue to put their lives back together. “By listening, you showed mercy, son,” she’d say. Mom was the one who taught me that mercy and second chances go together.

Every single day I spent in Huntsville, the Lord showed me that someone there needed my help. I sucked up my eighteen months in the pen and served my sentence like a man because I made sure my time had purpose and meaning. At first it was only the inmates who came to me, asking for help rewriting their letters home, to their mom, girlfriend, and others, sobbing over the divorce papers that arrived during mail call, or getting the harsh news that someone close to them had passed away. But by the time I left, the guards were coming to me to talk about their lives too. Looking back, I became like the white Oprah of Huntsville.

On the day I walked out the front gate of that prison, the warden who talked to me about second chances approached me and said, “Can you stay out, Dog?”

“Damn right I can, Warden,” I shot back.

“Do it for me, Dog. Make me proud.” I knew he meant it too. I carried those words with me wherever I went from that day on because I knew there would be no second chance for me if I somehow found my way back.

A few months after
Dog the Bounty Hunter
went back into production, I received a call from Tim Storey. He asked me if I had any interest in giving a sermon at the Family Faith Church in Huntsville, Texas.

“Have you ever heard of Huntsville, Duane?” Tim asked. I had to laugh at first. I thought he was joking because I thought he knew my connection there.

“Have
I
ever heard of
Huntsville
? That’s where I served my time, Pastor,” I answered.

When Tim called, it had been almost thirty years to the day since the warden handed me two hundred dollars and wished me luck. The pastor told me the church was interested in having me come along and preach with him. I have dreamt of spreading the gospel since I was a little boy. My mother gave me a book by Nicky Cruz when I was thirteen years old, hoping I would read his message and embrace his relationship with the Lord. Despite her many attempts to get me to read it, I refused because as a teenager I never felt I needed a Bible to connect with God. I’ve always had my own special one-on-one relationship with the Lord. However, my first week in prison, I went to the library to see if they had a Bible I could study. Being inside the joint changed my mind about wanting to learn and follow the words of the Bible. Unfortunately, there were no Bibles to check out, so the librarian gave me a copy of the next best thing. The same book by Nicky Cruz that my mother had given me. It was a sign. I hadn’t seen that book for a decade. Once I cracked it open, I was mesmerized by his testimony and style. I often wondered what it would be like to share the gospel in front of millions of people like Nicky Cruz. His book truly inspired me to follow my dream to someday preach. So when the pastor asked me to join him in Huntsville, I jumped at the opportunity for two reasons. First, I could share my life lessons through my own experiences with God, and second, I was going to have the chance to speak in Huntsville, a place I’d reluctantly called home for eighteen months.