In the Evil Day

  Drega came out and submitted to a patdown by Stepanian while being read his Miranda rights. “In those days we didn’t always handcuff suspects,” Weber said. “So we may not have. I think we felt we had secured his cooperation.”

  Drega went in Stepanian’s cruiser to the Colebrook Police Department, where he was charged with reckless conduct and remanded to the county jail. In a 1995 handwritten statement to the Coös County Superior Court, Drega would write in his all-capital script, which conveyed the effect of shouting: “I WAS ARRESTED FOR RECKLESS CONDUCT ON MAY 19-93 THERE WAS NO BAIL, IN COLDBROOK DISTRICT COURT I ENTER MY PLEA OF INNOCENT THE NEXT THING I KNOW THERE IS 1,500 CASH BAIL PUT ON TO ME. THAT WAS NOT A BAIL HEARING, I DID NOT HAVE 1,500 CASH ON ME (JUDGE?) MILLER HE SAID THAT HE IS GOING TO BE SURE THAT I WILL BE IN COURT. I OWE PROPERTY IN COLUMBIA FOR 25 YEARS, I OWE PROPERTY IN BOW, I AM A UNION TRADESMAN IN GOOD STANDING FOR 30 YEARS MILLER PUTS IT THAT I AM A WALKER! I REQUEST THE STATE POLICE TO TAKE ME TO MY RESIDENCE IN COLUMBIA I MAY HAVE 1,500 THERE NO F—K WAY WRIGHT TO THE COUNTY FARM.”

  From the jail Drega, who kept most of his money in cash hidden at his cabin, called Gerry Upton in Vermont, asking him to wire the bail money. “I’ll pay you right back.”

  Upton said he had once wired money to his son in California, and the transfer had cost him eighty dollars. “So I’ll just bring it up, Carl. I’ll drive up there now.”

  “No, hell—that’s all right. I’ll just stay here. See how the food is.”

  “No, thanks. I’m on my way. Margaret’ll come.”

  A staff member at the jail would later tell the Maine Sunday Telegram that he heard Drega shouting in his cell while waiting for Upton: “He kept yelling, ‘Live free or die—bullshit! Or, ‘Live free or die. Hah!’ Then he’d go off into a spin [criticizing] tax collectors.”

  Late that night, Drega made the Uptons wait outside his cabin. “Margaret never went into Carl’s house for as long as we knew him,” Upton said. “He didn’t think his housekeeping was clean enough for her.” Drega appeared in a few minutes with fifteen hundred-dollar bills.

  In the aftermath, Drega denied that he had ever pointed his rifle at anybody. Vickie and Jolin both swore that he did. In New Hampshire, reckless conduct was just a misdemeanor, but nonetheless Drega paid several thousand dollars to retain one of the state’s prominent criminal defense lawyers. Then it never came to trial. All parties agreed that the charge would be dismissed after twelve months of good behavior; also that Drega would have access to town records during that time and be able to attend selectmen’s meetings on notifying a town official in advance and if accompanied by a law officer. Drega abided by those terms, and at last the case was dismissed.

  A year later, in August 1995, Drega filed another civil suit in the Coös County Superior Court, this one against Vickie Bunnell, Louis Jolin, and the Town of Columbia. Drega’s writ of summons alleged that “SELECTPERSON VICK BUNNELL VIOLATED THE RIGHT TO KNOW LAW RSA 91:4-5-6. FORGED TOWN RECORDS RSA 641:2 CRIMINAL TRESPASS RSA 635:2. GAVE FALES SWORN STATEMENT RSA 641:2 SELECTIVE INFORCEMENT OF TOWN ZONING.” Similarly, Jolin was accused of violating the right-to-know law, of committing both criminal trespass and unauthorized entry, and of giving false testimony.

  Drega once again represented himself, appearing in a mechanic’s jumpsuit and aviator’s sunglasses. The hearing got off to a fractious start when Drega refused to rise for the entrance of Judge Harold W. Perkins and then scuffled with Sheriff John Morton, who tried to help him rise. Drega delivered a seventy-four-page statement to the court, this containing his complaints about the bail process attached to his arrest and much else besides. In fact it was an encyclopedic review of all his grievances back to 1972, beginning with the barn siding and Rita’s death, now including the dismissal of his suit against Dan Ouimette.

  During the hearing, Drega meandered through these affronts and again failed to present evidence to support his testimony. Perkins had to warn him several times about swearing. The defendants’ attorneys—Phil Waystack and David King—urged that the suit be dismissed, and Perkins obliged.

  After the hearing, which took place at the Lancaster courthouse, Waystack saw Drega standing on the steps outside. Waystack asked Morton to come help “if this guy starts kicking my ass,” and then walked up to the plaintiff.

  “Mr. Drega, I was very sorry to read about the death of your wife,” he said. “Those were very unfortunate circumstances. But you know, Vickie Bunnell was just a kid in high school when that happened. She’s not anyone you should be angry with about that.”

  Drega bowed his head, turned away, and removed his sunglasses. When he turned back, Waystack saw that his pinched brown eyes and sunburned face were clouded with emotion. “No one ever said that to me before,” he said. “About my wife, I mean.”

  For whatever reason, Drega had never mentioned his polygraph test to Perkins. Before the hearing, he had gone to Concord and had personally arranged to take such a test on the issue of whether he had pointed his rifle at anybody on the day he drove Jolin off his property.

  Maybe it came down to what the definition of “point” might be. Examiner George E. Tetrault told the New Hampshire Sunday News that he concluded Drega was being truthful. “He was one of the most interesting people I’ve met in my 24 years in the business,” Tetrault said. “I’ve done thousands of tests, but I’ve never had a person who could see right through you. He had an intensity I’ve never seen before.”

  Carl Drega carried on a busy correspondence with state government officials, one that increased in frequency and intensity during the mid-’90s. At some point, Drega began adding the title “A Sovereign Citizen” to his signature on letters.

  Item: In September 1994, Drega mailed the seventy-four-page summation of his complaints—the same document he would later submit to Judge Perkins in August 1995—to New Hampshire attorney general Jeffrey R. Howard. “All I want to accomplish,” wrote Drega, as his cover letter was later rendered in the Union Leader, “is to get town officials in Columbia to treat everyone equally, not to play favorites, whether it be when they assess property taxes or enforce town ordinances.” He later set down in his own records that he never got a reply from Howard.

  Item: On February 7, 1995, the New Hampshire Supreme Court informed Drega that it would not consider his appeal of Judge Desjardin’s ruling against him in the suit filed by Dan Ouimette. A week later Drega wrote to U.S. State Attorney Paul M. Gagnon, complaining that he had yet to receive the transcript of the Ouimette proceedings, for which he had paid $326 in August. Drega set down that he never heard back from Gagnon.

  Item: On March 15, 1995, Drega wrote Governor Steve Merrill and the state executive council, complaining about the appointment of Vickie Bunnell as a special judge to the Colebrook District Court. Drega enclosed his seventy-four-page catalogue of grievances. As reported by the Union Leader, Drega’s cover letter about Vickie “alleged she had denied him public records, selectively enforced the zoning ordinance against him, trespassed on his property, and lied in an attempt to get him jailed.”

  Item: On May 3, 1995, David S. Peck, executive secretary of the Supreme Court’s Judicial Conduct Committee, wrote Drega to inform him that the committee had dismissed the complaint he had filed against Judge Desjardins. In a note on that letter Drega wrote, “I TAKE IT THAT THE JUDICIAL COMMITTEE DO NOT FEEL THAT I AM INTITLED TO A TRANSCRIPT THAT HAS BEN PAID FOR OVER 9 MOS.”

  Item: On July 11, 1995, Nina C. Gardner, executive director of the state judicial council, wrote Drega to suggest that he resubmit his transcript request to the Colebrook District Court and to request a refund for his original request.

  Item: On July 17, 1995, Drega wrote again to Merrill and the executive council, demanding why they had not responded to the packet he had sent in March or interceded on his transcript request. “WHO BETTER THAN THE GOVERNOR + COUNCIL + DESJARDIN TO DENY A MAN WHAT HE HAS PAID FOR,” Drega wrote.

  Item: On July 31, 1995, Tina L. Nadeau, legal c
ounsel to the governor, wrote Drega to say that the governor and council must “remain independent and separate from the judicial branch” and could not intervene in any case before the court. She suggested he hire a lawyer. Drega responded, “THE GOVERNOR IS TO SEE THAT ALL THE STATE’S LAWS BE INFORCE, THAT IS WHY HE IS CALL HIS EXCELLENCY.”

  Item: On August 9, 1995, Phil Waystack, acting as legal counsel for the Town of Columbia, wrote Drega to say that the transcript he wanted had never been typed, since the Supreme Court had declined to review the case. He added that the Colebrook District Court had sent him a refund check in March, “but apparently you have not negotiated it.” He also suggested that Drega return the refund check and renew his request for the transcript, and it would then be typed and made available. On November 3, David S. Peck wrote Drega with the same advice.

  Item: On November 13, 1995, Drega renewed that request in a letter to Jan Corliss, clerk of the Colebrook District Court. Three months later, on February 8, 1996, Corliss wrote to inform Drega that the transcript was ready and could be picked up on any Thursday or Friday. Drega wrote on that letter, “I RECEIVE THE TRANSCRIPT ON APRIL 4, 96. IT TOOK ONLY ONE YEAR + HALF TO RECEIVE THIS TRANSCRIPT.”

  Item: On May 13, 1995, New Hampshire representative William H. Zeliff wrote that he had forwarded Drega’s packet of grievances to the attorney general’s office. “I feel confident,” said Zeliff, “that Attorney General Jeffrey Howard and his staff will be able to help you.”

  Item: Also on May 13, Drega’s packet was delivered to the Berlin office of Senator Bob Smith. Drega’s notes indicate that he never received a reply.

  Item: On May 14, 1995, New Hampshire representative Charles F. Bass acknowledged receipt of Drega’s information. Bass replied that he had no jurisdiction in such matters and had forwarded the material to the attorney general’s office.

  Item: On May 17, 1995, Joel Maiola, Senator Judd Gregg’s chief of staff, wrote that Drega’s dispute with Columbia was a matter “to be decided in the courts.” He returned Drega’s material and advised him to “seek the advice of an attorney.”

  Item: On September 18, 1996, Executive Councilor Raymond S. Burton wrote regarding the packet he had received three months earlier. “It appears to me that your avenue for relief and justice is through the judicial branch,” Burton said, suggesting he telephone Chief Justice David Brock. This completed the circle that began with the rejection by Brock and the Supreme Court of Drega’s appeal of the Ouimette ruling.

  Item: On January 13, 1997, Drega nonetheless called Brock’s office. “AS OF 2/2/97 I HAVE YET TO RECEIVE A REPLY,” Drega noted.

  John Begin (rhymes with “region”) was still in his twenties in April 1996. A native of Manchester in southern New Hampshire, husky and good-natured, he was fresh out of the Police Academy and posted for just a month to the North Country, where Scott Phillips served as his field training officer.

  “You have to deal with people differently up here,” Phillips had told him. “Whenever you talk to someone, make sure you’re talking to them, not over them. And if you go into someone’s house, take off your hat. Walk in there like you’re just anybody else. If you walk around in that uniform puffing up your chest, things won’t go well up here.”

  Begin had done traffic stops with Phillips, as well as Les Lord, and had seen firsthand how well things could go. Officer and driver would greet each other on a first-name basis, complain about the weather, inquire after the family. Then the violation would be mentioned, the warning issued, or a ticket written. All parties would take it in stride and get on with the day. With these guys, even arrests were usually handled without rancor. The exception that proved the rule would have been Carl Drega’s arrest.

  On April 4, Begin and Phillips were filling out reports at the Colebrook Police Department when District Court clerk Jan Corliss phoned from upstairs. She said Mr. Drega had come in asking for paperwork that she didn’t have and had become abusive—she was still shaking. She also had heard from the courthouse in Lancaster that Drega had been down there to obtain the home addresses and tax assessment records of Judge Desjardins, Judge Perkins, and the just-appointed judge Vickie Bunnell; attorneys Phil Waystack and David King; Fish & Game officer Eric Stohl; and Troopers Stepanian, Yorke, and Phillips. Corliss added that there was an outstanding warrant for Drega’s arrest, and he had just left the building.

  “Come on, John,” Phillips said. “Time to get your hands dirty.”

  The arrest warrant was the latest escalation in Drega’s battle with Dan Ouimette. Drega had become enraged when one of Ouimette’s workers went into his barn without permission, and had then micromanaged every aspect of Ouimette’s work on the riprap and on trenches for electrical lines and drainage. Nothing was good enough. Finally Drega asked Gerry Upton to redo some of that work and refused to pay the balance on Ouimette’s bill. When the easygoing contractor came to Drega’s place to personally ask for the money, Drega said, “Sure, I’ll pay you,” all the while stabbing the ground near Ouimette’s shoes with the tines of a pitchfork.

  That led to Ouimette’s small-claims civil suit and a court order for Drega to pay up, but he never did. In 1995 Drega failed to answer a court summons from the Coös County sheriff, John Morton, and a warrant was issued—and back-burnered—for the arrest of a man who was often working out of state and rarely seen.

  On this day, Phillips spotted Drega’s orange pickup in the parking lot of Prescott Farms, a small grocery store on Main Street at the north end of town. “Look at that thing,” Begin said, staring at the truck. “It’s almost an antique.”

  “It wouldn’t pass inspection,” admitted Phillips. “It wouldn’t even move the dial. I’ve given him warnings on that. So have a lot of guys—and still no sticker. Imagine our surprise.”

  Phillips said that Drega was set on a hair trigger and went almost everywhere these days with a 9 mm pistol. “So let’s just wait for him to come out of the store.” Begin noted the arrival of another state police cruiser in the parking lot: inside were Scott Stepanian and Border Patrol agent Paul Dunbar.

  Begin was unimpressed when he saw their quarry: a somewhat elderly-looking man of medium build, a gray-bearded farmer type, carrying a bag of groceries. Phillips flipped on his blue lights and they got out of the cruiser. “Excuse me, Carl,” Phillips said. “Hi, there—are you aware there’s an arrest warrant out for you?”

  Drega hesitated, but only briefly. He glanced at Phillips, then at Begin, and was in motion again as he did so, bearing for his pickup. “Carl, did you hear me?” Phillips said. “It’s our responsibility to place you under arrest. We’ll thank you for your cooperation.”

  Drega halted only when Phillips grabbed Drega’s right arm and Begin his left. By then Stepanian and Dunbar were out of their cruiser as well. “Warrant?” Drega said. “Let me see your goddamn warrant.”

  “You’re under arrest for violation of a court order, Carl,” Scott said. “You failed to appear—that was last June—and that’s a problem.”

  “Yeah? Let me see the warrant.”

  “The warrant is at the station. We’ll show you the warrant. We’ll make you a copy.”

  “So you don’t even have the warrant?”

  “We don’t need to have the warrant to make an arrest, Carl. But we’ll bring you to where you can see it. How’s that?”

  “I don’t think there is any fucking warrant. Warrant for what?”

  “Failure to appear. They expected you in court.”

  “When? For what?”

  “Last June. A civil case. It’s on the warrant, Carl.”

  “And you’re just now getting around to it? What a crock of shit. This is really a warrant for asking for those papers at the courthouse—right?”

  “I don’t know what papers, Carl.”

  “You wouldn’t, you lying piece of shit. You can bring me that fucking warrant at home. That’s where I’m going.”

  “John, let’s cuff him.”

  The groceries
had been dropped to the pavement, and Drega’s arms had no more bend to them than two-by-fours. Begin was amazed by the man’s strength. It took all four officers to pull his wrists behind his back and attach Begin’s cuffs. Phillips told Begin to double-lock the cuffs but to make sure they weren’t too tight.

  Once in handcuffs, Drega went stone silent. Another trooper, Sergeant John Scarinza, had arrived by then. Scarinza dispersed the small crowd that had gathered while Begin conducted a patdown that yielded a canister of pepper spray in a coat pocket, but no handgun. Meanwhile Stepanian gathered the groceries and placed them in the bed of the pickup.

  They put Drega into the front seat of Phillips’s cruiser, where he slouched in such a manner as to make fastening his seatbelt a wrestling match for Begin. At the Colebrook station, Phillips talked privately with the rookie about whether to charge Drega with resisting arrest. “Well, he didn’t cooperate, but he didn’t resist in what you’d call an active manner either,” Phillips said. “So I don’t think it really rose to that level. That would just add insult to injury. Let’s let it go.”

  In filling out the arrest report, Begin met with more passive resistance. Drega refused to answer even the most innocuous questions—name? address? occupation?—responding only with a toxic stare that felt to Begin like it was hollowing its way through him. Finally Phillips put Drega on the phone with Judge Paul Donovan in Lancaster. Donovan set bail at $250 and told Drega it couldn’t be posted until the arrest report was complete.

  Drega had the cash in his pocket. He answered Begin’s questions and was out the door with his pepper spray, striding purposefully past the News and Sentinel, cutting through the old Getty station and up Main Street, within an hour after his arrest.