I asked the guy what he was doing.
“God told me to stab Tim Storey,” he answered. He was there to kill the pastor.
“Security, get this guy out of here,” I said. Tim Storey was still preaching while the guards carried his assailant away.
After the service, Tim asked the local pastor if he knew who I was, because he wanted to meet me.
The pastor said, “That’s Dog the Bounty Hunter.” I’m not sure if Tim had any idea who I was, but he was eager to say hello.
One of the security guards came over to me and said, “Preacher wants to see you after the meeting.”
I walked up to Tim and shook his hand like I was greeting an old friend.
“How ya doing, brotha?” I asked Tim.
“I’m fine. Let me tell you what that guy was going to do.”
I interrupted the pastor and said, “I know, I heard.”
“That was the second time he tried to kill me,” Tim said.
“And if I’m ever sitting in the congregation, my brotha, he ain’t getting past the first row ever again.”
Suddenly, the pastor jumped up from his chair and started pacing, rubbing his hands on his head and firing questions at me, one after another.
“What do you do for a living? What do you know about the Lord?”
And then, he stopped cold in his tracks.
“Oh no,” he said.
I knew what was coming next. God was talking to the preacher. I’d know that look anywhere, because it’s the look someone gets when he hears the voice of the Almighty.
“Something big is going to happen with you. You’ve got to remember to put every bit of your faith, every ounce of it, your reserve faith, your mother’s faith, in God’s hands. He will see you through. You’re going to be one of the biggest in the world, friend, but you’ve got to trust in God.”
Whoa. “Where do you want your offering?” was all I could think of saying. When an average Joe tells you something like that, you might believe him. But when a preacher says it, you can bet he’s telling you the truth.
Two weeks later, MidWeek, a Hawaiian weekly newspaper, ran an article with a photo of me on the front cover. We found out about the story on a Sunday afternoon, three full days before the first copy was expected off the press. Anxious to see the piece, Beth and I decided to bounty hunt down a copy before it hit the newsstand on Wednesday. We went to the warehouse where they distributed the paper. Luckily, we caught the foreman just as he was lifting the last load onto a pallet. He recognized us right away.
“Hey, you’re the guy on the cover this week!”
“Yeah, that’s me. I was wondering if you could find your way to letting us take a look at an advance copy?”
The guy invited us in to see for ourselves. We stood inside this massive warehouse staring at thousands of copies with me on the cover. I looked at Beth and said, “That’s a good preacher!”
The next time I spoke to Tim, I told him the story about the paper. He shook his head and said, “No, I don’t think that was the big thing God was talking about, Duane.” I had no way of knowing it at the time, but he was right.
It wasn’t until I was standing in a jail cell in Mexico that I fully understood what Tim Storey told me about faith and placing my trust in God. The district attorney came into the cell to tell the boys and me that the judge was trying to decide between the deprivation of liberty charge and kidnapping. I walked to the corner of my cell and wept. That’s when it occurred to me that Tim had warned me that I’d be in a situation that would take all of the faith I had. This must be what he was talking about, I thought.
Earlier that week, before the arrest, the boys and I had visited a place in Mexico where the sea turtles carry in their gullet one grain of sand from where they were born. They swim for years and then come back to the exact spot to lay their eggs. Scientists have theorized that it’s that one grain of sand that brings them home. The Bible says if you have faith even the size of a mustard seed, you can move mountains. I fell to my knees and prayed. For the next ten minutes, I prayed like Billy Graham. Shortly after that, we got word the Mexican authorities were going to release us. That’s when I knew Tim Storey would be my preacher forever.
Whenever an extreme emergency hits, I reach out to Tim for advice and counseling. I know for sure that what God gives him about me is real, and I need to listen to what he has to say. No big decision is made in my life without first consulting my preacher.
When the “N” word debacle broke, I am proud to say Tim firmly stood by me. I told him I was planning to appear with Sean Hannity and Larry King to talk about what had happened. Unsure of what I planned to say, I asked Tim for his opinion of what message he thought I should convey during those interviews.
Tim began speaking like he was reading from the Bible. “I sayeth unto thee, open thy mouth and I shall fill it.”
I spent the next couple of days thinking about that advice, hoping and praying that the Lord knew what He wanted me to say on television, because I didn’t have a clue!
After talking to Tim, I wanted to reach out to my old cellmate from Huntsville, Whitaker. I tried to reach him all day but couldn’t track him down. So I did the next best thing and called his momma.
“Those sons of bitches,” she said. “Don’t they know you can use that word?”
I explained how I tried to tell everyone the same thing, but then she got quiet and said something so insightful. “Well, Dog. You’re out there in television land now, honey.” She wanted to support me as if I was her own son, but she knew I had messed up.
“I’m very sorry, Momma Whitaker.” That’s all I could say before I began to cry so hard that no more words came out of my mouth. I was so ashamed. Calling Momma Whitaker was worse than facing my own mother, because I knew deep down that I’d hurt her with my words.
Now seemed like as good a time as any to reach out and reconnect with Tony Robbins. I had spent years training with him, and I also sometimes spoke at his seminars. He has been one of the truly great teachers of my life. Since both our schedules had become so busy, Tony and I had lost contact over the past few years, though we try to touch base from time to time just to check in and see how the other is doing. Tony has got a lot of kudos coming to him because he helped change my entire way of thinking after I was released from prison.
I first met Tony in 1985 through my friend Keith Paul, an FBI special agent I befriended in Denver several years earlier. I liked Keith from the day we met. Despite his youthful appearance, Keith had a daunting presence. But I was never intimidated by him. We spoke the same language and we both liked to get things done.
One night, after a bust, we went to the White Spot diner, as we often did, to recap the evening’s events. Keith began telling me about a guy who’d come to the Academy to train all the agents in his office. He said this guy was just like me, except he used bigger words. Keith was insistent I meet him. “His name is Tony Robbins,” he gushed.
I had heard of Tony because of my exposure to motivational speakers while selling Kirby vacuums. I knew that guys like Tony changed people’s lives, but I had no idea how meaningful his lessons and insights would become in my own.
A few weeks later I received a call from Tony. I was stunned to hear his deep and very recognizable voice on the phone. He called to ask me if I’d be interested in coming to one of his upcoming seminars in Texas as a guest speaker.
Texas? Did he say Texas? The day I walked out of Huntsville, I swore I’d never step foot in Texas ever again.
“No way, buddy.” That was my firm and definitive answer.
Tony isn’t the type of guy who takes “no” sitting down. He’s a smooth cat, and before I even knew what had happened, I was on my way to the Lone Star State.
At first, I was worried that it might be some type of setup, that someone had made a horrible mistake by paroling me early. I thought the Department of Corrections had tricked me into coming back to Texas under the auspices of speaking for T
ony Robbins. All they had to do was get me over the state line, where I figured they’d be waiting to take me back to prison.
But a few hours after landing in Austin, I found myself on stage speaking to a thousand strangers. I loved every second of it. I was so pumped up from the adrenaline, I felt like I was back in the ring boxing, like when I was in the Disciples. I’ve always loved the sound of a cheering crowd, especially when they’re rooting for me. I walked down the long aisle, giving high fives and shaking hands with everyone within reach. I felt like a rock star and couldn’t get enough of the adulation.
When I had first arrived at the venue, I spotted Tony off in a corner, in the front row just left of the stage. He was enormous in stature and presence. He towered over me like a giant. When we shook hands, his devoured mine. He is an engaging, warm, and powerful guy in every way. He stepped on stage and introduced me.
“This is Dog Chapman. His story is one of the greatest examples I have ever heard of a criminal gone wrong. Please put your hands together and give Dog a great big welcome!” Tony said as I walked onto the stage to speak to the crowd.
I never forgot those words because it was the first time someone identified me as “a criminal gone wrong.” He later explained that I was the antithesis of what most criminals become after serving hard time. I chose to lead by example, by making something of myself. I found my strengths and created a life that took my inner criminal out of the equation, while still choosing to use all of my knowledge and understanding to aid me in my pursuit of justice and upholding the law. If I’d been a criminal gone right, I’d still be on the other side of the law.
That explanation is classic Tony Robbins thinking. He has a way of helping people see things differently. Thankfully and gratefully, Tony and I shared an instant bond that day. Our interaction on stage was compelling and garnered a standing ovation at the end. I had tears of joy being on that stage next to Tony. From that day on, I was filled with the great hope and inspiration that I had the power to help change people’s lives.
I totally believe that it should be mandatory for anyone coming out of the prison system to hook up with Tony Robbins. It ought to be a parole requirement because recidivism for parolees ranges from 50 to 60 percent. Most inmates coming out of the joint have spent their time getting hit with clubs and being mentally browbeaten, while living in a cage they’re let in and out of under someone else’s watchful eye. Then, one day, that same officer comes up to you, opens the door, and says, “Forget about all the crap you just lived through, learned, and suffered. Now, go out there and make something of your life.” Someone like Tony Robbins has the skill set, knowledge, and experience to help these guys and girls not only get on but stay on the right track. Had it not been for my newfound friendship and association with Tony, I’m not sure if I would have made it.
From the day we first met, Tony became one of my most trusted mentors. I began speaking at his seminars on a pretty regular basis. I loved the experience for many reasons. Mostly to hear two little words: “thank you.” I was a bad guy for many years and never heard those words from anyone. I had listened to Tony talk at numerous seminars over the years about the struggles of life, something I often heard my mom talk about too. I spent years with Tony being both speaker and student. He taught me how to navigate any situation and emerge with the result I was seeking. He taught me how to talk to people in a way that makes them feel like they’re the only person in the room. He showed me how to be a good listener, a skill that helped me get whatever I wanted from people without making them feel used or unimportant. He helped me realize and accept that I am the only person who can change my circumstances. Whenever I found myself blaming others for something, I thought back to the choices I had made that led me there, which always made me realize that the problem I faced was one of my own making. Tony showed me how to take responsibility for those decisions, accept them, and move on. And above all, Tony Robbins taught me the importance of living a life of dignity, truth, honesty, clarity, and purpose. His influence has been tremendous. I am forever grateful for all the wisdom he added to my life.
As we spent more time together, our families began to bond too. His stepson, Josh, used to come spend a couple of weeks every summer with my family in Denver. Josh became another sibling to Duane Lee and Leland, and my boys tortured him like the kid brother he had become. They’d spray shaving cream on him late at night after he fell asleep or place a little doll under his arm and take a picture. They teased each other all the time, but it was all in good adolescent fun.
Josh’s background was the complete opposite of my boys’. He grew up in the lap of luxury, surrounded by mansions, maids, and fancy cars. Our home was rather modest, with lots of rules. We also required all of our kids to do their chores. When Josh first came to stay with us he had no idea he’d have responsibilities to attend to, but he didn’t seem to mind pitching in.
Josh would believe any story you’d tell him, so I’d make up these incredible tales about flying and other stuff, fairy tales. He soaked in every word like I was preaching the gospel. There were lots of nights when the boys and I would camp out in the backyard. Sometimes we’d pitch a tent, while other times we’d hang out in an old trailer I got from one of my fugitives. What was considered normal for us was definitely “roughing it” for Josh. It didn’t take long for him to adapt to his new surroundings though. In fact, I think he began to like how different our lifestyle was from his.
As a boy, Josh spent endless days and nights traveling with Tony and his mom. He was constantly on the move. And while I suppose he had opportunities to see places most kids his age can only read about, I got the distinct sense that he liked being stationary when he stayed with us.
He spent a lot of his time working in our office answering phones and filling out bond applications. Josh quickly became completely obsessed with going on an actual bounty hunt with me. He was fascinated by the adventure of tracking down a fugitive. To be honest, what thirteen-year-old boy wouldn’t love the chance to capture a bad guy and play cops and robbers for real?
In order to be on my team, Josh was going to have to learn the basics of the trade. I explained that hunting a fugitive was no different from anything else in life you really want. When a woman hunts for the perfect wedding dress, she knows exactly what she’s looking for. She knows what it looks like, where it is made, what style flatters her, and how it will ultimately come together when she walks down the aisle. I told Josh it’s the exactly the same when you track down a human being. You have to know their weaknesses, who made them the way they are, who they love, who their enemies are, and where they hang out. You want to become their friend as naturally as possible. But you can’t get too close to the fire. That’s why I have no friends who are or were ever fugitives. Convicts? For sure. Fugitives, never.
The big day finally came. When I told Josh he’d be riding with me, he nearly jumped out of his skin with excitement. He was with me every step of the way while we chased a fugitive named Merrill. When I finally captured the guy, I cuffed him and put him in the backseat of my car.
“Slide in next to him, Josh,” I said. I could see he was a little confused about the direction I was giving him. That’s when I turned to Merrill and said, “I know you can see this kid sitting next you. Don’t be fooled by his appearance. He ain’t no baby. He’s got a first-degree black belt in karate and he’s studying the ancient martial art of Dim Mak, also known as the touch of death. Make one suspicious move and I’m going to have my partner here take you out once and for all, got it?”
Josh was shaking in his shoes. He didn’t know karate or any other kung fu stuff and he definitely didn’t know how to put a death touch on someone. Even so, I looked back at Josh in my rearview mirror so he would catch a glimpse of my eyes. He knew I wanted him to get it together and not make a liar out of me, so he did the only thing he could do; he sat straight up in his seat, leaned forward, turned toward the fugitive, and let out a little growl. At that move, Merr
ill was more scared than Josh. I looked back in the mirror one last time before we got to the county jail. I gave Josh a wink to let him know I was proud of him, real proud.
CHAPTER 9
(credit: Chaz)
My life has been filled with trying moments when my faith has been tested over and over again. Tony Robbins used to say that there was great power in positive thinking and positive confession. The words you speak are crucial to how you live. Your mind believes whatever you tell it. If you constantly tell yourself, “I’m so fat,” or “I’m lazy,” eventually that is how everyone will see you because that’s how you’ll act. If I move through the world like a leader, people will see me as one.
All those years studying with Tony Robbins helped me realize that every challenge is an opportunity to strengthen my faith, to make it stronger and to use that situation to learn and grow. Even knowing this, calling Tony after the National Enquirer broke the story was a lot harder than I’d expected it to be. I was certain he’d heard the news by the time I phoned. What I wasn’t sure of was how he would react. Back in the days when I first started working with Tony, his wife Becky used to tell me that I needed to improve the language I used. She said I didn’t speak with enough sophistication. She even gave me a dictionary to study so I could find ways of saying things that weren’t so blunt or abrupt. I thought about that as I listened to the phone ring, waiting for Tony to answer on the other end. If I had taken Becky’s advice back then, perhaps I wouldn’t have found myself in the jam I was in. I guess it didn’t matter much now.
Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given (2010) Page 10