At the end of the interview, a young woman appeared via video clip urging me to never give up. She said, “Sometimes heroes make mistakes.” And she was right. We are all just human beings who will, from time to time, stumble along the path of life. It is up to the hero that lives inside each and every one of us to turn our tests into testimony and our mess into messages. The message I was receiving was loud and clear: Don’t give up.
After I taped Larry King, I bumped into Patti LaBelle in the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel. We said hello and talked for a few minutes. She wrapped her arm around my elbow and said, “Let’s walk into the bar together, Dog! I’d be proud to have people see you on my arm.” Beth and I also ran into LL Cool J a couple of nights later and he was equally kind.
I’ve always been a controversial figure. The things that would destroy a weaker man make me stronger. Through years of challenges, I’ve learned to successfully turn my adversity into opportunity.
My barber’s husband gave me some memorable advice a day or two after the story broke. He said, “Duane, the higher you go up the ladder in life, the more of your ass that shows. One mistake can ruin a thousand attaboys.” This guy is a retired military man and married to a beautiful black woman. Throughout his military career, he was beaten down a thousand times only to be built back up stronger, smarter, and better than he was before. His brain was trained to get out there and throw his best at whatever life brought his way. I asked him for his advice on how to make things right. His answer was simple yet powerful.
“Get out there and get me another thousand attaboys.” So far I’m at 398, but counting every single day.
When I was a young boy, I heard a quote by Jack Dempsey that I never forgot. I’ve since put my own twist on it and turned it into one of my new favorite Dogisms:
“Champions get knocked down, but they always get back up!”
Whenever I’ve asked God why something is happening in my life, His answer has always been the same: “I know you can do this, Dog.” It is with that knowledge that I am able to take an absolute leap of faith, even if I don’t know what lies ahead for me. I have the strength to move ahead and the belief that I can conquer anything, and that I always land on my feet.
So much of my training with Tony Robbins focused on how the mind perceives things. We only know life’s ups and downs by how we represent them to ourselves. If we have a negative image of something, it can become larger than life and seem impossible to overcome. That negative thought can virtually paralyze us from moving past it.
On the other hand, if we take that same negative image and minimize it, then we are able to put everything in perspective as what it is and reveal what it is not. Doing this takes away its power and returns that power to you. Diminishing the impact of a setback, asking myself what the worst-case scenario is, and then realizing I can not only live through, but thrive from, those possibilities is my secret for turning adversity into opportunity.
Calvin Coolidge once said, “The slogan ‘press on’ has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.” When I’m on a bounty hunt, giving up and throwing in the towel are never options for me. My livelihood depends on a successful outcome. I took whatever fallout came my way when the “N” word story came out, because I realized that the Lord had a larger plan for me. He knew I could weather the storm, which in turn gave me the faith to endure through the months I spent making amends.
Instead of dwelling on my fears of losing everything, I chose to focus on moving forward. Tony Robbins taught me that wherever you place your focus becomes your reality. I was determined to place my focus on seeing the good that could come from this experience. I put myself in a positive state of mind and began acting on every opportunity that came my way to give back, until I no longer felt it was an obligation but rather a privilege.
We’ve all made mistakes and I owned up to mine like a man. I wish this event had never happened, but it did. I thought I had quit making bad mistakes, but I suppose as long as you’re alive, blunders will happen. The only thing I could do from this point on was to forgive myself so others would do the same. To do that, I needed to make some very big changes in my life. I wasn’t going to hide away or wish for some type of time machine to turn back the clock. I had to saddle up and ride the horse like I always did and face whatever lay ahead. I spent the next ten days or so reminding myself that I was an all-around good guy and a slayer of dragons. It was time to get out there and make that happen.
After taping the interviews with Sean Hannity and Larry King, Beth and I stayed in Los Angeles for a few days of rest and relaxation. We did a little shopping and then headed to Las Vegas to meet some friends for dinner. I was really looking forward to a fun night out. I handed my credit card to our server to pay for the bill. She came back to the table and politely asked if I had another form of payment since the card I gave her was coming up with a negative response.
I wanted to die on the spot from embarrassment. My card was declined…in front of several celebrity friends. I handed over another card, hoping that one would be approved. Thank God, it was.
When I left the restaurant, I called the bank that had issued the declined card to see what was wrong. It was our local bank in Hawaii, which we had done a lot of business with over the years. We had at least thirteen separate accounts with this bank, including our business, personal, and merchant accounts, which meant we put all of our eggs in that one financial basket.
There was a lot of street noise as I stood outside the restaurant making my call. The bank manager was having a hard time hearing me. On my third attempt to ask him what the problem was, I had to raise my voice so he could hear me.
“I’ve got a lot of money in your bank and I will take my business elsewhere if you don’t fix this problem right now!”
“Mr. Chapman,” he said. “Please quit yelling at me.” I wasn’t yelling out of anger so much as pure frustration.
Unbeknownst to me, days before the “N” word story hit, the same bank had given Tucker a loan to buy a brand-new truck. At the time, he had no credit and no job. Tucker used my name, relationship, and the few thousand dollars he’d been paid for selling the tape to finagle the loan. Unaware of the storm that was brewing, Tucker talked them into extending him the credit he needed to buy his truck because we had such a strong and long-term financial relationship with the bank. When Beth and I got wind of this shortly after the story broke, we called the bank to let them know we weren’t going to take any responsibility for the loan. Our relationship with the bank became strained after that conversation because they had been put in a bad situation by approving Tucker’s loan. Apparently, after the credit manager saw the news story about the “N” word, the bank cut off all of our credit. I was confused by their decision because I’d never had any problems with them in the past. I didn’t bounce checks, I was never overdrawn, I made all of my payments on time, and I kept a significant amount of money on deposit. When I asked why they cut my credit, their response was that since my show had been “canceled,” I was obviously no longer employed and therefore I had become a bad credit risk. “Sorry.” That’s all they could say.
Beth wasn’t about to take their decision sitting down. Our show hadn’t been canceled. She wanted to make sure the bank understood what was really going on. She called the branch manager and said, “People lose their jobs every day, but we’re still employed. Just because our show has been taken off the schedule, it doesn’t mean we’ve been fired.”
And, you know what? They reactivated the accounts. But a few days later they called and asked if we would kindly close out our accounts anyway. Instead of fighting over their decision, I kept my response simple and to the point.
“Sure. I’ll change banks. No problem.”
INTERMISSION ONE
PEOPLE OFTEN ASK ME ABOUT SOME OF MY MOST EXCITING BOUNTY HUNTING STORIES, ESPECIALLY ONES FROM MY EARLY DAYS. I COULD FILL SEVERAL VOLUMES OF BOOKS SHARING THEM ALL WITH YOU, AND MAYBE I’LL DO THAT S
OMEDAY. IN THE MEANTIME, I’VE CHOSEN A COUPLE OF MY FAVORITES THAT I THINK YOU’LL REALLY ENJOY. SO, SIT BACK, BUCKLE UP, AND COME ALONG ON THE HUNT!
CHAPTER 10
Roy Marasigan
When I started out as a bounty hunter in Denver I worked with every bondsman in the city. One day on my way back from court, I stopped into a bail office that had just been taken over by a new bondsman in town. I was taken by surprise when I met the new owner, a woman named Mary Ellen. I had never worked with a female bondsman, but I sure knew what the tattooed cross on the top of her hand meant.
“You used to be a black widow, huh?”
She never confirmed or denied that she was in the girl gang, so I automatically assumed she was once a member. I used to date a few girls from that gang, so I knew the symbol. I also knew these girls were tough. They’re not the type of women you want to double cross. Later, she would confess she was never in the gang but she wanted me to think she was one tough cookie. She never let on to the truth when we first met.
“Are you Mexican?” I asked.
“Born and bred and proud of it,” she said.
Mary Ellen was the only Mexican working bail in Denver, which made her a double minority—a Mexican woman in a white man’s world. I knew right away she had the grit and moxie to make it big in the business. I was certain I’d be proud to work with her.
I was never averse to drumming up new business, and by the time I met Mary Ellen, I had already established a name for myself as the best bounty hunter in Denver. Even though I was usually busy, I was always happy for new leads.
“If you ever have a client who runs, let me know,” I told her. There was something special about Mary Ellen. I liked her from the start. I walked her out to her car the day we met and noticed the rim around her back license plate that read, “We’ll put your feet on the street.” I thought that was a great slogan for a bondsman.
I began to spend lots of time with Mary Ellen and her husband, Fred. Whenever we walked into a bar or diner, everyone seemed to know her. The attention she got intrigued me. There was something else that made me stand up and take notice of Mary Ellen too: her kindness and compassion toward her clients combined with her wicked determination to make sure she didn’t get ripped off.
Mary Ellen wasn’t the type of woman who would just hand me her jumps. If I wanted her bounties, I had to be in her office first thing every morning to make sure I was there when the mail came. Mary Ellen never liked to open her mail. She’d tell the mailman to give it to me. He’d hand over all of her certified letters from the courts without ever looking up. I’d open each one and pull the coordinating file.
Mary Ellen had a work ethic that was the closest I’ve ever seen to my own. She is relentless, especially when her money is at risk. We could be out on a hunt all day, sometimes working until 11:30 P.M. If I told Mary Ellen I needed to call it a night because I had to get up and drive my kids to school the next morning, she’d say, “Well then, we’ve got seven more hours to find him, don’t we! When we catch this SOB, we’ll all go home together and happy. You’ll be richer and I won’t be out my money.” Mary Ellen refused to quit until we got her man.
You have to have a mean streak to make it as a bail bondsman. We’re not teaching Sunday school, we’re dealing with criminals all day long. Mary Ellen’s heart was bigger than mine, but it was also meaner. I’d often hear about people she wrote bonds for that didn’t quite have all the money they needed to pay up front. She’d spot them the cash, but made it very, very clear she wasn’t going to be so understanding if they ran. She wasn’t going to let some thug lose his momma’s house she’d used as collateral to save her son. As a precaution, she made sure her clients checked in with her on a weekly basis. If she didn’t hear from them, there would be hell to pay.
Sometimes, when we brought a fugitive in to jail, I’d slip him a few bucks, only to have Mary Ellen yell at me for doing that.
“You didn’t give that jerk any money, did you?” she’d ask, knowing full well I had.
“Of course not,” I’d always say, only to find out the next day that she’d given him money too. Naturally, she usually denied it because she didn’t want me to think she was soft, even though I already knew she had a gentle heart. She might have fooled most of the other bondsmen, but I could see the real Mary Ellen through that rough-and-tumble exterior.
Mary Ellen taught me to treat all of the jumps with respect. She reminded me over and over that they weren’t running from us, they were running from the consequences of the decisions that got them to us in the first place. We had an obligation to the court to make sure they were brought to justice. We aren’t the judge or jury. I have always respected that advice and have never forgotten those words.
I wanted to help Mary Ellen succeed, especially because so many of the Denver bondsman were determined to watch her fail. Whenever I’d tell her I’d heard someone say it was only a matter of time before she was out of the business, Mary Ellen would respond with something like “Those sons of bitches are going to be waiting until hell freezes over before I give up!” I loved her determination, and I still admire it today.
It wasn’t long before we began doing a lot of work together. Over the years she used me on hundreds of bail jumps and almost exclusively for her most dangerous criminals. She wrote every bond that rang in on the phone because she had me in her pocket. She’d write the bond and tell me, “This guy will jump so be ready to get him, Dog.”
She warned her clients she’d send the Dog after them if they ran. “He’ll beat you. You don’t think he does whatever I say? You don’t think Dog will kick your ass if I tell him to? If I send my Dog after you, he’s going to rip your head off, I promise. I’m coming to your house and there won’t be any white flag, pal, got it?” She loved using me as a threat so her clients wouldn’t jump. I loved how cold-blooded Mary Ellen could be. Her cutthroat attitude helped build her business into one of the biggest and most profitable, eventually making her the Queen of Bail in Denver.
There aren’t a lot of women who can push my Beth around and live to tell their tale. Mary Ellen once shoved Beth, and I thought Beth was going to kill her. Beth turned around to respond, but Mary Ellen was already in her face screaming, “You want a piece of me, little girl? Little bitch!” Beth backed down and did nothing. Oh, she and Mary Ellen still argue plenty, but there’s a line that never gets crossed. There’s a lot of love and respect between the two of them. In fact, a few years later, Beth worked with Mary Ellen, but that was after I’d left Denver for Hawaii. Good thing too, because I’m not sure I would have survived those two at each other’s throats.
The more business we did together, the more money we made. I often teased Mary Ellen about her older model Toyota, until one day I told her it was time to get a new car. Bondsmen and bounty hunters drive their cars into the ground faster than most people because we put so many miles on the vehicle so quickly. I kept pushing Mary Ellen to come down to the dealership with me to check out a car, but she wasn’t all that interested. About a week or two after I suggested she get a new car, she finally agreed to see what I was making all the fuss over. I had picked out a real beauty for her. It was a particularly slow day at her office, so we headed down to the dealership for a test drive. The manager and his salesman met us at the door.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Dog the Bounty Hunter. I’m the guy you saw in the newspaper last week.” The owner recognized me right away. He rolled out the red carpet for us. He told Mary Ellen to figure out what she liked and he’d make it happen. Mary Ellen looked at every car in the showroom like she was inspecting racehorses before the Kentucky Derby. She kicked the tires, sat in the driver’s seat, opened the trunk, and looked under the hood of every single car. She finally settled on the car I’d originally picked out for her, a maroon Coupe de Ville. She handed over cash for her down payment and drove off the lot in her brand-new car with a smile as big as the Colorado River across her face.
I called her the
next day to see how she was enjoying her new ride. I was so excited for her, you would have thought I was the one with the new car.
“It’s great! It’s the nicest car I’ve ever owned. I got up and wrote six bonds this morning.” I could tell she was ecstatic and that made me feel pretty good too. A couple of days later, Mary Ellen called to tell me the dealership was taking the car back, saying it had something to do with her financing. She told them to get screwed, pointing out she’d already signed the contract and the first payment had been paid. The financing was now their problem and not hers. I felt so bad thinking she was about to lose her car, I started giving her discounts on my fees so she would be able to make her car payments. When I reminded her of this story recently, she burst out into uncontrollable laughter.
“Dog honey, that never happened. I was joking with you. For Christ’s sake, what dealership would have let me keep the car if that were true? They call that grand theft auto, honey!” I had to laugh because I always thought that she’d held onto the car in spite of them wanting it back. Yes, Mary Ellen…you got me!
I was truly grateful for the work Mary Ellen threw my way. I paid her back by returning every single one of her fugitives. Well, almost.
Back in 1986, a guy named Michael Volosin and his wife got into an argument with their neighbor David Guenther on the doorstep of the Guenther home, about a party at Volosin’s earlier that night that had gotten loud and out of control. The conversation escalated and began to get very heated. Guenther pulled out a gun and shot the Volosins, killing the wife with a bullet to the heart, wounding Michael in the thigh and wrist, and accidentally shooting a neighbor, who was injured from catching a round in the abdomen during the shooting.
Although Guenther claimed self-defense, saying he feared for his and his family’s life, the cops arrested him. Mary Ellen posted the ten-thousand-dollar bond for Guenther. She had a bad feeling about him from the start, but she wrote the bond anyway.
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