by Jason Ryan
Wally Butler served less than three years in prison and passed away on November 3, 2006, at the age of seventy-four. Lee Harvey died at the Mayo Clinic on April 7, 2001, from liver failure. At age fifty-two, Harvey was still a federal inmate. The Virginia prosecutor who put him behind bars, Karen Tandy, served as administrator of the DEA from July 2003 to November 2007.
Among the living is Skip Sanders, who followed his term in federal prison with a twelve-year stint in South Carolina prison for marijuana trafficking. He was released in 2009. Barry Toombs is a free man after three stints in prison. He still collects and deals antique lamps.
Alive, too, are Barry Foy and Les Riley. Foy served more than ten years in prison before his release in 1995. Riley was released in 1999 after nearly seventeen years in Australian and American prisons. He might have been released a bit earlier if not for a brief escape. In February 1992 Riley walked away from Federal Correctional Institution Tallahassee and went on the lam. He was arrested four months later in Sarasota, Florida, after attempting to obtain a passport in the name of Edwin Rogers Schooley, a five-year-old boy who had been squished to death by a circus elephant in Sarasota in 1950.
Without a doubt prison was difficult to endure for the marijuana kingpins. Foy describes going to prison as his life slowing down from one hundred miles per hour to five miles per hour. Bob Byers did just about as much time as Riley—nearly eighteen years—and emerged from prison a much different man, say friends, withdrawn and partial to yoga. It was Byers who wrote to Hawkins in November 1985, thanking him for his first contact visit with his wife and newborn child and asking for a reduction in his sentence. In this same letter, he expressed despair, ending the missive with a plea: “I am not the same man who stood before you on those other occasions. Time is the random wind that blows down the long corridor, slamming all the doors. Please help me!”
Foy’s and Riley’s lives since prison have lacked the glamour, riches, and excitement of their youth. They do not regret their careers as marijuana smugglers, save for getting caught and for spending so much time in prison, apart from their families and children. Many other smugglers feel the same way. Few are ashamed of their crimes, though some are reluctant to publicize their pasts today for fear of negative consequences from peers and professional colleagues.
If one thing has not dulled in the more than twenty-five years since Operation Jackpot, it is the smugglers’ scorn for those they consider rats. When smuggler Tommy Liles mentioned Steele’s fatal motorcycle accident to Riley, Riley asked if Steele’s tire slipped on a piece of cheese. No, Liles replied, “His tail got caught in the spokes.”
In a display of similar contempt, smuggler Ben Graham is fond of recounting “The Great Cheeze Incident.” Once, says Graham, he and his brother Billy were dining at a McClellanville, South Carolina, restaurant after they had been paroled from federal prison. As they finished their meal, another former smuggler walked in—a man despised by the Grahams ever since he had cooperated with the government and testified against his friends. Before the brothers left, Ben poked his head into the kitchen and asked the cook to deliver a slice of cheese to the smuggler, compliments of the Grahams. When the suggestive side order was delivered, it infuriated the cooperating witness.
“That asshole called my parole officer and said I’d threatened him. The parole people called me in and said it had gone all the way to the Vice Presidential Task Force on Drugs in Washington and that I was up Shit Creek,” says Graham, who worried for weeks that his parole might be revoked. “Much later, long after I was off parole, I found out that the people in the parole office thought it was as funny as I did, but they had to fuck with me.”
Graham’s story illustrates another truth, that the police who investigated the gentlemen smugglers look back fondly on that time of their careers, when they didn’t have to fear catching a bullet during an investigation. Nowadays, they note, things are much different. Smuggling is less romantic and much more deadly. Trafficking by sailboat is a rarity, and the DEA estimates 80 percent of pot in the country is trucked across the border from Mexico. Because of fighting between Mexican drug gangs, there are shocking casualty counts south of the border, with many civilians, politicians, and police among the dead. In fact, more than twenty-five thousand Mexicans have died from drug violence since Mexico’s President Felipe Calderon launched an offensive against drug gangs in December 2006.
That’s not to say that there is a lack of ingenuity among today’s smugglers. Illegal drugs are brought into this country through underground tunnels, by human mules that hide drug-filled condoms in their bodies, and by submarines made in South American jungles. Mexican gangs grow marijuana on public land in the United States, raising crops within national parks and forests. Americans also grow plenty of marijuana in the United States, whether indoors or outside, and some do so without risk of incarceration. Fifteen states have passed medical marijuana laws, decriminalizing patients’ possession of small amounts of marijuana, and some of these states do not have criminal penalties for cultivation of small amounts of pot. Despite the loosening of marijuana laws for medical reasons, recreational pot use remains controversial from one coast to the other. In November 2010, Californians rejected a proposition to allow adults to legally possess up to an ounce of marijuana and grow pot for personal, non-medical use. In the gentlemen smugglers’ home state of South Carolina, possession of up to an ounce of pot remains a misdemeanor, and cultivation of one hundred plants or less is a felony.
In August 2008 Ashley Brunson was sentenced in Charleston to thirty months in federal prison for his role in the smuggling rings targeted by Operation Jackpot. Because Judge David Norton credited him the fourteen months he had spent in jail while he awaited trial and sentencing, Brunson was instantly eligible for parole under old sentencing guidelines. He was released from custody in June 2009 and has returned to his home in coastal Mexico.
Brunson might not be the only one living abroad in paradise. Although Byers was said to have died in October 2004 in Punta Gorda, Florida, a day before his sixtieth birthday, his childhood friend and adult smuggling buddy Bob Roche isn’t so quick to believe in his demise. Among those familiar with Operation Jackpot, it’s a frequent source of speculation as to which kingpin might have buried some cash before their incarceration, or hid a sailboat, or maintained a Bahamian bank account that Uncle Sam never discovered. The smugglers made so much money, and kept it in so many places, it’s hard to believe the government found it all.
Before Byers was imprisoned, says Roche, the kingpin kept money in the Cayman Islands and Minnesota, owned sailboats around the world, and had an attorney drive an RV packed with a million dollars into Canada, the cash destined for deposit into Canadian banks. Surely, Roche says, some of that money and a few of those sailboats could have escaped notice. After prison, Byers might easily have slipped off into the sunset, bound for the South Pacific to dust off his assets.
It’s a nice thought, except for the fact that the state of Florida issued a death certificate in Byers’s name.
Never mind that, says Roche.
“Has anyone seen his body?” he asks. “Check.”
“If they haven’t, go to Fiji.”
Acknowledgments
This book started simply enough, a reporter digging through newspaper archives during his lunch hour, spurred on by his memory of a conversation eighteen months earlier in which he first learned of South Carolina’s gentlemen smugglers. With each binder of news clippings I read, the story sprawled further and further, spanning decades, crossing oceans and continents, and involving an overwhelming array of daredevils, scofflaws, investigators, lawyers, and kingpins. It would not have been possible to tell this story without the cooperation of many of the men and women involved in Operation Jackpot, and I am grateful for them sharing very personal and sensitive information with me. I would like to thank all the people who granted me permission to quote them in this book, and consider it my good fortune to have made their acquain
tance. Their amusing memories and varied perspectives made the book a pleasure to research, and I’d be remiss if I did not mention a few people who were especially helpful in my endeavor to tell the tale of South Carolina’s gentlemen smugglers and Operation Jackpot.
Before researching this book, I never thought that I’d become familiar with some of the world’s greatest marijuana kingpins, and my awareness of them came courtesy of Brooke Brunson, who shared a bit of her family history with me over lunch back in February 2005. I learned more about these men during an interview with former U.S. Attorney Henry McMaster and former Assistant U.S. Attorney John McIntosh in August 2006. McMaster and his staff in the South Carolina attorney general’s office allowed me access to news clippings about Operation Jackpot and shared a number of photographs with me that appear in this book.
On the smuggling side, I enjoyed many memorable interviews. It’s worth noting that boat captain Christy Campbell was the first smuggler to speak with me. Another native of Beaufort, South Carolina, Skip Sanders, proved an excellent pen pal and talented storyteller. It was always a good day when one of Sanders’s letters appeared in my mailbox. John Jamison shared his stories and allowed me to reprint a portion of his poem “All Honey Isn’t Sweet.” The two South Carolina kingpins in the book who remain alive, Barry Foy and Les Riley, both made themselves available for many phone calls and visits. I am appreciative of their time and good-natured cooperation, and for allowing me to tell the story of their lives.
On the law enforcement side, retired federal agents David Forbes and Claude McDonald also received many of my phone calls and visits and provided me critical insights into their investigation and the evolution of Operation Jackpot. Former federal investigators Jim Mittica and Lance Lydon were equally as helpful about aspects of their drug investigation in Virginia, and retired DEA agent Frank Hildebrandt provided critical memories of the September 1985 arrest of Lee Harvey. Former Assistant U.S. Attorney Cameron Currie was helpful in arranging for the retrieval of court records related to Operation Jackpot. I would also like to thank Terry Sheahan and the U.S. marshals at the Charleston Federal Courthouse for their patience during my repeated visits.
Charleston’s Post and Courier and Columbia’s the State newspaper both allowed me to make copies of their large collections of news clippings about Operation Jackpot. In Charleston, Mark Berry was generous to me, as was author James Scott, who provided much counsel and encouragement about the publishing process. My friend Eric Hilmo answered every unusual military question I threw his way.
I owe many thanks to agent Jessica Papin at Dystel & Goderich Literary Management, who provided crucial enthusiasm for this story and thoughtful suggestions for its telling. She found a home for Jackpot at Lyons Press, where Keith Wallman provided even more energy and smart edits. I am indebted to both of them for helping me become an author.
My friends and family were reliable sources of love and support. They provided invaluable help during the writing of this book, particularly when my wife and I began a concurrent project of restoring a house. I am thankful for all the ways the Ryans and Garretts lessened our burdens. In particular, I’d like to recognize my brothers for being such marvelous companions through the years, as well as my parents, who have afforded me so many wonderful opportunities in life. They are exceptional, positive people who have always told me the sky is the limit. My grandparents, too, have always taken a keen interest in my pursuits and have been extremely supportive.
Lastly, I would like to thank the two Es in my life. My wife, Elizabeth, made many sacrifices during the three years I worked on this book, always keeping patience and encouragement in good supply. Eliot, our cat and my constant writing partner, offered his own, unique contributions to the manuscript each time he stepped across the keyboard.
Sources
In researching this story, speaking with dozens of devious men, and a handful of just as cunning women, one man warned me that I have been subjected to the biggest group of liars on this earth. A moment later, he passionately denied something that countless others told me was true. Was this man misinformed? Was he lying to protect someone? Were the others wrong? Who should I trust?
Because of lies, because of exaggerations, because of faulty and selective memories, because of ignorance, because rumors have been routinely passed on as fact, and because people on both sides of the law have agendas and grudges, a true account of Operation Jackpot and the marijuana and hashish smuggling that preceded it might seem impossible to obtain. After all, the federal task force in South Carolina, along with related drug investigations in other states, charged more than a hundred men with crimes defined by dishonesty, concealment, and underhandedness—including smuggling, money laundering, tax evasion, racketeering, and conspiracy.
Yet by conducting extensive interviews with the men and women involved in specific marijuana smuggling rings and Operation Jackpot, I believe all but the most insignificant distortions and discrepancies have been weeded out and any competing agendas offset. I have strived to make this book as true and accurate an account as possible, with great effort taken to print only what could be confirmed, unless otherwise noted.
No dialogue has been created. All conversations in the book are exactly as people recall them, or have been taken directly from trial and grand jury transcripts, news articles, police reports, letters, and other documents. Some people’s comments have been printed without attribution, a condition they demanded in order to speak with me freely. It was a compromise I made as infrequently as possible. No names have been changed.
This book is not a comprehensive history of marijuana and hashish smuggling in the 1970s and 1980s. Indeed, it is not even a comprehensive history of all the loose smuggling networks targeted by Operation Jackpot. It is instead the story of a few talented smugglers and the law enforcement investigation that rounded them up. I regret that in the interest of telling a concise story, some fascinating people are only mentioned briefly, their adventures given short shrift. Surely these people’s lives and illicit careers deserve their own books, too.
Formal Sources
Books and Articles
Bertram, Eva, et. al. Drug War Politics: The Price of Denial. Berkeley: University of California Press, Spring 1996.
Bottom, Bob. Connections II: Crime rackets and networks of influence in Australia. South Melbourne: The MacMillan Company of Australia, 1987.
Butler, Lindley S. Pirates, Privateers, and Rebel Raiders of the Carolina Coast. Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 2000.
Cochran, Hamilton. Blockade Runners of the Confederacy. Indianapolis and New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1958.
Daniel, E. Bart. “Operation Jackpot: The Investigation of Drug Assets.” Inside Drug Law, December 1984, pp.1-3.
Flippo, Chet. “Misadventures in Paradise.” Rolling Stone, October 4, 1979, pp. 36-40.
Gasque, Candace. “Interview with U.S. Attorney Henry Dargan McMaster.” The Carolana Magazine, July 1985, pp.18-20, 32, 34-35, 39.
Gasque, Candace. “Part Two: Interview with Henry Dargan McMaster.” The Carolana Magazine, August 1985, pp. 18-19, 27, 32-33.
Hobart-Hampden, C. Augustus. Never Caught: Personal Adventures Connected with Twelve Successful in Blockade-Running During the American Civil War, 1863-1864. London: Levey and Co., 1867.
Horner, Dave. The Blockade-Runners: True Tales of Running the Yankee Blockade of the Confederate Coast. New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1968.
Hughson, Shirley Carter. The Carolina Pirates and Colonial Commerce, 1670-1740. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1894.
Lamb, Chris. I’ll Be Sober in the Morning: Great Political Comebacks, Putdowns & Ripostes. Charleston, SC: Frontline Press Ltd., 2007.
Mackey, Sandra. Lebanon: Death of a Nation. New York: Congdon & Weed, Inc., 1989.
McTeer, J.E. High Sheriff of the Low Country. Beaufort, SC: Beaufort Book Co., 1970.
“Operation Jackpot.” Alumni News (The Citadel), Fall
1985, pp. 9-10.
Payne, Anthony, Paul Sutton, and Tony Thorndike. Grenada: Revolution and Invasion. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1984.
Perry, Robert J. Dirty Money. Lincoln, NE: iUniverse, Ins., 2006.
Taylor, Thomas E. Running the Blockade: A Personal Narrative of Adventure, Risks, and Escapes During the American Civil War. London: John Murray, Albemarle St., 1896.
Traboulsi, Fawwaz. A History of Modern Lebanon. London: Pluto Press, 2007.
Willoughby, Malcolm F. Rum War at Sea. Washington, D.C.: United States Government Printing Office, 1964.
Woodward, Bob. Wired: The Short Life and Fast Times of John Belushi. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1984.
Newspapers
Beaufort Gazette, Beaufort, South Carolina
Columbia Record, Columbia, South Carolina
Daily Sun, Lewiston, Maine
Evening Post, Charleston, South Carolina
Herald, Rock Hill, South Carolina
Herald-Journal, Spartanburg, South Carolina
Island Packet, Hilton Head Island, South Carolina
Miami Herald
New York Times
News and Courier, Charleston, South Carolina
Providence Sunday Journal
Southeastern Missourian, Cape Girardeau, Missouri
State, Columbia, South Carolina
Sun, Australia
Tallahassee Democrat, Tallahassee, Florida
Tico Times, San José, Costa Rica
Wall Street Journal
Washington Post
Notes
Prologue