You Can Run but You Can't Hide (22 page)

Arapahoe County Sheriff’s office.”

A female bounty hunter. Well, why the hell not? I’d never

thought of it before, but looking at Cathy, it made perfect sense.

I’ve always had a thing for tough chicks. I liked Cathy from the

moment we met.

I began spending time with Cathy to learn more about how she

worked at the county level versus how I made my living on a per-

capture basis. Cathy’s job was similar to how the U.S. Marshals

work when they hunt for fugitives. Both are salaried positions, so it

doesn’t really matter if she catches her guy or not. Either way, she

still gets paid. My income was strictly dependent on bringing in my

man. As we began to swap information, we realized that both of us

were often looking for the same guys. It made a hell of a lot of sense

to work as a team. No sense in both of us going after the same catch,

because I was always going to get there first! At least, that’s what

I told her.

We worked well together, because there weren’t two competing

male egos involved. Even so, bounty hunting is still a numbers game.

If numbers count, then Cathy was the champ. We tipped each other

off all the time. It was a win-win for both of us. I have to give credit

where credit is due. In the first twelve months after we met, Cathy

bagged 639 captures to my 635. It was a close race, practically a

photo finish. But a win is a win, and she won by a nose.

Cathy and I worked together for several years, but by the end of

1985, I had lost touch with both Keith and Cathy. Cathy got out of

the business altogether to spend more time at home. The last time I

heard from Keith, he was working as an FBI supervisor down in

Florida. I owe much of my success to Keith and Cathy. It was their

professionalism, integrity, and love of what they do that inspired

me to continue to strive to be my best.

C h a p t e r Tw e n t y - f o u r

MEETING TONY

ROBBINS

Aside from all
that Keith Paul taught me about law enforce-

ment, one of the greatest gifts he gave me was his suggestion that I

meet his friend, Anthony “Tony” Robbins. It was after a long night

chasing a fugitive with Keith and some other G-men.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Five shots rang out. After

the fifth, I stood up and told the guy to come out with his hands up.

“Get down, Dog. The guy’s armed.” I wasn’t sure which FBI

agent said that to me. I didn’t care. The punk just capped five shells

from a six-barrel shotgun. I knew he didn’t have any left or else he’d

keep shooting.

“Slide the gun across the floor, put your hands on your head,

and get out here, NOW!” I yelled.

Sure enough, the gun came flying out, spinning and sliding,

practically landing at my feet. I had just seen a movie where Gen-

eral Patton was in the field leading his troops while bullets went

whizzing past his head. Old Indian women have often told me I’m

Cochise or Geronimo reincarnated, so a white man’s bullet is never

going to touch me. I’ve been told I would never die a violent death,

because I have the spirit and blessings of the great Indian chiefs. So

I stood right up, grabbed the guy, and handed him over to the feds

in cuffs.

Later that night, Keith Paul and I went to the White Spot diner,

as we often did, and talked about the capture.

M e e t i n g To n y Ro b b i n s

133

Keith was curious. “How’d you know he didn’t have any more

bullets?”

“I didn’t know. I just had a feeling.” I get feelings about things a

lot. Most of us do, but we don’t know how to tune in and let those

gut feelings guide us in everyday life.

“You know, I just met a guy who came to the Academy to train

us. He talks like you, only he uses bigger words. I think you should

meet him. His name is Tony Robbins.”

I had never seen Keith so worked up about a guy. Keith isn’t an

easy man to impress, but he genuinely seemed awed by the experi-

ence. If this Tony Robbins guy got the attention of Keith Paul, I was

definitely interested in meeting him.

This was back in 1985, when Tony was enjoying tremendous

success with his first book,
Unlimited Power
. He was a private con-

sultant to movie stars, politicians, athletes, and business leaders

around the world. Companies like IBM, AT&T, and American Ex-

press paid Tony to teach their executives to be the best. Sports

teams, including the Los Angeles Dodgers and Los Angeles Kings,

hired him to help athletes achieve peak performance. His aim was

to help people find their strengths and conquer their weaknesses, to

help them discover and develop their own unique qualities of great-

ness. He sounded like the perfect guy for me to meet.

I had previously heard of Tony in my Kirby sales days. Guys like

Zig Ziglar and Norman Vincent Peale were big motivational speak-

ers back then. They changed people’s lives with their lessons and

insights. People were saying that Tony Robbins was the next great

leader in helping people captain their destiny.

I told Keith I was very interested in meeting Tony. I didn’t hear

another word about it until one day a few weeks later when I re-

ceived a call from the Tony Robbins organization.

“Mr. Chapman, please hold for Mr. Robbins.” I was stunned.

“Hello?” It was him. I could tell by his very deep voice.

We spoke for a while. He asked about my murder-one convic-

tion, except he had been told it was manslaughter.

“It says here in my notes you were convicted of manslaughter, is

that correct?”

I felt compelled to be honest with the guy so I said, “Uh . . . no.

It was murder-one.”

“I see. Well, tell me something. How would you feel if I asked

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you to come to Texas and speak at our next seminar about your life

and overcoming your adverse experiences?”

I had to laugh. There was no way I was ever going back to Texas.

“Not on your life, buddy.”

But, Tony being Tony, he smoothly, gently, and easily persuaded

me into going without my ever knowing I had just been flipped. He

said they’d fly me down to Austin and promised me five grand just

to tell my story. It seemed too good to be true. I thought it was a

setup—that somehow, someone in the Texas Department of Cor-

rections realized there was an error in my parole and wanted me

back in Huntsville. All they had to do was get me over the state line

and I’d be back in jail.

I spoke to Cathy Carson. I knew Keith Paul wouldn’t intention-

ally set me up, but my gut was saying something wasn’t right. Cathy

was a good, solid, clear thinker. She’d know what to do. She said

she had never heard of Tony Robbins, but the FBI really believed

in him. That was enough evidence to her that the offer to come to

Texas was legit. Plus, the money was pretty damned appealing. I’d

have to catch a dozen fugitives (or more) to make five thousand dol-

lars. It was worth a shot.

With great caution, I decided to make the trip. When I got to

Austin, everything seemed on the up and up. So far, so good.

On my way to the seminar, I realized I was out of cigarettes. I

spotted a 7-Eleven across the street. I figured I could pick up a pack

of smokes before I went to the conference. I didn’t want to be late,

so I crossed over in the middle of the block. Just as I reached the

sidewalk, a motorcycle cop pulled me over.

Damn it. I was right. This was all a setup.

The cop got off his bike, pulled his helmet off, and said, “Come

here, boy.”

I walked two steps closer to the bike, yet far enough away to run

if I had to.

“Where you off to in such a hurry, boy?”

“Well, officer, sir. . . .” I was fumbling with my words a bit, still

wondering when the other shoe would drop.

I continued, “My name is Duane Chapman, most folks call me

Dog. I’m in town to speak at the Tony Robbins seminar right there

across the street in that auditorium.”

M e e t i n g To n y Ro b b i n s

135

“You don’t look like a speaker to me. You look more like a

badass biker boy, probably wanted for something.”

“No sir. I am a defender of the law. Here’s my badge, just like

yours.” I pulled my badge out from behind my shirt. I wear it like a

necklace. I handed it over to the officer so he could see we were

brothers in the law.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Nice to meet ya,
Dog
. Welcome to Texas!”

He extended his hand in friendship and brotherhood. I never felt

better about myself than I did in that moment of pure acceptance.

A few hours later, I found myself onstage, speaking to thou-

sands of strangers. I was so pumped up from adrenaline, I felt like I

was back in the ring, boxing again. I loved the sound of people

cheering for me as I walked down the long aisle, offering high fives

and shaking hands. I felt like a rock star. These people didn’t know

me, and I didn’t know them, but we loved one another. I had never

experienced this type of adulation. It was the greatest sensation.

I made my way toward the stage. There was an empty chair next

to where Tony Robbins was seated. He stood to greet me. I was

stunned by his stature. The guy is practically a giant, towering

nearly a foot over my five seven. When he shook my hand, his hand

devoured mine. I was blown away by his very presence. He’s engag-

ing, warm, and powerful in every way.

Tony introduced me. He said, “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!”

What the hell did he mean by “criminal gone wrong”? Tony

later told me that I was the antithesis of what most criminals be-

come after serving hard time. I chose a path 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. If I was a criminal gone right, I’d still be on

the other side of the law.

Tony had a way of helping me see things differently than anyone

else. I began to speak—telling the crowd about how I went to

prison “right here in Texas” for a crime I did not commit. I talked

about turning my life around, becoming the top Kirby salesman in

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Yo u Ca n R u n , b u t Yo u Ca n ’ t H i d e

the country, making more money than I could ever have dreamed. I

explained my transition into the world of bounty hunting and bail

bonds. The audience hung on my every word as I spoke about cap-

tures and arrests. Tony loved it. He could see the crowd was eating

it up. He smiled his big, toothy grin, knowing he had found a gold

mine in this old Dog.

At the end of my speech, Tony opened up the floor for a Q&A.

I didn’t expect that part. I was nervous, because despite how well

things were going, I still had it in the back of my mind that this

could possibly be a sting.

First question: “Have you ever committed any crimes—like bur-

glaries?”

I was mad as hell. Now I was sure this was a bust. “What is that

supposed to mean?” I growled back.

I could hear soft snickers, which became an uncomfortable sort

of murmur.

Tony sensed it too. He jumped right in and said, “Dog, why

don’t you tell us a little more about what state you’re in when you

go after fugitives?”

I looked over at Tony, relieved as hell to get back to business as

I knew it.

“Well, Tony, usually, I’m in Colorado, where I live, but some-

times I can go to any state I want if they allow bounty hunting.”

The audience erupted in laughter.

I leaned over to Tony and asked, “What did I say that was so

funny?”

Again with his big smile, Tony looked at me and said, “What I

meant was, what state of mind are you in when you hunt for these

guys?”

I felt dumb as a rod. So much for all of that newfound self-

esteem! We bantered for a few more hours about mind-frames, the

power of mental states, the birth of excellence, motivation, and all

sorts of other subjects that got me thinking about ways to improve

my life, until I was so drained I felt like I needed to lie down. My

brain was spinning with thoughts and ideas. It was incredible. I was

exhausted yet invigorated. It wasn’t all that different from how I

feel after going on a successful hunt.

The crowd loved our interaction. Most people were cheering, but

a few were making bull’s horns using their first and pinky fingers.

M e e t i n g To n y Ro b b i n s

137

Where I come from, that’s offensive, so I stuck my middle finger up

and said, “Hey, you too, man!” Tony leaned over and said, “Dog, that

means ‘I love you’ at my seminars.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, where I come from that means crap.”