You Can Run but You Can't Hide (28 page)

the kids was trying to call.

The moment I hung up, the phone rang again. I thought it was

Heath calling back, so I answered tersely. “Hello!”

“Dad? It’s Lyssa.” My nine-year-old baby was crying. “They’re

saying you’re a heroin addict, Dad. Why are they saying that?”

“Lyssa, honey. Calm down. Where are you? Are you hurt? Are

you OK?” I just wanted to find her, wrap my arms around her, and

never let her go.

“I’m fine. I ran away. I climbed out of the window when they

weren’t looking. I’m at McDonald’s. Can you come get me?”

I ran like greased lighting. Fifteen minutes later, Baby Lyssa and

I were on our way back to the house when my cell phone rang. It

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was Tucker and Barbara Katie. They had also split from social ser-

vices. Tucker kicked the window out of the room they were in so he

and Barbara could climb out and run away. They weren’t very far

from where we were, so Lyssa and I drove to pick them up. I had all

three of my kids back. I was relieved to be reunited, but I couldn’t

shake my gut feeling I was headed for a fall.

C h a p t e r T h i r t y - o n e

GETTING OUT

OF HELL

After discovering that
all three of my children had es-

caped, a woman from social services showed up at the house with

a couple of cops. They were demanding I take a drug test. If I re-

fused, they threatened to take my kids away for good. While I

talked to the woman, I could see the cops asking the kids if they

were OK. I heard one of them ask if they ever saw me doing drugs.

Did I ever hurt them?

My blood boiled at the thought of anyone suspecting I would

ever hurt one of my children, but I had to stay calm so the cops

wouldn’t see me losing my temper. I agreed to take the drug test,

even though I knew it was a risk. I
had
been doing drugs, lots of

them. But if I didn’t take the test, I would lose my children. By

agreeing, there was a possibility of testing negative, because it had

been a couple of days since I did my last hit of cocaine. I didn’t

know how long that stuff stayed in your system.

I decided to fly to Denver to wait it out. If the test came back

positive, the kids and I would be far away from their jurisdiction. I

was pretty sure social services couldn’t touch my family in Col-

orado. It was a calculated precaution to preserve my family. I was

sweating bullets for three days until the results came back. Nega-

tive. Dear Lord, that was close.

All the while, Richard Heath was still applying pressure for me

to get to Honolulu. He and I had some unfinished business. After

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social services cleared me, the kids and I flew back to Hawaii so I

could deal with Heath.

“Duane, I am not going to press charges against your employees.

In fact, they have both agreed to testify against you, saying you stole

the money.”

I was speechless. He had to know they were lying. He knew I was

innocent, but he didn’t seem interested in the truth. I was a convicted

felon. My signature was on the checks, even though it was forged. If

this went to court, Heath told me that a jury would probably take me

down forever. He said, at the very least, I was looking at doing time.

The thought of going back to jail took my breath away. The pain in

my chest was unbearable. I thought I was having a heart attack as he

went on and on about my options. If I went to jail in Honolulu, who

would bail me out? None of the local bondsmen, that’s for sure.

They all resented and hated me because I had swooped into town and

changed the way everyone had to do business.

My mind wandered; I began to worry about my children. If I

couldn’t make bail, what would happen to them? Who would take

care of them? I had no way of knowing how long I’d be gone, but I

knew my absence would mean they’d end up in foster homes or

worse. Heath could tell I was scared. And I was. I was in a corner

and he knew it.

“So, what are my alternatives?” I asked.

“Well, Duane, I’m feeling generous today. I will agree not to

press charges against you if you agree to get out of the business for

a minimum of two years. What I’m saying is, you’re done.”

It felt like pure blackmail to me. Once again, I was going down

for a crime I didn’t commit. I had no choice. I couldn’t fight it. I

didn’t have the money, and I didn’t have enough friends in high

places. There was no one in my corner but me. I was down, and this

time I was definitely out.

I took the deal. Life as I knew it was over. I had no job, no in-

come, and no savings. Word spread like wildfire. Rumors swirled. I

heard people saying I embezzled millions of dollars and tried to kill

a man. I heard whispers whenever I walked into the court.

“I told you about that guy.”

“I told you he was a no-good felon.”

“I knew he was full of it.”

Every syllable, every utterance, every word cut me like a knife.

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

I had to give up my house in Kona. I could no longer pay the

rent. The kids and I moved into a one-bedroom shanty down near

the Minini Beach. It wasn’t fancy, but it was still near the ocean.

Without income or any prospects for work, I was forced to apply

for welfare and food stamps. For forty-plus years, no matter how

bad things got for me, I never had to face welfare. It was the most

humiliating decision I had ever made. But I had to think about the

children. Social services was still looking over my shoulder too. If

they got word I had no money to feed and clothe my kids, they’d

take them away in a New York minute. They were all I had left. It

didn’t take long for word to get out that I was on welfare.

The Mighty Dog had finally fallen. I was facedown in the dirt. I

felt worthless—like I had let so many people down. Welfare was

paying me $895 a month; the one-room apartment the four of us

shared cost $850. That didn’t leave me very much for food and

other necessities. We were living on cat food and mayonnaise. I told

the kids it was tuna salad. I went to the shore and tried to catch our

dinner every night. When I came up empty, we went without a meal.

The children never complained, not once.

When it all became too much for me to bear, I broke down and

reluctantly called my sister Jolene to ask her for an extra hundred

bucks so I could feed the kids. She had all but forgotten about us.

She didn’t want our problems to cause her any grief in Denver, so

she distanced herself as far from our situation as she could. If it

weren’t for the children, I would have been as good as dead to her.

She sent the money but called the welfare department to tell them.

When they got word of the extra cash, they threatened to take away

my benefits. Instead, they deducted the hundred dollars from my

next month’s check. When I asked Joleen why she called them, she

said she was fearful of being party to welfare fraud. Can you be-

lieve it?

I had never been lower in my life. Even my family had to get in a

kick or two while I lay on the ground broken and bleeding. But I

couldn’t wallow in my grief. I had to pick up the pieces. I was the

leader of my family. It was my responsibility to provide for them. I

was feeding my kids cat food pretending it was OK. It wasn’t. I had

to start thinking of ways to get myself back on track.

My first stroke of good luck in months came in early September

1997, when I heard my old friend Tony Robbins was coming to

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Hawaii to do a seminar. He was going to be on the Big Island, just

outside of Kona. I called him up to see if we could meet.

“Of course,” he said.

For the first time in nearly a decade, I realized Tony hadn’t asked

me to be one of his guest speakers. I was worried, because I was cer-

tain he must have gotten wind of my troubles. I couldn’t think of

any other reason he would have excluded me from the seminar.

Tony was always a good listener. More important, he was very sage

with his advice. For years, he was one of my most trusted mentors.

During one of the breaks, I cornered him so we could talk. I told

him everything that had happened since my mother’s death.

“My God,” he said, “I can’t believe it.”

“I can barely believe it myself, Tony,” I said. “But I am trying to

fight my way back. I need some help.”

I watched Tony stand stoic and silent. He listened carefully as I

expressed my shame and guilt. I was reaching out for a helping

hand. So far I didn’t see his extending halfway to meet mine.

“How can I help you, Duane?”

“I have an idea. I thought you might consider hiring me as head

of security for you, just until I can get back on my feet.” There was

a long, awkward silence. Finally, he said, “Dog, I am going to help

you. . . .”

Inwardly, I felt a huge sense of relief. “Thank the Lord. Tony,

you have no idea how much this means to me—” I was in mid-

sentence when Tony jumped in.

“No, Duane, I won’t give you a job. But I will give you some

advice.”

Wherever that weight on my shoulders had gone, it was now

back, and heavier than ever. While I always appreciated his advice, it

wasn’t going to pay the rent or put food on the table for my family.

“You are overqualified to work for me. Security isn’t what you

do, man. I wouldn’t be doing you a favor. If I can be direct, I think

it’s time for you to hear the harsh truth. Quit telling people about

what’s been done
to
you. Quit complaining about how other people

have hurt you and all of the wrong things that have happened

in your life. You lost your edge, let your guard down, and clearly,

you’ve trusted the wrong people. These choices were your own. It’s

your fault,
your
responsibility. You need to accept full responsibility

and move on.”

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

Tony’s advice was harsh but spot-on.

“Duane, you’ve been through enough of my seminars to under-

stand that you are the only person who can change your circum-

stances. You’re one of the strongest, most remarkable people I’ve

ever met, Dog. You have overcome far worse circumstances than

what you have just described to me. You are a survivor.”

He was right. There was no easy way out of my predicament, but

I felt I had been kicked around enough in my life. Tony Robbins gra-

ciously offered me an out, in case I wanted to pack up the kids and

start again in Denver. He told me to go back to Denver, sit on a rock

next to a stream, and go back to my roots. That was the last thing I

wanted to hear!

In retrospect, I think he could tell I was in pretty deep. My phys-

ical appearance was a dead giveaway that I was drugging pretty

bad. He didn’t want to be involved, but he wasn’t the kind of guy

who would let me rot, either. He told me to get as far away from my

girlfriend as I could. “Duane, she’s dragging you down.” As many

times as I heard that from other people, it seemed to pack the

biggest punch coming from Tony.

I was forty-four years old. I didn’t want to start over, but what

were my choices? Failure is never an option. Giving up, throwing in

the towel, letting the bad guy win, that isn’t how I lived my life. I

had to face my truth. I had to accept that my mom was dead. She

wasn’t going to be there to pick up the pieces. She had been my best

friend. When she died, I felt like I died too. When people said bad

things about me, Mom always told me something good. Every time

I needed a friend, Mom was there. Every time I went to jail, Mom

welcomed me home with open arms. The greatest lesson she taught

me was to always have faith and never give up. She used to tell me

that everything happens for a reason.

I can still hear her say, “After the storm comes more rain, but then

another storm comes. Only after that storm can things begin to

blossom and bloom. But son, remember, there will always be an-

other storm. If you make it through one, you can make it through all

of them.”

After the seminar, I sat by the ocean for two straight days, not

knowing what to do or how to change my life.

I spent hours thinking about my mom, the kids, Beth, my girl-

friend, the Lord, my life, my mistakes, and my options. I had this

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overwhelming feeling that my mom was watching me. I knew she

was saying, “C’mon, Duane, you’ve been through this before. This

isn’t the toughest battle you’ve ever fought. You’ve done it before;

you can do it again.” I looked up and noticed footprints in the sand.

As far as I knew, no one had walked by. I leaned over to take a closer

look. They were my mom’s footprints. They started where I was sit-

ting and ended at the ocean’s edge. She was telling me to leave