Post by DuckforcoveR on Sept 20, 2015 12:17:16 GMT -6
I was reading a letter posted to Indiana Daily Student (how in the world I ended up reading here is another story) and it brought back some rather unpleasant nostalgia from my mid-distant past. The article can be found here: Read Me!
I think it correctly points out the need for everybody to take a collective breath (yes, inhale..) and think about how legalization does very little to fix a systemic problem in our country. When I was a young lad my friends and I weren't exactly moral compasses or angels, but I do feel we were in the majority with our decision making and h(abits)obbies. Dabble here, dabble there, figure out what shouldn't be dabbled with any more. When you grow up in a small town where everybody knows everybody else it's almost impossible for the Police to not target certain groups who do certain things, and it becomes a game of back and forth between the kids and the cops. Cat and mouse, one day you win but the next day they win.
When I got towards the end of High School and started thinking long and hard about the military I knew there was a chance I screwed it all up by compiling a juvenile record consisting of underage smoking, underage possession of a butane lighter (I kid you not…), underage drinking, and possession of THC. All of them resulted in fines, crappy summer jobs to pay said fines, and face-palming parents wondering how I was that stupid by not letting them stash things so I didn’t get caught with it (after all, they survived the 70’s with only funny stories and no criminal trail). But to my surprise, the Army wanted me anyways. It was my junior year, I had just turned 17, and the recruiter did his best impression of an Uncle Sam recruiting poster in my living room. I took a deep look inside and decided that I was changing everything.
Over the next year I tried to clean everything up, be a better person, exercise, and get ready for the ride of my life in the military. I started working out and eating better, I made sure I ran faster when the logging road parties got raided, and I managed to not get in trouble any more that year. I went through MEPS, walked like a duck, spread the cheeks, and finally got to sit down and talk about what I wanted to do in the army. Explosive Ordinance Disposal! I get to play with bombs! Sign me up, ship me back home, and tell me to behave for another 2 months so you can graduate and move on to basic. Deal. Only, I really wanted to spend the summer with a few pals that were also off to serve, so I was supposed to spend the next few months in the Delayed Entry Program doing activities and training with my recruiter and others. Ship date is scheduled for Tuesday September 11th 2001, so after I graduate next month I get to have a great summer before the seriousness starts.
When I got a knock at my door one morning and saw the police officers outside, I was convinced they finally came to give me a ticket for having a broke down Turismo in my back driveway that they repeatedly warned me about. I opened the door and heard the words that changed my life and future forever: "You are under arrest for delivery of a controlled substance". After asking "how & why" a hundred times on the way to the police station, they laid it all out for me while my jaw rested firmly on the floor in between my shoes. A year ago before I even considered the military I was in my basement and a friend came by. He was new in town, much older than our "group", could bu us beer and smokes, and he was just all around cool. Like Paul Walker in the first Furious movie. In retrospect, there was something odd about this guy choosing a small town in the middle of nowhere, but we didn't care. He was one of the guys. So it was not odd at all when he brought his new girlfriend along with him everywhere, even though she was older than him and very stern looking (not my choice who he likes right?). When he got in my basement and begged me for "anything!" I politely showed him the burnt paper in the ashtray and apologized that I couldn't help him. Much to my dismay, he offered to buy it. The roach. I laughed at him and told him to take it, and he tried handing me 5 dollars. When I refused, they got up to leave and his weird friend threw a 5 dollar bill on my couch and left. Whatever, weirdos.
961.41(1)(h)1. Wisconsin. Manufacture/Deliver THC (<=500g) - It doesn't matter if it's 500 grams or a spec. Once the paper was removed the State Lab measure it at 0.351 grams, but money was exchanged and therefore I delivered it. Over the next 2 years I was kicked out of the Army (before ever exiting the D.E.P. and actually leaving), I watched my ship date pass in absolute epic fashion (knowing I could've been getting off of the bus on my first day of basic training being absolutely sure that I'm going to war when finished), and I fought tooth and nail trying everything to NOT end up a felon. I changed public defenders, tried moving the eventual trial to a city that would laugh this off, changed judges, pleaded to NORML for HELP!, I tried everything. I had a court date scheduled for 10:45 am on a Thursday and drove from my house (ended up moving to Milwaukee after high school) the night before to attend. When I arrived I was greeted by the DA, my public defender, and a hallway full of sheriffs deputies. They said "you are under arrest for Bail Jumping", my court date time was moved to 10:30 and according to my signature bond I am required to notify the court with 24 hours to verify the time. Since I didn't, and since they changed the time, I arrived at 10:40 am and my fate was sealed. No more fighting, no more hoping, only the sound of my heart sinking could be heard. I was sat down and given 2 options: A) be arrested on the spot for Felony Bail Jumping and face up to 10 years in prison, all while STILL fighting the initial charge, or B) accept a plea bargain, we drop the Bail Jumping, you plead guilty to being a drug dealer, and you will only serve 6 months in jail & 3 years of probation. But you'll be a felon for life no matter which option you choose.
I pleaded with the judge in tears, "this isn't me! I'm not a drug dealer! I was supposed to be in the Army by now and EVERYTHING is being ripped away from me over .351 grams of burnt up leaves!" But it fell on deaf ears. Signed the paper, packed my bags, and heard a cell door close behind me for the next 180 days. When it was all said and done I actually came out pretty good. I'm still a felon but I started working at a local Plastic Injection Molder while out on Huber, fast forward 12 years and I'm running a shop, I have a beautiful family, and I have invested heavily into my education (robotics, plastic processing, and business management) without using my past as an excuse, only as a motivator.
But Mandatory Minimums hit people in all walks of life. They rip apart families, friends, and careers. I certainly understand that drugs actually do that, but the laws are most certainly a facilitating factor. When a judge can’t look at anything other than mandatory guidelines we have no way to effectively gauge a person or their value to society. As a convicted felon there are few things that I genuinely miss, mainly my guns and hunting. So instead of teaching my girls how to use a rifle they’ll learn with a Bow. Instead of teaching them how to clean a gun I’ll teach them how to build a fire by hand. The world is not lost, my life was not lost, and in reality I’m one of the more fortunate victims of MMS. But if this country keeps riding the wave of Legalization without fixing the rip tides of our Justice System, we’ll breathe a sigh of relief and forget about every other person out there who maybe had a different drug of choice still fighting to keep their life intact.
Thank you for reading!
More good watching & reading about MMS:
Judge Regrets Harsh MMS
Rolling Stone on MMS
I think it correctly points out the need for everybody to take a collective breath (yes, inhale..) and think about how legalization does very little to fix a systemic problem in our country. When I was a young lad my friends and I weren't exactly moral compasses or angels, but I do feel we were in the majority with our decision making and h(abits)obbies. Dabble here, dabble there, figure out what shouldn't be dabbled with any more. When you grow up in a small town where everybody knows everybody else it's almost impossible for the Police to not target certain groups who do certain things, and it becomes a game of back and forth between the kids and the cops. Cat and mouse, one day you win but the next day they win.
When I got towards the end of High School and started thinking long and hard about the military I knew there was a chance I screwed it all up by compiling a juvenile record consisting of underage smoking, underage possession of a butane lighter (I kid you not…), underage drinking, and possession of THC. All of them resulted in fines, crappy summer jobs to pay said fines, and face-palming parents wondering how I was that stupid by not letting them stash things so I didn’t get caught with it (after all, they survived the 70’s with only funny stories and no criminal trail). But to my surprise, the Army wanted me anyways. It was my junior year, I had just turned 17, and the recruiter did his best impression of an Uncle Sam recruiting poster in my living room. I took a deep look inside and decided that I was changing everything.
Over the next year I tried to clean everything up, be a better person, exercise, and get ready for the ride of my life in the military. I started working out and eating better, I made sure I ran faster when the logging road parties got raided, and I managed to not get in trouble any more that year. I went through MEPS, walked like a duck, spread the cheeks, and finally got to sit down and talk about what I wanted to do in the army. Explosive Ordinance Disposal! I get to play with bombs! Sign me up, ship me back home, and tell me to behave for another 2 months so you can graduate and move on to basic. Deal. Only, I really wanted to spend the summer with a few pals that were also off to serve, so I was supposed to spend the next few months in the Delayed Entry Program doing activities and training with my recruiter and others. Ship date is scheduled for Tuesday September 11th 2001, so after I graduate next month I get to have a great summer before the seriousness starts.
When I got a knock at my door one morning and saw the police officers outside, I was convinced they finally came to give me a ticket for having a broke down Turismo in my back driveway that they repeatedly warned me about. I opened the door and heard the words that changed my life and future forever: "You are under arrest for delivery of a controlled substance". After asking "how & why" a hundred times on the way to the police station, they laid it all out for me while my jaw rested firmly on the floor in between my shoes. A year ago before I even considered the military I was in my basement and a friend came by. He was new in town, much older than our "group", could bu us beer and smokes, and he was just all around cool. Like Paul Walker in the first Furious movie. In retrospect, there was something odd about this guy choosing a small town in the middle of nowhere, but we didn't care. He was one of the guys. So it was not odd at all when he brought his new girlfriend along with him everywhere, even though she was older than him and very stern looking (not my choice who he likes right?). When he got in my basement and begged me for "anything!" I politely showed him the burnt paper in the ashtray and apologized that I couldn't help him. Much to my dismay, he offered to buy it. The roach. I laughed at him and told him to take it, and he tried handing me 5 dollars. When I refused, they got up to leave and his weird friend threw a 5 dollar bill on my couch and left. Whatever, weirdos.
961.41(1)(h)1. Wisconsin. Manufacture/Deliver THC (<=500g) - It doesn't matter if it's 500 grams or a spec. Once the paper was removed the State Lab measure it at 0.351 grams, but money was exchanged and therefore I delivered it. Over the next 2 years I was kicked out of the Army (before ever exiting the D.E.P. and actually leaving), I watched my ship date pass in absolute epic fashion (knowing I could've been getting off of the bus on my first day of basic training being absolutely sure that I'm going to war when finished), and I fought tooth and nail trying everything to NOT end up a felon. I changed public defenders, tried moving the eventual trial to a city that would laugh this off, changed judges, pleaded to NORML for HELP!, I tried everything. I had a court date scheduled for 10:45 am on a Thursday and drove from my house (ended up moving to Milwaukee after high school) the night before to attend. When I arrived I was greeted by the DA, my public defender, and a hallway full of sheriffs deputies. They said "you are under arrest for Bail Jumping", my court date time was moved to 10:30 and according to my signature bond I am required to notify the court with 24 hours to verify the time. Since I didn't, and since they changed the time, I arrived at 10:40 am and my fate was sealed. No more fighting, no more hoping, only the sound of my heart sinking could be heard. I was sat down and given 2 options: A) be arrested on the spot for Felony Bail Jumping and face up to 10 years in prison, all while STILL fighting the initial charge, or B) accept a plea bargain, we drop the Bail Jumping, you plead guilty to being a drug dealer, and you will only serve 6 months in jail & 3 years of probation. But you'll be a felon for life no matter which option you choose.
I pleaded with the judge in tears, "this isn't me! I'm not a drug dealer! I was supposed to be in the Army by now and EVERYTHING is being ripped away from me over .351 grams of burnt up leaves!" But it fell on deaf ears. Signed the paper, packed my bags, and heard a cell door close behind me for the next 180 days. When it was all said and done I actually came out pretty good. I'm still a felon but I started working at a local Plastic Injection Molder while out on Huber, fast forward 12 years and I'm running a shop, I have a beautiful family, and I have invested heavily into my education (robotics, plastic processing, and business management) without using my past as an excuse, only as a motivator.
But Mandatory Minimums hit people in all walks of life. They rip apart families, friends, and careers. I certainly understand that drugs actually do that, but the laws are most certainly a facilitating factor. When a judge can’t look at anything other than mandatory guidelines we have no way to effectively gauge a person or their value to society. As a convicted felon there are few things that I genuinely miss, mainly my guns and hunting. So instead of teaching my girls how to use a rifle they’ll learn with a Bow. Instead of teaching them how to clean a gun I’ll teach them how to build a fire by hand. The world is not lost, my life was not lost, and in reality I’m one of the more fortunate victims of MMS. But if this country keeps riding the wave of Legalization without fixing the rip tides of our Justice System, we’ll breathe a sigh of relief and forget about every other person out there who maybe had a different drug of choice still fighting to keep their life intact.
Thank you for reading!
More good watching & reading about MMS:
Judge Regrets Harsh MMS
Rolling Stone on MMS
). And the most important thing that I learned is that no matter how much I want something to be legal, it doesn't mean that I can break the law out of spite. I'm at a point in my life now where even if it was completely legalized I wouldn't touch it, but I know there are probably hundreds of thousands across the country with similar problems (either in the past or present) and the system has to get fixed before they find out the hard way that these laws can touch anybody no matter how innocent they think their problem is in the grand scheme of things. 
What the so called "justice" system did to you, I mean. 
