Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [106]
In the meantime, I am back to where I started so many times in the past. Flat broke—Willie Nelson–style broke. I can barely pay my bills again and am struggling to keep my office doors open. Yet I have an obligation to be a fugitive-catching machine for A&E or I’ll be in breach of my contract, which means I won’t be able to pay the government because they get 100 percent of my paycheck, leaving me virtually nothing to pay my other bills until my entire debt to them is paid in full.
I could have laid down at any time over the years, allowed my twelve kids to go on state assistance, collected unemployment, and let the government pay me for a while, but I didn’t. Even when I did file for welfare several years back after Amwest shut me down, I could only bring myself to stay on it for three short weeks. My pride was too great and my talent too big to waste doing nothing. I manned up for my family, went back to work, and persevered. I picked myself up and rebuilt our business, with Beth by my side, over and over again, until we had built back everything we lost.
Just when I thought I had made it through this last storm with the Enquirer and was about to get up on my feet yet again, along came the IRS, like a speeding freight train headed straight for me, saying, “Not so fast, Chapman.”
Life is funny like that because whatever it is you’re running from, whether it is the IRS or the Dog, you can be sure we’ll come back to get you when you least expect it, when you finally think you’re safe. Most people don’t have the stamina to undergo challenge after challenge, let alone become bankrupt and then make it again, only to repeat that cycle over and over, living life without any sense of stability.
When I got the news about the IRS, I turned to Beth and said, “Let them take it all, honey. I don’t care. I’ve started over before and we can do it again.” A few weeks after the accountants delivered the blow, Beth and I anxiously awaited the decision of two $50,000 bonds that were up in the air. Judge Hiatt, the same judge who gave me back my bond license after Amwest took it way, was at lunch pondering his decision. I knew he was never going to give me a break, but he will always rule with dignity in justice. He is one of the most honorable judges I have come across. I turned to Beth and told her he was going to rule in our favor. I was certain of it.
“He can’t, Duane. It’s impossible.” If the judge ruled against us, we’d be on the hook for a hundred thousand dollars. For the first time in years, I heard a defeatist tone in Beth’s voice. Her doubt shook me to the core.
“Don’t you give up on me, Beth. I know things are going to turn around for us. Judge Hiatt will rule our way and everything will be all right.” I took off my black wrap sunglasses and looked at my wife dead in the eyes so she would know I was being very serious. “You believe me, don’t you, honey?”
“Yes,” she said, but I still wasn’t convinced.
“Look at me,” I said. “Believe me. It will happen.”
“OK, Big Daddy. I’m with you all the way.”
I had to smile because inside her doubt, she found her faith. A half hour later the judge called to say he was all set to rule against us, but sometime during his lunch, for reasons he couldn’t or wouldn’t explain, he changed his mind. I think it was the Lord who spoke to him that afternoon. He must have said, “Be fair to Dog,” or something like