Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [21]
When we got into the hallway after the hearing, Calvin let me have it.
“What the hell, Dog?”
“I had to, Calvin.” I knew the judge would probably be giving him time. Calvin backed down because he realized that I’d done what I had to do.
A few weeks later, Calvin called me up at home to tell me to look outside my window. For a moment I worried that he was setting me up for a drive-by shooting. To my shock and surprise, out there was a royal blue 1986 Buick Regal that had been lowered to the ground, had a landau top, custom rims, fur seat covers, and a special paint job. It was a major pimped out ride.
“That’s your car, Dog.”
I loved it. I drove that ride all over Denver. My license plates said, “DOG LEE,” so everybody in town understood that car belonged to me. The Crips and other gangbangers knew the Dog was coming to get them when they saw that car in their neighborhood. And I purposely used it to hunt down those brothers too. When Calvin gave me that ride, all of the other bondsmen in Denver knew the black bail was mine and off-limits to them.
If I hadn’t been standing beside Calvin that day in court, the judge would have hammered him. I had grown frustrated with the justice system’s apparent double standard. If a white kid gets busted with less than an ounce of marijuana, he gets a slap on the wrist. But if a black kid gets caught with the same amount of weed, he goes to jail. I had watched this happen too many times over the years. That’s why I always went to court with my black clients. I didn’t want them to get jacked around.
I once got really upset after another judge sentenced a young black kid to thirty days for a minor charge—one for which she could have easily let him off with a warning, probation, and a small fine. This kid’s momma was in the courtroom and had to witness her son being taken away in handcuffs for something a white kid would have surely been let off the hook for.
I was enraged with the judge’s sentence. “Your Honor, I thought the scales of justice were supposed to be color-blind!”
The judge freaked out, pointed her finger at me, and screamed, “Get out of my courtroom!”
I suppose I was lucky she didn’t find me in contempt and sentence me to a night in the clink too. Even so, I thought her decision was totally unfair, and yet that type of thing still goes on every day.
Calvin’s first court date was fast approaching. I was stunned when he told me that Judge Marcucci actually paged him on the day he was set to appear in court.
When we showed up, Judge Marcucci said, “I noticed you answered my page by being here, Mr. Pope.”
I think the judge respected Calvin’s willingness to face the music for the crimes he had committed and take responsibility for his actions.
Unfortunately, Calvin had too many felonies, so the judge had no choice but to convict him and send him to prison. Even if a judge likes you, he still has a responsibility to uphold the law. While serving his time, Calvin was diagnosed with leukemia. While he was in the hospital, Judge Marcucci showed up for an unexpected visit.
Calvin was so inspired by the judge that he decided right there and then to fight for his health and not give up on life. I knew he’d beat his disease for sure.
I stayed friends with Calvin over the years. He eventually gave up the gang life, got married, and had a few kids. The last time I spoke with him was in October 2007. He told me he was applying to be a security guard at the Cherry Creek Mall outside of Denver. He called to ask me how he should answer the question on his application about being a convicted felon. He was nervous to lie but didn’t think he’d get the job if he confessed to all of his various convictions.
I told him to write “will discuss” on the line and then explain the circumstances during his interview. Calvin hesitated to take my advice, fearing that they’d discard his application with that type of vague response.
“Dog, I’m going to get in trouble if I lie.”
“With