Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [46]
Although he understood what I was trying to say, he continued to strongly discourage me from using that word at all. I often tried to defend myself to Alan by rattling off a dozen names of educated Hollywood types who in fact use the word all the time—black and white men alike. Even so, Alan never bought into my rationalizations.
Growing frustrated and worried that my ignorance had now bit me in the butt, Alan said, “Please don’t get mad at me for being the messenger, Duane, but this ridiculous, ignorant, stupid hillbilly dumb-ass act is going to be the end of your career. People will never understand you’re not being prejudiced when you use words like that. You can’t plead innocence and expect the educated person to believe you.” Alan’s words closely echoed the advice I’d heard from Becky, Tony’s wife, years before that had so clearly fallen on deaf ears when she tried to impart her wisdom to me.
Alan Nevins is an elegant man who hangs around sophisticated people a lot more than I do. A guy like that always bets on the winning horse. He never takes a chance on the long shot. Alan was hired on the same day the federal marshals kicked in my door and arrested me for the Luster case. He had his work cut out for him from the very start. When we first met, Alan saw something inside me that made me a winner and someone he wanted to represent. Even with his undying support, I was beginning to wonder if I was too much of a loser to know when I had won. Was I really a dumb convict who just got lucky? Or was I like a moldable piece of clay that could be taught?
When I asked Alan what he thought I should say to Sean Hannity and Larry King, he deadpanned, “Anything but n***er.” We both laughed for a moment and then Alan got serious. He told me that there wasn’t much I could say that would make things worse than they already were, so I should just speak from my heart. He went on to explain that anyone who had met me and knew me already knew what was in my heart, and now the time had come to let the public see my true self and not hear only empty words when I spoke. Only then would they understand that I didn’t say anything out of hatred for black people—it was just my naïveté. He gave me three or four pointers, reminded me that I am the Dog and that, for many people, that stood for something good. Other than those pearls of wisdom, though, for the most part, he left it to my own volition.
Within days after the incident, e-mails and letters of support began pouring in from fans. The officer who had encountered Monique and Tucker outside Lulu’s earlier in the summer even publicly came out to share his experience with them that night to try and shed some light on what type of person Monique was. All of the support I received meant the world to me, but there was one letter in particular I received via e-mail that deeply touched my heart, so much so that I will never forget it. The e-mail was titled, “My Grandmother Is Crying….”
It was written by a woman whose eighty-six-year-old grandmother religiously watched the show despite the fact that she didn’t watch a lot of television. She said her grandmother disliked motorcycles, tattoos, long hair on men, bleach blondes, high heels, shorts, and overbearing men, but loved the Dog and never missed an episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter. Her grandmother said she admired me because I was not afraid to show the world I was human, believed in love and forgiveness, and would cry when my heart hurt. I had to stop reading the letter when I saw those words because I was overcome with emotion from the woman’s kind words.
When her granddaughter told her about my show being pulled from A&E because of my remarks, she wouldn’t stop crying because the one thing she looked forward to every week more than tending to her garden and cooking for her family was watching my show, and now it had been taken away from her. When the granddaughter discussed my situation with her, her grandmother imparted the following wisdom: