Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given (2010)

by Chapman, Duane Dog

  With all of the good deeds I’ve done over the past thirty-three years, all of the fugitives I’ve brought to face their crimes, and the many hours of community service I’ve put in, I think there should be some type of absolution for my crime. I would rally for a pardon since I didn’t commit the crime I was charged with, but if that wasn’t in the cards for me, I’d like to have my rights restored so I can truly live as a free man. I want to vote in elections. I want to travel to foreign countries. I want to be able to wear body armor to protect myself if I have to. In some states, even if I’m working, I am not even allowed to wear a bulletproof vest. I may think I’m Superman, the man of steel, but out in the field, I have no right to any type of protection if I get shot. That doesn’t seem fair to me. I should have the right to wear a bulletproof vest.

  I am an upstanding, productive, respectable member of society and a citizen of the United States of America. I served my time and have given back to my community and country countless times in ways that no other man can match. What else will it take before my country sees me as a valuable asset? Even though we live in a free country, if you’ve been convicted of a felony, you will never really be free here. It’s a harsh reality I have a tough time accepting. How do I win back the respect of my country so it will see me as worthy of these rights?

  We all make mistakes in life. Lord knows I am a walking, living, breathing example of that, but I am here to tell you one thing I hope you never forget. As long as you’re willing to take a risk, you will always get another opportunity to do things right. When I was leaving Huntsville, one of the wardens came over to me and said there was no second chance in the joint, only first chances.

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked

  “Life is what it is, Chapman. If you screw up, you’ll find yourself behind bars like you are now. When we let you go, that’ll be your first chance to make whatever changes you need to live your life on the right side of the law. Mess that up, boy, and you’ll find yourself singing the prison blues again. There won’t be a second chance for a guy like you.”

  Even if I don’t totally agree with what he said, I never forgot the warden’s words that day. Unless they’re back in the joint, I believe most everyone should be given as many chances as it takes until they get it right. So when I talk about second chances in life, I suppose I really mean your first shot at living a good clean life. It takes some people a little more time than others to get that right.

  That first chance is the biggest risk of all because it takes guts and courage to allow yourself or someone else to go there. And if you’re lucky enough to get that chance, you better be damned sure you pay it forward. Even if you’re the king of the world, friend, you will someday still meet the Almighty. If you have given your subjects mercy along the way, then the Almighty will surely give it to you. Where mercy is shown, mercy is given. That’s why I never give up on anyone. Deep down, I know we can all turn our lives around if given the chance.

  Many people showed me kindness and understanding through their forgiveness of the things I said to Tucker about his girlfriend. Since then, the biggest lesson I’ve learned from that incident is to watch what I say. I finally understood what my mother meant when she warned me about being handed my head on a platter. This was a tough lesson for me—really hard, because I think of myself as an interpreter for those who cannot articulate in a highly educated way. But now I understand I have to watch my language when I translate those messages. I’ve learned that names really do hurt some people, sometimes worse than the deepest cut of a knife or the sensation of a fist to the chin. There are lots of people in the world who can’t get over that type of pain. I’ve been called so many names in my life that I’ve become calloused. That surely doesn’t mean it’s right. In fact, I now know it is terribly wrong.

  I’ve also learned to be more humble and caring about people as a result of my reckless use of words. Before I open my mouth these days, I ask myself, Who is this going to hurt? I also know I have to make my point in a clear, precise, and educated manner because my old style of using slang isn’t cool. It does hurt people’s feelings—which was never my intent. As a result, I tend to keep my mouth closed and my ears open a lot more these days.

  My mother and I used to talk a lot about the importance of listening. Whenever I spend a few minutes with a fugitive after a capture, or a person who is lost on drugs, or someone who’s love life is all screwed up, I’ll take a few minutes to let them talk about whatever is on their mind. I’ll sometimes sit for fifteen minutes without saying a word while they spill their heart and guts out onto the floor. Mom used to say that my patience and compassion with those people gave them the glue to put their lives back together. “By listening, you showed mercy, son,” she’d say. Mom was the one who taught me that mercy and second chances go together.

  Every single day I spent in Huntsville, the Lord showed me that someone there needed my help. I sucked up my eighteen months in the pen and served my sentence like a man because I made sure my time had purpose and meaning. At first it was only the inmates who came to me, asking for help rewriting their letters home, to their mom, girlfriend, and others, sobbing over the divorce papers that arrived during mail call, or getting the harsh news that someone close to them had passed away. But by the time I left, the guards were coming to me to talk about their lives too. Looking back, I became like the white Oprah of Huntsville.

  On the day I walked out the front gate of that prison, the warden who talked to me about second chances approached me and said, “Can you stay out, Dog?”

  “Damn right I can, Warden,” I shot back.

  “Do it for me, Dog. Make me proud.” I knew he meant it too. I carried those words with me wherever I went from that day on because I knew there would be no second chance for me if I somehow found my way back.

  A few months after Dog the Bounty Hunter went back into production, I received a call from Tim Storey. He asked me if I had any interest in giving a sermon at the Family Faith Church in Huntsville, Texas.

  “Have you ever heard of Huntsville, Duane?” Tim asked. I had to laugh at first. I thought he was joking because I thought he knew my connection there.

  “Have I ever heard of Huntsville? That’s where I served my time, Pastor,” I answered.

  When Tim called, it had been almost thirty years to the day since the warden handed me two hundred dollars and wished me luck. The pastor told me the church was interested in having me come along and preach with him. I have dreamt of spreading the gospel since I was a little boy. My mother gave me a book by Nicky Cruz when I was thirteen years old, hoping I would read his message and embrace his relationship with the Lord. Despite her many attempts to get me to read it, I refused because as a teenager I never felt I needed a Bible to connect with God. I’ve always had my own special one-on-one relationship with the Lord. However, my first week in prison, I went to the library to see if they had a Bible I could study. Being inside the joint changed my mind about wanting to learn and follow the words of the Bible. Unfortunately, there were no Bibles to check out, so the librarian gave me a copy of the next best thing. The same book by Nicky Cruz that my mother had given me. It was a sign. I hadn’t seen that book for a decade. Once I cracked it open, I was mesmerized by his testimony and style. I often wondered what it would be like to share the gospel in front of millions of people like Nicky Cruz. His book truly inspired me to follow my dream to someday preach. So when the pastor asked me to join him in Huntsville, I jumped at the opportunity for two reasons. First, I could share my life lessons through my own experiences with God, and second, I was going to have the chance to speak in Huntsville, a place I’d reluctantly called home for eighteen months.

  After I hung up the phone, I immediately began preparing for the big day. I thought back to the first time I heard a preacher speak, at Bethel Temple, the church I attended with my mother when I was just a young boy. His name was Sidney Jones. When I heard him preach, I thought he was the greatest speaker I
ever heard. When he ended his sermon that Sunday morning he said he was scheduled to be in Lyman, Colorado, the following week. I turned to my mom and said, “I’ve got to go hear him again. Will you take me?” Mom agreed.

  When I went to watch Pastor Jones for the second time, I was extremely disappointed when he gave the exact same sermon he’d spoken at Bethel Temple the week before. Not one word was changed, even though the congregation was decidedly different. When I asked my mom why he repeated himself two weeks in a row, her best explanation was that it was because the material was so moving and powerful. Even so, I didn’t like the way his repetitiveness made me feel. While I was deeply touched by his message the first week, it lost all of its impact the second time around. Somehow, it felt lazy not to change up the sermon. I figured if I could turn my life over to the Lord, the least this guy could do was tell me a different story week after week. I never forgot how his sermon made me feel and vowed I’d never make that mistake if I ever someday found myself speaking in front of a crowd.

  Today when I give speeches, I don’t write them out in advance and I rarely prepare more than an outline. I know there are people out there who may attend my events three nights in a row, so I want to make sure they get their money’s worth every single time. That’s why I usually say what’s in my heart—I know the Lord will always fill my mouth with the right words to say. I’ll alter my speech based on the reactions I’m getting from the crowd. You have to know who you’re talking to if you want to have the biggest impact. I pay close attention to the looks on the faces staring back at me from the audience. If they’re laughing at the right moments, I know they get my humor. If they’re crying, I know I’ve touched their souls. When I see a mother swing her arm around her son’s shoulders because she knows he’s in trouble and loves him anyway, I’ve done what I set out to do—and that is to help people find the courage to take a second chance. Sometimes, not always, but occasionally I believe the Lord directs me at an event in ways I could never have seen prior to it, and my upcoming speech at Huntsville would be the biggest surprise on how impactful His influence can be.

  The day we got to the Family Faith Church, I was stunned when I was told that twenty-five hundred people were waiting to hear the preacher and me. They were lined up as far as I could see. Someone from the church explained that the people waiting were not part of the actual congregation. They were what he referred to as “overflows.” I had had no idea how huge this event would be. The crush of people called out my name:

  “Dog, Dog, Dog.”

  Now, over the years I’ve gotten used to large crowds, but this time I was really nervous. I had studied the story of Jonah and the Whale for two weeks so I’d have the basis for my sermon. I was ready to get up on the pulpit and lead the congregation with my own unique take on the classic tale of how Jonah was swallowed up by the whale. I was all set—at least I thought I was until moments before I was called up to the podium.

  That’s when I heard a voice say, “You’re not preaching Jonah today.” I had to laugh because for once, I had actually planned out and memorized what I was going to say word for word. I figured it had to be the devil whispering in my ear because God would want me to tell His story even if it was in my own special way.

  “You know it’s me, Duane,” the voice said. “You can’t use Jonah today. There are some people here who need more than scripture from you. Use what you know, son.” I was frozen with fear because I didn’t know what I was supposed to say or do.

  It sounds absurd, but I couldn’t bring myself to veer off the path I had planned, for two reasons: first, Beth would freak out, since she and I worked on this speech together for weeks; and second, it was hugely important to me to get a positive reaction from the audience. I was worried they wouldn’t respond to my usual “from the hip” style, which was what I had become most comfortable doing.

  My nerves got even worse as I peeked through the curtain from backstage and took a look at the huge crowd as they filled the church auditorium. I closed the curtain, turned around, and began pacing back and forth trying to figure out what I was supposed to do—stick with my planned sermon or obey the Lord’s request to speak from my heart.

  Beth kept saying to me, “Do you have your notes? Are you prepared? You can’t get up there and say whatever you want this time!” Her constant nagging wasn’t helping matters. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized she was right. So when I hit the stage, I asked the congregation to open their Bibles to Jonah, the sixteenth chapter.

  I began to read out loud. “I was in the belly of the whale. The weeds came around my neck and choked me to death. My spirit cried unto the Lord….”

  And then I stopped.

  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a single beat, and then said, “How many of you have been to a place where your spirit is so broken that you have broken down and cried?”

  The whole church raised their hands. I turned my eyes upward, like I was looking toward God. OK, big man. This must be what you wanted me to do, I thought.

  And then I said, “Well, welcome to the ‘I barely made it’ club!” The congregation broke out in thunderous applause. I began to tell the story of John the Baptist and how he was beheaded for the words he used. I did something I had never done before: I gave my testimony with various quotes from scripture along the way. This time I really let my words and emotions flow. I spoke of Jesus in a way I didn’t always allow myself to, mostly because up until this moment, I had been told to keep my speeches fairly nonreligious. In the past, I was told not to include Jesus as much as I wanted to. This time, things were different because I was in a church. I allowed my true love of the Lord to fill my mouth and, therefore, the room. It was the most incredible experience. As I spoke from my heart for twenty minutes, the response nearly knocked me off my feet. I felt such love and powerful energy coming from the audience. When the preacher asked anyone with a problem to come forward for an altar call, I literally had to take my seat because I was being crushed by the intense energy and power coming my way. The Lord was showing me how strong the people’s love was.

  The whole time I was thinking, Come get a piece of me. I’ll be here for you if you need anything. I’ll take the time out, whether ten seconds or ten minutes, to hear what you have to say. And then I thought I should be saying what I was thinking in my head out loud.

  I announced to the crowd, “Come up here if you need something. Come forward.” And they all came. I have never experienced anything like that outpouring of emotion. For just a few minutes, Dog and Jesus were as thick as thieves. It was the ultimate power trip and I loved every minute.

  I was proud to be God’s Dog that day, just as I have been proud to be Beth’s Dog, Mary Ellen’s Dog, and so many others over the years. In my mind, I have a direct connection to the Lord. If someone asks me to pray for them, I will. I don’t always get an answer, but God always hears my prayers.

  A few months after that appearance, I received a call from the people at the Make-A-Wish Foundation asking me to meet a fifteen-year-old boy who was dying. I try to fulfill these requests whenever I can because they are so meaningful to the terminally ill child and to me. When we met, the boy looked really frail and weak, and it was pretty obvious he didn’t have long to live. Most of the time, parents of the sick children I meet will tell me that they haven’t told their kid how ill they are and they don’t know they’re dying. The parents will ask me not to talk about it with their children, especially if the kids don’t know they’re terminal.

  When I met this young man, he immediately told me he was scared. When I asked what he was afraid of, the young boy said, “Dying.” I began to tell him the story of a dream I once had when I was about his age. I was walking along a path when a flower stopped me cold.

  “Good morning, Dog,” the flower said.

  “Hello, flower,” I answered. I wasn’t sure why the flower was talking to me.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “This
is heaven. Everything that was once alive is here now.”

  I looked around and began to see many familiar things. There was Max, the horny toad I had when I was a boy. Behind him was my old dog, Cookie, and behind him was King, the dog my grandpa made me shoot because he got too old. There were three ducks and a bird, too.

  “What did Max look like?” the boy asked.

  “He still had the same fat yellow belly.”

  “And the ducks? Why were they there?”

  The truth is, I wasn’t sure why the ducks were there, so I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I drowned those bastards,” which made the boy laugh.

  I pulled a feather from my coat pocket and showed it to him. I told him some Apache Indian friends had given me this feather for long life, freedom, joy, and a peaceful soul. When I handed it to him I said, “Anytime you need strength, you take this feather in your hand and hold it close to your chest.”

  The boy reached out for the feather and wrapped his frail fingers around the stem. He looked up at me and asked, “What’s going to happen, Dog?”

  Whenever I find I don’t have the right words to say, I always fall back on scripture because God always has the right thing to say.

  “The Bible says, ‘Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil for Thou art with me.’” I paused for a moment to make sure the boy was looking into my eyes. “When you die, son, there will be a light,” I told him. “Get ready because you’re going to walk through this valley called the shadow of death. It’ll be spooky, but fear not, little brother, because He’s there. He’s like your bow and arrow, your tomahawk. As you walk through the valley, you may see demons flying over your head or to the side of you, but don’t be scared. Just keep on walking through the tunnel of light. The Lord will be with you. When you get to the end, He will be there waiting.”