Break on Through

They say you can't fight city hall and win. Well, I foolishly fought the County's legal system and walked away calling it a draw. I think they were just happy to get rid of me and make it all go away. One less problem-child to deal with.

It was the autumn of 1993 and I was a 28 year old asshole full of ideological values and beliefs, mostly from a youthful Libertarian point of view. I had been a Libertarian party member since I was old enough to vote. I believed in freedom, liberty and individual rights.

On this particular night I had been in the City of Pittsburgh, where I had been born, partying and bar hopping. I had had a few drinks but I wouldn't say I was dangerously intoxicated when I began the drive back to my home, about an hour north of the city, straight up a divided four-lane highway that was mostly empty at 2:30 in the morning.

What a beautiful predawn to be out driving. The temperature was in the low 50s; the air was crisp and clean with no wind, rain, or fog. Just a big bright moon and a sky full of stars. It was the kind of night that made my 400 cubic inch V-8 engine pure like a kitten with the dual exhausts echoing out into the night.

Just as I left the city limits the expressway turned into a 3-lane for about a mile as it went up a hill. Having driven this highway daily for years I knew the State Police had a habit of sitting up at the top end of the 3-lane waiting for speeders to pursue, so I declined to race the El Camino that suddenly appeared at my side.

He could've been an undercover cop looking to provoke an incident for all I knew. I was in the center lane just cruising when he first appeared out of nowhere on my left. He then dropped back behind me and raced up on my right. He again dropped back behind me, raced up on my left again, and then gassed it to race up the road.

"Not me, buddy. Not tonight. The last thing in the world I need is a speeding ticket, which would no doubt turn into a DUI. You go ahead. Good luck. Thanks for clearing the road ahead for me."

The rest of the drive was uneventful for the next 40 minutes. Just me, an empty 4-lane highway, and a fine running 1978 Cordoba. The State Trooper, officer Murf, was hiding behind some little pine trees lining the expressway's exit/enter lane. He said he clocked me at 67 mph in a 55 mph zone.

I was pissed. That section of highway was scheduled to become a 65 mph zone in less than a week, I was 10 minutes away from my journey's end, and there was absolutely no other traffic out there. Just me, the stars, and a State Trooper. He arrested me for DUI. We argued and had words.

"Just what do you think I am, Mr Duncan?"

"I think you're a goddamned tax collector out there collecting money for the State. You had no business pulling me over except for speeding, and next week that wouldn't even be a speeding ticket."

I was going to challenge and fight this arrest in court on the grounds that it violated my rights, as I was not operating my vehicle in a dangerous or unsafe manner. I had a court assigned public defender who really didn't have his heart into a court trial but he was willing to go through the motions. He had no choice really, at one point asking me if I thought he was incompetent or wanted a different lawyer.

"No. You'll do just fine, Preston. Let's just do it and get it over with."

On the day of the trial Preston and I stood there in a packed courtroom and went through jury selection. One woman's reaction to being rejected was sheer disappointment, but one of her family members was in law enforcement and I didn't want her for a juror. Sorry.

After selecting the jury, the District Attorney, Mr Kepp, called me out into the hall and offered me one last plea bargain. I reluctantly took it and was sentenced to 30 days in jail with work release, meaning I would only have to sleep there at night, and an expunged record after successfully completing the county's rehabilitation program.

"OK. That's better than six months to two years in jail, I guess. I can swallow my pride and values for that. Goddamn tax collectors."

Eventually this led to a court ordered evaluation at a county approved drug and alcohol treatment facility. Mind you, this was after I had already served my 30 days and paid all those big fines to the County and State. This is where the trouble really began.

I refused to sign their papers that committed me to paying them for a yet undetermined number of counseling sessions. It could've been anywhere from four to twenty at $80 a session. Then I refused to answer most of their questionnaire form, although I did answer every question that was about me, but only about me.

Tell us about your sex life. Sorry, I can't answer that without talking about my girlfriend because it's her sex life too. It's none of your business and has nothing to do with my DUI arrest.

Did your parents or grandparents drink alcohol? Sorry, again that's none of your business. You go ask them. They have not granted me permission or consent to reveal that type of personal information about them. They had nothing to do with my arrest. This is kind of reminding me of Nazi Germany where children were asked to rat out their parents. I'm not doing it.

I did draw them a few pictures when asked. Draw a man. Draw a woman. Draw a tree. I have no idea what my artistic abilities had to do with getting a bogus speeding ticket at 3 AM almost a year earlier but I played along. I must say that I was fairly impressed with my rendition of a tree.

A week later I went to hear the evaluators verdict. I could tell it wasn't going to be favorable before I even sat down. The woman behind the desk, Ms Kay, was furious with a face as red as a tomato. She had decide on 16 sessions. I asked her to show me how she arrived at that determination based on the evaluation I had submitted. We argued.

I'm sure my eyes glistened like moissanite diamonds - made, not mined. Sometimes you have to stop being that dog who's too nice to bite back.

"Unless you can show me how you arrived at your determination I'm not going through your program. I'm certainly not going to pay you almost $2000 for it. I think your program is a money-making scam. Justify your evaluation."

Her reply was heated and terse, almost to the point of hysteria.

"You're a criminal! You have no respect! How dare you question me! The judge is going to put you in jail! He's the man who created this program!"

The next day at my meeting with my probation officer, Mr Cal, I told him I wasn't going through that program and believed it was a scam. He was angry but told me I could go get re-evaluated anywhere I wanted but I had to show him an evaluation that said I didn't need treatment.

I then went to a treatment facility in a neighboring town and paid for a new evaluation. I actually didn't mind this one. I thought it was fairly professional. When the results came back the evaluator, Wendy, actually sat there and went through it with me like an adult.

She had a graph-chart and showed me what a typical result looked like. Then we looked at mine, which was totally off the chart from top to bottom. She said she didn't know how to interpret it and had to call the Psychologist who developed the test for his interpretation.

At this point I should probably tell you I have a tested Mensa level IQ and a tested INTJ (master mind) personality, both of which are in a 2% of population range. It's a 0.04% profile and very rare.

You aren't going to be able to evaluate me with a simple test. You've probably never met anyone else who has that combination. I think and feel differently than most of you do, and it took me a very long time to realize that.

So, the master psychologist said my chart was basically the same as everyone else's up to a point, but more extreme in every direction. We went through the chart and I mostly agreed with everything Wendy said.

It was actually a relief to hear someone else tell me the things I already knew. Before that it was like being alone on an island. Totally misunderstood by everyone. She told me I wasn't an alcoholic but she couldn't determine if I was a drug addict or not. Because of this, she wouldn't give me a clean evaluation and would recommend treatment.

I had admitted to previously experimenting with drugs during the evaluation. Heck, I didn't just experiment with drugs, I did full scale research for a year or two of my life. I wanted to find out what Jim Morrison of the Doors was talking about when he was singing "Break on through to the other side". (Note: Jim Morrison died at age 27 while on his quest. Having been there myself, I can honestly tell you there is nothing on the other side except darkness and death. It's a cold, empty void.)

My arrest had nothing to do with drugs. I had stopped using drugs cold almost two years prior after a near-death experience. I had made it through to the 'Other Side' and was fortunate enough to be able to return. Wendy's evaluation led to evaluation #3.

This time I went to Pittsburgh, totally out of the arresting county's loop. I went to an Alcoholics Anonymous facility. They gave me a ten question evaluation, said I wasn't an alcoholic, and agreed with me that most of the other alcohol/drug treatment facilities were largely money-making scams. Non-profits mostly interested in creating jobs for themselves and collecting a paycheck.

They gave me the clean evaluation I needed and sent me on my way. My probation officer was furious.

"Did you tell them that that was your third evaluation! Did you!"

"Yes, of course."

"I don't think so! I'm going to call them! I'm going to call them and you'd have better told them the truth!"

"You go right ahead and call them." I said as I got up to walk out of his office.

"I'm calling them!" came the shout as I exited the door.

I went straight home and immediately called the AA counselor to give them a heads up.

Nancy, the AA counselor, informed me he had already called. She had just gotten off the phone with him.

"Boy, did I tell him a thing or two! These people are nothing but scammers preying on the people who can least afford it. Don't you worry about a thing. We'll back you up in court if we have too."

I was so proud of that woman! I wish I could've hugged her. Victory!

Later, I was telling my mother about all this during a phone conversation and she began laughing.

"Mom! What are you laughing at? This is some serious shit. They could put me in prison for two years for failing to comply."

"Son, I know exactly where you went and who you talked to. Before you were born I was a waitress two doors down from that place. One day the owner walked in and told me he was remodeling the bar and I needed to get rid of the pool table.

I asked him what I was supposed to do with it and he said he didn't care, just get rid of it, and left. So I went up the street to that treatment center and asked them if they wanted a pool table. They gladly accepted and sent five or six guys down to take it apart and carry it away.

It's karma, kid! Hang in there and stick to your guns."

Eventually I went before the Judge, Judge Nick, for my failure to comply with his court order and sentencing. I was fully expecting to go to jail and had told my probation officer I'd rather go sit in jail than go through a scam treatment program. Upon entering the courtroom, the court clerk walked past me and, without directly speaking to me, said:

"I read the letter you wrote to the Judge. It was a good one."

I stood before the County Judge and, much to my surprise, he pulled out a piece of paper and began reading out loud and asking me for a response to each question. It was the same ten questions the AA counselor had asked me for their evaluation.

Oh my God! I hope I didn't lie to those people and can answer again exactly as I had done. Apparently I did.

"Mr Duncan, you're free to go. Don't come back."

That was the end of it. No counseling. No more probation. No jail time. Sometimes you have to stand your ground even if the consequence could be harsh. Sometimes you have to stop being that dog who's too nice to bite back. Sometimes you have to be that moissanite diamond that sparkles like no other. Even if you're a truculent asshole like me.