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Like Stone I Once Was Subject Of Pre-Dawn Raid

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Like many Republicans
and Democrats, I was ap-
palled at the way Mueller
and the courts decided to
arrest former Trump opera-
tive Roger Stone. Instead
of informing his lawyer
that he was being indicted
and he needed to come in
on his own recognizance
to be booked, the 66-year-
old was the subject of a
predawn raid.
This wasn’t any raid.
He was greeted at his
front door by no less than
24 federal officers, some
with weapons drawn and
another dozen armored
vehicles. You would
think they were arresting
El Chapo or one of his
lieutenants. But instead it
was Stone who lived with
his elderly, deaf wife in a
modest apartment.
Believe it or not I had
a similar experience. Ap-
proximately 12 years ago
while living in Florida, I
was greeted at my front
door at dawn by two fed-
eral marshals, guns drawn,
having at first hidden in the
bushes at the side of my
front porch. They knocked
loudly and proclaimed
my door would be busted
down if I didn’t answer. In
cutoffs and t-shirt I hurried
to the door and swung it
open.
They said I was under
arrest, handcuffed me, and
began walking me out to
their unmarked car. Once
in the car I asked why, and
they said they had orders
from a court in Detroit.
Most of us start long-
ing for spring shortly
after Christmas. And for
many good reasons: the
anticipation of returning
song birds, signs of new
life bringing their annual
previews of resurrection,
flowers pushing up green
hands through the still cold
soil announcing brighter
days ahead and weather
forecasts of fair and warm-
er replacing wind- chill
factors. Even those who
live in year-long warmer
climes can’t resist looking
forward to the season of
new beginnings.
Standing in line at the
Post Office, I heard a man
grumbling about the cold
weather. My efforts to
brighten his mood were to
no avail until I reminded
him of the calendar’s
steady march to the first
day of spring. “I never
thought of it that way,” he
They then began to ques-
tion me, assuming that I
was a major drug dealer in
the area, because that was
their normal trade, busting
drug dealer types.
They soon realized after
a short conversation I was
nothing of the sort. I was
a middle-aged business-
man that had no clue
about the drug business
and they soon ascertained
that. I convinced them to
call the judge’s chambers
in Detroit that had issued
the warrant and demanded
that I be picked up. Come
to find out I had missed a
deposition in Southfield,
having to do with a bad
business deal, and that at-
torney conducting the hear-
ing, was in cahoots with
the judge, so they decided
to teach me a lesson, or so
I think.
The federal marshals
were incredulous. “We
wasted our time,” they
said, picking up a man
who missed a scheduled
deposition 1200 miles
away. They couldn’t
believe it. Never had they
heard of this happening in
their nearly 30 years of ser-
vice. Both were extremely
apologetic and even of-
fered to stop and buy me a
Big Mac.
But there I was, hand-
cuffed in the back seat of a
police vehicle, all because
I missed a deposition that
I didn’t even know about.
I found out later I was
notified by mail, not by
process server at a prior
address. The three of us,
two marshals and myself
spent the 1 ½ hour drive
to the federal courthouse
in Orlando, talking about
family and careers.
Once at the courthouse
I was escorted to a holding
cell, where I stood with
others awaiting my time
to plead before the judge.
About two hours later
I was escorted in to the
court room. I was asked
to stand and before I was
allowed to say a word the
judge went on a rant about
this is the most ridiculous
situation he had ever been
involved in. He verbally
admonished the Michigan
judge, and told me to get
the hell out of his court-
room. Oops before he said
that he issued an apology
to me, on behalf of the
legal and judicial system.
That was my experi-
ence. I will never forget
it. That is why I have
empathy for Mr. Stone. I
understand to many he is
a political scumbug, but
scumbug or not, no one
deserves to be awakened
at dawn by federal agents
with guns drawn. Not
Stone and not I.