DRIVING MYSELF TO PRISON 

I had rejected three Government plea offers, endured a four week trial debacle, and received a twelve year prison sentence. Following the egregious trial, I was assured I would remain free on bond while the Appeals Court reviewed the facts and would certainly reverse the decision. But, I had not yet received confirmation of this reprieve.  
On November 12, 2013, I was meeting with my new consulting team and reviewing the day's rebuilding progress. At 4:15 PM my cell phone buzzed with a call from the attorney's office. "Jeff, you're not going to believe this, but the Appeals Court answered our forty-page Motion with one sentence, 'Bond is Denied.' You have to report to prison in Morgantown, West Virginia by Noon tomorrow, and whatever you do, don't be late." I had been naive about the system. I had always believed that common sense would prevail, things would be resolved, and we would rebuild our organization and restore our shareholders. 
After many tears with my amazing team, I decided to spare my family and friends an uncomfortable road trip to West Virginia. I would drive myself to prison. At 3 AM I texted my son in college that I loved him, I smooched Mom, I punched Morgantown into the iPhone's GPS, and I began my journey West. 
The dramatic fall from grace swirled through my mind as I kept asking myself out loud, "How the hell did we get to this point?!" I decided to use my voice texting function to say goodbye, hopefully only temporarily, to all my friends listed in the phone's contacts. At least I wouldn't wake them up with a 3 AM call and make their day as miserable as mine. "Kevin, I'm driving myself to prison today! You better find another partner for the Member-Guest, but hold my slot for next year!" "Sean, write this down. Don't ever, ever invest in a solar stock!" "Dave, you're probably just getting home from the L.A. bars, and I'm driving myself to prison. Tell me a good story!" And on I drove, reaching deep into my contacts list, going all the way back to military buddies, business partners, and the neighborhood gang. It was a long drive. I imagined friends waking up across time zones saying, "Honey, I'll be damned. Martinovich is going to prison today!" and then, "Oh, don't forget to pick up my dry-cleaning," as they quickly moved on with their own lives and responsibilities. 
As the sun rose in my rearview mirror, I started to receive a few responses - "WTF???," "Dude, I'll send some cookies! Do you like Rice Krispy treats?," and "Turn left! Turn left!" I also received a call from my attorney, James Broccoletti. "Don't worry. Hang in there. We will get the appeal in as quickly as possible. Remember, don't be late!" (He would send me a letter in prison one week later stating that he had withdrawn from my appeal case, and to this day he has refused to return the $25,000 deposit!). 
Then the phone died. The GPS was gone. In the confusion I had forgot to bring the phone charger. I had no paperwork for where I was supposed to go. I contemplated stopping for a morning cocktail since this was West Virginia, and someone had to be serving a beverage which could calm the nerves. But a quick calculation said that I might be cutting it close, I didn't know where I was going, and I remembered Broccoletti saying that the first thing they do is give you a breathalyzer! 
As I got closer, I stopped at two stores for directions, but to no avail. Time was short, and the blood pressure was rising. I asked God to not let today be another disaster on top of a long list of recent disasters. I stopped again at a corner restaurant and engaged the pierced and tattooed hostess, "Hi, I have a meeting this morning at the Morgantown Prison. Can you please give me directions?" I chuckled internally at my embarrassment. She paused, looked me over in my Hugo Boss sport coat and Gucci loafers, and pointed, "Mile and a half down the road." I thanked her, ran to the car, and felt secure in the forty-five minutes I had left for a safe arrival. 
I pulled up to the gate, and the lone guard walked out of his shack. 
I offered, "Hi, I'm Jeff Martinovich, and I'm reporting to prison today." 
He leaned onto my door, looked into the empty car, and inquired with a perfect West Virginia twang, "You drove yourself to prison?" 
I nervously replied, "Well, it's a long story. I didn't think I was making the trip. Everyone fell apart last night. I thought I'd better just drive myself. I'm going to park in that lot over there. My buddy, Mike, owns a car lot, and he'll send a couple guys over to pick it up tomorrow." 
He looked at me like I'd lost my mind, leaned back, spit tobacco juice on my front left tire (true story!) and said, "You're not parking your car here. Your only option is to go back into town, leave your car, and take a taxi back here. And, you have thirty minutes to make it back, or you'll be starting your sentence in the Hole!" 
I wasn't sure what the Hole was, but it certainly did not sound good! I had scary visions of Paul Newman in "Cool Hand Luke." I whipped the car around and headed in the opposite direction. There would be no time to get a taxi, and surely the guard took great enjoyment in knowing this fact. My only hope was my Goth hostess. I pulled into the restaurant's small parking lot and ran in to ask if I could leave my car there overnight. 
"Oh no, Sir. John The Manager would never allow that. There's never enough space as it is." 
I interrupted, "I'm sorry to be short, but I'm in a huge hurry. May I please speak to John?" 
Soon appeared John The Manager displaying double the piercings and tattoos as our hostess, died black hair, and thick black eyeliner. "Cannot do it. No way!" he rolled off his pierced tongue. 
I proceeded to employ every Dale Carnegie technique I could remember to influence this fine, young gentleman to allow me to leave my car, but I was getting nowhere. Then, I went to Plan B and just would not accept "no" for an answer. Finally, in exasperation, he yelled, "Fine! But if it is still here tomorrow, it will be gone!" and he stormed back to the kitchen. 
I turned back to my hostess. "Miss, I didn't exactly tell you the whole story before. If I don't report to prison in fifteen minutes, they are going to throw me in the Hole! Is there anyway I could talk you into driving me to the front gate so I can make it on time? You can even drive my car!" 
I then experienced for the first time the label of a "felon" as she took two dramatic steps backwards and made clear that my request would not be possible. 
I ran to the car. My watch noted I actually had sixteen minutes remaining. I threw the watch, the phone, the wallet, and the keys into the glove compartment. I slammed the car door, looked to the sky, and let out a yell, "Okay God, if this is the way it's got to be, then this is the way it's got to be!" 
I took off in a sprint across the snow covered parking lot. I crossed the street, dodging a few cars, and ran as fast as I could against traffic on the side of the narrow rural road. The snow was deep on the side, and the shoulder was covered in slush and puddles. The road was occupied with Ford F-150's barreling down on this lunatic running for his life against traffic in a black sport coat and loafers! The trucks showered me with spray as they passed too close for comfort. As the mind slows down at these extreme times, so many events which had brought me to this point played like a movie in front of me. 
I was soaked to the bone, the snow was deep, and I knew I wasn't making good time. I screamed to God once more, "After all of this, you have to let me make it!" 
I spotted the prison ahead, and it gave me a final burst of energy. There was a gap in the oncoming traffic, so I moved onto the road and gave it all this forty-seven-year-old body could summon. I sprinted through the gate like Eric Liddell winning the Olympic gold in "Chariots of Fire." 
The guard walked over to me as I clutched my knees, heaving and gasping. He looked me over and shook his head. "Two minutes to spare. I never thought you'd make it." 
I followed him into the Processing Center. There would be no Hole for Prisoner 81091-083 today! 

"The real test of man is not when he plays the role he wants for himself, but when he plays the role destiny has for him." 
-- Vaclav Havel 

* For more information on Jeff's Books, Blog, and Legal Challenge, please visit www.jeffmartinovich.com

* To access JAM Views directly, please visit jeffreyamartinovich.blogspot.com.

* SUBSCRIBE TO JAM VIEWS