I had a bet with my friend DC.
Twenty-five push-ups per count. “Main Man, there’s no way a jury is gonna
convict that man,” he said. “Just watch,” I told him. And the verdict came
down: “guilty!” Eleven times the word was read. DC – and half the commonwealth
– was shocked. I wasn’t. I take no glee in watching former Governor McDonnell’s
life come crashing down. I’ve been there. But, having been there, I knew the
result beforehand. Allow me some brief observations since I’ve gone through it.
First, Mr. McDonnell has not
honestly come to terms with his actions. Had he, he wouldn’t have put on that
ridiculous defense blaming everything on Lady Macbeth, excuse me, Mrs.
McDonnell. For years I rationalized and compartmentalized my wrong doing. Help
in the community, work my butt off for my employer and my church, tithe to
charities – all that I used to balance against my criminal conduct. Then a
funny thing happened in late 2007. The rationalizations stopped working.
I quit sleeping; I started drinking more.
And, every quiet moment in my car became a conversation with God. “I’m out of
control,” I’d say. “I don’t want to lose my wife and kids; I don’t want to go
to prison.” For almost a year I prayed for a divine miracle all the while
thinking I’d be better off dead. Then the day came and the call to the
company’s president’s office and the five page letter where I was told I was
being placed on “paid suspension” while an investigation was conducted over
financial “irregularities.” I never read the letter. I knew what I’d done and I
knew it was wrong. Then and there I admitted it.
Gov Bob hasn’t gotten there, even
now. Photos of him driving a Ferrari or smirking with Rolex blinging on his
wrist and he says, “Hey, it’s ok.” No, it’s not … and he knows it. His own
staff begged him not to wear the watch; his security detail tried to get him to
avoid the Ferrari. And, Bob McDonnell is a smart man; he’s a decent man. But
let me let you in on a little “truth” – good, smart, decent men are capable of
doing wrong things.
His defense, blaming his wife,
stupid! You man-up and you take it; you stand there alone and you take the
punishment. You don’t throw the woman who gave you five children under the bus
to save yourself. A side story: Detective Clouseau (the investigator on my
case) couldn’t believe I’d just admit everything. So, he decides there had to
be millions stashed away. He teams up with a forensic accountant and schedules
a “big meeting” with me. The detective tries to play “good cop” while the
accountant is “bad cop.” They tell me they want “the truth” or they’ll
prosecute my wife, throw her and my kids on the street. They’ll go on a hunt at
work and “anyone” who received anything from me will be fired and perhaps
worse. I listen to this bullshit for a few minutes and then I snap. “Leave … my
wife and kids out of this! Leave everyone else alone or I swear I will fight
and drag this out for years!”
I’m red in the face; my shackled
hands have slammed the table; and, I don’t give a damn what happens to me.
There’s a pause, silence, and then the company President whispers to the
accountant. A ten minute break and “Alright Larry. We won’t bother anyone …” I
make no plea deal; I save the house and assets for my family and ironically I
find my equilibrium. No one was responsible for the mess I found myself in
other than me. Governor McDonnell needs to find that same honesty inside.
Then there was the report about the
Governor’s reaction to the verdict. He sobbed; he fell apart. Sentencing day.
I’m alone in a basement holding cell at the Goochland County Courthouse. My
wife isn’t there; she’s ready to file for divorce as soon as certain
“settlement” papers are signed that day with my employer. I’m hoping for
“time-served.” My lawyer says, “Prepare for two and a half to four years.” I go
into the courtroom in shackles on my feet, waist, and hands. I see my parents
for the first time in eight months.
The hearing begins. The Prosecutor,
who’s already told my attorney he’s being pressured by my former employer for a
stiff sentence asks for thirty years. “They’ll suspend almost all of it,” my
attorney whispers to me. My turn and three friends, three men who never have
wavered in their belief and support for me, testify about who I really am.
Other letters are read including one from a few elderly African-American women
who served with me on a local food pantry board. “Jesus loves Larry and would
show him mercy. Do the same for this decent man.” I fight back tears. I feel
like shit about myself. They feel otherwise.
Then, I speak. I make no excuses. I
apologize to my family, my employer, my friends, and the court. I hear two
young women – my paralegals – sobbing as I speak. I finish and I wait and then
the Judge sentences me: “fifteen years with the Department of Corrections.” I
am given more time that most child pornographers, child molesters, and second
degree murderers.
“Anything else from the defense?”
The judge looks down at my lawyer and me. “No your Honor,” I say and add,
“thank you.” I’m escorted from the courtroom. I won’t cry; I won’t succumb. I
am alone in that holding cell and I repeatedly ask God why He just won’t let me
die. An elderly sheriff’s deputy drives me back to the Henrico Jail. He is the
same deputy who has driven me all four times that I’ve left the jail to go to
court.
There are no words between us on
this trip. I look straight ahead and have no thoughts. We arrive at the jail
and he escorts me in and signs me back over to Henrico authorities. My life
feels over.
As he is unhooking my shackles he
speaks to me.” Mr. B, you are a decent man. Never forget that. You did yourself
proud today. You can get through this.” I have never forgotten that deputy or
his words. I’ve often wondered why he chose to speak such encouragement to me. Perhaps
my behavior that day really did matter; perhaps it was God sending a message.
The other morning, one of the
teachers I work for asked me if the Governor “will be able to carry himself
through this as well as I have.” I was stunned for a second. See, I know how
tough this has been. And, every day I feel like I let someone down. I
remembered that night after sentencing reading Psalm 27:
“Though an army may encamp against me,
My heart shall not fear …”
And I thought about Hemingway – “A
man can be destroyed but not defeated.”
Governor McDonnell is a convicted
felon. And, he’s a disgraced lawyer. He will, in all likelihood, go to prison.
He will lose his retirement, his wealth. His marriage is over. His reputation
damaged. But if he listens to the quiet voice inside he will overcome this. We
are better than these convictions. We are broken, but in those breaks comes
rebuilding.
If he asked me, I would tell him
this – don’t fight to save your past; move forward to save your soul.
Perhaps, just perhaps it is in these
failures that God’s true path for us comes through. Good, decent men can
overcome their wrongs.
Grace Potter, what a gorgeous woman
with a beautiful voice, sings “Low Road” with this,
But it’s a low, low road
You’ve gotta roll down
Before you find your way, my friend
And it’s a high, high hill
You’ve gotta climb up
Before you get to the top again.
Someone needs to let Governor
McDonnell hear that song.
