The United States of America v. Matthew McDonald…
Even today as I write this, those very words still give me the chills. I mean…try it for yourself…put your name in place of mine…anything? Thought so.
It’s not like I’m not used to it. I’ve heard it said aloud over half a dozen times at the beginning of each and every one of my Federal Court appearances…but this shit still fucks me up to think about. Like, the United States of America…all 50 states…versus l’il old me? That’s a lot of people against me considering I’m only one man. The odds were obviously against me…cause in the end they won…they got their conviction. I’m told the Feds have something like a 97% conviction rate…pfff!
I can still remember the very first time I heard that phrase said aloud…my life would never be the same…
Before I tell this little story…I need go back to the day before. It’s not like I just woke up one morning in a Federal Courtroom to some clerk telling me my life was about to be over. I had to be arrested first.
It was a Tuesday…my last true day of freedom. I remember that day like it was only yesterday. That’s relatively easy considering all the days after my arrest spent in jail were pretty much the same day over and over….until I was moved recently. I did my regular Tuesday things…as I always have. I woke up around 11AM, went to the gym, ate, came home, had a quick visit with my Grandpa (he lives on the first floor of my apartment building), showered and got ready for work. By getting ready, I mean I threw on sweats and a tee (I always change at work). Normally, I wouldn’t have to be in work until 6PM, but on this particular Tuesday, I had to be in a little early. The entire staff at the W Hotel in Boston did. There was a mandatory talent rally (aka staff meeting) that even I had to attend. Now usually I would have opted out since I had worked the night before, but there was no way around it. All 300 members of the hotel staff had to be there…so I went. I punched in…never punched out. Come to think of it, I’m probably STILL on the clock as you read this…lol.
I won’t bore you with the talent rally…and all that took place during it…because I can’t really. I lasted a full 10 minutes there before all pandemonium broke loose. All I know is that just as it was starting, it was ending for me. Everyone was there…friends, co-workers, managers, DEA agents…WAIT…DEA agents? I guess they liked the hotel’s benefits package…maybe they were applying? lol
When the two agents came in and walked towards me, wearing their blue jackets with DEA written in yellow and their badges around their necks, I knew what was up. They were there for me…unless maybe there was some other drug dealer working there…couldn’t hurt to hope. Nope, this meeting was mine…and mine alone. I remember the first thing I thought was, “Am I in some sort of fucking nightmare right now…you gotta be shittin’ me…like…really!?!…fuck my life . This can’t be happening. I quit selling pills months ago. I went to rehab. I cleaned up my act. I got a good job. I was turning my life around. I got rid of all the negative influences in my life.” But as I said before…the past ALWAYS catches up with you.
If you remember that a mere few days prior, I was arrested for that other nonsense…worst week of my life! I was ALREADY the subject of a hundred rumors around the hotel…thanks to our good friends at TMZ and various other media outlets…now this? I’ll admit I was scared at first…better yet…in shock. For the first time in my life I felt helpless. I couldn’t sweet-talk my way out of this one. Nope…this was serious!
I still had positive thoughts while all this was all happening…being cuffed and read my rights…“I’ll get bail/bond. I’ll be home in an hour. I’ll get a good attorney…he’ll get me out. I’ll be right back to work. Shit…did I leave my iron on? Fuck…my car’s parked in the garage…that’s gonna really cost me overnight! This better not make the news…one bad mugshot was enough. Hey, at least I have a fresh haircut (thanks to Brian). I wonder who snitched on me? I wonder what the Feds know? Fuck…these cuffs hurt! I hate being cuffed.” My mind was racing faster than my heart as I got led out of my work.
I used to think I was untouchable. No pills…no case. Now I was whistling a different tune. I was served a Federal indictment. Add it to the pile of shit I was already in. This shit was turning into a Lifetime movie…and fast. Where were the low budget B-list actors? Nope…it was real…and I was about to find out how real. “Goodbye W”, I thought as I was hauled off in some government-issued DEA SUV…
I spent the night in some holding cell in a city outside of Boston. I guess it was too late in the day to arraign me. It was nothing special. They were actually pretty nice to me…the cops there…not the DEA. They gave me the Boston Herald to read, some extra blankets, a cheeseburger, fries and a soda. Not bad…a ray of hope…perhaps? My emotions were on a rollercoaster in there…and I was completely sober. I went from sad to angry, fear to aggravation, doubt to certainty, embarrassment back to anger again. At that time, I was STILL blaming others for my circumstances. I remember calling my mom then my aunt, while in the cell, saying first, “that lawyer better get me out”, then again 20 minutes later, “do you think I even have a chance of getting out?”, then 20 minutes later, “get me out of this shit.” I was all over the place. I barely slept.
The next day I was arraigned. I was still in the clothes I was arrested in: white v-neck t-shirt, black sweats, black & white Nike Air Max 95’s (wonder if I’ll ever get them back…lol). Not exactly my Sunday’s best…but I’m sure the judge would understand…I hope. I remember looking around the courtroom…looking over at my parents. They had fear and sorrow in their eyes. They smiled. What else could they do…right?
The courtroom was immense, like you see in the movies. “So this is the Federal Courtroom…huh?” There was a ginormous United States seal over by where the judge sits, touch-screen computers, all sorts of clerks and other workers. Oh yeah…and two heavily armed US Marshalls…only a mere few feet behind me. I can still remember thinking while looking around, “You really did it this time Matty. You got yourself in some serious shit.” I greeted my attorney, James Cipoletta. I told him to get me out of this. He said he’d fight for me…and he certainly did…but there was no guarantee. Feds are different with bond than State. They do not like to give it…especially to drug dealers of the level they thought I was. Then, out of nowhere, I heard it…“The United States of America versus Matthew McDonald. Please rise for the Honorable…” Everything went silent in my head. My heart was in my throat. My stomach was in knots. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. I was shaking. The United States of America versus me? Like…what the fuck? I’m one man. The United States has me outnumbered by like…well…a lot…lol. I might be “lol” now, but I surely wasn’t then…I was shaken.
The hearing lasted an hour or so. The District Attorney went over the charges. They had a few witnesses (yes…even at a bail hearing), a cop and a narcotics agent…or something like that. They went over what they thought they knew to be true. How many pills I had then allegedly sold and transported from Florida via airplane, and how much money I had then allegedly made. They went over briefly what their “cooperating witnesses” had told them via Grand Jury testimony. Shit…by the end…they even had ME convinced I was fucking guilty. They made me out to be a monster and I needed to be kept off the streets. They said I was an extreme flight risk and a danger to the community. I was like, “Huh…me?” I don’t even have a record, and besides I stopped selling eight (8) months prior to that. What did they want with me? All I had to say for myself was, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”
In the end, I was denied bond. My lawyer fought for me…I’ll give him that…but the charge I got a few days prior conveniently played a part in my being denied bond. Guess it wasn’t “nonsense” in their eyes. Just a reason to hold me…
So that was it. Sure…I’d appeal bond. But that took time…time I’d have to spend in jail or wherever I’d be held. Round One: Feds 1 – Matty 0. “So, this is it…huh? I’m going to jail?” I remember saying that to my attorney. I was cuffed by the U.S. Marshalls and I nodded at my parents. They had the same look of sadness in their eyes. Their son was going to a place they knew nothing about, only from what they heard and what they saw in movies and on TV. I heard, “Love you Matt…stay strong.” That was it…
Funny thing is…I wasn’t scared to go to jail…well not of jail itself. I was more afraid of losing my entire life while stuck in there. Like…my apartment, my car…shit…my job! I later realized that all those things can be replaced. All material possessions can…time can’t though…that’s for sure. I was on my way to prison, and at the time all I could think about was this frivolous shit. I wasn’t thinking of how my family must feel…especially my mom. She must have been a wreck. I wondered what my friends were thinking…or if they even knew yet. Oh they knew…apparently everyone did.
I saw some of the shit the media had to say about yours truly. They were worse on me than the DA…in making me out to be a monster. “The Bad Boy of Big Brother”…fuck them. I wanted to lash out…to defend myself. Actually, it was for my family’s sake. I can take it, but it was probably tough on them to read and hear all that negative shit about me…and there was a lot!! Hey, at least they called me a D-list hunk (LMAO) in some NY paper. I couldn’t defend myself to the press. My lawyer told me to keep my mouth shut. I’d later find out why…
I was locked up and haven’t felt freedom since. It sucks. It was difficult at first. They say the first few months are the hardest. But now I can see the light at the end of the tunnel…it’s close…
As I sit here and write this, a lot of those old feelings flash across my mind…those painful memories. It’s crazy to see how much I’ve grown since then…even in terms of coping with being on the sidelines for a few years…while everyone I know and love goes on and lives their lives. I had to really cope. It’s the only way to survive in here without stress. I have two choices, basically. “One”, I can use this time being away to reflect on all my mistakes (not only criminal) and how I can become a better man…to work on myself physically and mentally…so that when I am released (soon…by the way) I can live life the way I should have the first time around. Or “two”, I can sit around feeling sorry for myself…stressing out over the so many “what ifs” that plague my mind…the regrets (I have a few)…and worry about what everyone has going on in the outside world. I choose “one”. It is what it is. That’s all in here…you either man the fuck up and do the time…or you stress and let the time do you. Let’s just say I’m not losing any hair in here. Sure, I have my days, but who doesn’t? I’d be lying if I said I NEVER stress, but I surely don’t dwell on it. I now use it to my advantage. When I’m sad…I write. When I’m pissed off…I write. When I’m gassed up…I write.
When I was free, three years seemed like a lifetime, especially if it meant being locked up. Like…three years? That’s (3) birthdays and (3) Christmases. Shit. Nah…fuck that. When you have no choice (like me) you just gotta do it. Well…I had a choice. Mine was to hustle (sell drugs)…obviously the WRONG choice…one of plenty. So here I am. I allowed pills to put me in a cell.
So that’s a little taste of how I got indicted by the U.S. Government. It wasn’t pleasant. What if I never went to that meeting at my work? How would my arrest have played out differently? See…so many “what ifs”. Fuck it. I went. I’m here. I’m on my way…
To Becky from North Carolina, I got your letter. Thanks for the words of encouragement…means a lot…even though you said you’d never let me date your daughter…lol! Best wishes…Matty
mattymcdonald 