From Ivory Towers to Gun Towers

Copyright © 2008 by Barry Lew, M.D.

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ISBN: 978-0-595-52349-8 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-595-62403-4 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter 1

Trial and Imprisonment

Chapter 2

Reflections in the Holding Tank - I

Chapter 3

Reflections in the Holding Tank – II

Chapter 4

Reception in Tehachapai

Chapter 5

Menacing Gun Towers

Chapter 6

Backgammon Break

Chapter 7

Armageddon or Utopia:

The Final Confrontation

Chapter 8

End Days Become A New Beginning

Epilogue

Prologue 

One of the most insightful people I met in my lifetime was Dr. Rita Rogers, a world famous psychiatrist who was an advisor to President Jimmy Carter. She would accompany him each time he met with President Anwar Sadat and Prime Minister Menachin Begin. Whenever she left the country, she would leave me a telephone number to reach her, should I have a complex decision to make in her absence. She carefully defined a complex decision, since she felt I minimized what to her was or could be a life altering choice. She also said, Dr. Lew, you not only write the scenario, you choose to be the main protagonist. As I reflect upon the events during my lifetime, I believe she was correct. I did make the decisions even though they might have been ill-advised, and I was certainly the leading actor in the story. To any of the people I offended, I apologize.

Introduction 

Every memorable story has a beginning, middle and an end.

I’m peering out over the Pacific Ocean from an ohana in Keauhou mauka.

I’m certain I was here many years ago. I’m not sure why I’m here now.

I just finished talking to Rooster who is serving a lengthy parole in California. We became the best of friends when I was an inmate at the California Institute for Men in Chino. I don’t seem to hear from my more affluent associates anymore.

I have yet to become gainfully employed at anything, because I have a lengthy criminal abstract.

I remember when I was a revered physician. I believe I’m still technically an M.D.

I can’t forget I was betrayed by a friend who swore undying allegiance to me.

I’m trying to recall all the events in my life so I can start at the beginning and finish my story.

I experienced several devastating events involving my family. Those are easy to remember but do not make it easier to find the beginning or the end.

Perhaps the story has its own life and will conclude when it is the proper time.

Chapter 1

Trial and Imprisonment 

It all began quite simply on a seemingly mundane morning. I had spent the past twenty five years catering to the medical needs of a population shunned by society. The most debilitated and socially unacceptable patients in Los Angeles County all sought treatment by the legendary Dr. Barry Lew. A time came when the illusory perception of my gift of healing was so widespread that patients requested my audience with no realistic consideration of my identity. I had extensive medical training as a board certified obstetrician gynecologist, but transformed myself of late into a family physician. I cared only for the indigents who now were left with the sequelae of their long standing addictions.

As soon as my door was opened, the waiting room quickly filled with many of my regulars, and of course several new faces having been referred by their homeboys. The multitudes of examining rooms were readied for entry, and I prepared to face the myriad of unfathomable issues presented to me that constantly challenged my social intellectuality.

The stillness of the waiting room was suddenly interrupted by the violent entrance of many weapon- bearing law enforcement agents. Their flak jackets bore the initials of the various agencies they represented. There in my office was the DEA, the bureau of ATF, the Long Beach PD, the FBI and other unnamed menacing figures. Everyone was ordered to get down on the ground and communication was no longer allowed. I could not conceive of any criminal activity that would warrant such an aggressive intrusion. Certainly nothing I had ever done would require this display of armed intervention. With no obvious explanation, the agents descended upon the office of my physician assistant. They confiscated a computer, used solely for the dispensing of pre-packaged controlled medication, and further collected his entire inventory of narcotic drugs. Astonishingly, they also found enormous sums of cash and an impressive collection of weapons more closely resembling an arsenal.

When order was finally restored the head of the task force conferred with me privately. Apparently there were more purchases of controlled substances using my DEA number than the busiest Kaiser clinic in Los Angeles. To my dismay, under my hopefully vigilant supervision, my loyal physician assistant was conducting an extremely lucrative, irregular dispensing of medication to not only patients, but the general population as well. I had totally entrusted the purchase, payment, dispensing and monitoring of pre-packaged medication to my assistant, friend of greater than twenty years, with no hesitation. Under my generous auspices he conspired to transform my very modest, but always rigorously honest clinic into a haven for the drug seeking population. I had no realization at the time of the consequences that would ultimately befall me as a result of my ill fated trust.

I placed William on administrative leave, believing the crisis had been resolved. This was confirmed when I received my newly-issued DEA certificate replacing the one that had expired. Not known to me, however, were two ongoing storylines that would come together in a calamitous conclusion. William, preparing to face the outcome of his felonious actions was contriving with several cohorts to portray me as a mastermind criminal. Also, several hundred of my patient files confiscated by the DEA were being scrutinized by avid investigators representing other regulatory agencies.

William volunteered an extensive preemptive interview with the Board of Medical Quality Assurance. He was heard to say his admission of guilt, and revelation of my supposed involvement in all his activities, was clearly an effort to escape certain imprisonment. He believed apprehending the renowned Dr. Lew would justify his exoneration and relieve him of any possible incarceration. Virtually all of his spurious commentary was later transformed by the attorney general into allegations and felony counts. During this same time frame I was alarmed by notices from all of my banking institutions that investigatory agencies were requesting detailed information concerning both my business and personal banking records. Also being investigated were accounts of several medically related companies providing services to my patients.

Nearly two years after the incursion into my office, a similar episode took place. The faces were different, but the mode of action was indistinguishable. Virtually all of my patient files and personal information, including banking statements and IRS returns were confiscated and placed in numbered cartons. There were almost 500 separate parcels. At the conclusion, I sat in a decimated, virtually empty office contemplating what was yet to come. William was working with the Department of Justice to have me serve prison time for his heinous crimes.

It became obvious to me that my career as a practicing physician was soon to be permanently interrupted. I was certain a new way of life had to be quickly created. We decided to sell our residence in Long Beach and move permanently to Sedona, Arizona. Perhaps the inherent energy emanating from the red rocks would fashion a new reality, free of the darkness which now clouded my practice of medicine.

Of course, I had no real income locally to support our household. As an incredibly demanding solution, I commuted weekly between Long Beach and Sedona maintaining our only means of financial support. I obtained a real estate license in my spare time and encouraged my reluctant wife, Anastasia, to follow the same business course. During my stays in California I lived in an eight foot by twelve foot unheated room in a house owned by my Cuban maid. It was a harsh winter but worth it to know my beloved wife and children were comfortable and secure in Sedona.

I was just leaving Arizona on a now memorable day in February of 2002 when I received an urgent call from JoAnne. She was the lead investigator for the Dept. of Justice and clearly represented my most avid pursuer. It was apparently necessary I meet with her that very day to answer further questions about my professional activities. I was extremely apprehensive about the urgency of the meeting and feared something more terrible was about to occur. My fear was greatly enhanced when she inquired about my time of arrival and description of the vehicle I was driving. I envisioned myself being handcuffed and whisked away in an unmarked car to an uncertain fate. What was so intriguing about this scenario was my absolute lack of knowledge concerning my crime. I even fantasized about bypassing my office, driving to the airport, and returning to Belize seeking asylum. In the end, however, I headed rapidly to my office and my rendezvous with destiny.

I parked my Jaguar in the inconspicuous alley at the rear of my building. I was in the act of exiting with difficulty the low set front seat of the vehicle when at least eight menacing figures quickly approached. They all carried a variety of weapons pointed clearly in my direction. I was ordered to place my hands behind my back and recline over my car to be searched and placed in shackles. My previously subtle essential tremor became so magnified that securing the handcuffs was a major issue. None of my bewildered staff or agonizing patients could comprehend what they were witnessing. I could only contend with the moment by imagining the physically painful ride in the backseat of the unmarked car was an illusion. It was all part of an ongoing dream I had come to believe I was living in.

I was delivered to the Long Beach Police Department to be booked and begin a now familiar series of prison excursions. My few, meaningful pieces of jewelry were confiscated as well as my tie, belt and shoe laces. There was no special accord given to me; I was no longer the Ivy League trained obstetrician gynecologist. My most immediate police attendees actually indifferently concluded I was just another long standing heroin addict.

I was the first of many prisoners to be placed in a now, well frequented holding tank. Here in a large austere cell myriads of recently incarcerated individuals are indiscriminately placed prior to the next phase of their prison experience. There is no way to differentiate between a cellie who will ultimately spend his remaining life in a level four building at Pelican Bay, or one with an outstanding traffic warrant who will leave in the morning. As each new occupant was introduced into our environment I could only wonder as to the degree of danger each of them represented. What was clear was the almost instinctive way they aligned themselves according to ethnic guidelines. It is important to understand this territorial distinction, since all prison life, and certainly my ultimate miraculous survival depended on a unique assimilation into this wondrous society.

Gazing around me, I first noticed the Paisas. These are the Hispanics from Mexico who have not as yet clearly identified with an L.A. gang. They usually do not bear the body markings proclaiming their geographic allegiance and are often subject to INS sanction and deportation. The South Siders represent a higher degree of organization and display their geographic loyalty in the form of blatant tattoos. There is no portion of the body covering that is not acceptable for proud proclamation of their home territory. The Afro-Americans or brothers exhibit a quiet solidarity with their ritualistic embrace upon greeting. Even the fierce rivalry between the Bloods and Crips is tempered in the reality of prison life. The woods or whites are a very diverse accumulation of inmates.