On the date of sentencing,  I learned just how lonely it is to be  a criminal defendant.  There's no way to describe that feeling of apprehension one has immediately prior to the sentencing hearing. It's like the wait between the time you learn during war that there is hostile artillery inbound, and the crunch when the round lands and explodes.

 My attorney had made copies of the awards and decorations I had received whilst serving in Vietnam & Cambodia, but the judge was not impressed. I had guesstimated that the judge would give me approximately one-half of  the sentence that my Guidelines suggested, meaning somewhere around five years.

My attorney summarised my career, and the positive points in my life, whilst minimising the negative aspects as revealed in the Pre-sentence Investigation Report. I declined to make a statement, other than to say that I was ready to receive the court's pronouncement of my sentence.

The bad news: four years, listed in the Judgment and Notice of Commitment as forty-eight months, of which I would be required to serve eight-five percent, according to the US Sentencing Guidelines. Not the worst, but not a slap on the wrist, either. The effect was numbing; four years in a Federal prison.

I returned to Miami and to my law practice, going through the motions of what I know would be a short stay, for I was to surrender in thirty days, the place of incarceration to be assigned. Was I going to stay in Florida, where I could receive visits from my family, or would I be sent to a remote and distant place? That unsettled detail kept me on edge during my final days before becoming an inmate. Since I had a child, a very young son, visitation was important to me. My parents were elderly, but not infirm, and  able to travel, so long as it was not a great distance.

I did start changing, though.  A client from the Netherlands Antilles who was renting out his luxury bay-front condominium unit had me evict the tenants for non-payment. The condo office had been unable to obtain the tenents' automobile license plate numbers, as the tenants always gave excuses about the location of their vehicles. I assume they were just unable to pay the high rental. When I entered what I thought was an abandoned unit I found:

• Logbooks for rotary-engine (helicopter) aircraft instruction.

• Several expensive aircraft radios.

• A large amount of camouflage clothing in the closet. I knew from experience that the tenants were probably using these when off-loading narcotics from aircraft.
  

• A room full of abandoned high-priced furniture and furnishings.

• A total lack of ordinary consumer items, indicating that this was not their primary residence.

The client got a furnished apartment out of the deal, and I turned over all the interesting evidence to law enforcement, in what was my first effort to return to the right side of the street.

I was slowly winding down my practice of law, and had refrained from taking on any new client for some time. It was a strange time for me; I was in a type of limbo, about to embark for places and experiences totally new to me, that I knew would neither be comfortable nor enjoyable. I had been in a lot of bad places before, but those were of mine own choosing. This was the unknown.

Next week: Departure day closes in.