Lance Barabas flew north to help Knox hire a defense attorney. After an arrest for marijuana possession in February 2006, Dodd, then 17, began using oxycodone with his cousin. I've always been self-reliant, I guess because I was left alone so much as a kid. He wanted a group of associates to help them collect scripts, so they could ship more pills to Tennessee. He routinely threw Blow-style parties, circulating cocaine on silver platters and goblets filled with pain pills to be crushed and snorted. Growing weary of the Little General's recklessness, Dodd started doing less business with his best friend. As the leader of the ring, according to the federal government — and according to his own reckoning — Lance Barabas would receive 15 years, time he continues to serve.
An underprivileged kid with an entrepreneurial spirit was given an opportunity for success and he took it. This true crime memoir details the three-year-long rise and collapse of the Barabas Criminal Enterprise, an opiod-pill trafficking ring founded by Douglas Dodd and his best friend on the wrestling team, Lance Barabas. In the parking lot after class, Dodd told the Little General that he'd get him the pills by nightfall. Pretty soon I was snorting pills every day — they were stronger that way. Dodd thought the call sounded fishy. Then the manager called back and said the packages had been found. Barabas used the time as an opportunity to have a little fun.
He quickly sold out and writes that he was being supplied more than 2,000 pills a month. And this was all before he was legally able to drink a beer, while still living with his grandmother. The brothers were usually completely wacked out on pills when they made the run. When they hit strip clubs, he'd dropped 2,000 bucks buying everyone drinks and lap dances to prove what a big-shot drug dealer he was. They are literally profiting off of drugs and kids are going to prison. Likewise, the Little General's abuse skyrocketed as he grew skinny and jumpy and increasingly unpredictable. He gave me a hard time about quitting, saying I wasn't fun anymore.
You don't rely on anyone else. It wasn't a sensational high, like Ecstasy or acid. Now Dodd, who was released from jail in 2014, has written a book with Matthew B Cox called 'Generation Oxy: From High School Wrestlers to Pain Pill Kingpins'. After being told he'd face five years in prison, he says, Dodd hired an attorney, who was able to get the pill charge dropped, but he had to plead guilty for the pot. He should give every cent to a suitable charity.
Source: Skyhorse Publishing Source:Supplied Dodd graduated from high school with honours in June 2007. An underprivileged kid with an entrepreneurial spirit was given an opportunity for success and he took it. I knew that we had a good thing going with the pills. The problem with writing a memoir like this is that it only includes the author's point of view whereas it could have benefited by devoting passages to law enforcement's thought processes. They start making money, they have some good times, they get addicted to the rush, and then the walls start closing in.
What began as pleasure became an addiction, and soon Lance Barabas couldn't keep up with the cost of his burgeoning habit. Dodd's prescription, which was upped to include 120 oxys, along with 60 Trazodone for sleep, enabled him to travel with a stash of meds without fear. Dodd became the Little General's largest supplier, selling his ample surplus of pills at a handsome profit — but would not move the product across state lines. Generation Oxy details the story of how a group of high school wrestlers built a drug smuggling empire. The brush with the law chastened even the Little General — at least a bit. But now he eyed the parking lot as well, spotting another nondescript vehicle with two beefy men.
Dodd wanted to do a small number of shipments with large quantities, figuring it would reduce their chances of getting caught. He had never considered college, but hectoring from his grandmother led him to enrol in Pasco-Hernando State College with Lance. This story has it all—hardships, corruption, love, money, greed, and turmoil. Dodd lives in Tampa, Florida. I highly recommend Dreamland by journalist Sam Quinones. He has managed to turn his life experience and catastrophic events into a nationwide story. He also worked nights as a fry cook at joints like Mike's Dockside and Hooters.
If people turn informant among even hardened criminals sworn to uphold the code of Omerta, you can imagine what happens when some ex-high school wrestlers find out they're facing the prospect of doing twenty-five years or so if they don't turn on each other. They were now distributing 20,000 pills a month, and the teddy bears were really rolling in. His life of pills and sex turns harrowing as he faces life in federal prison. The wrestlers were completely oblivious. This is an important read for anyone looking for the effect the opiate epidemic has had, right from the start. They were sending the pills to one person out of state, and all the legwork was being done in Tennessee.
Standing at the threshold of a luxury condo in Tampa, Florida, Doug Dodd looked on in horror at the spectacle of a drug dealer's den of iniquity. Dodd was sentenced to six years and eight months and became a free man again in October 2014. But a lot of times it would freak them out. Dodd told him about the charges he faced: the federal conspiracy indictment, the money laundering, the drugs. Functionality-wise, at least it works as advertised. Or they'd go to rehab.
This teenage criminal enterprise ultimately shipped hundreds of thousands of OxyContins and other prescription painkillers throughout the country, making millions in the process. He was required to undergo drug treatment, and was subject to a curfew that meant he had to go straight home after school. Mark Mallouk is the screenwriter of Black Mass and executive producer of Everest and Golden Globe Best Picture nominee Rush. We liked to get high. His pill habit growing, Dodd began to consider the idea of selling the painkillers himself: Oxy and roxie were basically semi-legal, he figured, and they were definitely abundant and popular.