Douglas Dodd - Generation Oxy: From High School Wrestlers to Pain Pill Kingpins

Copyright 2017 by Douglas Dodd and Matthew B. Cox

Foreword 2017 by Mark Mallouk

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Rain Saukas
Cover photos: Douglas Dodd

Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-2357-3
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-2358-0

Printed in the United States of America

Authors Note

T he reader should know some names and identifying characteristics of certain people have been changed in order to protect their privacy. In some instances, I re-created dialogue to the best of my recollection and compressed events to best serve the overall story. However, like most peoples memories, mine is selective and at times, flawed. Although Ive scoured court motions, transcripts, reports, and conducted multiple interviews in order to create an accurate account of my story, there is simply no way Im as cool and funny as the guy described between the covers of this book; nor could my friendships have been this strong, my drug-induced highs this good, the sex as wild, the good times as good and the bad times as bad. But this is the way I remember it, and try as I have, I cant describe it any other way.

Contents

Chapter One
The Land of Opportunity

Chapter Two
Dirty Southern Wrestling

Chapter Three
Ground Zero

Chapter Four
Swamp Challenge Champion

Chapter Five
Hillbilly Heroin

Chapter Six
The Town is Dry

Chapter Seven
State of Florida Mandatory Minimums

Chapter Eight
Pharmageddon

Chapter Nine
Prescription Painkillers

Chapter Ten
Opiate Addiction

Chapter Eleven
The Drug Enforcement Administration

Chapter Twelve
Outta Control

Chapter Thirteen
The Oxycodone Super Wal-Mart

Chapter Fourteen
Oxy Rush

Chapter Fifteen
Con Air

Chapter Sixteen
Gangster Informant

Chapter Seventeen
Coleman Federal Correctional Complex

Foreword

G eneration Oxy is a monument to collective irresponsibility.

At several points in the story you will find yourself asking, How did that happen?

Of course, at the center of it all was Doug Dodd. It goes without saying that he made some terrible choices. Wed all agree that illegally obtaining thousands of OxyContin pills is reckless and irresponsible. Forming an interstate network of dealers to sell those pills isnt the wisest move. And, in retrospect, Dodd probably shouldve partnered with somebody, anybody, other than Lance Barabas, a self-destructive, wild man who seems genetically constructed to defy authority in all its forms.

But Doug Dodds story is not possible without the moral and ethical failings of societys most important institutions.

First, the state of Florida, which from everything I can see, is a lawless swampland. The negligence of state politicians and regulators is astonishing. They enabled, and continue to profit from, the OxyContin epidemic.

Theres FedEx, a company that, according to a 2010 US Justice Department report, knowingly delivered drugs to dealers and addicts. FedEx was indicted again in 2014 for distributing controlled drugs online. No arrests were made.

Theres the medical malpractice of doctors who knowingly overprescribed OxyContin and the pharmacists who knowingly filled addicts prescriptions in the name of greed. Pharmacy giant CVS was indicted in 2010. No arrests were made.

Then, sitting atop of the irresponsibility pyramid, the Sackler family, the owners and operators of Purdue Pharma, the creator of OxyContin. In 2012, the US Justice Department found Purdue Pharma contributed to thousands of deaths by intentionally misleading the public about OxyContins risk of addiction.

Of course, no arrests were made.

In fact, in 2015, the Sackler family, founders and owners of Purdue Pharma, were added to Forbes magazines Americas Richest Families with a net worth of $14 billion dollars.

So when you find yourself asking, How did that happen?

Thats how it happened.

Mark Mallouk

July 2017

Prologue

The two kids and their crew were making millions of dollars illegally moving OxyContin and Roxicodone pills to a network of dealers spread out across the countryTennessee, Alaska, South Carolina, New York.

Rolling Stone

I t was Saturday night at the Round Up, a popular country dance club located just outside Tampas city limits. The place was packed with blue-collar workers and drunken southern belles line dancing underneath the disco balls to Blake Sheltons Redneck Girl and Trashy Women by Confederate Railroad. There were sleeved-out dirty southern boys doing shots at the bar while watching half-naked strippers in Stetsons seductively slow riding the mechanical bull; your typical Florida honky-tonk. My high school buddies and I had been drinking rum and Coke and snorting oxys most of the night. I was seventeen years old and more than buzzed, dancing with a twenty-something raven-haired beauty, sporting a tramp stamp and silicon implants. That might have been why I didnt notice the hulking bouncers pulling my friends off the dance floor until one of the country boys tapped on my shoulder. You! yelled the bouncer over the music. I reeled around to see this massive Hulk-like guy in a black T-shirt that read S ECURITY on it. Youre outta here!

He escorted me outside with my friends, and asked for my ID. Not a problem, I said, and handed him twenty-three-year-old Alejandro James Diazs Florida drivers license.

The bouncers held the license up and his eyes darted between Diazs photograph and myselfDouglas Chantz Dodd. We were both thin and roughly five foot eight inches tall with green eyes and dirty-blond spiked hair. Regardless, we werent twins. Nah, grunted the Hulk, this isnt you.

Youre crazy, I replied, as a Pinellas County Sheriffs cruiser pulled up to the clubs entrance just behind me.

Well see, chuckled the bouncer, motioning to the deputy exiting the patrol vehicle.

Between me, my best friend Lance Barabas, his brothers Landon and Larry, and our buddy Richard Sullivan, our groupwhich prosecutors would ultimately dub the Barabas criminal enterprisewas making millions, shipping hundreds of thousands of oxycodone pills throughout the country. Federal prosecutors would later call us one of the largest suppliers of the ever-increasing oxycodone epidemic. And I had roughly one hundred of the powerful painkillers in a metal vial hanging from the chain around my neck, barely covered by my shirta fifteen-year mandatory minimum sentence in the state of Florida.

Shit, I hissed under my breath. Fifteen years in Florida state prison was not a part of my plans. I slowly glanced toward the group of massive bouncers surrounding my friends and then to the deputy closing in on my right.