The following is an excerpt from the book Taming Dragons by Keith Childress

December 2011

The FBI Raid

Monday, October 30th 2006, was a bright sunshiny day. I don't recall there being a cloud in the sky. The crisp fall Michigan morning gave way to an unseasonably warm afternoon.

Many of our neighbors were outdoors taking advantage of the lovely autumn day. Some were raking leaves, others were hanging spooky Halloween decorations. The rumble of lawnmowers could be heard throughout our neighborhood and the sweet smell of fall cut grass and burning leaves lingered in the air.

The few leaves that remained on the two maple trees outside our window glowed bright red and orange. Freighters slowly made their way up and down the St. Clair River as crews were busy on deck preparing the large ships for the harsh Michigan winter that lay ahead.

I spent the day like any other: returning business phone calls and emails. My family and I own a small computer aided design (CAD) training business that we started in 1995. We run the business out of our home in Algonac, Michigan. Algonac is a small town located on the eastern shore at the base of Michigan's thumb. Algonac is best known for being the original home of Chris Craft Boats. We also rent a small office in Warren where we teach our classes. Warren is a northern suburb of Detroit, and the town I grew up in as a kid.

My daughter-in-law Yilan Wu spent most of the day in bed sick. She was four months pregnant at the time and still suffering from morning sickness, which sometimes lasted all day long. Yilan is married to my son Adam, the eldest of my three boys. Adam and Yilan met via the internet when Adam was tutoring a former student of ours who is married to Yilan's cousin. Adam and Yilan fell in love and were married in 2004 when Adam flew to China to meet Yilan and her family face-to-face for the first time. I sponsored Yilan when she was finally allowed to come to this country nearly two years later. To save money, Adam and Yilan moved in with me and lived in the converted attic of our bungalow-style home. Adam was attending the local community college full-time while working in the family CAD training business as a part-time instructor.

After I wrapped up my business activities for the day, I made the 50 mile drive to my girlfriend Lisa's home in Royal Oak. Lisa is a speech pathologist who works with grade school students in an underprivileged school district just north of Detroit. I arrived early and raked leaves while I waited for her to get home from work. When Lisa arrived she changed clothes and we made the trek north to Rochester Michigan, home to Yates Cider Mill. Yates began as a grist mill in the 1860's and switched to pressing apples to make delicious apple cider a decade later. Going to Yates for cider and doughnuts is a fall tradition for thousands of southeastern Michigan families. My mom and dad took me and my sisters there when we were kids, and I did the same with my boys when they were young.

It was a beautiful evening so Lisa and I took a stroll along the little stream that slowly turns the large wooden paddlewheel that powers the mill. I recall having a feeling of contentment as we walked along. Lisa and I were getting along well; I was in good health and enjoyed a close relationship with my three sons; Yilan Wu was pregnant with my first grandchild, and our family business was doing well. We didn't make a lot of money, but our training business allowed us to pay our bills and to pay for Adam's college tuition, as well as the medical bills associated with Yilan's pregnancy. The work was also fulfilling in that our family provided discounted training to Michigan's unemployed, thus helping many to find gainful employment. All-in-all, life was good.

When Lisa and I returned to my truck I checked my cell phone and discovered that I had several missed calls from our home phone in Algonac. I was concerned because Adam was teaching a class that evening and Yilan was home alone, and she never called me for anything. I immediately called home to find out if something was wrong.

My son Aaron answered the phone on the first ring and sounded very agitated. He said there were two FBI agents at the house that wanted to talk to me. I said, "yeah right", assuming Aaron was joking. We tease and play practical jokes on each other all the time. My dad was a notorious teaser. If he wasn't teasing you, it meant he didn't like you. I inherited this trait from my dad and passed it along to my boys.

Aaron said "I'm serious, Dad. There's two FBI agents sitting in a car in our driveway." I could tell he wasn't joking and I also could hear the faint sound of Yilan sobbing in the background. Yilan grew up in China where people live in fear of the government and government agents. She was terrified and inconsolable at what she considered to be the government's intrusion in our home. She sobbed on and off for days afterward, causing us to fear for the safety of her unborn child.

While I was talking to Aaron, another call beeped in. The caller ID read "restricted." I took the call and a man on the other end identified himself as Special Agent Penicci of the FBI. He asked me how long it would take for me to get to my office. I asked him what this was about and he said he would discuss it with me when I got to my office. I agreed to meet him there in an hour.

I dropped Lisa off at her place and headed for our office. As I drove along, I felt dazed and confused. It was like a Twilight Zone episode where a person falls asleep in their life, and wakes up in someone else's. The FBI agent said to meet him at our office, could this have something to do with our business? But this made no sense. We run a small "ma and pa" computer training business, and while we're fairly well known in the small automotive design community, in the overall scheme of things, we're nobodies. Why would the FBI want to talk to me?

Several thoughts raced through my mind. Our training computers have a wireless internet connection. Could hackers have broken into our wireless network and been using our computers for some sort of illegal activity - who knows what? Terrorism? Even though the 911 attacks had occurred five years earlier, terrorism was still at the forefront of everyone's mind and the country was in a perpetual state of "orange" alert. It also occurred to me that we never changed the lock on the door when we moved into our office in 2003. We only use the office a couple of evenings a week, could someone have a key and be using our office for some sort of illegal activity when we're not there?

I turned into our office parking lot and noticed several black SUV's scattered about. We share the parking lot with four other businesses, so it's not unusual for a variety of vehicles to come and go throughout the day. However, it was nearly 9 o'clock at night and all the other businesses were closed. Plus, these were identical late-model black SUV's, so this was unusual.

When I got out of my truck, I was surprised to be met by my sister Karen. She said Aaron had called her when he couldn't get in touch with me. Karen is a vice president at a large company that builds and manages shopping malls. She said she'd phoned her company's law firm, but it was after hours and she was waiting for someone to call her back. I said that I appreciated her help, but I didn't need an attorney. This was obviously a big misunderstanding and the sooner I talk to the FBI, the sooner this matter would be cleared up. With that, my sister and I crossed the parking lot and entered my office.

The only way to describe the scene before me is surreal. In the Woody Allen movie, The Purple Rose of Cairo, a character in a movie steps out of the movie screen and into real life. This was just the opposite. It felt like I'd stepped out of real life and into a spy movie. I couldn't believe my eyes. There were FBI agents milling about everywhere, maybe a dozen or more. They were all wearing dark colored bulletproof vests with the yellow letters "FBI" emblazoned on the front and back. Each was sporting a sidearm. Guns? Bulletproof vests? Did the FBI really think that a classroom of students and a couple of instructors posed a serious threat to their safety? Some of the agents were boxing up our training computers, while others were snapping pictures of our office.

I later found out from my son Adam that at approximately 7 PM that evening, nearly a dozen FBI agents barged through the front door of our office unannounced while he was giving a lecture. Once inside our office they screamed "FBI, DON'T MOVE!!!", scaring my son, our assistant instructor, and our students half to death. The FBI then detained my son and our assistant instructor while they questioned our students.

I was startled out of my trance by an FBI agent who asked me if I was Mr. Childress. I said Yes. He had me lean against a desk spread-eagle while he patted me down. The agent then told me to go with him. My sister said she wanted to accompany me, but the agent insisted that she wait outside. He then escorted me to a small room adjacent to our training room that we use for storage. I was told to wait there for Special Agent Penicci to arrive.

While I waited in the store room, my sister got a return call from an attorney who said that under no circumstance was I to talk to the FBI without an attorney present. My sister explained who I was and that I'd done nothing wrong. He said it didn't matter, I was not to talk to the FBI without an attorney. My sister approached one of the FBI agents and said she had my attorney on the phone and that he wanted to talk to me right away. The FBI agent refused to let her see me or to deliver a message to me. So there I sat: alone, frightened, confused, waiting, and wondering. Clueless as to why this was happening to me and my family or to why our lives had suddenly been turned upside down and inside out.

Those familiar with me and my family and the benign circumstances that led to the misguided FBI raid, as well as the outrageous events that have transpired subsequent to the raid, say ours is a story that must be told. We agree. This is our story.

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Keith Childress can be reached at 586 693 2585 or keith@keithchildress.com