PAYING THE PRICE

Never in his worst nightmares did Dan Feist believe that his partying
days would cost 6 1/2 years of his life.

"I was just like a hundred others in that group -- partying on
weekends, living on the wild side. And it all came tumbling down," he
said, snapping his fingers, "that fast."

In 1994, Feist was sentenced to 90 months in federal custody -- 30
months for distribution of drugs and a 60-month mandatory minimum
sentence for possession of a firearm in relation to drug trafficking.
With credit for "good time," he ended up serving 78 months.

It's still hard to believe, even after his return to Billings in
February 2000 and after earning a 4.0 grade-point-average at
MSU-Billings, where he'll graduate in May with a degree in information
systems.

He expects that the consequences of those careless days in the late
1980s and early 1990s will continue to haunt him.

"I'm really in store for a lot of problems with hiring," the
38-year-old college senior said. "They were even hesitant at first
about letting me start up there (MSU-B)."

Despite his guilty plea on the drug charges, Feist said he never sold
drugs and denied that he had anywhere near the amount of drugs the
government charged -- between 30 and 50 grams. Feist said in a recent
Gazette interview that he wasn't selling drugs, but sharing with friends.

Under federal law, sharing is distribution.

"I was just partying in bars, and it was 'You want to try this, you
want to try that?' "

Then one day in late 1990, drug agents showed up at the garage he
operated. An informant told them Feist had been dealing drugs there.
Agents found a misdemeanor amount of drugs, but took his car cleaner,
hoses and the chemicals out of his parts washer as evidence.

"I never thought they would prosecute," he said. "It was such a small
amount. It didn't seem worth the trouble to prosecute."

And they didn't, for three years.

"I figured they'd just forgotten about it," Feist said. "Then one day
they came to the job and arrested me."

Prosecutors weren't charging him with the small amount that he
believed could be proved. His lawyer learned that the government had
two witnesses who would testify that he sold drugs -- and in larger
amounts than Feist could imagine. Worse, one of the witnesses thought
Feist carried a gun in a drug transaction. The gun charge brought an
automatic five-year hit.

His attorney told him that he could be looking at a 15-year sentence,
and that prosecutors had a conviction rate somewhere around 98
percent. The only option his attorney ever considered was a plea
bargain, Feist remembered.

"I was in shock," he said. "At that time I was 30 years old. I could
barely remember back 15 years. That was half my life at the time."

What he worried about most was how he was going to tell his parents.
He'd grown up on a ranch outside town and had worked with his father
all his life.

"I got myself into it, but they really didn't get into it, and they
would suffer too," he said.

Three or four months after his indictment came down, he began to
consider a plea bargain. He refused to provide information about
others, but he was afraid of going to trial.

"I just didn't know what would happen if I went to court," he said. "I
didn't know what the witnesses would say to get themselves out of
jail. That's what I was worried about -- what they were going to say."

So he decided it was in his best interest to enter a plea, even though
he didn't feel himself guilty of the charges.

"At least I was trying to hit something where I could kind of see the
light at the end of the tunnel," he said.

Feist rationalized that while he may not have committed the crimes
charged, he wasn't entirely innocent, either. He acknowledges that in
his tempestuous youth, he had broken other laws.

That's how he came to terms with the long prison sentence, he said.
Feist said he was bitter and angry for a while, but didn't want to end
up like others he'd seen who had allowed their rage to ruin their lives.

"All I really thought about was how I was going to get through it," he
said. He'd been exposed to enough "scared straight" stuff to have an
idea of what awaited behind prison walls. The bad part was, Feist
said, that a lot of it turned out to be true.

He was beaten so badly at his first prison in Englewood, Colo., that
he ended up in the infirmary. At his next stop, a federal facility in
Missouri, Feist was stabbed in the arm.

"At first I was definitely worried," he said. "Then it turns more into
being cautious."

In prison, everybody has a job, even if it's just busy work, Feist
said. There are a lot of self-help groups, too.

"But there are as many chances in there as out here, maybe more, to
make wrong choices," he said.

Feist made some good choices and was transferred to a facility in
Yankton, S.D. Yankton is a former college campus, he said. Instructors
from a nearby college taught classes for inmates. He took advantage of
the opportunity to earn a two-year degree. That meant he could enroll
in MSU-B as a junior once he was released to a halfway house in Billings.

The world didn't stand still while he was away. He turned on a
computer for the first time only 18 months ago.

"I've got a big gap," he said. "I always feel I should be doing more.
I keep thinking 'I'm behind, I'm behind.' People your age when you
left are married, have homes, children. They've got retirement.
They've got a life."

He figures he's lost eight years of his daughter's life, but
fortunately has been able to re-establish that relationship. She'll be
going to college in a few years, and he's feeling the need to start
earning an income so he won't be paying off two sets of college loans
at the same time.

Would it have made a difference all those years ago, if he had known
how hard federal penalties can be?

Feist said he might have thought twice. But he believes he could have
learned his lesson just as well without a minimum mandatory sentence.

"What lesson did they teach the people who talked and got out of it?"
he asked. "If my probation officer could have sentenced me, I would
have gotten a lot less time. If a jury had sentenced me, I would have
gotten a lot less time."

Feist wants to serve as a cautionary tale to others.

"It's really important for people to realize how easy this can happen
to them," he said. "I've seen so many 18-year-old kids selling a
little on a street corner. The next thing they know, they're in a
conspiracy, and someone tells on them. And the next thing they know,
it's a 15-year sentence."