GAIL WHITE 30-year bounty hunter with heart thinks of hanging up handcuffs

I didn't know what to expect as I drove to western Pennsylvania to interview Dart.
I had never met a bounty hunter.
When I called to set up a time to meet Dart, I lobbied to go out on a bail enforcement mission with him. My request was flatly rejected.
"Eight times out of 10 they come quietly," Dart explained patiently. "But if it's one of those two times, somebody's getting beat up. Sometimes it's him. Sometimes it's me."
I thought about his words as I drove to his home. I figured that since Dart has been chasing "bail stuffers" for more than 30 years, it must usually be the other guy who is getting the beating. My imagination began working overtime as I envisioned a huge, gruff looking man with scars on his face and the demeanor of a pit bull.
Dart was none of these things.
Upon arrival, I was greeted by a man shorter than I expected. He wore a T-shirt under a black cotton button-down shirt, and his head was covered with a bandanna. Instead of scars, I found kind eyes looking at me and a demeanor that was warm and inviting.
What he's like
Sitting and talking with Dart, I learned that he is part American Indian and cooks almost every meal over the fireplace in his living room. He watches out for his elderly neighbors and has personal relationships with the customers who come into his car repair shop.
"I have a profound sense of right and wrong," Dart says about his simple, practical philosophy about life.
It was that profound sense that led him to obtain his bounty hunter's license in 1972.
"It all starts with a phone call," Dart says in explaining the beginning of a case. A phone call from a bail bondsman is how Dart gets his information about a fugitive.
Phone calls also help in the capture of many of them.
"E.T. always phones home," Dart says, smiling. He explains that those running from the law always stop to make a phone call to a loved one. With that information obtained from police, Dart knows where the bond jumper is or where he is headed.
Puts in long hours
Then Dart engages in the next phase of operation: hours and hours of reconnaissance and surveillance.
"This is not romantic," Dart insists, laughing at some of the movies that have been made about bounty hunters. "It is not a damn bit of fun."
He figures that in some cases, considering all the hours he puts in finding and turning in fugitives to law enforcement, he makes about $2 or $3 an hour.
After performing his reconnaissance mission, Dart plans the capture of his bail jumper. "They are creatures of habit," he shares. "They usually have a pattern, so I know where and when to find them." He chooses to move in when the fugitive is at his weakest moment.
Unless Dart decides there may not be a weak moment.
"Mama didn't raise no fool," he says. Sometimes, no amount of money is worth the danger.
Few injuries
His judgment has served him well. In all his 30 years of bounty hunting, he has suffered only six broken vertebrae and a broken ankle.
"I've been shot at," he concedes. "And I've returned fire."
But Dart doesn't have a scratch on him. Not bad for a bounty hunter responsible for bringing nearly 250 fugitives to justice.
Now, times have changed and Dart is considering hanging up his handcuffs.
"It was brutal back then," Dart says in remembering some of the scuffles he found himself in during his early days of bounty hunting. "But nine out of 10 people were honest."
"Drugs are involved now in almost every case," he says, noting the most disturbing and profound difference from his early years as a skip-chaser.
"There used to be a sense of order, then drugs came in, and now you can't trust anyone, because they may be chemically altered."
Sense of sadness
There was no anger but a deep sense of sadness in his voice as he thought of all the drug-addicted fugitives he has chased.
"I believe in humanity," Dart says softly. "The depravity that drugs cause ... it breaks your heart."
A bounty hunter with a broken heart. Now that wasn't what I expected.
gwhite@vindy.com