Free Ghost in the Wires: My Adventures as the World’s Most Wanted Hacker by William L. Simon, Kevin Mitnick, Steve Wozniak Page B

from that same jail only a few weeks earlier. His life had been a skyrocket up and a plummet down: he had become a real-estate multimillionaire, settled into a mansion in Bel Air, which is way more upscale than Beverly Hills, a number-one address in all of LA. But then he had discovered cocaine, which led to heroin, which—old story—led to the loss of house, fortune, honor, and self-respect.
    But at that point I still had a lot of affection for him. The night when he called from the Van Nuys jail, I had said, “Do you want me to fix the pay phone so you can make calls for free?” Sure he did.
    I told him, “When we hang up, get back on and dial 211-2345. That’ll give you an automated announcement of the number of the phone you’re using. Then call me back collect and tell me the number.” When I had the number, the next step involved manipulating one of the phone company switches. From my computer I dialed into the appropriate switch and changed the “line class code” on that phone to the code for a home telephone, which would allow incoming and outgoing calls. While I was at it, I added three-way calling and call-waiting. And I programmed the phone so all the charges would go on the bill of LAPD’s Van Nuys station.
    Now it was a week later and where am I but at the same Van Nuys jail, where thanks to my favor for Uncle Mitchell, I can make all the calls I want, free. I stayed on the phone all night. Talking with my friends helped me escape the reality of where I was. Plus I needed to find an attorney who could represent me because I knew it was going to be an uphill battle when I was sent back to face the California Youth Authority Parole Board. Parolees have very limited rights, and the board members would only need to believe I
probably
did whatever I was being accused of; the evidence didn’t have to meet the standard of “beyond a reasonable doubt” as in a criminal trial.
    Then things went from bad to worse. They transferred me to LA County Jail, where I was greeted by being told to strip naked so they could spray me with insecticide. I was led to a dormitory that scared the hell out of me. I didn’t know whom to be more frightened of: the really dangerous guys who looked like they’d steal an eyeball if they got the chance, or the crazy guys who could hurt somebody and not even know they were doing it. All the cots were already taken, leaving me no place to sleep. I just sat against the wall struggling to keep my eyes open so when the sun came up I’d still have all the possessions I arrived with.
    Boyer, my Youth Authority Parole Officer, told my mom, “LA County is a very dangerous place. He could get hurt there,” and got me transferred the next day, back to Norwalk. If I saw Boyer today, I’d probably give him a big hug for that.
    I was twenty years old but, thanks to the probation, still under the jurisdiction of the Youth Authority. This was my third time in Norwalk Reception Center; some of the guards were like old friends.
    In my appearance before the parole board, they obviously didn’t take the charge too seriously, maybe because there was no evidence but a report from the Parole Officer based on a single complaint. They held I disobeyed an order from the Probation Department to stop using my ham radio. But it hadn’t been a legal order: only the FCC had the authority to take away my ham privileges. They gave me sixty days; by then I had already been inside for about fifty-seven, so I was released a few days later.
    When my mom picked me up, I had her drive me to the LA Police Academy. I had heard they sold a license-plate frame that supposedly was cop-friendly—a cop who saw it might not pull you over for a traffic infraction. In the store I noticed a stack of books: the LAPD yearbook. I said I wanted one “as a gift for my uncle, who’s with the LAPD.” It cost $75 but it was amazing, like finding the Holy Grail: it had the picture of every LAPD officer,
even the undercover guys