The Making of a Pseudo-Felon (Autumn, 2000) ------------------------------------------- By Brent Ranney "I'm bored and depressed. I think I'll hack extenders for seven days, 24 hours a day. It's relatively harmless isn't it?" At the age of 19, home from college, around the time of Thanksgiving 1993, I used a 386 computer, a special computer program, and a 2400bps modem to conduct hacking activity on Midwest-based LDDS Metromedia Communications to obtain phone access codes through its service. In other words, I tried to cheat the telephone company. In the middle of the night, I took a printout of access numbers the computer program generated and strolled over to a pay phone. I tested every access code. They all failed to work despite the computer program logging them as valid with a carrier signal. When I returned to school, everything appeared normal. I was oblivious to the fact that a federal search warrant had been obtained to search my dorm room. My friend and I were unaware of anything amiss when we entered our dorm building on an early winter evening. An anonymous student had tipped me off earlier in the parking lot that the school was considering me as a suspect for internal PBX abuse. I was not involved and knew nothing about it. Before we entered the elevator to reach our floor, a student bellowed, "There are FBI agents running around on the third floor!" "That's our floor," I thought. "It must be drugs or something." I felt bad for whoever was getting arrested. Though feeling uneasy, I garnered some comfort in thinking it probably had nothing to do with me. A pudgy man, his face almost blushing, was standing in front of my door conspicuously. The guy greeting me outside my dorm room happened to be the area manager of security for the local telephone company. "Are you Brent?" he queried. "Yesss," I said. The phone cop turned around to face the door. He knocked two or three times. Immediately the door flew open and the barrels of small hand guns were pointed at me, wielded by men dressed in what you might call "land warrior nerd" attire. They were wearing telemarketer headsets and I heard the cracking of walkie-talkies. I don't remember the specifics. All I know is that I was facing the other way, my hands against the wall up above my head. "What is this?" I asked. They frisked me and my friend. "Do you have any weapons? Any knives? Guns?" "No," I said, flabbergasted. On cue, an agent flashed his ID. It wasn't the FBI after all. It was the Secret Service. I was shocked. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. I didn't feel like it was really happening. I was so nervous. I asked for a lawyer. A couple of hours later, I found myself in an empty holding cell, after submitting to fingerprints, pictures, and idle chit-chat. I had a friend whose father was on duty as a cop the night when I came into the police station. "He looked like a stereotypical hacker," his father later told him. Apparently the man had seen a lot of hackers coming through the station (small as the town was) and he could spot them immediately. Before I was left alone in the cell to lament my sins, another cop stayed behind and eyeballed me for a long minute. His look shot the message, "You're going to get it bad boy, and you are a bad boy, no matter what you think." I signed a waiver for release, relinquishing some of my rights. I was released from police custody and returned to my dorm, a new man, stripped of all my electronic possessions. They had taken every computer-related article I had, every disk, every issue of 2600. A year later, after my conviction, everything was returned, mostly broken. I just wish they hadn't destroyed the computer artwork I painstakingly created. I withdrew from the school. I hope you get away with it, my political science professor told me as I bid him farewell. "I hate the phone company," he added. I met with the Secret Service agent again at a later date. Whenever I met the agent, the phone cop was with him always present, under some shadowy pretense, like cancerman from "The X Files." I was encouraged, implicitly pressured, to reveal information on other people who committed crimes. I told them about real criminals I was aware of - people who were profiting from fraud. In these closed door sessions, I admitted illegally obtaining the access codes and divulged every detail about the crime. Prior to my actual arrest, the area manager of security for the local telephone company contacted my mother and promised I would not be arrested or prosecuted, with the understanding that they just wanted me to stop. He told her I was responsible for $100,000 in damages. Unfortunately, she believed his white lie. He told her that if she didn't cooperate by disclosing my whereabouts, she would be an accessory to the crime. Regardless of what was promised, I openly confessed to involvement unknowing of the unscrupulous tactics employed on my mother. A year later, I plead guilty to possession of access codes with intent to defraud. I was sentenced to three years probation, fined $500, and ordered to participate in a halfway house program for two months. Throughout my probation, I was tested for drugs. I had no drug history. What I did possess was long hair and a penchant for black clothing. My offense is a felony for one reason and one reason only: the access codes could be used to call out to any state. Because of this interstate characteristic it is federal and therefore a felony charge. No losses were reported by any of the respective long distance companies I had tampered with, although the local company claimed a loss of about $17 to $30 in administrative fees. The judge and prosecution rationalized that taxpayers are indirectly victimized because of the cost related to investigations and prosecution of "major" cases such as mine. I don't envy Kevin Mitnick for the ordeal he's endured with the government. I think of myself as lucky to have never spent a day in jail. If I had, I don't think I would have emerged a survivor. Quite honestly, I probably wouldn't be here today. I don t think this mark on my record, this felony, reflects with much accuracy what kind of person I am, or what kind of employee I am. Many youths do stupid things that aren't necessarily injurious to anyone. Before Steve Wozniak and Steve Jobs co-founded Apple Computer, they "cheated" the phone company with a device called a "blue box" while in college at Berkeley, CA. Didn't they turn into quasi-responsible multimillionaires? "They didn't get caught," a landlord said to me, whose rental operation routinely turned away convicted felons per police sponsored programs. Is this to be the scale in which we judge the severity of a crime? Simply speaking: "Don't get caught?" There's no distinction today between a crime of violence and a recreational hacker. I don't expect there ever will be. How do you explain the proverbial Scarlet Letter to the uninformed public who thinks hackers like Kevin Mitnick are diabolic monsters? Seven years later, I don't justify what I did back in '93. But society shouldn't exaggerate the impact of it either. The interests of the multimillion dollar corporations have been protected, rest assured. Kevin Mitnick was silenced and before him so were many lesser-known hackers. The branding is done, it's over. No appeals, no expunging. I am a convicted felon for life. Are we to be made as examples, to sway public fear and distrust? Is this the result of manufactured propaganda to serve corporate interest? Should the minor aggravation of a corporation result in a lifetime felony conviction for a college kid? I'm not hiding anything and I accept responsibility for something I should have never done for the sake of curiosity to make a few free phone calls. Kevin Mitnick is, dare I say, an astute genius, but not a criminal mastermind. I was psychologically evaluated by the government and labeled off-the-record as not having "criminal thinking patterns." I ve always considered myself an ethical person despite Ma Bell groupies who consider one guy with a few access codes to be of critical importance to the subversion of a nation. Not abiding contemporary law has disproportionate consequences depending on whether or not the violation of the law involves life and limb or involves property. If you are thinking about tinkering with the phone company or other mega-corporations, think twice. Then consider beating your wife instead. By example of length of sentences served, this act is more acceptable to our society. But, God forbid, "Don't get caught" beating your wife while in possession of a red box. Afterthoughts Since my conviction in the early '90s, I ve ceased participating in any hacking activity - anything that might be construed as illegal. Frankly, I absolutely shudder at the thought. I don't keep myself privy to the latest hacking tools. I flee from gray areas of computer activity. I am 100 percent dedicated to a philosophy of anti-hacking. Call it fear, call it cowardice, but I capitulate with tyranny when it threatens my well-being. Paranoia is now a part of my everyday life. I wasn't always that way. I use to stand up for myself. But the futility of raising arms against a million to one odds is not my cup of tea. But there are others, more courageous than me, who face these odds every day. You may know them: Bernie S., Kevin Mitnick, the staff of 2600, and nameless others in America and in third world countries. By writing this article, authoring it with my real name, I fear I'm jeopardizing my well-being. Without any prodding of our imagination, we can assume the Secret Service peruses 2600. And if the SS thinks I've somehow resurfaced as a threat, they might conceivably pay me a visit. Like Bernie S., they might want to check my wiring. I don't have a vendetta. I'm just telling a story and offering an opinion. I haven't voiced my disapproval in a domain name like 2600. But I wonder, how is writing an opinionated article any different? To the credit of law enforcement and in particular the probation department, I was treated humanely. I'm not going to judge these people. They generally respected me and I respect them. I do think they're part of a larger problem - a preoccupation with power, an aristocracy that pulls the government strings to protect Corporate America. (That's where these laws directed at hackers come from.) Perhaps this threatens our rights of freedom more than any hacker.