Saul Goodman - Get Off the Grid! - Saul Goodman's Guide to Staying Off the Radar

Anytime it’s possible to embed some truth in the things you say, it’s going to add a layer of authenticity when interacting with others. It’s up to you to pick and choose as you go, figure out what will work for you and not lead to a raised eyebrow or unwanted questions.

It’s worth reminding you at this point, too: even if a ton of this is spy-like stuff, one of the things you want to avoid is giving the impression you may actually be a spy. Because what’s the most natural reaction to that? Extreme interest at your expense.

Here we are again. We’re not at an end, no, not even close to done, at least in spirit. This subject could fill an illicit library or two. There are plenty of resources online, and maybe even some other books out there that come at it from a slightly different angle. But buyer beware, especially of online libraries intended for survivalists and antigovernment types: many of their documents describing methods for dropping out of society’s grasp were totally relevant right up to the year 2000 or so.

The Internet taking over every aspect of life the way it has put kind of a cramp in some of the old ways.

Recall our strange buddy Joey Newts, aka Joseph Newton Chandler III, aka the man who wasn’t there, somehow. Back when he ordered the birth certificate of the dead, real Joey Newts, it was pretty easy to do.

It’s just a different ball game now.

I’ve been acting as a sort of counselor here, so you’ll understand if the old Saul’s instincts bubble up a lot. In the interest of full disclosure then, let me tell you: I’ve taught you a lot about slipping off the grid and running under that radar, but in good conscience I can’t just wave my hand in benediction and tell you to go.

The professionals who assisted me and a lot of the research I did taught me one thing loud and clear above all else: this is a real gamble. Every single day, The Man gets better and better at organizing all the spinning spirals of zeroes and ones we fire across our keyboards and devices into full-color portraits of each and every one of us.

Bald-faced honesty time? Not sure how much longer anyone will be able to do this kind of thing without serious inside help. That’s sad, too. It means there may come a day when those in danger from crime syndicates, stalkers, or cartels (who aren’t deemed high-enough-profile witnesses) will just be at the mercy of circumstance. The government only has so many programs and agents it can use to babysit witness protection. That program may even shrink, even as the need for an ability to drop out of sight but still live your life as best as you can increases.

And if you’ve heard all the “buyer beware” warnings and advisories about the difficulty, there’s something else you should know: jumpstarting a new life can be tough on the old ticker.

Not just your actual heart, but your emotions as well. Figure out what you’re comfortable with before you commit to giving something like this a shot.

There are people who’ve tried to take a loved one, even families along. It’s not easy. Think about the difficulties in two people sticking to one story.

James “Whitey” Bulger, the Boston mobster who ran the legendary Winter Hill Gang, went on the lam with his attractive, blonde lady friend and a lot of cash in hand. Bulger made it all the way across the country to Southern California. There he did exactly what people should do. He hunkered down. The man suspected of ordering and committing so many mob homicides put on a comfortable hat and strolled along the beach with his friend. They made no waves.

Bulger had money, he’d thoroughly cut all ties to his previous life, and to this day feds are convinced he had some help apart from his girlfriend. But in the end, after sixteen years, he was arrested. That’s because a former Miss Iceland happened to live in his Santa Monica neighborhood and recognized him.

It’s hard to not feel like it was always a matter of time for Whitey. You know how it’s tricky to recognize people out of context? Walking around with your known significant other is often just the kind of context that can switch on a lightbulb in the mind of a passerby.

That was a master criminal. Now imagine trying the same maneuver for any reason with a spouse and kids, or just kids. Can you trust your kids to stick to your lies? Could you expect them to? If so—what the heck kind of parent have you been?

But that’s outside the scope of this discussion.

It seems like it’s got to be a lonely enterprise, then. And dwelling on that can really drill deep into spongy, melancholy recesses of your mind.

If I have any recommendation, it’s not that you stay some sad cenobite stuck in the dark all night long. I think a new life probably ought to mean actually living, you know? Make the change on your own. Get established. Very slowly and with thought, staying alert the whole time, start dropping a root here or there. It’ll keep you from falling down when the wind starts to pick up.

Pause, take a look around you, see if anyone is watching. Speak when spoken to, but be very slow and measured about when you open up and start that conversation.

Look, call it what it is: it’s a con job. It’s the con of a lifetime, and the con is your new life.

To do it right you have to understand the art of the long con, which is something like living theater. It comes complete with costumes, lines, props, even background research to really dig into the deeper meaning of the whole thing—which is, in this case, just staying alive. You’ll make ’em weep if you perform it right—and you’ve only got one chance at a captive audience, so never break character.

To get off the grid and keep on moving under your new name is not just running—it’s a form of winning . I’m not trying to convert you to some kind of Cult of the Willing Disappearance, but I’m pretty convinced at this point that life might be a little more palatable if more people had this option available.

Now and then I think about what they used to call potter’s fields. Those were cemeteries where cities would bury the unknown dead, who we’d call John or Jane Doe today, followed by a string of digits matching a coroner’s file.

It’s an image that makes you pretty sad, right? It’s a graveyard in some lonely corner of the city, full of strangers to each other and everyone who encounters them now. I imagine plenty of people who said “screw this ridiculous clown show” to the life they were living and opted for a hobo existence are lying under a numbered metal cross in a Potter’s Field.

Over time, I’ve stopped feeling too down about that. Sure, it’s a gloomy image, the kind of thing that might give you a shiver… but what if some of those anonymous folks under that dirt weren’t remotely the lost souls we all assume they were?

I think a few of them, maybe a pretty generous chunk, may have succeeded in doing exactly what they set out to do. I don’t like to think about the fact that a cancer diagnosis made him conclude he was going out on his own terms, but a John Doe like Joey Newts—no one knows who he is today. He ended up a pile of remains in the middle of nowhere, and all we’ve got is a mystery.

In a sense, that dude succeeded maybe even beyond his wildest dreams, if his goal was to disappear from whatever he thought was chasing him.

This thing we’re talking about doing, I don’t think it’s ever been an easy decision for anyone. Perhaps too often it’s an act of quiet desperation, an effort to preserve a little more living and get a little extra juice out of life.

Say it goes exactly as you want it to. Years and years pass, and you’re still rocking that name you pulled off a birth certificate intended for a completely different baby back in the day. Then something natural happens: heart attack, gentle stroke in your sleep, an unfortunate collision with a cement truck. The coroner pulls your prints, checks your dental records, maybe even runs your DNA… but investigation determines no one can figure out who the hell you are anymore. However you did it: you got out, you changed your life, and when it came time to pay the piper or play foosball with Satan or whatever happens at the end, you remained a mystery.