Assisted by a fortuitous and seemingly peculiar federal government maneuver, Randy Lanier, the former Indianapolis 500 Rookie of the Year whose promising auto racing career scandalously careened into oblivion when he was sentenced to life without parole for his role as an international drug trafficking mastermind, will shuffle out of prison a free man next week, Autoweek has learned. Now 60, graying and deteriorating physically with a bad hip, the once-boyish, bright-eyed South Floridian competed aggressively in the 1980s alongside the likes of racing greats Mario Andretti and A.J. Foyt. For the first time in a quarter of a century, Lanier will be able to drive again -- at least on civilian streets -- when he is scheduled for discharge Oct. 15 from a high-security federal penitentiary in Florida, according to the Federal Bureau of Prisons website. Oct. 15, ironically, is just two days after the date of the scheduled Tudor United SportsCar Championship awards ceremony in New York City.

Jim Porter, first assistant U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of Illinois, confirmed the date of Lanier’s scheduled release to Autoweek. Lanier remains incarcerated in the Federal Correctional Complex in Coleman, Fla., but the sand in his prison hourglass falls faster than ever during his final days of confinement.

The former International Motor Sports Association GTP sports car champion and IndyCar driver, who bankrolled his career with illegal drug proceeds, can see freedom’s checkered flag. But a caution flag still waves over him as he confronts a court-ordered laundry list of do’s and don’ts -- including spending his first six months in a halfway house. Lanier’s mandated three-year supervised release is designed for his careful re-entry into society.

Nonetheless, those close to him say that Lanier is higher in spirits than ever at his sudden, if inexplicable to the public, reversal in fortune. He told people earlier this year he might get out of prison. He already has a job lined up at a South Florida classic-car museum. Lanier formerly lived in Davie, Fla., in Broward County.

“Randy has a high-pitched voice,” a friend who speaks to Lanier told Autoweek. “When he’s happy, it goes even higher. He was so happy, it was really high.”

If Lanier’s family is as overjoyed as he is about his pending freedom, it had no interest disclosing it.

“At this time, we can’t confirm or deny anything,” said a woman who identified herself by telephone as Pam and the mother of Glen Lanier, Randy’s 26-year-old son. Glen, named after Randy’s brother who was killed in a motorcycle accident, was born only seven days before his father was arrested in 1987.

Lanier’s two children, including daughter Brandie, 34, have visited their father often over the years to help ease his loneliness. Now, he is coming home. But the judge’s order does include several stringent conditions for Lanier. If he does not obey them, he could be in violation of his release and remanded to custody.

First, Lanier must spend the next months in a residential re-entry center. He is neither permitted to drink alcohol nor patronize establishments that sell it. The court forbids him from possessing firearms or weapons. Among several other stipulations, Lanier must submit to one drug test within 15 days of his release from prison, and to at least two periodic drug tests thereafter. He is allowed to be drug-tested once a week for a year. He must also undergo drug and alcohol treatment.

Randy Lanier IndyCar

Still, Lanier is a free bird in paradise again, although the genesis of his soon-to-be-opened cage remains a mystery. He languished in prison for decades, but the wheels of justice might have received the axle grease they needed in August, 2012 with the unexpected and unexplained release of co-defendant Eugene A. Fischer. Along with Lanier and co-defendant Benjamin B. Kramer, the three men each received mandatory life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. Kramer remains in prison and has filed another appeal. But last month, U.S. District Judge J. Phil Gilbert quietly granted a government motion to reduce Lanier’s sentence. The judge offered no reason or clarification in his two-sentence order, and the Southern District Court of Illinois is not permitted to explain what transpired. “There were certain motions filed which were under seal,” said Porter, who replaced Mike Carr, the case’s original prosecutor, in May, 2012. “The court held a hearing and issued a new sentencing order. But because of the sealed [motions], there’s nothing more I can tell you about the nature of the motions and responses. If the judge has not made that clear, I cannot tell you.” The stealth enveloping the government’s motivation has some legal experts concerned about a lack of transparency. Frank Tuerkheimer, a former federal prosecutor, said the “government owes the public some sort of explanation as to why someone under these circumstances is suddenly being let out of jail. “I am a little surprised that the judge didn’t insist on it -- you give some sort of logical reason; it’s odd,” said Tuerkheimer, a member of the University of Wisconsin Law faculty and a former Assistant U.S. Attorney in the Southern District of New York. “There are two little mysteries: A.) why are they doing it?; and B.) why did the judge go along with it? He did not have to sign the order.” Because the motion in question is sealed, it remains unclear why the government approved a sentence reduction and filed it on behalf of Lanier, a former fugitive the DEA described as a ringleader. Lanier also refused to cooperate with the prosecution, failing to agree to a deal to testify against Jack Kramer, father of Lanier’s partner, Benjamin B. Kramer. Jack Kramer married mob kingpin Meyer Lansky’s niece. In the mid-’90s, Lanier was placed in solitary confinement for two years at ADX Florence, a supermax prison in Colorado. After being moved to Coleman, Lanier told friends and family that he befriended some fellow convicts with celebrity-type status, including Philadelphia mob boss John Stanfa and former baseball star Willie Mays Aikens. Additionally, Kramer and Lanier allegedly were involved in another serious matter -- the subject of murder. In 1987, FBI special agent Robert Ducker testified in court that the two men paid $50,000 for a revenge-style murder in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Kramer and Lanier never were charged in connection with the slaying and Lanier denies any involvement. In an e-mail sent to Autoweek by through the administrator of Lanier's Facebook account, Lanier said that the "alleged subject of murder is a complete falsehood." Kramer was a former world champion powerboat racer and a notorious crime syndicate figure. In 1989, Kramer, 34, attempted a spectacular action movie-style escape from a Florida prison yard when he leaped aboard a helicopter that attempted to whisk him away. It was botched when the chopper swerved out of control and crashed inside the prison yard, thwarting Kramer’s planned escape. While Lanier was free on $100,000 bond, he fled to the Caribbean. Authorities said he traveled between Puerto Rico and Antigua, where he was arrested on Oct. 26, 1987 while hiding out with his girlfriend, Maria De La Luz Maggi. (They married in 1990 while Lanier was incarcerated, but she was sentenced in 1993 to nine years in prison after she was convicted for money laundering. She was released in 1999; they no longer are married.) So, why after years of failed appeals and motions, is the government suddenly so sympathetic to Lanier’s plight? Last spring, U.S. Attorney General Eric H. Holder Jr. endorsed a U.S. Sentencing Commission proposal to reduce sentencing for convicted drug dealers. About half the 215,000 federal inmates were sentenced for drug-related crimes. In July, the Commission granted full retroactivity to a guideline amendment, permitting nearly 50,000 federal drug inmates to petition for reduced sentences. The initial release of some prisoners begins November, 2015. The goal is to reduce prison populations, slash costs and restore a sense of fairness in the criminal justice system.

A screen shot from the Federal Bureau of Prisons website shows that Randy Lanier is set to be released from prison on Oct. 15, 2014. FEDERAL BUREAU OF PRISONS

But that shift in judicial philosophy does not impact Lanier’s situation as a convicted drug-trafficker from the ’80s, or his release. Rather, the most recent efforts by the former driving star’s attorneys to seek his freedom appear to have been triggered by Fischer’s release 25 months ago, said a source close to Lanier, who shed some light on the opaqueness of the case when he confided to his friend. The source told Autoweek that Lanier informed him that forfeiture of assets to the government was at the heart of its decision to release Fischer, and might be related to a legal Southern California card-club Lanier and his partners surreptitiously funded during their unlawful heyday. The government seized a portion of The Bicycle Casino in the City of Bell Gardens near downtown Los Angeles but eventually divested itself of its casino assets. Lanier received forfeiture notices from the government in prison -- possibly relating to the casino -- but ignored them, the source said. However, according to Lanier, Fischer passed them along to his legal counsel. At some juncture, “Randy found out a co-defendant [Fischer] sued the feds over forfeiture,” said the source. “So they made a deal with [Fischer] to let him out a couple of years ago. Randy tried the same thing and was denied until he got another attorney. Then they [agreed] to let him out.” While the forfeiture issue is murky, this much is clear: The government long ago entered forfeiture judgments against Lanier and Kramer for $60 million each, and against Fischer for $30 million. The Knoxville-Tenn., -based law firm, Ritchie, Dillard, Davies & Johnson, has represented Lanier since 1987. Stephen Ross Johnson has served as lead counsel for about a dozen years, he said. Johnson told Autoweek Lanier had appealed to multiple courts that reviewed his case and found legal errors, but “they did not amount to sufficient error to result in a reversal of his convictions or sentence,” he said. Johnson added that no attempt was made to obtain a presidential pardon despite indications from Lanier he would pursue one. But within about a year of Fischer’s release, Johnson’s firm hired Illinois attorney J. William Lucco to assist in Lanier’s next bid. This week, Lucco acknowledged to Autoweek that his client is thrilled with the government’s decision. No wonder: Lanier has spent nearly half his life behind bars. Lanier’s swift rise to notoriety in big-time racing was just as quickly derailed when his life, and career, swerved off course with the scent of pot and quick success. He was reflective of the times: In the 1980s, the South was a breeding ground for some of the biggest stars in road racing. They piloted swoopy, exotic prototype sports cars and engaged in fast-lane lifestyles. Pundits called IMSA an acronym for “International Marijuana Smuggling Association” for its scandalous drug reputation. Another Florida-based IMSA driver, Marty Hinze of Fort Lauderdale, who also teamed with Lanier, served time after admitting guilt in a conspiracy to import marijuana from 1977-1981. Hinze worked for the Whittington brothers. Bill and Don Whittington pleaded guilty to a $73 million marijuana-smuggling operation. (A third brother, racer Dale Whittington, 43, died of a drug overdose in 2003.) John Paul Sr., IMSA’s most intimidating presence on the circuit as a championship owner-driver, operated his underground marijuana plantation out of Georgia before being busted. His young, talented son, former IMSA GTP champion John Paul Jr., also was sent to prison after being convicted in his father’s operation. Lanier’s dramatic podium-to-prison topple was triggered when the U.S. Department of Drug Enforcement charged him in a complaint filed in October, 1986. That was less than six months after he smashed Michael Andretti’s Indy 500 rookie qualifying record and two months before Lanier fractured his right leg in a nasty crash at the Michigan 500. Concurrently, the FBI was investigating Lanier and his partners. In late 1987, he was indicted for distributing more than 600,000 pounds of marijuana that had been imported and concealed on barges sailing from Colombia. He was given a superseding indictment in January, 1998. In 1988, Lanier was convicted in federal court of operating a continuing criminal enterprise under the government’s Racketeer Influenced and Corruptions Originations Act. Lanier also was found guilty of conspiracy to distribute marijuana and conspiracy to defraud the Internal Revenue Service. Federal prosecutors said Lanier enriched himself, and funded his Blue Thunder Racing road-racing team, by scooping up $68 million in profits. Lanier, then 34, and Kramer were sentenced concurrently to 40 years on the distribution charge, and Fischer was given a 35-year term. Lanier also was slapped with another five years to run consecutively for violating IRS law. Two other co-defendants, Kay Dee Bell and George Brock, also were found guilty of drug-related charges and sentenced to lesser prison terms. The FBI was the lead agency for the investigation in the Southern District of Illinois, where Lanier and his partners were held accountable for distributing more than 1,000 pounds of marijuana from 1982-86. The federal probe was triggered when an Illinois state trooper stumbled upon the drug syndicate’s broken-down truck that secretly was hauling a relatively small amount of pot. “It mushroomed from there,” said Porter from his Southern District of Illinois office. Lanier did not have to turn to crime to fulfill his dreams of becoming an accomplished racer, and the government made a point of it. During an appeal by the convicted men in 1990, prosecutors wrote that “Lanier apparently did not regard auto racing as a full-time job.” “Together with [Kramer and Fischer] he directed a vast enterprise which imported several hundred thousand pounds of marijuana into the United States in the 1980s,” including into New Orleans, San Francisco and Melbourne Beach, Fla. It all seems like a long endurance race-time ago. Much debris washed ashore in Lanier’s life since then, but his lead attorney, Stephen Ross Johnson of Knoxville, Tenn., told Autoweek his client is a “role model” in prison. “He’s doing the best he can, given the circumstances under which he has had to live,” said Johnson. “He has served his time with dignity and respect. He has helped mentor young people in the prison system.”

When he was 14, Lanier’s family moved to popular South Florida’s drug culture from Lynchburg, Va., located in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. His interest in sports-car racing was stoked in his early 20s after he attended a 1978 auto show in Miami and wandered over to the Sports Car Club of America booth. He quickly obtained his competition license and purchased a 1957 356 Porsche Speedster. Two years later, he won the SCCA’s Southeast Division E-Production class. By 1982, he had filled in for an ill Janet Guthrie and drove for the North American Ferrari team. The following year, he drove for multiple IMSA teams, finishing second at the 24 Hours of Daytona behind that victorious team that included Foyt. Then, seeming to rise from the vapor of Florida’s muggy air, Lanier formed Blue Thunder Racing in 1984. The team had no major corporate sponsor. Eyebrows furrowed along pit road. Lanier could not have been bothered less by suspicions or whispers trailing his team. Lanier teamed with daredevil Whittington brothers (Bill and Dale) of Fort Lauderdale, Fla., to win the GTP drivers’ championship as their Chevrolet-powered March 83G regularly whipped past Al Holbert’s Porsche 962s and the Group 44 Jaguars. The upstarts took checkered flags at Laguna Seca, Charlotte, Michigan and Watkins Glen, among other racetracks.Years later, Lanier acknowledged that the illegal proceeds fueled Blue Thunder’s bold championship run. After his IMSA achievements, Lanier shifted into high gear with an aggressive foray into CART IndyCar racing. Driving for Arciero Racing, he made 18 open-wheel starts from 1985-86, and counted among his friends former Indy 500 winners Al Unser Jr., Arie Luyendyk and Foyt. He regularly chatted with them, among other veteran drivers, to pick their fertile racing brains. He was an IndyCar novice and he was smart enough to know it. In 1985, United States Auto Club officials rejected Lanier during his initial 500-rookie test. A year later, he again failed to pass his rookie test, but a second attempt yielded him a qualification run. Lanier blistered the 2.5-mile oval with a 209.964-mph average speed. He started a lucky 13th on the 33-car grid. Lanier finished a respectable 10th behind Danny Sullivan, Johnny Rutherford and Emerson Fittipaldi. While he struggled at other times during his rookie season, Lanier improved in 1986. He finished in the top 10 in four of the last five IndyCar races he completed (Milwaukee, Meadowlands, Cleveland and Toronto). After he destroyed his career, Lanier still had legions of racing fans. They corresponded by mail and bolstered his belief that the government punished him unjustly with a too-harsh sentence for a first-time nonviolent offender. Lanier, who usually awakes before dawn, took up oil painting, yoga and tai chi in prison, according to his Facebook page. He enjoys playing chess. He used to like to run but no longer does so because of cartilage deterioration in his right hip. Clearly, he has had a long time to ponder the meaning of his transgressions, and what might have been. In a 2012 interview with IndyCar Advocate, Lanier was asked about his motivation for getting involved in drug trafficking’s seedy, dangerous underworld. “Faulty thinking and having my priorities in the wrong place is one reason,” he said. “Growing up in the ’60s and being around the marijuana culture could have had some influence on me. Money was also a contributing factor, along with the thrill of that sort of lifestyle. “ With more than a hint of melancholy, Lanier concluded, “Accomplishments and achievements are not what life is all about.”

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