The Jaguar, the Data, and the Police Chief Who Wanted Out: A Political Insider’s Tale
Some stories don’t begin with politics. They begin with a phone call — the kind that changes the next year of your life. Mine came in 2004, when the Democratic world was quietly building the precursor to the modern super PAC: the 527 organization. These were the wild‑west days of political finance, when you could raise unlimited money, spend unlimited money, and do almost anything except explicitly tell voters to support a candidate.
The first call asked if I’d join the data operation for America Coming Together, the heavyweight 527 run by people like Harold Ickes and the Lewis family. I said no.
The second call came with more money. I still said no.
The third call came with an offer too good to refuse — and I finally said yes.
I knew exactly what I was signing up for: 90‑hour weeks, high pressure, and the kind of political trench warfare only a presidential cycle can produce. But I also knew the stakes. I didn’t want another four years of George W. Bush, and the funding behind this operation was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Soros, Peter Lewis, and every major left‑of‑center donor were pouring money into the effort. We would eventually end the campaign with $30 million left over, which is almost unheard of in presidential politics.
Unlimited money changes the physics of a campaign. And I was about to learn how.
Life Inside the Machine
Our headquarters sat on 16th Street in the Motion Picture Building, just up from Lafayette Park and the Hay‑Adams. It sounds glamorous until you remember the reality:
- 9 AM to 9 PM
- Seven days a week
- Breakfast, lunch, and dinner from the Starbucks in the lobby
- A constant pressure to produce more data, faster, cleaner, sharper
I was the head DBA, with five senior DBAs under me. Our job was to merge VAN data with commercial consumer data and build micro‑targeting profiles that were light‑years ahead of what most campaigns even today understand.
This is the part of the story most readers won’t believe.
The Data You Could Buy in 2004
In 2004 — twenty years ago — we could legally purchase:
- Credit card purchase categories
- Restaurant spending
- Alcohol and cigarette purchases
- Dress size ranges
- Movie rental rating categories
- Adult novelty purchases
- Lifestyle indicators buried in consumer data
Not individualized down to “Mary Jones is a size 12,” but close enough:
“Women in Michigan, voted in 3 of the last 4 primaries, dress size 12+, drinks (alcohol), smokes (cigarettes), purchased adult novelties by mail.”
That was a real query.
And we pushed those profiles into PalmPilots carried by thousands of canvassers. A bright‑eyed 22‑year‑old could knock on a door and deliver a pitch tailored to the exact lifestyle of the person answering. Our paid doorknockers might have a slightly different message for each door
Your average activist today thinks a “super voter list” is sophisticated. They have no idea.
Unlimited Money, Unlimited Speed
At one point, the analysts wanted results faster. I told them the truth:
“I need a new data center.”
They said:
“Order it.”
Three days later, it was installed and running.
That’s what unlimited money looks like.
The Human Cost
The paycheck was fat.
The hours were brutal.
By the time I got home from Cheverly → Metro → DC → back again, I was too exhausted to do anything but kiss my wife and hug my boys goodnight. I missed time I’ll never get back. But the mission felt urgent, and the money kept flowing.
The day after the election, during the wind‑down, I joked to a young staffer that the operation reminded me of the McGovern campaign — except I never smelled marijuana or heard folk music. He replied, deadpan:
“Mr. O’Connell, you leave pretty early.”
Early meaning 9 PM.
The Jaguar Arrives
That Christmas, trying to make up for lost time, I bought my wife a sapphire‑blue Jaguar XJ8, chosen to match her wedding ring.
When it ran, it was glorious.
When it didn’t, it was a financial catastrophe.
Every yellow light meant $1,000.
Every repair was a crisis.
It was a car designed to seduce you and bankrupt you.
We kept it ten years.
We loved it.
We hated it.
The Route 50 Moment
One day, taking the tight two‑lane ramp from I‑95 onto Route 50 at 55 mph — the speed the sign said was safe — the Jaguar suddenly lost:
- Power steering
- Power assist
- Everything
I muscled a heavy British luxury car through a turn that most vehicles couldn’t hold even with power assist. It was terrifying. It was memorable. It was the Jaguar experience distilled into one moment.
And it planted a thought — fleeting, unacted upon, but real:
> “If this car disappeared, my life would improve.”
I never acted on it.
But years later, I would read about someone who did.
The Police Chief and the Jaguar That Had to Go
When I learned about Davion Percy, the Marlow Heights Special Police Chief who helped stage the theft of a Jaguar XKR to escape repair bills, I understood something most people wouldn’t.
Not approval.
Not agreement.
Just understanding.
Percy and two other officers conspired to “steal” a Jaguar that had become a financial death trap. They vandalized it, filed a false report, and collected a $17,585 insurance payout. Percy took $350 for his part. He was federally convicted and awaits sentencing.
Your average reader sees corruption.
I see corruption too — but I also see the Jaguar.
Because I had lived the Jaguar life: the seduction, the expense, the fear, the frustration, the fleeting thought. The difference is simply that I didn’t act on it. They did.
Why This Story Matters Now
This isn’t just a Jaguar story.
It’s not just a political story.
It’s a story about:
- How campaigns really operate
- How much data they can legally buy
- How unlimited money changes everything
- How personal life intersects with political life
- How corruption sometimes grows from ordinary human frustration
- How 2004’s data sophistication looks quaint compared to today’s
What immediately caught my attention wasn’t just the allegations or conviction it was the title: “Special Police Chief.”
As a United States Marine and a retired Supervisory Deputy U.S. Marshal with more than 25 years in federal law enforcement, I have always believed that law enforcement titles carry tremendous responsibility. They represent public trust, professional standards, and accountability.
That led me to ask a broader question: How many special police agencies and special police chiefs operate throughout Prince George’s County? What are their missions, how are they overseen, what qualifications are required of their leaders, and how do they fit into our overall public safety strategy?
These aren’t accusations they’re legitimate governance questions.
Prince George’s County has numerous law enforcement entities serving different purposes. Good leadership requires periodically evaluating whether those structures remain effective, properly resourced, and accountable to the public.
As your next Sheriff, I will advocate for a comprehensive review of our county’s public safety landscape. That means examining organizational structures, interagency coordination, training standards, oversight mechanisms, staffing, and the efficient use of taxpayer resources.
We should also ask whether the constitutional Office of the Sheriff has the personnel and resources necessary to fulfill its broad responsibilities. Those are policy questions that deserve thoughtful discussion based on facts, data, and the needs of our growing county.
Throughout my career, I conducted inspections, audits, evaluations, and operational reviews because continuous improvement is a hallmark of professional organizations. Public safety should be no different.
The goal is not to criticize for the sake of criticism. The goal is to ensure that every law enforcement agency serving Prince George’s County operates with professionalism, accountability, and the confidence of the people.