Feature: Abner Comes Home

Pyfer believes in telling the truth. In his office he keeps a foot-tall statue of himself in Boy Scout regalia, and the first tenet of the Scout Law is, “A Scout tells the truth.”

But the Abners’ upbringing made Pyfer’s job a nightmare. Thanks to the Amish notions of confession and truth-telling, both young men had spilled their stories the moment agents came knocking. “There was nothing to defend,” Pyfer said. “The best we could do was help in the investigation.” So Pyfer found himself sitting in this same office, with Abner X. Stoltzfus and two FBI agents. The agents wanted Abner X. Stoltzfus to wear a wire to record the Abners’ next drug buy from the Pagans. Pyfer went rigid; these Amish kids may be drug dealers, he told the agents, but they’re completely ignorant of how that world works. He tried to impress on Abner X. that the Pagans would gleefully slit his throat if they suspected he was recording their meeting. “He didn’t appreciate the danger,” Pyfer said. “Not at all.”

Abner X. wore the bug under his black hat. “I went home that weekend and couldn’t sleep,” said Pyfer. “I fully expected to get a call saying this kid was dead. But when Monday came around, Abner said, ‘Hey, everything’s fine.’ He was completely unafraid.”

Abner and Abner X. continued their lives after the sting, hardly aware they were in trouble. Abner had almost forgotten about it when he was driving home from a roofing job one day and turned on the radio in his truck. “They were talking about two Amish guys who were busted for drugs,” he said. “I looked at my friend and said, ‘Can you believe that?’”

Abner pulled over his truck at the nearest gas station and searched for a newspaper — none to be found. And none at the next store, or the next, or the next. “I tried seven places before I found a paper,” Abner said. The Amish avoid television news, but by gum, they’ll make a run on newspapers when word gets around. And there it was, on the front page of the local paper: Abner Stoltzfus and Abner Stoltzfus, charged with drug dealing along with the Pagans.

Abner reeled back out to his truck and drove home, where he found his father standing outside the house, waiting. Abner stepped to face him. “Abner,” the father said. Soft. Lost. “What’s going on?”

What’s going on. What’s going on. What’s going on. The words clanged in Abner’s skull for years afterward. The shame. His father never struck him, never cursed him, never raised his voice. A blow to the head might have felt better. Anger. Rage. All straightforward emotions. But the father was only bewildered, and sad.

The son determined to make things right.

The Abners’ bravery during the sting had impressed the FBI and state police.
Pyfer, the lawyer, devised a plan to further polish the young men’s image. They would hold a drug awareness meeting, where the Abners could warn other Amish youths to avoid cocaine. “I’ll admit it was a lark,” Pyfer said. “We needed to do something to make these guys look good.” There was no publicity for the meeting, and no notice in the newspapers. Only the Amish were invited, by word of mouth. Pyfer expected around 60 to come to the local fire hall and hear the Abners’ story. Three hundred showed up.

The only frame of reference the Amish had for such a gathering was church. So the young women sat on one side, the young men on the other; parents sat in the rear, and elders sat together. They opened with a prayer, then sang a hymn. The FBI agent gave his testament, then Pyfer, and finally the Abners. Midway through the meeting, Pyfer realized his lark had turned into something important. Something powerful. Toward the end, an Amish girl stood up. She had something to say: She, too, had suffered an addiction to cocaine. It’s real, she warned the elders.

It was an extraordinary step, for a young Amish woman to presume advising the bishops of her faith. But she spoke up: We have a problem here in heaven on earth.

After that first meeting, Pyfer realized the Abners were only one facet of a huge, naïve drug culture; they just happened to get caught. Pyfer, the police and the Abners organized another meeting, and then another, and over nine months they wound up holding a dozen clandestine meetings, in barns, abandoned stores and houses, attended by a total of about 12,000 Amish people. Despite such epic numbers, no local newspapers caught word of the meetings. “We really wanted to keep things secret,” Pyfer said.