My Feeble Venture into Criminality
In 1957, I befriended a junior high school kid that had been in reform school. He seemed interesting, looked cool (especially his hair), and he had apparently done some things that were far more exciting than anything I had ever done.
Once during a late night walk around Electra, he thought we should get in somebody's car and talk. We did. The car--probably a '37 Ford--was parked at the curb and belonged to some elderly (old) ladies. Suddenly, he said, "Scram!" He disappeared immediately but I didn't know where to go or what to do. I heard some older women talking outside so I ducked down inside the car--underneath the passenger dash. I've never been so small.
The voices got closer--it was two women at the driver's door. My heart was pounding. Should I show my face? Should I start apologizing? Were they going to shoot that black leather jacket hiding under the dash? I was too scared to move. I could tell that a flashlight was raking the inside of the car and I was trying to think what I would say to them, to the police and to my dad when they saw me.
After 121 years, 7 days, 6 hours and 28 minutes--give or take a century--those two old--elderly--ladies finally agreed that there was nothing untoward inside their car, so, they turned with their trusty flashlight and went back into the house. I stayed crouched under the dash--probably for an hour, until I was absolutely sure that no one was watching--then, I uncrouched, opened the passenger door, sneaked out, walked a block looking only straight ahead and then ran the shortest way home.
I un-friended my reform school friend then and there. I never again made any effort to be in his presence. Because of him, I had experienced the biggest scare of my life. If I hadn't already been a perfect human being, that night time car stunt would have scared me straight for sure! (I remain in awe of people who periodically thumb their noses at law enforcement and say catch me if you can--they must have nerves of steel. Or, maybe it gets easier the more you do it. Hmm--should I break into more cars and see if I'm less scared every time? Naaah.
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