Adieu, —to thievery!
((A Neighborhood Escapade) (1962-’63))
The result of
this narrative will inform the reader of the particulars of me becoming a
thief, which in essence was short lived, and stopped forevermore at its early
stage: I stole a record from a record shop once I must have been fourteen, it
was I believe an Elvis or Rick Nelson one, and was caught, then respectfully
talked to by the manager about it; it was a small 45-recording desk (the cost being 89-cents at the time), as they
were called back then, and then being caught red-handed, I was reprimanded in
the Manager’s back office for the penny theft, the issue was dropped, with me
saying ‘I learned my lesson’; but had I?
Then I stole a bike once, it was parked on the sidewalk alongside a
railing on a bridge, and I told my mother I found it, and I had to bring it
back to where I found it and leave it there for whomever it belonged to, and
that was a two-mile hike back home. Henceforward, I would have perpetual falls
in all my thievery. Alas, I took two
carrots out of my Mother’s boyfriend’s garden—Earnest Brandt jealous he had
bigger carrots in his garden than mine, and I tried to transplant them, and it
was obvious, but I was only eleven then, and Mr. Brandt noticed it, and my mother
scolded me for it. And once when I was hungry, a handful of carrots, out of the
University Farm fields I’ve mentioned in a previous writing I stole, that one I
got away with. Well, I graduated to a higher level thereafter: I stole three
cars for joy rides (wanting
to be like the boys in the neighborhood, I mean Gunner, Mouse and David stole
600, and had a set of keys that could unlock any car door in America, and turn
any ignition to on! they were pros. But Gunner and Mouse of course got caught
and sent to a boy’s reformatory…)
Anyhow, back to me, the first
was with Bill K., my buddy in crime, a year older than I, and a Washington High
Student to boot, and once upon a time we were going to start a band up called
‘The Blue Dreamers,’ we both played the guitars, but it never developed. As I
was about to say, the first car was a 1954 Chevy, not too classy, I was fifteen
or sixteen then, and once a 1957 Chevy, to which another car chased us all over
the city after Bill or I gave him the finger for whatever reason, I think we
were happy drunk, laughing like mules, I was driving running over everyone’s
lawns. Bill was a better driver than I so we had to shift seats while in
motion, that was a stunt for the movies. And now we are up to my last escapade
in car theft, and any thief for the most part worth talking about, which really
never took place, and thus, I was metamorphosed that day into believing, I was
a bad risk for thievery, and fortunately, I have never returned to that devil
side of me. In those far-off days I was a declining Catholic, I had to do a lot
of genuflections to get to the priest, to get to God, to get my sins forgiven;
for a long while I gave the church up.
But the premise here is twofold, and I do not want to get off track, and
of course both are in proportion to one another, and run parallel I suppose,
and yet separating: know when to stop, and have good-judgment in doing so;
second, no need to imitate the neighborhood, sometimes learning by social
comparison can be dangerous to your health, that is to say, attaching to their
bad acts by wanting to belong, thus to steal cars to show and tell. And now for
the story of the last car, and the adieu to that occupation (incidentally, believe it or not, I would become a counselor for
the Bureau of Prisons, with the additional duties of a Parole Officer, in my
later years, how coincidental)!
The Lord
raises up, those who are ready to fall, and elevates those who are ready to
lead.
The old man walked with tottering steps. It was still morning, not early
not late, I remember the rays of the sun were hitting the parked cars,
alongside this five story apartment building, about a mile from our
neighborhood, I had been pacing the same stretch of parked cars for some
fifteen minutes, the old fella, stood there like a symbol of what and why, and
hope. As I look back, did God send me an old geezer for an archangel, or was he
the devil panting, while planting seeds in my head tempting me to go ahead with
what I was planning! I mean I was ready to take a car if any of the automobile doors would open, and my intentions were to
look for the keys thereafter, a spare key, and I was testing the doors. Then
all of a sudden a police car pulled up, checked me out, one officer stepped out
of his squad car, intimidated me somewhat, I felt I was in the makings for
going in for car thief, should they fingerprint the door levers of several
cars.
“What’s your name sonny,” asked the officer.
“Chick Evens,” I said.
“What are you doing pacing up and down here like you’re looking to
rip-off a car?” said the officer, not sure if I wanted to steal items in the
cars or a car itself. The old man stood there with a folded umbrella, as if he
felt it was going to rain. And the
officer looked at the old man, figured he surely recognized what events were in
the making, and of course I was hoping he’d not pay the old man any mind. I
looked to him like a ruffian I suppose, I gave him the evil-eye you might say.
But he didn’t flinch. Kept his composure as if indifferent to it all. I was
clean and groomed well, and dressed in the fashion of the day. Previously to
the police officer, I had given the old man a fierce glance once or twice, my
eyes appearing restless and suspicious, whereas he took a few quiet and steady
steps backwards, and now the officer was questioning him as a concerned
citizen. And I felt it was curtains for me.
The police officer was in his full uniform, his badge shinny as brass or
copper, whatever they’re made of: “Was he not about to steal a car, sir?”
questioned the officer to the old man.
“Not that I know of,” he replied. I held a capacious look.
The old man had a flat effect on his face, you couldn’t read it if you
were a psychologist, or a gambler. And the officer, a young man in his
mid-twenties, was overcoming with intensification, disgust. He wanted a flat
“Yes!”
The old man perhaps more frighten from the look I gave him—concerned
with retaliation, or perhaps on the other hand, his style was almost polished
with a cultured mind, a strange contrast indeed, said not another word on the
matter, nothing to incriminate me came out of the mouth. Again I must say, the
Lord raises up those ready to fall, and I was.
After a moment’s hesitation, with good luck I came up with a story that
I was waiting for someone, which accounted for my so called mysterious pacing;
simple and to the point. Perhaps not believing my story, nonetheless, he said
reluctantly, “I suppose that’s plain enough.” And then finally took his eyes
off me, and joined his partner in the car. As for myself, I beat feet out of
there, never looking back once at the old man.
Afterward:
Believe it or
not I’ve thought of that old man a number of times in my life. There is kind of
a lesson to be learned here, at least
for me, an idiom (or
phrase, or we can call it belief, or a credo I’ve picked up because of that
day) sort of, which has made me use
better discretion throughout life: now over fifty-years have passed, and that
is: let the lion breath, do not corner him, should you, you simply allow him to
multiply his strength and increase his
courage; it is fight or flight, and let’s say you’ve already taken flight away
from him, what is he left with? The latter! Is it not better to give him hope
and safety, and thus, you will gain a victory nine out of ten times, that is if
he is wise he will count the cost. Everything in moderation. And by his
restraint, and the officer’s wanting to corner me, the lesson was learned, I
needed no more reconnoiter in the car theft business, although as you read
through these escapades, there are a few more modules I hard to absorb, or as
they say mug up.
July, 1, 2015 / No: 1091
In
remembrance of my mother, who tried to make me walk the straight and narrow?
