Confession of a Teen Scoundrel, 1969

~Confession of a Teen Scoundrel, 1969~

My sixteenth year on Earth saw the beginning of high times, and the San Francisco Bay area, 1969, was the time and place for that, and that's where I was. I pretty much quit going to school except to score dope, now and then, and so did my few scoundrel friends. We liked our weed, psychedelics, uppers, downers, sidewayers, beer and booze. In other words: whatever we could get and/or afford on a practically non-existent budget. I don't recall how we ever had any money. None of us worked, and we didn't know how to be criminals. Maybe living in the land-o-plenty had something to do with it.

I recall a time when my scoundrel friends, Richard, Greg AKA "Gomer," Steve, and I found ourselves tripping in a part of Redwood City that we weren't very familiar with. I don't remember why we started going there, but I'm sure it must have had something to do with no good. There was a short stretch of sidewalk we always took that partnered with a grocery outlet, a few non-descript shops, and a liquor store. Whenever we walked past the liquor store our eyes fixed upon the one-gallon jug of expensive whiskey that was just inside the door on a small table covered with red felt near the storefront window. The temptation to grab it and run was great, but too scary to act on.

One day about a half hour after I dropped a tab of LSD my friends and I happened to be walking by that liquor store. I could tell I was starting to come on to the acid because my mind began to wander to "deep thoughts" and my stomach felt like it was trying to laugh. I rarely had visual hallucinations. That's when, without warning, Steve took two steps inside the store and grabbed the gallon jug of whiskey. I heard a man inside yell "HEY!" and the four of us ran off in four different directions. I was scared, shitless.

As I ran down a street having no idea where I was running to, the proprietor of the liquor store came speeding up to me in a black, Ford Mustang and slammed on the breaks. The look on his face was pure outrage and deathly hatred. He was big and burly. Maybe in his forties. There was no way in hell I was going to let him get a hold of me. I turned, and ran as fast as I could (I always was a fairly fast runner for my short size) back the other way, and as I got to the corner the sound of screeching tires was back at my side. All the running and adrenalin got the acid activated with serious intensity through my brain. I turned, again, ran about halfway down that block of sidewalk until I saw a plank fence between two houses. I ran to the fence, and pulled myself over it. I was in a side yard with low shrubs against a house. There was a large window behind the shrubs but I did my best to crawl under them. Only about half my body was hidden from view. If anyone happened to walk to the window and look out they would surely see me. The affect of the LSD was even stronger, now. I was done eluding capture. I lie there resolved to not resist anyone who might find me.

As I hunkered best I could beneath the shrubs I heard a woman and young boy talking inside the house. The woman had a distinct British accent. I have always wondered if she really had that accent or if it was an audio hallucination I was experiencing. I stayed still there for I think about fifteen minutes. Could have been much less than that or much longer. I was pretty spaced. At that point I thought to myself I can't stay here forever, so decided to gamble moving on. I walked quickly to the fence that went along the back yard, climbed over it, and walked down to the sidewalk. There were two men and a few boys in the street tossing around a ball of some kind. They all stopped and stared at me as I walked towards them. With my worn coat, and long, shaggy, hair and scruffy beard I must have looked very out of place to them. They didn't say anything. I just kept walking away from there. Had I been carrying a TV or something I suppose they might have had questions.

In the end, the only one of us apprehended was Gomer, of course. He was such a Gome, but I knew he wouldn't snitch. I found my way to Steve's house. He came to the door when I knocked. I asked if anyone got caught and what happened to the jug of whiskey. "Just Gome." he said, then told me he had the jug. I couldn't believe it. I let go a loud laugh. He told me to hush. His parents were home. They were hardcore drunks. If they knew about the whiskey they would take it. I walked home still high but jubilant about the fine time we were to have drinking that whiskey while not having the slightest clue as to the years of suffering I would eventually endure because I outran a Ford Mustang in my youth.