My behavior grew worse and my careless stunts more reckless.
One summer night, Carlo (Marc Carlson), Bob C (Robert Cervetti) and I found ourselves in our
familiar setting… the back patio of St. Malachy’s Catholic Church with our
sleeping bags and pillows strewn about on the cement slab.
Fighting boredom at about one in the morning, Carlo and I
decided to venture out to see what sort of mischief we could drum up. Bob C had
no interest in our plans as he turned over and headed to dreamland.
We crossed over Gerald Street, between a couple houses and
through the parking lot of Dunne's Sure Save grocery market. The town was eerily
silent and the air hung heavy with typical, Midwest humidity. We stood there
for a minute trying to decide where to go and what to do.
Highway 17 was usually a bustling thoroughfare of vehicles
heading north to Boone or Ames, or heading south towards the state capital, Des
Moines. But not at 1:00 AM on a week night… in Madrid, Iowa.
Carlo and I crossed over the highway and found ourselves in
front of Farley’s Dairy Sweet, a local eating establishment with a gravel
parking lot. They specialized in ice cream desserts, candy and a variety of
sandwiches. My favorite by far was their tenderloin sandwich. The golden brown meat
dwarfed the bun as it hung out several inches from the bun’s perimeter.
Ketchup, mustard and onions… please.
Of course, the Dairy Sweet had closed for the evening some
hours before. Inside of the restaurant was mostly dark with only a couple
lights illuminated. The “CLOSED” sign hung prominently in the front window. A
street light conveniently lit the parking lot and the walk-up window area.
I was always the sort of kid who checked the coin shoot in telephone
booths and vending machines. In stores, I’d always scan the floor near the
check-out stands for loose change that customers may have dropped but were too
lazy to pick up. And I have already chronicled my history of shoplifting. I
looked to get something for nothing… a very bad characteristic.
It is with that spirit that I decided to run over to the
walk-up window of the Dairy Sweet and see if one of the minimum wage workers
had remembered to lock the sliding window at closing time. As luck would have
it, somebody didn’t do their job. Tragedy!
With ease, I slid the window open. Carlo jogged over…
laughing. Our eyes lit up as we considered the possibilities. For a moment, we
considered trying to squeeze our whole bodies through the small window opening
but in the end, decided to simply grab that which was within reach from the
window. That strategy yielded us pockets full of candy bars and cigarettes.
My body was parallel to the ground… half in and half out… as
I grabbed and stuffed the goods into my pockets. Through the corner of my eye,
I saw headlights from a north bound vehicle. Minor interruption. I hopped out,
slid the window closed and ducked under some bushes. All that was between me
and the building was about 20 feet of larger rock gravel.
I didn’t know where Carlo took refuge but was certain he’d
come out of hiding like me as soon as the headlights passed.
I caught partial sight of the car from my hide-out as it
slowed down upon approach. It became clear that the vehicle wasn’t heading to
Boone or anywhere north of town. It turned left just beyond the Dairy Sweet and
I figured all was clear. But before I could crawl out from under the bush, I again
saw headlights as the car slowly swung around from behind the building and I
heard the crunching of the gravel under the tires of the car as it crept closer
to my hiding spot.
It wasn’t until the vehicle came to a complete stop five
feet away from me that I saw the writing on the side of the vehicle, “Madrid
Police Department.” The jig was up. I thought I was caught! I thought some nosy
neighbor had seen us breaking into the Dairy Sweet and had dialed up Madrid’s
finest. They were here to cuff us and haul us to the pokey.
Two cops were in the vehicle. They killed the engine and
with windows rolled down on that still, calm, sticky, summer night… they casually
conversed. The chirping of the crickets was the only audio competition to the
voices of these police officers… that and the beating of my heart. No other cars
on the streets.
Meanwhile, there I was… on all fours… just a few feet away. They
were so close to me that I was almost afraid to breathe, lest they hear me. I
was frozen in position… fearing that the slightest movement would generate a
grinding sound from the rocks crunching beneath my hands and knees. Sweat soaked my t-shirt as I strained to maintain my composure and my position.
At that point, being out after curfew was the least of my worries.
My pockets full of cigarettes and candy bars were evidence that I had just
committed the more serious offense of breaking and entering.
It became obvious that they were not dispatched there to
investigate a robbery or any other crime. They were just two cops, killing time
on the boring overnight shift in small town Iowa. This assignment did not
typically generate much excitement for the boys in blue, in Madrid.
The minutes went by. I was paralyzed with fear. My knees and
hands were killing me and starting to go numb, as they supported my weight atop
a pile of large, sharp rocks. The two cops… five feet away.
Should I make a run for it? That was my usual “go to”
strategy in such situations but this one was a little different. My offense was
far more serious this time. My hands and legs were numb and I wasn’t sure how
they would react if I tried to sprint away. Plus there were two of them. I just
didn’t like my odds. So I kept still… in a crouch.
At one point, I came this close (finger, thumb… a quarter
inch apart) to walking up to them and giving myself up… spread eagle, hands on
top of their cruiser. But… I resisted the temptation and kept still.
The minutes passed and eventually gave way to hours. After
what seemed to be an eternity, the engine roared to life and the cops vacated
the parking lot of the Dairy Sweet. As I slowly unfolded my body and attempted
to stand in an upright position, the pain I felt in my joints made me think of
what the elderly must go through as they get up every morning. I was hurting!
It was after 3:30 AM. I was trapped under that bush for more
than two hours!
I carefully made my way back to “Camp St. Malachy’s,”
watching carefully for headlights before I sprinted back across Highway 17. As
I reached the patio, Carlo and Bob C were in a deep state of slumber. I lit a
cigarette and took a few hits before shaking Carlo awake. My nerves were shot.
Groggily… he asked me where I had been. I recalled, for him,
each and every excruciating detail. He howled with laughter. Apparently, he had
chosen an escape route that was a tad better than mine. He told me that he
thought that I had either been caught or that I had gone home. He was wrong on
both counts.
I slept at the Catholic church several times a week that
summer. My parents didn’t really care. Heck, most of the time, they probably
didn’t know. My bedroom was upstairs and they NEVER ventured upstairs. I was
free to roam… no restrictions, no rules, no supervision… no guidance or
direction.
I was young… and I was reckless.
