Alcohol, rifles, teenagers… and a vehicle. Can you think of
a worse combination? That sounded perfectly fine to me back in the mid-1970’s
when I was doing my best to sow my wild oats, but now… as a father of five… it
causes me to break into a cold sweat.
Mike Fischer (Fisch), Denny Young (Farmer) and me.
After about an hour of driving around in our small town and
consuming our fair share of alcohol, we stopped at Mike’s house to pick up some
rifles. I don’t recall but I have to assume that Mike’s parents were not at
home. I’m pretty sure that he didn’t have carte blanche to remove their
firearms from the gun cabinet and go target shooting with a couple drunk
teenagers.
We drove somewhere north and west of town and ended up at
the Des Moines River near the town of Luther. I do not have a clear recollection
of this portion of the adventure. I vaguely remember shooting, laughing and
using the river as my personal restroom. But that’s about it.
My memory becomes a lot clearer with what happened next…
Dusk was setting in and we decided we’d better call it a day
and get those guns back in the gun cabinet at the Fischer household. So, we
made our way south on Highway 17 towards Madrid.
On the northern edge of town sat our beautiful and pristine
high school. It was just a few years old at that point in time. As we passed by
the school… it was as if we all had the same idea at the same time.
Farmer whipped into the driveway of the school and followed
the circular roadway until it brought us right in front of the school student
center. It’s where we ate lunch, had study halls and congregated between
classes and after school.
The front of the student center was a grid of 4 foot by 4
foot windows with black metal trim. The windows went from floor to ceiling.
We sat there for a few seconds and looked at those windows.
Buoyed by our consumption of liquid courage, Fisch and I hung the rifles out
the car windows and squeezed the trigger. My senses were overwhelmed with the sounds
of gunshots and of glass shattering, the smell of gun smoke and the feeling
that we just did something really, really bad.
We needed to do two things very quickly, 1) vacate the
school premises before anyone saw us and 2) rid ourselves of any criminal evidence.
Fisch lived a couple blocks from the school and so we promptly
drove to his house where he quickly put the rifles away. We all breathed a sigh
of relief. Nobody would ever find out.
It was now dark and I needed Farmer to drop me off at the
bowling alley where I could grab my bike and peddle home.
“Let’s just scoop the loop one more time before I drop you
off.” Farmer suggested.
Bad decision.
My house was on a corner at 216 East 2nd Street…
on the main drag of town, a couple blocks east of the downtown business area.
Part of the “loop” that everyone “scooped.”
After we turned west on 2nd Street from Highway
17 and just before we made it to my house, we got lit up. The cops.
“Oh Sh*%!” Farmer muttered.
Farmer was driving down the middle of the road, straddling
the yellow line. Seems he forgot that it was customary to drive on the right
side of the line. So we got pulled over… right next to my house.
The cop pulled us all out of the car, asked to smell our
breath and then accused us all of drinking. The nerve!
We denied… he smirked.
I feel like I sobered up in a hurry at that point.
He didn’t cuff us but he did order us into his back seat. We
were going for a little ride to the Madrid Police Station.
Farmer was 18 and was of legal age to drink at that time…
except it was illegal to drink and drive… obviously. So, they immediately packed
him up and took him to Boone for a blood test.
They separated Fisch and me. Took us to separate rooms. Odd.
What was going on?
I sat in a small room for what seemed like an eternity. I
was scared, sweating… and promising God all sorts of stuff if He’d just get me
out of this jam. A “jam” that was about to get a lot worse!
Finally… a cop came in and pulled up a chair and sat in
front of me… his nose no more than 6 inches away from mine. Just like the
movies. Intimidating. Thought for sure that I was about to get roughed up. My
stomach was churning and my legs were jelly.
His opening volley, “What do you know about windows getting
shot out at the high school today?”
“What?!?”
“How in the world did he know?” I thought as the color
drained from my face and I began to feel feint.
“Nothing… sir. I don’t know what you are talking about.” I
lied.
He wasn’t done. He told me that he was sure that I was
involved and that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. But I
was determined that the truth would not come from me… deny, deny, deny!
Weary of his lack of progress, he grabbed me by the shoulder
and led me back into the lobby where Fisch was sitting. We were told that our
parents had been called and they were on their way to pick us up.
“If you think this is over,” He growled, “think again.”
Wide eyed… I just nodded.
I turned to Fisch and whispered, “He asked me about shooting
out the high school windows!”
“Me too!” Fisch responded.
“Did you admit to it?” I asked.
“No! Did you?” He asked
“Of course not!” I said.
Good! We were in the clear…
Or so we thought…
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