My criminal history started when I was a mere lad of seven years old. I detailed the crime in my blog “The Great Recess Caper of 1961, and my ass still burns from the ass-whipping my Mom gave me.
I think I stole a ring so I could go steady with this girl. I got away with it, but I never really felt good about it, so it was no big deal when a different girl I broke up with decided to keep it. Since the statute of limitations has passed, I can tell of a robbery that was unplanned and just sort of happened. My band mate and I had helped some musicians move their equipment to a gig at a very swanky hotel. Everything went fine and we each pocketed fifty bucks for about thirty minutes work. On our way out, we passed a small room with a wicker basket in it. On inspection, it was filled with about $50,000 of designer turquoise jewelry, including a belt with huge, beautiful stones valued at $32, 000 (it had a price tag on it).
I know.
I shouldn’t have.
But just to show you the power of Karma, I never got a chance to profit from that heist.
About three months later, the punk that was my bandmate broke into my little apartment a couple blocks away from the U of A in Tucson. He found the stashed booty, and I ended up calling the police. They came and fucked up my abode with graphite fingerprint dust all over the fucking place. I let them know some jewelry was taken, but that’s all I told them.
What the dipshit didn’t even touch was the small suitcase stuffed with magic mushrooms, about $20,000 worth.
I think the detectives suspected me, but the whole story came to an end anyway, when my bandmate was arrested in Texas trying to unload the jewelry.
No, I didn’t know him.
Not really.
He just kind of passed through and jammed a few times with my band.
That’s what I told the detectives.
Years later, I would be accused of removing a box of hamburgers from a restaurant I was working at.
Without paying for it.
Total bullshit.
I never stole a hamburger in my life.
Mom would be very proud.
Evidently, a chap who I let crash at my pad, had lifted the box of frozen patties unbeknownst to me.
I ended up getting rousted out of bed (another blog) by the Winslow Police department and unceremoniously dumped in jail like a common criminal.
Long story short, the roommate ended up being wanted for being AWOL from the Navy, and his confession completely exonerated me from any wrongdoing. If I wasn’t just too ready to leave Winslow, Arizona, I would have pursued legal action.
The solitary night sleeping on a cold hard cement floor with wheezing drunks and their foul odors did nothing to improve my impression of the shitty little town.
I would go back to Tucson for a short stopover before finally heading to Las Vegas.
Stay well.
Mark's Playhouse 