How Did It All Start?

Much of my writing up to this point has been focused on the areas in my life where I have had victory and success. I have attempted to share what has worked for me to overcome struggles and demonstrate how I have found true happiness. There are multiple parts to every story however, and I feel I need to focus today on how I got so wild to begin with. How did I end up engaging in the level of criminal activity at only 13 years of age that would cost me my freedom? This does not happen over-night. I believe there is a progression that I can follow that will paint a picture for us. I want to start to answer the question: How did it all start?

The first time I can ever remember breaking the law, and getting caught, I think I was about five or six years old. I was living with my grandma and papa at the time, and they were taking me camping at a place I am pretty sure was called Thousand Trails. After some quick googling I was able to confirm there are Thousand Trails campsites all around Nevada, so we were likely at one of those. I have almost no memory of this camping trip besides one part of the trip I will never forget.

My papa took me to the little camping store to pick up some supplies, and grandma stayed at the campsite. When we were walking the isles, I spotted the candy and began begging for some of the sweet treats. My grandfather loved candy just as much as I did, and I figured I was sure to get some since grandma was not with us. But I was wrong. And this time papa said no candy and insisted we only get the items we were sent for. I threw a pretty big fit in the store, but after papa made it clear that he wasn’t going to budge, I stopped my bantering.

We gathered the supplies we needed, and got back into the car. I was riding in the back seat, when papa caught a reflection of me in the rearview mirror, eating a piece of candy! He was furious! He immediately pulled the car over and demanded I hand over the candy and explain myself. My papa was the sweetest man I have ever known in all my life, and usually pretty easy on me, unless I did something extremely stupid like I had on this occasion. He did not tolerate two things: lying and stealing, and I had just done both.

My papa took my candy, got back into the front seat of the car, and made a U-turn to head back to the little store. He made me go back into the store and confess to the store clerk what I had done, and told me that they might have to call the police and might even take me to jail! My only hope was to confess my crimes and ask for mercy.

So my papa walked back up to the store counter, and waited for me to give my confession. The old man on the other side of the counter studied us a bit trying to figure out why we were back so quickly. He asked with a friendly chuckle, “You folks forget something?” My papa gestured down in my direction with his arms crossed and gave me a stair that said it was time to talk. Finally, I burst out crying “I stole your candy sir! I am sorry! Please don’t call the police! Please don’t take me to jail?” And I placed the half-eaten candy on the counter and waited for my judgment.

The old clerk was quite surprised, but quickly his face turned into a scowl as he stared at me down. He came around the counter and kneeled down to my height as he began his lecture. “You can’t steal candy boy! Why I oughta call the police and have you hauled off to jail!” While the man was stern and visibly upset that I stole from his store, I could tell he had given this lecture before, and I knew I was not going to jail. After he finished his scared straight speech, I acknowledged my guilt again and papa then paid for the candy.

As we walked back to the car, there were no words said, and when I would glance up at papa, he would give me a look of disappointment. As we got in the car, and headed back to the campsite, I waited for a second or third lecture, but it never came. Instead, with a calm voice, Papa told me he loved me and that stealing was bad for me. He explained to me and made me promise I would never do something like that again. I assured him I would never steal again, and I meant it when I said it. I loved my papa so much and didn’t want to disappoint him, but that was not enough for me to keep this promise.

Unfortunately, this little crime was not my last and it was not long before I developed a regular habit of stealing. The next time I was caught was at a grocery store in Carson City (Scholaries) maybe a year or so later. These memories are so old, I can barely grasp them but they are there. This time I was out on my bike riding around town and decided to shoplift some candy from the grocery store. I walked the isles for a while casually until I made my way to the candy section. I shoved two big Charleston Chews into my pants and started for the exit.

I was not more than a foot through the glass double doors before I was grabbed by a store clerk. This came as a complete surprise, as I did not think anyone was watching me. The guy who caught me this time was not acting, he was seriously upset! He pulled me by my arm to the front of the store where he got the manager and shouted about how I had been shoplifting and he caught me! I was crying and trying to explain how I already had the candy. I said I bought it next door at Ben Franklins, and it was just a misunderstanding. Unfortunately, I was caught in the act and the guy who stopped me at the front door was watching me the whole time.

So the store manager took me into the back room in the far end of the store and told me he was calling the police. I was left in a room and told to wait, where I cried my eyes out, and begged to be let go. After I gave up my tantrum and about ten minutes had passed, I finally heard people coming back and the door opened. Instead of the police there to arrest me, it was far worse. My grandmother was standing in the doorway and she was fuming. I did not understand how or why she was there, and honestly wanted the police instead!

She didn’t say a word to me, other than, “Let’s go.” and I quickly got up and followed her out of the store and out to her car. When we got in the car, I was frozen as I awaited the lecture of a lifetime! You see, Papa was the softy of the two, and it was Grandma that you did not want to get in trouble with because she was strict. After raising four kids of her own, she did not tolerate crap from me. So I figured I was in for a world of hurt after this gigantic screw up!

Instead, my grandma just drove us home calmly and explained to me that I was lucky because the store manager was a friend of hers and called her instead of the police. She went on to tell me how my Uncle Bob had been caught stealing candy from the same store as a kid, and even grinned a little as she remembered it. Not fond of the bad behavior of course, but remembering her little boy who was now about a sophomore in high school. She was upset with me to be sure, but this time she was going to give me a break. She told me how you get one chance to learn a lesson and this was my one chance. Just like with papa, I promised her I would never steal again, and she believed me.

I had a way of talking out of trouble when I was a kid. In both of these cases, I was able to avoid real consequences because of my broken promises. I learned how to tell people whatever they needed to hear in order to get out of trouble. I am ashamed to have been this way, but it is who I was. I was a young manipulative con artist who stopped at nothing to protect his own interests. You might think I am being harsh and that a kid could not have possibly been so bad? I bet you change your mind as you learn the rest of my story.

After getting caught this time, I stopped stealing for a while because I knew my grandma would not let me off easy if I got caught a second time. But after a few years and going to live with my mother, I ended up returning to the habit of stealing all the time. Usually it was just candy or snacks, or clothes and shoes. Sometimes I would get caught, but I would either run away before they could catch me or just talk my way out of it every time. I became a little kleptomaniac that would menace my city with a barrage of small crimes everyday.

By the time I was in the fourth grade, I had a routine of stopping by my favorite stores throughout the day, to steal whatever I wanted. I rode my bike to school, so every morning I would stop by 7–11, walk the isles for a minute, then steal some candy to take to school. Finally after this went on for weeks or maybe months, the store clerk figured out what I was doing, but still could not catch me! You have to remember, this was the 80s, and nobody had any surveillance yet, unless it was the police department or the court house. The only thing I had to avoid was eyeballs and mirrors. If I could be sure I was out of sight of the store clerks and avoid the mirrors at each aisle, I could basically steal whatever I wanted.

This worked great until one morning I made a mistake. I entered the 7–11 as usual and greeted the store clerk before I began to fake browse the little store isles. But I knew something was off. This was not the same clerk that I usually saw every morning? This was a guy who worked in the afternoons usually? I wasn’t worried however as I had stolen a snack after school plenty of times, just thought it was strange. I made my way slowly over to the candy aisle, and glanced over at the counter using the mirrors to get a vision of where the clerk was and waited until his back was turned to slip the two candy bars into my oversized jeans. I had my eyes so fixed on the store clerk in the mirror, that I failed to see the second store clerk standing five feet from me watching the whole thing! It was an ambush! The normal morning clerk who I made a fool of every morning was hiding out behind the beer freezer, supposedly waiting for me to make my move. The other clerk was a decoy, at least I thought so at the time.

So I literally have the two king-sized Butter-Fingers in my pants and the angry store clerk jumps out of the corner, grabs me, and shouts, “I got you this time you little punk!” and he dragged me by the arms across the store into the back employee room and assured me, “Your going to jail!” as he picked up the phone and called the police. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t even have time to make up a lie or get a chance to talk my way out of it. Within minutes, the police showed up and immediately put me in handcuffs. I was nine years old here, in the fourth grade, and I am pretty sure this was the first time I ever had handcuffs on, but surely not the last.

The police officer who cuffed me and asked me all the questions, was actually pretty cool. I hit a soft spot with him right away and I knew it. I remember, he kneeled down to my height and looked me right in the eyes and asked me “Why aren’t you at school son? What are you doing stealing candy when you are supposed to be at school?” I told him it was the first time I ever did anything like that and I begged him to let me go! After he finished asking me all of his questions, he left the room and closed the door. I was trembling with fear now because I knew I was not getting out of this one, and I was on my way to jail.

After about ten minutes of torturous waiting, the door finally opened and with the police officer and the store clerk, was standing my mother. At first, I was confused and did not know what was going on, but then the officer told me to stand up and turn around. He removed the hand cuffs and spun me around and again kneeled down at my eye level. He told me he was giving me one chance, and that if he ever found me stealing again, he would not think twice but to take me right to jail! I thanked him for the pass and promised him I would never steal again.

My mother on the other hand was livid! After we got into her light blue classic 1960s Rambler, she came unglued! She was not just mad that I stole, she was mad that I got arrested! (well almost arrested) My mom did not like dealing with the police, and after having plenty of her own run-ins with the cops, she was finally getting her life together and didn’t want me to screw it up!

It was true, she was doing well finally after divorcing her abusive ex-husband recently. We had a fresh start and after a lot of difficulties, her life was going pretty good. I was the one going off the rails. Looking back, I can’t imagine what it must have been like raising a wild kid like me. I was dishonest and untrustworthy, and only cared about myself. I regretfully made life really hard on the both of us as a result.

I told her I was very sorry and how it was the first time I ever did anything like that. She told me she loved me, but I was grounded, and dropped me off at my elementary school, just down around the corner. I got out of the car, said I was sorry again, turned around and went to school. After my mom was gone, I let out a big sigh of relief and put on a big smile. I went to class and told my friends how I outsmarted the cops and would never stop because I could never be caught!

From this day forward (until about age 16) I started stealing far more than I ever did before. These first three times I was caught stealing, it was candy every time, a fact I didn’t realize until I wrote this piece? Who knew candy was such a problem for me? I would never get caught stealing candy or food again however, not because I stopped stealing, but because I got good at it. I tossed caution to the wind and started taking whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it, from whoever I felt like.

In my next articles, I will start to look at how my crimes increased from petty theft to more serious crimes, like grand larceny, burglary, assault with a deadly weapon, and many more felony arrests, until I was finally incarcerated at age 13. As I fill in missing years to my story, piece by piece, one article at a time, I feel like I am working on a puzzle. In doing so, I hope to illustrate how an innocent little kid could become a dangerous criminal. Maybe if I can identify the process that took me down, I can help others from making the same mistakes. I never wanted to be a criminal when I was a kid, but that is who I became.

I want to understand why I turned out this way? Was there something wrong with me? How could I be so lawless when I was so young? Where did I go wrong? How did I get lost? How did I become a criminal? I want to understand the cycle so I can break it and save others from repeating the same mistakes.

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