Stories
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No ! We are as innocent as a new-born lambs we pleaded. Yada yada yada no tickets issued.
And it was I and Smitty had-been probably to the gas station across the tracks and highway just a little east of the train station putting air in our bike tires and pedaling on the highway back to the crossing onto main street, a train was coming and we raced it across the tracks just in front of it slowing for a stop, while the engineer was not too happy as we sailed into Main Street unscathed at full bicycle speed.
Smitty began hanging around with Buddy Whom who had a '53 cherry-red Chevy convertible, three-shift on the column - and it was an interesting crew. Buddy and his two best buds both ex-Chicagoans from across the lake sat in the front seat. And Smitty brought me in and we both sat in the back. But perhaps that was because they were picked up first, because if I remember right, I called shotgun before they did a few times meaning I got front seat, and they weren't too happy about it.
The object here seemed to be to make Buddy laugh and he laughed at anything uproariously. So the two front seat buddies liked to-do gibbering idiot impressions - of which Bud laughed incessant belly fulls - of everything they gibberished - like an Abbott comedy Costello act - culminating the routine with slapstick - slapping each other's hands like Two Stooge Gibbons - in spastic eroticism - and Bud laughed uproariously.
Smitty also laughed easily, and learned to do the gibberish so he fit right in.
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