Stories
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All of high-school, but the final caper a year or two later was a cold winter night. We had nothing to do. Someone suggested we rob the Price place out on Pickerel Point, empty in the winter only used in summer. We wore gloves semi-professional and someone had a glass cutter and tape. They cut a circle in the door-glass like on TV, taped and knocked the center out removing it noiselessly with the tape - reached in and unlatched the latch and so we spent some time in there with flash lights, but it was cold and no one took anything but me. I took a fishing tackle box.
It was the same old story. Took the booty home and never looked at it except there were a very many neat lures in there. Now I know if I had been older and had a tackle box like that myself, I could have understood that it might have meant something to someone. It meant something to Price for someone told me he was fed up. Not the first break-in. He called the FBI. Well I had moved from Song Lake by this time but I grabbed a shovel and went out back and dug a very deep hole where I deposited that tackle box, and where it still may be for all I know.
That is pretty much my life of crime. O I may have bought something I knew was stolen once. I may not have returned some tools I borrowed. I never could figure that one out. Why did I not return those tools and sharper than when I borrowed them ? I had opportunities to steal things but I thought - I know this will never really be mine but always that of the someone of who I stole it.
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