Crime Pays

I was attending the University of Oregon in 1950 when I received a phone call from my older sister, Virginia, calling from Grants Pass. "Did you have a little problem with the Portland Police last summer?" she asked me. Oh, that.  "As a matter of fact we did have a small misunderstanding, but why do you ask?" She told me she had intercepted a phone call from the Multnomah County Court instructing me to appear before them the following month regarding my arrest for minor in possession of alcoholic beverages last summer.  She gave me the date and the place to appear and said she had not mentioned this call to our mother.  How do you put a dollar value on an older sister?

I was on the down-state football All-Star team that played in the inaugural Shrine All-Star game in 1948 and as a player I received two complimentary passes to all future games. So the next summer I thought it would be fun to attend that year's game and see all my teammates from the year before. I invited a friend from Grants Pass to attend the game with me and we drove to Portland in his car. After the game there was a get together of former players from both teams that my friend couldn't get into, so we agreed to meet at a later time that night.  I fell in with a bunch of guys who had played against us from the Metro All-Stars and one thing led to another and we all thought it would be a grand idea to buy a case of beer and go up above Grant High School and pop some caps. I stressed I had to be back to our meeting place at the appointed hour and away we went.

Do police show up when clueless young boys gather in a neighborhood and drink beer and make noise and pee in people's bushes? Yes they do. I remember this big policeman greeting us and saying, "Well, well, look at this. A bunch of little juvenile delinquents."  Short story: My new friends ratted me out as the beer buyer and I was incarcerated at the 2nd & Pine police station and then released at 2:30 AM.  Missed my ride home.  About $1.50 in my pocket. A little tired and a bit hung over. Time to walk from downtown Portland to where I could start hitch-hiking home to Grants Pass. It's not easy being young and stupid.

Showed up for my appearance to rat out the beer seller. A clerk told me to stop at the desk on the way out to pick up my check.  Check?  Round trip mileage from Grants Pass to Portland. Yowsa! A big wealth infusion for that poor college boy. Crime pays.