I’ve been arrested and spent time in jail.  OK, I’ve now admitted it and it feels good to let go of the burden I’ve carried all these years.  Hopefully you’ll agree I’ve paid my debt to society in full and despite the disappointment I’m sure this revelation must cause, I humbly beg your forgiveness.

Why am I coming clean now?  Well, I’ve been sorting through some of my parents’ old papers and I came across the indictment.  I swear, they saved everything.  But it was more than a little disconcerting to find evidence of my criminal past tucked away amongst the crudely drawn cards and elementary school photos.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll share the text of the charges levied against me:

“On or about July 4, 1973, at 18900 Gothard Street, Huntington Beach, County of Orange, [John McCrarey] did willfully, unlawfully and maliciously disturb the peace and quiet of Mrs. Hal Westley Shirey by offensive conduct, and the use of vulgar, profane, and indecent language, in a loud and boisterous manner, in violation of Section 415 of the Penal Code of California.”

I was found guilty, fined, and released with time served (about 4 hours in a concrete holding cell).  No one appeared to testify against me other than the arresting officer.  But the judge kept talking about some woman I’d never even heard of, a Miss Demeanor.  (bada bing).

Now, as bad as those charges sound, I was not completely without justification for my behavior.  Here’s the rest of the story:

It was Independence Day and my girlfriend, Gail Weed (yes, real name), and I were planning on enjoying the Huntington Beach 4th of July parade.  Gail was driving (she had a sweet ’65 Mustang Coupe).  Finding a place to park was a bitch, and for some reason they had blocked off Gothard street with a single barrier saying “road closed”.  We observed several cars driving around the barrier and I told Gail to follow them as there may be a place to park down there.

So, after bypassing the barrier we went down a slight hill and at the bottom were several police cars.  And they were issuing tickets to everyone who had taken the detour.  Yes my friends, it was a classic trap.  We were set up like bowling pins.  Back in those days I had a bit of a temper, and I was pretty pissed about being suckered in such a fashion, especially on America’s birthday!  After the girlfriend received her ticket and we were driving away I expressed my opinion about the whole situation by leaning out the window, extending my middle finger, and shouting in “a loud and boisterous” manner FUCK YOU PIGS!

Apparently the First Amendment doesn’t cover the heartfelt expression of speech in this fashion.  We hadn’t gotten a mile down the road before the police helicopter was hovering overhead.  And then a cruiser was behind us with red lights flashing (they were red, not blue, in those days).  We pulled over and were then surrounded by no less than three police cars!  Shortly thereafter the cop who had issued our ticket arrived and announced “yeah, that’s the sonofabitch”.

I was pulled from Gail’s Mustang and was required to answer a series of questions.  One of them that I remember was “do you have any scars, tattoos, or other identifying marks?”  I responded that I had a Battleship tattooed on my ass, and when I shit, it sinks.  That seemed to really make him even more angry, and the next thing I knew I was being thrown up against the the police car, my arms were roughly yanked behind my back, and they slapped the handcuffs on me.  Then it was off to the jailhouse.  For the record, I don’t really have a tattoo.

Dad came and bailed me out a few hours later, and he was even madder than the cop had been.  Which is why I found myself living on my own at the tender age of 17.  But that’s a story for another day.

Anyway, keeping things in perspective, I take solace from knowing that there were numerous occasions of certain other acts in which I regularly engaged that the state deems criminal and for which I was never arrested.  So it all balances out in the end, doesn’t it?

Who, me?