YOUTH ON THE LAM-PART TWO

I slipped quietly out of bed, and taking nothing with me but the clothes I had on, I went down town. I rented a Hertz Drive yourself car and headed south. I had but one objective and that was to get away from the mess I had made of everything; from facing Mom. I knew I was doing wrong and that I stood a good chance of being caught, but I never was the meditative type. I was always more motion than reason. As long as I had the feeling that somehow everything would work out.

 

By coincidence I picked up a hitch-hiker and he turned out to be a fellow I had known in Sacramento. We soon spent the money I had. By the time we reached Turlock we sold the spare tire to buy gas. Further down the road we sold the tools. That was selling stolen property, but the mere fact of legal ownership didn’t matter now! All that mattered was keeping from being caught.

 

When we were almost to Los Angeles, we blew a tire, left the car sitting at the roadside and started hitch-hiking. We went through to Arizona, and sighed with relief. Maybe the state would not extradite for my offense. But I continued on into Texas, and then to cloud my trail I enlisted in the cavalry under the name of Philip Murray.

 

I was shipped to Fort Riley, Kansas, and I really enjoyed the army. I was used to a disciplined life, and army life was so much easier than jail. The food was good and I became the best welter-weight boxer of my division. But I stayed around too long. One day the Captain called me into his office and I faced my record. Not my criminal record, but my former enlistment, when I’d been discharged on account of my age. The officer thought that was the reason I had enlisted under an assumed name, and suggested, “Phil, you’re doing fine in the army. You finish out your term as Murray and then re-enlist.”

 

Sure, I agreed. That was a simple solution. I figured that I would soon be welterweight champion of my outfit. I’d straighten out. I can’t remember how many times, from the days in Boys’ Aid on up, that I promised myself I’d straighten out. This life, with fear of my record nudging me in the back was no fun, believe me! I might forget for hours at a time, but always the day of reckoning kept coming up. This time, I’d make it for sure! Only I was trying to make it without any help from God, just in the strength of plain old Phil Thatcher.

 

I grew restless, so I applied for a three-day leave. I borrowed a suit from one of my buddies and went to Kansas City. There I decided that the army life was too tame, and I would go over the hill. I bought a pair of coveralls, slipped them over my borrowed suit and caught a freight train. In a few hours I hopped off at a little town in Missouri. I figured no one would think of my being there, so I slipped off the coveralls, hung around the general store for awhile and soon got a job with a farmer.

 

I stayed at that farm only a short time. A man with a record isn’t content any place so I started roaming around the country. In about a year’s time. I was back in Northern California. I was now 22. I went to work for a grocery store, but I didn’t last long because I had sticky fingers. Job after job went in this manner, and I got in with the wrong crowd. And if they weren’t wrong enough, my going with them made them wrong. I drank heavily, couldn’t keep a job and needed money if I were to eat and have anything.