Ronnie Dee--Criminals

Criminals

Ronnie Dee

Photo by Christopher Ziemnowicz courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

One night we were out stealing spinner hubcaps and Dan was getting some off of a car in the driveway next to a house. It was a noisy occupation and a lady came out on the front porch and asked, "What are you doing?"

Dan answered, "I'm stealing these hubcaps."

She chastised, "You better stop that."

Dan says, "No. Not till I get 'em all."

She warns, "I'll call the police."

Dan counters with, "Go ahead. We'll be gone by the time they get here."

By then, he had all of them and headed for the car. I turned off the lights for a moment so she couldn't read my plates, and we drove off and headed for the safety of the West End.

Sometimes it was just too easy, like the stealing of tires. Station wagons were popular at that time and even though a lot of people had garages, for some reason, most people parked on the street. The garages were at the end of a long back yard in most cases and not in good shape.

Dan and I discovered that most station wagon tailgates were left unlocked. The spare tire, which was a full size tire, was right there. All you had to do was lift up a flap and the tire was just laying there, unsecured. We would pull up beside a wagon, hop out of the car, open the tailgate, lift up the flap and remove the tire, close the tailgate, stick the tire in the back seat and leave. It could be done in twenty seconds or less. Grab a couple of them and head to our fence and we had ten bucks apiece. Remember this was 1959 and ten dollars went a long way. Adjusted to inflation, ten dollars in 1959 is about the equivalent of $110 in 2025.

Sometimes you just get lucky. The Professor and I were just hanging out downtown one winter day and we were standing on the street when a crowd of shoppers passed by. I heard something go, plop, and when the people continued on, I saw a package laying on the sidewalk.

I picked it up and looked in. It was an expensive looking scarf. I looked for the people but they had gone on down the street and vanished in the crowd. The receipt was in the bag and it read $19.95. An expensive item back in 1956. I saw where the scarf had been purchased and told the Prof, "I'm going to return this and get the money back."

The Prof wasn't so sure I could do it, so I told him to stay outside, in case I got caught he wouldn't be involved. The store was just down the street, so it must have been purchased just moments earlier.

I boldly strode into the store, not a large establishment and told the clerk, "My mother just bought this, but she changed her mind and told me to bring it back for a refund."

The clerk called the owner over and they started giving me the third degree. Apparently they didn't like refunds. After a while I began to get a little antsy, as I knew they were suspicious, but I held my ground, acting nonchalant while hoping the buyer wouldn't come in the front door. I was ready to bolt if that happened, but they finally, reluctantly conceded and gave me $19.95 and I strolled out the door and quickly got lost in the crowd.

I kept the kids at school supplied with pens. Ballpoint pens were a fairly new thing back in the fifties and I would rip them off with the clerk looking right at me. I would lean my elbows on the counter and grab a few pens in each hand. I would hold my left hand out a little bit and when the clerk's eyes shifted to that hand, I let a couple of pens slide down into my right sleeve unnoticed.

Records. They almost invited you to steal records. Each store had booths you could go into and listen to records. I would just grab a shopping bag and put some empty boxes in it, go to a record store, grab a stack of records and go into a booth. I'd stick a bunch in a box and go out and buy one to avoid suspicion and sell the rest to my schoolmates at a discounted price.

I even dabbled with fire for a spell. I would set garbage cans and discarded furniture on fire in the alley until one night when I nearly set myself on fire. I would use gasoline as an accelerant and one night I stupidly forgot that it is the fumes that actually catch fire. I was standing right in a gas puddle and when I flicked my lighter, flames erupted all around me. I don't think I ever reacted to anything as quickly as I did in that instant. I leapt out of the fire and beat at my pants cuffs to squelch the flames and fled, shaking like a leaf. That fortunately ended my short-lived foray into arson.

Breaking windows with my fists was another stupid endeavor which ended rather abruptly when I cut my hand up pretty good on a garage window one night.

Jack and I liked to make prank phone calls to random people telling them that they had won a prize. We would tell them it would arrive by taxi and then we would call a cab and send it to their address. Then we would sit back and laugh, imagining the chaos.

There was a big scene one night where a car crashed into a store (not Joe's Pharmacy) and I stopped to see what was going on. I stayed for a few minutes and then left. As I walked back to my car, I went around the corner and there, sitting in the middle of the street, idling, was an unoccupied Louisville Police car with the doors open.

I stopped and looked around. There was no one in sight. I double checked. Still no one. I fought with myself for a moment about what to do. This could be a life changing moment. I thought hard about it, and I could picture the angel and the devil sitting on my shoulders debating. I finally decided to go on down the street to my car and go home. That was one time when my better judgement actually won out. I was so tempted, but I didn't do it and I am so glad I didn't.

That was one more of those decisions that in later life I would reflect upon and thank God that I am reflecting in my own home, my own room, instead of a prison cell somewhere, like my friend, the other Ronnie. Now I never murdered anyone, but some of my misdeeds could have definitely got me in a world of trouble, if not with the police, then with some other unfriendly factions I may have encountered at some time.

One night I was turning from 34th Street onto Broadway and a car sitting at the stoplight on Broadway seemed to have their bright lights on and that irritated me, so I acted like I was going to run into them, swerving at the last moment. Too late, I noticed it was a police car. They signal me to stop and I did.

I had to come up with something good in a hurry, so I admitted that I had been drinking. I told them that I had an argument with my girlfriend, and I was afraid she was going to dump me, so I had a few beers and I wasn't paying any attention when I turned the corner and the wheel just slipped out of my hands. I told them that I was going home as I lived close by, which was true, and I apologized, and looked really forlorn, and they let me go with an admonition to go home immediately.

I thanked them profusely and went straight home. They were very understanding and my apology was sincere. That was a real close call.

In those days, there just seemed to be so much temptation, and I had such little willpower, I can't believe I made it this far. In 1960 I used to hope I could make it to the turn of the century. I did. I was all of 61, and I left that in my rearview mirror a long time ago and I don't think I've committed a felony in a very long time.

Back when I was doing all of this nefarious stuff, there seemed to be some sort of a veil between the worlds of good and bad. I could never never just enjoy something. I would always have thoughts and ideas of how easily it would be to screw things up; to cause a disturbance or wreck the entire situation. There was no reason or cause to do so, it would be just to do it. Sort of an oddball, because it's there, sort of thing.

It wouldn't be for attention or recognition, because I would also plan a getaway. it was something deep that would compel me to think these thoughts. It must have been something in my upbringing that kept me from enjoying the group dynamic. Music would start to change all of that.