Doing Time in Needles Jail
Having exhausted our self's with booze and women in Kingman, which at 14 or 15 was as close to paradise young guys can get, my partner Bob and me decided that we might as well go back to San Gabriel and home. Once we looked at our resources it became the obvious choice. (Don't you just love the steel trap minds of young guys).
Another nice morning arrived as we walked to the west side of Kingman to Route 66. Before we could get comfortable though, we hit a ride. This was not a great ride; great being distance, it did , however, get us through to Needles, California. That was when the our luck turned as we tried for several hours to catch a ride. By now the heat of the day was starting its inevitable work at exhausting all who stay in it. We still did not have a ride. As we stood by this empty field looking for cars, we heard behind us, the sound of a train moving slowly, heading west. It didn't take us long to figure out, at a minimum, that it was going west to Barstow and maybe all the way to the rail yards at "Berdoo" (San Bernardino). This would put us over the mountains and into the Southern California basin. What could be sweeter. Nothing!
As the train continued to gain speed, our window of opportunity was fast disappearing, we took off at a run knowing we would be on easy street in a few seconds. Out of nowhere, suddenly before us, was a Police Black and White stopping our mad dash. The great dream of "Riding the Rails" disappeared as fast the cop appeared (amazing the how those seem to cancel each other). Not having a whole lot of identification and without adult supervision (duh) it was the policemen's considered judgment that we should get in the back seat of the cruiser and be taken to the Needles City Jail. Considering he had the gun we both agreed that it would be the thing we should do.
Once at the Jail we went through the usual booking but instead of being booked as Master Criminals we were booked as "Incorrigible Youth". Imagine what a blow to the ego of a macho pair that Bob and I presented to the world. They told us that they would contact our parents (another blow) and be put on a bus to L.A. After Booking they placed us in the Women's Cell, adding the Coupe De Gras" of insults. This was a solid steel door, not bars, with a space at the bottom and a small window into the corridor of cells. No window to the outside was provided so all we had was the bricks that comprised the walls. What was really tough to take was that they took our cigarettes away. With no tobacco and nothing else to do , it became our goal to count all the bricks.
It was getting to be evening and the counting of brick was long past the point of being interesting and certainly not a sufficient activity to occupy us any further. It was then we heard a commotion out in the Corridor . At Last some human contact! We both pressed against the small window to see what was happing. It was all of the work detail that the city used coming back for the night. What we saw was this incredible collection young and old men walking through. All very them dirty from the day's work. There were petty thieves and drunks; homeless men (homeless men used to be called Hobo's.) After the parade of humanity passed we went back to our bunks and laid down. The thought of a cigarette came into mind and we began to obsess on that. It was then we heard something under the door. The City of Needles, in their magnanimous operation of the jail, had given us our evening meal. What we got was a wax paper wrapped bologna sandwich and a cup of coffee. Considering we had not eaten all day this was something. We never had considered that they would feed us! Anyway after the coffee and sandwich we were back to the bricks. It was not long after that, lights out came.
The next morning the Humanity parade took place again. This time as we got to the window of the cell we started asking or smokes. This was not too successful until near the last of the group. An old guy slipped under the door, a bag of Bull Durham. Now those that grew up in the 60's new that it was the papers that came with the tobacco that mattered. But this little gift was without the paper. Imagine the torture of having tobacco and not papers. Was this some grand scheme to convince us that our day of being travelers of the world was not to be? Some perverse punishment from Shiva? We sat there, ignoring the brick count and thinking of our just deserts as the morning meal arrived. Again the City of Needles generously provided us with the coffee and wax paper wrapped Bologna sandwich. What made the morning special however was that they included in our meal, some magazines to read (obviously they thought we could read in addition to being concerned about us going stir crazy). At last we had paper!
Now understand that Bob was a year or two older then me so I deferred to his expertise in a few issues. Here he proved himself a considerable asset by rolling a cigarette using the paper from the magazines. That being said, when I took my first puff it started a coughing fit. After adjusting my lungs to the concoction it was cool. We had achieved Nirvana, we were smoking! Better yet was that Bob taught me how to roll cigarettes, a skill that become very useful as the Sixties and Seventies came. Once we got tired of abusing our lungs, we were back once more to counting bricks.
After two days in stir, we were informed by our keepers that my Dad had wired tickets on the Greyhound bus for Los Angeles. We were being sprung. It was great to be out once more. The police were good enough to take us to the bus deport and stayed around to say goodbye as we rolled out of Needles.
This was cool, nice seat on the Greyhound, not having to worry about getting a ride. It was nice time to nap. Taking a nap was not Bob's idea of fun. He saw a woman about 25 or so and was starting to do his thing. I, of course went to sleep. Comming into Riverside, Bob shook me awake. As I was trying to get my bearings Bob told me he and the woman were getting off at the Riverside stop. (later I figured that was not the first time they got off). That was the last time I saw Bob. It was a few months later he called and tried to hustle me into joining a magazine sales crew. I declined having been on my one great adventure.
