...and learns that crime doesn't pay
In 2012, when Jennie and I drove through Park Ridge, IL, where I lived from 1950-1958, I took this picture of the house that once served as the administrator's residence for the Park Ridge School for Girls (click the link below for more about the school), which was adjacent to our home at 715 N. Prospect (see 'Mason house - Park Ridge, IL' under 'Places' for more pictures).
For me this was a return to the scene of the crime almost sixty years later, as I'd burglarized this house when I was four or five years old, along with my young accomplice Sally Ephland. The previous administrator had moved out, and the new one hadn't yet arrived. So the house was unoccupied, and Sally, who lived across the street, and I found that the front door was unlocked. In we went.
Once inside we found all sorts of fabulous things that had been left behind in kitchen drawers and elsewhere, located a couple of shopping bags, and helped ourselves to as much loot as we could carry home with us. My plan, as I recall, was to put my stolen items in my toy box with all my other toys, where I thought they'd go unnoticed by my parents. Too late I realized I should've come up with a better plan.
My mother quickly recognized that there were things in with my toys that didn't belong there, and asked me where they came from. Having no explanation other than the truth, I confessed to my crime, after which she called someone she knew at the girls' school and told her what had happened.
The next day the woman came over, and she and my mother discussed at length whether they needed to call the police, as I sat there embarrassed and worried. Eventually, of course, they decided that they'd let me off this time with just a stern warning. I don't recall ever hearing about what happened to Sally, if anything.
For me this was a return to the scene of the crime almost sixty years later, as I'd burglarized this house when I was four or five years old, along with my young accomplice Sally Ephland. The previous administrator had moved out, and the new one hadn't yet arrived. So the house was unoccupied, and Sally, who lived across the street, and I found that the front door was unlocked. In we went.
Once inside we found all sorts of fabulous things that had been left behind in kitchen drawers and elsewhere, located a couple of shopping bags, and helped ourselves to as much loot as we could carry home with us. My plan, as I recall, was to put my stolen items in my toy box with all my other toys, where I thought they'd go unnoticed by my parents. Too late I realized I should've come up with a better plan.
My mother quickly recognized that there were things in with my toys that didn't belong there, and asked me where they came from. Having no explanation other than the truth, I confessed to my crime, after which she called someone she knew at the girls' school and told her what had happened.
The next day the woman came over, and she and my mother discussed at length whether they needed to call the police, as I sat there embarrassed and worried. Eventually, of course, they decided that they'd let me off this time with just a stern warning. I don't recall ever hearing about what happened to Sally, if anything.