Deposition
"This is what went down," as we say today because, when it went down, it would have been anachronistic to put it that way. It was a school day in 1970. I was on the Freshman swimming team. After-school practice had just ended, and I was returning to my school locker to get my books, when the clock struck bad luck.
At that time I regularly carried a gym bag for wet swim trunks and a personal towel needed for use after swim team practice. After I got my coat and finished arranging things in my school things locker, I closed and locked it. Attached to the draw string of the gym bag I carried was a separate combination lock used for my gymnasium locker. Books under one arm, gym bag in the other hand, I turned to leave for home.
I was in a hurry. It was late, I knew mom was waiting for me in the car to take me home, and as I walked brusquely through a set of school hallway glass doors the gym bag lock at the end of the string swung wild and hit one of the doors. The safety glass shattered—as safety glass is designed to do.
The shattering effect was dramatic. Added to my shock at the damage I had caused, I was surprised by a presence in what was, a moment before, an empty school hallway. The incident was being witnessed by another student, a known acquaintance, who happened to be present for no reason having to do with me.
At that point assuming responsibility for the accident was complicated by the other person's involvement as a witness. I informed my parents immediately of what I had done. My mother contacted the school administration the next day, and the matter was resolved by some arrangement, the details of which were not disclosed to me.
News of the incident quickly got out—probably spread by the witness. I found it necessary to explain what I had done, and why, to my usual associates. Memory of the matter is getting faint after 50 years, but I seem to recall the presence of another person present, in addition to the one whose name I knew—probably his buddy. It would establish how it came to be that they both were there, at that precise moment. They just happened-by on an errand of their own—so their alibi might go—not involved in any way with the mess I had made.
I distinctly remember being called-out vocally, and in no uncertain terms, by the individual known to me for my performance, and which (as previously noted), had so impressed me. No looking the other way. It's also understandable that anyone present under the circumstances would fear becoming a suspect if the real culprit attempted to evade responsibility. All present were minors, whose testimony has ever been given but nominal credence, and who knew it.
Among all 14-year-old kids integrity is, as yet, fluid—a work-in-progress. It was decidedly so in my case. Social cooperation is not developed in isolation and, under the circumstances, mine now went beyond the pale of my circle of family, school administrators, and all responsible supporters to involve the incidental juvenile witness (or witnesses) present. It was beyond bad luck that the witness I recognized was known for behavioral problems of his own.
As a matter for voir dire, I must disclose a superstitious tendency. Breaking the glass door could be dismissed as accidental, but the sudden appearance of a peer—who was known to be under observation for exhibiting signs of juvenile delinquency—gives the incident a fateful cast. The witness (call him Dave), wasn't a teammate on the swim team. Why, then, was he there—at school, at that hour—long after the end of the regular class day? Nor was his being there, after school, for disciplinary reasons of his own. Remedial class attendance at our school started first thing in the morning—before the start of regular class session—not after school, as in grade school.
As fate would have it, my accidentally destructive act made an unintended-ly strong impression on Dave, vulnerable to life's hard knocks as he was. It made me an instant "goodfella" in his eyes. From that point on, Dave knew me for a kindred soul. I was at first embarrassed by his attentions, but at the same time I was eager for acceptance (as anybody my age would be), and soon fell-in with him and the other juvenile misfits with whom he was affiliated. We were a pint-size Rat Pack. That's how my father called it.
How I evaded tragedy, or at best, disgrace through our misadventures, I will never understand. Our association did not conclude until he died recently from, I suspect, opioid overdose. Dave claimed to have cancer when we last talked. Illegal drug experimentation when we were young was but one consequence of our fateful meeting. I believe it was always a temptation of his to end his life like that.
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