DON’T KNOW THAT you’ve heard the story of when I stole whiskey from the liquor store on Wood St. & Larch Ave. Even if you have, retelling it should be fun.
[ Hits the pipe a second time…]
…
I was fourteen, or had just turned fifteen. Marchuck’s store was now a supposed art gallery, and had industrial vent pipes and metal shavings strewn about the vacant lot next to it, creating a delightful eyesore. Delightful because of the potential for Dan and me to improve upon it.
Joe Meyers was a regular friend, which brought us into frequent contact with his strange companions, like Larry Wiseman, as well as his formidable adversaries, headed by Mike Denhoff.
We were oriented around the “Battle of the Bands” rock contests, held regularly at the LC Walker Arena at the time. We were also oriented around opportunities to obtain alcohol.
Larry showed us how he would steal wine from Plumbs Store. Just wear a jacket going in, pocket a bottle under the arm, and find the exit.
So easy it was that we soon had an inventory of fifteen bottles of various wines and champagnes, stashed inside the lathe stand which Dad was keeping in the basement, outside the pool room.
I drank too much and learned to hate wine; believing the sweetness was what made me sick.
Walking down Wood Street, heading towards Plumbs, I came upon the former bar, converted to a liquor store, on the corner of Larch. I turned inside and saw no one — then discovered the proprietor, looking older than Moses, asleep behind the counter.
I spotted a pay-phone at the far end of the bar, and this was my cover story for going back there.
On the shelves within easy reach were bottles of Seagram’s. I knew how to steal wine, and this would be even easier because the bottles were smaller, and I was the only one awake!
—
It was fully a game of risk the first time, and won me the admiration of friends.
Walking back again the following week hoping to repeat the stunt, the time to contemplate awakened my conscience. Feeling an obligation to explain myself to God, to whom my relationship had recently been confirmed by Central Lutheran Church, I struggled to explain it — to myself, first.
.. Step by step I approached the liquor store, with intent to steal something which, by my age, I had no right to buy. Believing myself a good guy, I sought an explanation that would answer my conscience, and could also strengthen, not demolish, my relationship with God.
This was after I had tried talking myself out of it; but could not. I was going to visit the store and attempt to steal whiskey. Why it was so important, I could not say; yet something had made it important enough to overrule my better judgement.
I decided it was not my place to know. It was in God’s hands. He knew more about it and would understand, if I asked for forgiveness — which is what I did.
Success, then vomiting, followed.
The kind touches from the hand of the Almighty, of success followed by regret — not ruin and death.
I’m saved.
Thwarticus 