GRAND THEFT AUTO

        Every single one of us is, occasionally, guilty of gross stupidity and, although the consequences differ depending on the severity of our idiotic choices, we, ideally, learn from them.           This is a story that I have not told often and I'm not really very proud of it. In the world of stupid choices, for me, this one takes the cake.          It was a dark and stormy night. I say that because I've always wanted to open a story with that line, but, it was a pretty nasty night. The year was 1967 and I was in the Air Force, stationed at Sewart AFB in Smyrna, Tenn. which is about 30 miles south of Nashville on the way to Murfreesboro. There were about six of us who shared an apartment in the projects in North Nashville, not far from Tennessee State University. We called it “The Flop House” and it was the site of an ongoing party. The door was always open to our friends, be they military, college or other and our refrigerator was well stocked with the finest wines. OK, maybe not the “finest,” but, as we used to be very proud of stating, “we didn't drink that cheap dollar shit – we paid $1.09.” Gypsy Rose, Ripple, Twister, Bali Hai....nothing but the best rotgut on the market for our friends. There was always good weed and bad wine at “The Flop House” and everybody knew it. We were young and as carefree as we could be with a tour of duty in Vietnam looming over our heads, although, the more time we spent at the place, the less we cared about much of anything. On this particular night, two of us had to get back to the base for our work shifts. We had no car and were left to our own devices when it came to traveling to and from the flop house. We decided we would rely on our usual mode of transportation - our thumbs. I don't remember my friends name (I don't remember very much from those days) but, I know we called him “Superman” or Supe. He was a pretty good sized guy, but, the appellation came from the size of his afro. It was enormous – super, if you will – and he had to buy the biggest hat he could find to “stuff” it into when he was on base. We were close enough to the entrance to the highway that led to the base that it didn't take very long for us to get to. Then, we had about a 30 mile “hitchhike,” a straight shot, to get to the front gate.                   The weather was a very uncomfortable mix of snow, rain and ice that was falling at a light and steady pace. The roads were slick and we were high, drunk and cold, staggering backwards with our thumbs out. There was no traffic. Not a single car to be seen going either way. There were no lights on this particular stretch of road either. It truly was a “dark and stormy night,” and we were smack, dab in the middle of it. We had gone about a mile and were both uncomfortable and oblivious, conditions that could only coexist on the heels of our massive consumption earlier in the day, when we noticed the used car lot we were fast approaching. I'm not sure what prompted us to look in the windows of the cars, but, in one of them, we spotted.......the key. It was in the ignition and the doors were unlocked. It was almost as though one of the employees knew we would be hitchhiking in the middle of a very cold and sleety night and “had our backs.” We got in and Supe drove. The windshield wipers didn't work, so, I reached out of the passenger window and maneuvered them manually.                   We drove about 2 miles when we reached a traffic light that was red. The car died and wouldn't restart. That's when I got creative and told Supe that we should run down a side road and head back in the direction we came from so that we would be hitching towards the stalled, abandoned car in the middle of the road as if we had never gotten that far. We made it back to the car and, as before, the roads were completely empty.                   We got back in, the car started and we were, once again, on our way to the base and our military responsibilities. We had gone about another 4 or 5 miles when I saw the flashing lights approaching us from behind. They didn't pass us, they closed in on us and we pulled over. That was when the drugs and alcohol began to speak for us as we droned on about going to Vietnam in a week anyway, so, “go ahead and take us to jail.” The cop informed us that he pulled us over because we were driving without a license plate and asked to see our “off-base passes.” I showed mine. Supe didn't have one. He was off-base illegally and the AP's (Air Police) were summoned. They got there and took my friend away in handcuffs, leaving me, in a somewhat altered state (although the situation was a bit of a “buzz kill”) to deal with the situation alone. That's when I reached deep down into my creative psyche and explained that we had bought the car earlier in the day and that the paper “temporary tag,” that was taped to the back window, must have flown out when I opened the front window to make the wipers work. My first experience with the art of improv.              I'm not sure if the cop was really tired or just wanted to wrap things up and get in out of the cold, but, he bought it and asked if I was able to drive back to the base. I was not and I told him so, but, I DID know a place where I could park it until the light of day. I asked him follow me as I parked it. I now had a police escort as I drove the car right back to the lot and the parking space that we stole it from.               I then stepped back into the cold, dark night and “thumbed” my way back to the base. I even made it to work in time. Despite the intense exercise in stupidity, I learned a couple of very important lessons that night. I learned that I had a real creative instinct, which, in time, I was able to parlay very nicely into a career and I never again hitchhiked on a “dark and stormy night.” Oh yeah – and it's not nice to steal a car.