prune picker

This is the blog of a prune picker. (Native born Californian) Retired oilfield. I am an old man. (91) I blog a lot about my body and getting old. As I approach death life gets more interesting. More interesting is not good. I still drive. I attend sports, music, and civic events. I am writing my memoirs. I attend swim class three times a week. Some of my blogs might be interesting. A lot of my blogs are silly and trivial. None are very long.

Friday, January 16, 2015

My confession is in the Pomona Police Department.

When I was seven years old or so a Pomona Police Officer came to my home on East Third Street. He recovered some stolen property from where I had put it and took me to the Police Station. I guess that I knew how to write. I wrote a confession and signed it.


The Police Station at that time was in the building in the picture above. Grim looking place, huh? Later on my brother in law Butch was with the department for some 30 years and I was in the building several times to visit him.

The present building for the department is shown in the picture below.


Looks a little jollier, don"t you think?

I walked to school (2nd or 3rd grade) with several other boys. We would cut across a lot with an unoccupied house on it. The owner was out of town for an extended time. We would look in the windows. It was mysterious to us. Finally we went inside and looked around. I do not believe that I was the leader. Probably not at the bottom of the company either. We took some things. I remember that I took a straight razor.


That does not seem like me does it? I put it under the steps to the back porch of our home. The Policeman came some time later. I had almost forgotten that it was there. I remember that the Policeman was  a kindly man. He did not handcuff me. There was no penalty. He gave me a stern admonition and filed my confession. The crime was 83 years ago. I do not believe that I ever again strayed from the straight and narrow.

Crime does not pay!

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