There was an A&P store at, like, 14 mile and Adams. Maybe it was 15 mile. Larry and I were slumming by hanging out in Birmingham. I can’t remember exactly where we were walking back from but we were walking so this had to be prior to Larry having a license - so maybe 9th grade. At that time some of the Somerset crew I hung out with had buddies who lived on the east side of Birmingham so oftentimes I got invited to gatherings there. It was most likely an afternoon hang out where a little weed was being smoked, or any other near harmless activity 14 and 15 year olds from Troy at that time might involve themselves with. Regardless, I brought Larry along and we must have gotten bored - which was a very common occurrence when he and I hung out. I think we thought of ourselves as more advanced than the other kids our age, which, I doubt was true, nonetheless, I’m convinced we thought it - so we got bored, ditched our ride and headed back to Troy on foot.
Larry and I made our way through the alley behind the strip mall where the A&P was located and as the decadent punk gods would have it there was a Schlitz beer truck making a scheduled delivery right there in back with two side doors left wide open by the delivery man who we saw make his way into the store wheeling a dolly loaded with eight or ten cases of beer. Larry did not say a word but rushed over to the open doors of the truck and with both arms extended he fork lifted a case of beer off the top of the stack just inside the truck door. I too said nothing and rushed along with my friend once he had the impulse to take advantage of this gift from the wonky teen-rock and roll gods. I wasn’t even sure what I was rushing towards - but it was exciting and I moved right along with Larry, and, although I had no impulse to pull a case out of the truck, after all, I surely could not have taken something that was not mine, apparently I could not do such a thing, to my surprise I was pretty good at being an accomplice.
As mentioned, Larry grabbed a case and was carrying it on top of both forearms and as he turned to run the weight of the case in his extended arms was suddenly more than he expected. The case tilted to one side and as Larry shuffled to re-establish his balance and his hold on the beer his skimmer (hat) flopped sideways and covered one of his eyes. Stupid - half kids, half men - we continued with this folly. The excitement disavowed my brain of logic or concern. Larry had successfully adjusted the weight of the case and he took off running towards the first house in the subdivision behind the strip mall where the A&P was located. His hat slid down covering half of his face and I had made a move to grab it, but when he suddenly took off running, in the confusion, I just held that hat on his head as we both ran together away from the beer truck making our fool’s escape with the loot. I’m sure we looked comical. Larry running with the beer, me pressing his hat against his head running alongside him.
We somehow managed to jump a fence with the beer and ended up between a garden trellis and an old one car garage. We sat on the damp grass between some tomato plants and the wooden wall of the garage while we caught our breath. We kept low so as not to be seen. Our chests heaved. I realized I was holding Larry’s hat and handed it to him. We said nothing and waited. After a moment we heard the wheels of the dolly come bouncing out of the back of the A&P. We both throttled our breathing.
“GOD DAMN IT!” - and the delivery man slammed one of the doors on his beer truck. Larry and I choked on a collective laugh. Sophomoric at best.
And for a second time - “GOD DAMN IT!” Only this time the delivery man shouted and slammed the other open door simultaneously with a building anger that we could feel in the garden where we hid some eighty to a hundred feet away. We had good coverage. The cyclone fence between us and the alley where we took on our little theft was covered with ivy and we were pretty certain that the delivery fellow was not able to spy our location. Larry and I leaned low and peered through the ivy. I could see the man’s feet through the underside of his delivery truck. He paced to the right, towards the cab, then towards the back of the truck where he stopped. I imagined that he looked both ways then threw up his hands. He let out one final - “DAMN IT!” Then, after a pause, he made his way to the cab of his truck where we heard him violently slam the door prior to starting the engine. We both held our hands over our mouths as the truck pulled off.
Larry and I busted out into an uncontrolled laugh. After a couple seconds we stifled ourselves due to a new realization that we could hear someone doing dishes in the house near the garden where we hid. We still laughed. We couldn’t help it. Only it was a quiet laugh. Larry handed me a beer and took one for himself.
As we snapped the cans open we wondered if the lady inside the house had heard us. We quietly choked down the beers. Larry passed out another. We covered the top of the cans to muffle the sound as we opened the second ones. We giggled and sucked those down.
“You think we can move on?” I asked him.
Larry responded with - “You were a lot of help.”
I knew what he meant. He meant I could have taken a case of beer as well. He meant why were my hands empty? There was more than enough to steal. I just couldn’t do it, but, obviously I could assist. Not wanting to get into the mix of that discussion I distracted Larry by proclaiming - “I saved your hat.”
It was a warm day and drinking a couple beers prior to walking three miles carrying the remaining cans was physically tedious to say the least. Tiring. I’m not sure why but we made our way over to the woods next to Schroeder School in Troy. Those woods were right in the middle of new subdivisions so all sorts of bored kids hung out there. There was an area that all growth had died off due to being trampled by the weed and cigarette smoking kids of the area. I mean the trees, obviously, remained, but so many kids hung out there the ground had been compressed by their feet.
Larry and I finally made it to this little wooded sanctuary next to Schroeder. Our friend Chip was there, Blonde Cindy was there (her house was very near the woods and she was there often, which was great because she was a very attractive girl - so as boys on the evolution to men, we all really liked seeing her). I don’t think she liked me too much. I was a smart ass and she tended to put me in my place. I kind’a liked that about her, only, she had attention from so many other dudes which made me aware I never stood a chance. Meehan was this tall, great looking fellow, he was there with his buddy Don. They both tended to get much attention from the girls back in the day. There were some other girls from the neighborhood hanging out. They were mostly smoking cigarettes. We were all too busy acting cool. Nelson was there too.
When Larry and I showed the booty of the stolen beer all the kids got excited. Nelson suggested we would get a “better buzz if we shot-gunned the beers.” (For those who don’t know. You puncture a hole at the base of the can that you will drink out of - you place that hole over your mouth as you tilt the top of the can up. You snap the can open as you do this. Gravity makes the flow of beer accelerate, also, the speed of getting the liquid down your throat can be added to by simultaneously sucking the fluid.)
Somehow we all agreed that the winner would take on the next contestant. And that, since Larry and I had stolen the beer that we should douse our gullets first. Which we did. I won by a hair (as they say). A side note - I’m pretty sure Blonde Cindy was still very unimpressed with me.
Next was Nelson, I stomped him. It was not even a contest. His arm was wobbly, his tab pull was bad, he had an uncertain draw, virtually no technique. I easily beat him by a second and a half, maybe two. No one else wanted to go after that so Larry and I went again. This one went to Larry. Now Larry had skill.
After that no one else wanted to go.
Blonde Cindy drank a beer with Larry and I. Chip hung out with us. The other kids went off in their collective clicks and lit joints and laughed. We could see groups of kids shuffling where they stood in the woods through trees. We smelt weed from every direction. Blonde Cindy was mostly talking with Chip - a tall fair haired kid from California. Larry and I started talking about what we were going to do with the remaining beers. There was a six pack plus one. Larry grabbed the loose beer and opened it. Now, all that was left was merely a sixer. There was plastic at the top of the cans tying them all together. Chip overheard Larry and me discussing the remaining beers. He totally ditched talking to Blonde Cindy, “We can hide them in the tree!” Like I said, we were kids really, not adults.
“What are you talking about? What tree?” I snarked.
Chip pointed up to a large branch that reached out above us. “There.”
This time Larry asked, “What are you talking about?”
Chip pointed again. “There’s a hole big enough to put that six pack in right where that branch Y’s off from the tree.”
I scolded him, “No one can get up there.”
Chip - “That’s the point.”
“So if no one can get up there how are you going to get up there to put them in?” asked Larry.
Blonde Cindy looked annoyed that we had taken Chip away from their conversation. Chip responded, “Here,” as he took the six pack from the ground. We all watched in amazement as he shimmied the tree, six pack in hand. Carefully, he positioned himself on the large branch he had pointed to and balanced the six pack on top of that branch.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered. “They’ll fit but I’ll have to break the pack.”
We were all baffled that he could even climb the tree the way that he did. He must have been 12 feet above us positioned on that horizontal large branch with a stash hole at the crotch. I shouted up, “How did you ever find that spot?”
“I climb this tree all the time. I like sitting up here.”
Larry chimed in. “How are we going to get our beers when we want them? We can’t climb like you.” We all intently watched Chip up on that branch.
Chip cheerfully let us know - “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
Blonde Cindy, who had remained but grew tired of boys being boys mentioned that she was going to take off and head home. Looking at her to say goodbye I heard Chip exclaim, “Oh shit!” As I began to scan back up to see what Chip was dealing with I saw an unopened beer can fly down smacking Blonde Cindy right on the head. As she screamed I could see the blood starting to show. As all the kids in the woods made their way to her she took her hand from her head and saw her own blood, which, understandably made her even more excited. I think it was Emery, who was good at these kinds of things, tried to take a look at the wound, Blonde Cindy just shrieked and ran down the trail back to her home. Some of the fellows followed to help. Chip made it down the tree asking, concerned, “Is she alright?”
“I think she’ll be alright, but you gave her a hell of a bump on her beautiful blonde head.”
Everyone left. Larry and I hung out for a bit and smoked a cigarette or two. I still think we thought of ourselves as more advanced than other kids our age, which, I doubt was true, nonetheless, I’m convinced we thought it. Then, Larry and I split the beer that had bounced off of Blonde Cindy’s head.
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