Growing up on the Mississippi coast, my buddy Mike and I spent a lot of time on the beach. Because neither of us had a boat, we were constrained to splashing around in the shallow waters just offshore. When we got older and bolder, we’d occasionally commandeer a boat that had been tied up on the sand. The one I remember was the Sea Urchin, a small, 8-foot skiff.
Making sure the beach was clear, we carried her to the water. Floating her was a bit of an effort because the Mississippi Sound is super shallow. We succeeded when we got far enough out, and we hopped in for an illegal, nautical joy ride. The Sea Urchin could be rigged for oars or sail. We had neither. Mike and I would use makeshift paddles or use our hands to scoot around.
Mischief managed; the ‘Urchin was returned to her spot on the beach. Making sure all water was drained and sand expunged, we always ensured she was properly staked, keel side up, above the tide line.
Fast forwarding a bit, one night Mike and I, along with a whole passel of other Island View hoodlums, piled into a neighborhood hooptie and made our way to a favorite hangout - the beach. There, someone talked the group into taking a Hobie parked on the beach for a spin. My Spidey sense went off. Two knuckleheads taking a skiff out for a misdemeanor jaunt in the middle of the day would not likely draw attention. However, half a dozen guys piled on to a catamaran at night with no sail and no lights was going to raise eyebrows.
I stayed ashore while the gang launched the Hobie. Sound carries over the water, and I could see and hear them splashing around even when they were several hundred yards out. They seemed to be having a grand old time and I was second guessing my abstention when the night was unexpectedly and forcefully illuminated by flashing blue lights.
I was suddenly face to face with two of Long Beach’s finest shining flashlights in my face. They conferred with each other, and one of them started making his way towards the water, locking his flashlight on the hijacked Hobie while yelling something indiscernible. His partner flicked his light momentarily to the cat, now being walked back to shore, “Are you a part of that group!?”
I drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. There was a code of honor among the Hoodlums: If one of us goes down, we all go down. “Yes, sir.” His flashlight again in my face, I was commanded, “Don’t move!” With that, he walked down to the water to help his partner.
For the next thirty minutes, the errant hoodlums were in turn interrogated and castigated by the patrol officers. Meanwhile, I had thirty minutes to contemplate my own fate. Mom was going to go ballistic if she had to pick me up at county lockup. But that was not to be my destiny this night. One of the officers came over and scanned the hooptie with his flashlight, “Is this vehicle yours?”
“No sir. It belongs to one of the guys in the back of that patrol car.”
After a moment’s consideration, “Do you have your license?” I nodded, and dutifully dug it out of my wallet and presented it him. After examining my credentials, he again used his flashlight as a pointer, indicating two other neighborhood kids who also decided to stay dry that night. “Take these two and get your butts home! Do not deviate! Are you hearing me?!”
“Yes, sir!” I piled into the car with my two passengers and made my way back to home turf, ending my brief part in the Great Hobie Cat Incident.
It wasn’t until the next day that I got Mike’s side of the story. When the patrol officer lit them up out on the water, one of the guys tried to bail and swim for it. Mike, enforcing the Hoodlum Honor Code, yelled for him to get his punk posterior back on board. The kid was now busted and wet for his breach of conduct.
They all wound up in lockup, and Mike described the experience as scenes from Scared Straight. The guy who attempted to bail was given an orange jumpsuit in exchange for his wet clothes. This made him stand out as the group was marched down the jail’s corridors. The gen pop crowd was giving them a rousing welcome, and that brief exposure nearly broke jump suit guy.
Mike’s dad was the one who got the unwelcome call. I don’t know all the conversations that took place on the way home, but Mike and his dad had a true father-son moment when his dad eventually declared, “Yeah, son, let’s not tell your mom about this.”
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