Secrets of a Boy, Lost

By William C. Prentiss

Kim" is not his real name, but this is the first of his important secrets he must keep to himself as he runs away following the death of his parents in an auto accident. At the age 15 he naively enters a difficult search on his own for a new identity and new family. Supported by his strong religious and moral convictions, he struggles to survive as he encounters many serious crises. Can he not only survive but achieve his goals and eventually prevail? This is an authentic, semi-autobiographical coming of age story set in the post WWII era but still highly relevant for the 21st century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468540253

William C. Prentiss

Author Prentiss spent his lifetime playing many parts: Graduate of three universities; Dean of a Boys Military School; Intelligence Officer in the USAF; Professor and Administrator at Valencia College in Orlando; Central Florida Coordinator for George McGovern Presidential Campaign; Founder of Operation Comeback for Troubled Teens; Founder of Talako Indian Dancers youth group; Recipient of President Reagan’s Volunteer Service Award. He and his wife, Sallie, raised their three children and also opened their home to seven troubled teens who lived with them for periods of four months to three years. For thirteen years, they also took two Operation Comeback boys each year on their annual fishing trips to Northern Canada. Although coming from a fine, loving home, Prentiss experienced a troubled early adolescence which helped prepare him for a successful experience in helping other troubled youths. He is the author of “Secrets of a Boy, Lost,” a novel billed as “a semi-autobiographical coming-of-age” story which is heavily based on his own experiences as a youth. The book is laid in the Midwest (Prentiss was from Sterling, Illinois) among the states of Illinois, Missouri, Florida (briefly), Wisconsin, and Iowa. It covers a time span beginning during WWII. His present Memoir contains the incidents described as fiction in the novel plus a great deal more. In both books, Prentiss writes with the sure hand of an author who knows first-hand what he is writing about since they are his own experiences. The Memoir, “One Man In His Time,” is mainly based in Florida where he has lived since 1953.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

IN WHICH I RUN AWAY AND CHOOSE A NEW NAME

This is the story of a part of my youth when I was consumed by secrets which I could not share. I am writing this with the insights of an older man now, and the secrets I fought so hard to preserve can now be revealed. This story focuses on the years between my 15th and 18th years, but my experiences then can only be understood by beginning with my earlier years.

I was raised in a small Illinois town, Riverview by name, out on the prairie West of Chicago. It had a population of about 15,000 which did not change in the next fifty years. It was quite a beautiful city surrounded by farmland in the heart of the Northern Illinois corn belt. It was an unsophisticated town that catered especially to the needs of farmers. My parents lived in houses rented from farmers who had bought houses in town to rent until they, themselves, were ready to retire. When they did retire, families such as mine had to move. We lived in five different houses, but two of them were in the same neighborhood so I kept my main circle of friends throughout my childhood and youth.

Mine was a happy childhood by any measure. We were not wealthy, but after the depression when my father lost his car dealership, my parents made a rapid recovery to the point where we were in the middle between the very wealthy people of the town and the working, poorer families. Some of my close friends were from poverty level families. I liked them much better than the children from rich families.

My parents loved me, and I was very much aware of that fact. I think I loved them even more. In good times and bad my parents provided me with everything I really needed, and I do not remember being punished for anything I did. This does not mean that I was a perfect boy, because I wasn’t. In some ways, I suppose I was spoiled in that I was afforded the freedom to do and go where I wanted. I made some bad decisions, of course, as I was doomed to do for many years. These included childish affairs such as going swimming in a neighbor’s goldfish pond where I was discovered and ordered not to come back. Actually I had been doing it for some time, so my feelings were hurt. I also took chalk and wrote all over another neighbor’s sidewalk, which I was required to clean up.

Another quirk in my personality that would haunt me for years was that I was more naïve than many children. I always expected to get my way while playing which might have been tied to my status as an only child. I was hard to deal with when I didn’t get my way. I didn’t even recognize the existence of ownership of property until I entered school when I heard other children saying my pencils or my books or my anything. I was shocked since I had always assumed that all things simply existed for everyone’s use – not just an owner’s. I likewise came to understand that I was the owner of certain property. I also quickly learned that some children owned more things than others, which didn’t seem terribly fair to me. Thus, I had much to learn beyond what is formally taught in school.

In school, I always felt that I was entitled to the best grades, so I competed for them to the point where grades became an obsession with me. So concerned was I that I began to cheat at every opportunity using a variety of schemes to do so. However, in third grade my teacher observed my rampant cheating and lectured to the class on this subject, concluding,

There is one boy in this class who does a lot cheating. The sad part of this is he could easily do well without cheating. I hope that he will stop cheating now.

Of course, I knew that I was that cheating boy. I was so embarrassed about that lecture that I never cheated again in any school. In fact, I have borne the shame of that lecture all my life. As far as I knew, this became the first of many secrets from my parents. Many of my happiest memories were all the times my father took me fishing, and, when I was a little older, began to teach me how to play golf (he had been a part-time teaching pro) and to caddie for him when he played. Our fishing was done primarily in Rock River at the prime fishing spot called the Wall which was a high cement wall just below the dam. Only serious, adult fishermen fished there except for me. I was resented as a kid who shouldn’t have been allowed to fish there. I knew how they felt and it bothered me some, but no one openly objected since I was always with my father. Starting when I was about nine, my parents started taking me on two and four week fishing trips up into Wisconsin. These I loved and counted the days from one to another. I also learned much about fishing and about handling boats, motors and even canoes. I became the second-best fish cleaner in the family and did it all when I was invited to do so. These experiences would all stand me in good stead with the experiences that lay ahead of me.

Since World War II was going on from my age 9 to 13, I avidly got into some of the home-front efforts to help win the war. A friend and I spent many hours pulling my red wagon up and down alleys searching through neighbors’ trash to find metal objects that we could turn in at the junk yard for money and also to aid the war effort. I also, by myself, started a large Victory Garden in back of our house. I entered my garden in a special program that sent an inspector regularly to inspect my garden and to award me with certificates when I did a good job. My garden included carrots, green beans, wax beans, tomatoes, radishes (which I didn’t like), asparagus, and rhubarb. Weeding it for the inspections also helped prepare me for the tasks that lay ahead. I had to overcome my natural tendency to procrastinate on doing the weeding until it was inspection time, another weakness I would need to overcome.

I was terrified about the possibility of my having to fight in the war. During that time I saw two movies that gave me nightmares. An important one was The Story of Dr. Wassell starring Gary Cooper. There was another movie whose title I have forgotten. Both were filled with the horror of war. After those I declined to see any more war movies. My friends thought I was weird in this regard, but I didn’t care. My nightmares were bad enough.

About the age of nine, I became heavily involved in our Episcopal Church, starting out as an altar boy or acolyte. I enjoyed this activity and always felt I was doing important things. I was greatly praised by members of the Church. My efforts continued, and I was confirmed at the age of eleven and became qualified to take Communion. I was very religious and was told by many that I had the makings of a Priest. I began to assume that in fact I would eventually become a Priest. I became a leading acolyte and attended Church as frequently as I could. I took all aspects of religion very seriously and said my prayers without any prodding from my parents. In retrospect, I believe a lot of this was tied to a heavy load of guilt I seemed to be carrying all the time because of one thing or another. My parents were very proud of me for my involvement in Church and religion.

One serious problem took root with me at this stage of my life, and that was one might call an obsession with death. I’m not sure how this problem developed, but the war may have had something to do with it. I also assisted as an altar boy at a number of funerals at the Church.

I also came face-to face with death at school. The first situation involved a very nice, quiet, pretty girl in my class who became ill with polio. She stopped attending school, and we were told that physically she had recovered, but that her brain was affected. In the dead of winter the next year we learned that she wandered away from her home one night and froze to death before she was found.

There was another case that touched me directly. It involved a boy in my class who was considered to be slow as it was called then. He was a happy appearing, friendly boy with a smile usually on his face. I was always nice to Donnie, but some of the other boys insisted on calling him Dummy instead. The day came when he was on my softball team during recess. My team lost because Donnie threw the ball to the wrong base. On the way back to our classroom, I called him Dummy too. He immediately broke into tears and came up to me.

I don’t mind it when the other boys call me ‘Dummy’ but it hurt my feelings when you did, because you are my friend!

I was taken back because I hadn’t even realized that Donnie considered me to be his special friend. I apologized to him and promised never to do it again. I further invited him to come over to my house to play on the following Saturday and to spend the whole day. He was very excited about this and said he would come.

I felt so bad about what I had done that I went home and picked out something from my room to give him as a little gift the next day at school. I told my mother we would have a guest for lunch on Saturday. I went to school the next morning full of good expectations, but I quickly saw that Donnie’s seat was vacant. Our teacher quietly announced that Donnie would not be coming to school any more because on his way home from school the day before, he had been hit by a train and killed. That’s all I ever heard about it, so I could not even attend his funeral – if he even had one. He was from a very poor family. I never forgot or forgave myself for this failure.

I began to have frightening dreams about death. One of these was a recurring dream in which all of my most prized possessions were on a table in front of me, and I was playing and having a good time – when suddenly a black mass rose up and swept everything off the table, and I, too, was engulfed in the totally black mass. The first time it happened, I woke up and assumed I was dead. It took some exploration to prove to myself that I was still alive. Often times this dream and others like it came when I was running a fever. I would then become hysterical until I could be fully awakened by my parents and calmed down.

I loved my parents, both of them, so deeply that I could not even imagine what would happen if they were to die. I spent many nights lying awake worrying about what I would do if this happened while I was still young. These worries extended right up to my teenage years. Yet this was a totally unfounded fear. My parents were in perfect health and still relatively young. Yet worry I did and plan. I faced the fact that if my parents were gone, I really didn’t want to be put with my Grandparents since they had never paid any real attention to me even though we lived in the same town. I knew that one uncle and aunt were not financially able to take me in their little home. My other relatives in town did not care much for me, and I did not want to live with them. I knew about orphanages, adoption, state foster care, etc., but I decided not one of these would do for me.

What would I do? I decided I would run away and disappear, and I began to lay detailed plans for this. I had read Kim, Tom Sawyer, and Kidnapped, but I especially liked Kim. All of these books had influence on me as I made my fanciful plans. I had also read about Toby Tyler’s adventure with the circus. I had given up on this option based on an experience I had had when I was only five years old when my friend, David, and I went off on our bikes to join a circus we thought was north of Riverview. We didn’t find a circus after traveling what turned out to be eight miles, when we were rescued by a highway patrolman. We were so young that we weren’t really running away. We were just excited about circuses. The area Boy Scouts were the only beneficiary of this escapade when they were dismissed from school to aid in the search for us.

In retrospect, the death of my parents seemed preordained. One day in May, 1947, when I had just turned 15, my parents went on a short trip planning to return by 10:00 PM. I was home alone. When they did not get back by 10:00 I went on to bed. Finally, at about midnight there came a loud knock on our front door. I crept downstairs in my pajamas and found a Highway Patrolman at the door. He came in and asked me some questions about me, my parents, other relatives, and then he carefully broke the awful news. My parents had been in an automobile accident and both killed. I didn’t cry at first since it was as if I had always known that this or some other tragedy would occur to take my parents away from me. I gave the Policeman telephone numbers for my relatives and then insisted that I would spend the night here at home, and the Policeman reluctantly agreed. I was glad he did because I knew I had work to do.

I had to put into action the plans I had already made in anticipation that this would happen. I went to work packing the items I knew I would need into my backpack: watch, eye glasses in their case, pocket knife, small first aid kit, small cook set, three pairs of pants (of which two were shorts), 3 T shirts, small toilet paper, comb, towel, pens, pencils, writing pad, and my two Prayer Books. My pack had a secret compartment safe from water into which went my Social Security Card and my card certifying that I had been made an Honorary Citizen of Boys Town in 1943. I added my small back- pack pup tent, a light jacket, baseball cap, and I was ready. My two St. Christopher medals were on a chain around my neck.

My plan was to leave right after the double funeral service at which I served as an acolyte and was much made over by everyone there. I wrote two letters which I would leave behind. One was to Fr. Hardy who was a real friend to me. In it I asked him not to make any effort to find me and that I would be in touch with him later. I also wrote to my parents’ lawyer with the same request but adding requests for the disposition of my family’s possessions. Our house was rented so that was not a problem, but I asked him to arrange for the sale of all the furniture and only to save written papers, photos, family heirlooms, all books, and to have all of this put in storage until my eventual return. Any money I would inherit was to be placed in investments of his choice.

The funeral was over in a few days. I had been staying with my Grandparents until then. I had taken my backpack with me. The night after the funeral there was a family gathering there to which I was not invited. In fact, I was told to go to bed. However, I sneaked to the top of the stairs where I could hear what was said. The conversation was about my future. After a lot of discussion, each family there explained why their family could not look after me. It was mentioned that I was a difficult boy to handle at best. Since no one would agree to take me, the conversation turned to what should happen. Suggestions included putting me up for adoption through an agency or placing me in an orphanage or with the State Foster Child Program. I already knew that foster care meant having the State pay a family to take me in. I was determined not to let any of these options occur. It was time to carry out my plan.

Later that night, I rechecked my backpack, put on my watch, my Cubs baseball cap, sneakers, and I was ready to go. I had a theory that if anyone cared enough about me to look for me, they would assume I would have headed North to Wisconsin because they all knew how much I loved Wisconsin and all the fishing trips my parents had taken me on to that state. I decided to fool everyone by heading South. I had some money I had saved plus some I found in the house and some various people had given me since the funerals. It was easy sneaking out of my Grandparents’ house since they were heavy sleepers. By midnight, I was on my way.

I had to deal with another immediate problem. My given name was William Clark Watkins, called Bill at home and Clark at school. I didn’t want to use my real name any longer since I didn’t want to get caught and returned to relatives in Riverview. I decided that I would be Kim – Little Friend to all the world. No last name. I instantly became just Kim, and this change of name became the first of my important secrets.

The bus station was open all night and was about a mile away. I walked there and found that a bus heading South would be coming in soon. The clerk was suspicious of me.

Who are you?

Kim. It was exciting to use that name for the first time.

Why are you out at this hour of the night?

I’m going to visit relatives in Peoria, and they wanted me to come as soon as possible.

Do you have money for a ticket?

Yes, Sir, I do.

I paid for the ticket and in about an hour I entered the bus for the first leg of a journey that would encompass many strange experiences, both good and bad. I thought I got away with buying the ticket because I was tall for my age, about 6’ tall, although I only weighed about 120 pounds. I had brown, curly hair and was told by some of the girls I knew that I was cute or good looking. I was good at sports, and I was a good student. My only handicap was having to wear glasses a lot of the time. My main problem with a lot of people was my often uncontrolled mouth that frequently got me in trouble. I had a habit of saying what I thought, though it was often said without much thought.

It was just getting light in Peoria when I arrived, having slept most of the way. When I got off the bus, with my backpack in place, I hurried away to give the impression that I had somewhere to go or someone to meet. I knew I would need some help with food and shelter and that I would have to look for some kind of work to make some money. I also felt that Episcopal or Catholic Priests might be likely to help me along these lines. I walked around the business area and bought some sweet rolls and milk for breakfast. I then went in search of a Church and did find an Episcopal Church with the rectory next door. This was on a Tuesday morning. Even though it was still early, I knocked on the door and the Priest answered, though not yet dressed the way I expected a Priest to dress. I tried out the approach that I had planned and said,

Father, I need help. I am a throwaway orphan boy who would like to do some work for you to earn some money. I was confirmed about four years ago, and I’ve been an acolyte for several years. Please don’t try to find out anything else about me.

Come in, Son. The Priest responded. What’s your name?

Kim.

What’s your last name?

I don’t have one. I’m just Kim.

Well, Kim, where did you come from?

Nowhere. I’m just Kim. I am here with no past.

Kim, everyone here calls me Father Mike. You look pretty tired.

I’m not too tired to work. Can you give me some work? I can clean, sweep, pull weeds, weed gardens, wash cars, mow grass – I can do almost anything!

First of all, here’s a bowl of cereal and some toast. What do you like to drink?

I like milk the best.

You eat your breakfast, and I’ll see what we can work out.

Please don’t call the authorities, Father Mike. I’ll be OK. I have taken some oaths (which, on the bus, I had) not to lie, swear, sass people, or steal. If you catch me doing any of these I will ask you to punish me severely so I will learn to do better.

I had actually made the oaths on the bus as I looked back on why some people, including my relatives, didn’t like me. I decided that while I was generally good, still I had those weaknesses, and I really meant to do better.

"Kim, you are surely an unusual boy. I think the Church needs a good sweeping.

When you’re ready, I’ll take you over there and get you started. I will give you lunch and dinner and a place to sleep tonight as well as a little money. I hope we can get to know each other better."

Thank you, Father. I’ll probably be moving on tomorrow.

After I finished my breakfast, Fr. Mike took me into the Church which was both large and beautiful. I noticed that the floor looked like it hadn’t been swept for a while. He handed me a broom and dustpan and invited me to get to work. First, however, I knelt down at a back pew and recited aloud the Lord’s Prayer. Fr. Mike acted quite surprised. I proceeded with my work until he called me to lunch, and then I finished in mid-afternoon. At that time, Fr. Mike indicated that it was time to talk.

Kim, I’m impressed with you, but you must understand that I can’t keep you here indefinitely. In fact, it’s a crime to harbor a runaway juvenile. How old are you, Kim?

I’m about 14 or 15, I’m not sure.

Is that a lie?

It is – and it isn’t. I want to make it on my own, so I can’t reveal any information that might put people on my trail – that is, if anyone is really trying. My relatives probably think I’m good riddance.

How did you get the name ‘Kim’?

I chose it. I got it from Kipling.

Where are you going?

For now, I’m not so sure.

I probably ought to report you to the youth authorities who would take you into custody just for your own safety.

I’m pretty sure I can take care of myself. I may not look very tough, but I can run very fast. I don’t like to fight, but I can fight if I have to. I also rely on my religion which is important to me. That’s why I’m here. I hope I will meet other Priests along the way that believe in ‘feeding the hungry and clothing the naked’. I’ll be OK. I will be leaving tomorrow morning to get along on my journey. Thanks for not turning me in!

Well, Kim, you and I shall pray together in the morning and eat breakfast and then you can go. I’ll be sorry to see you go.

After a good dinner, I had the opportunity to take a hot shower which I badly needed. I considered leaving in the middle of the night just in case Father Mike changed his mind and was going to turn me in to the authorities, but I slept well all night and didn’t wake up until Father Mike called me in the morning. We went over to the Church for a short morning prayer during which he prayed for my safety and health. I prayed for him to be blessed for helping me. After that, we had a swell breakfast of hot cakes, syrup, bacon, orange juice, and milk. He offered me some coffee which I had never tasted before. I liked it with a little milk and immediately became a coffee drinker.

I told him good-bye at about 9:00 AM. He gave me $5.00 at the last minute for sweeping out the Church. This was a welcome event since I was beginning to worry about running out of money. I had soon learned how fast money went when buying bus tickets, food, and drink. In fact, before I started out, it had never really occurred to me to plan on how I would meet all my basic needs, water being one. I soon bought a used canteen at an Army-Navy Store, which turned out to be a wise decision. I still had to deal with such issues as baths, toilets, and laundry. I knew I would have to deal with all of these as I went along.

Still in Peoria, I decided it would be best for me to leave Illinois as soon as possible, since any searches for me would probably be first concentrated in my home state. I took a city bus to the Western-most limits of Peoria and headed for Iowa, the closest state at hand.

This was to be my very first try at hitchhiking. I was a little frightened to try this since I had heard and read horror stories about kids being attacked by those who picked them up. One such story which I knew was true involved the older brother of a friend of mine who ran away when he was older than I was. He took a ride in a van with four guys in it. As soon as he was in the van and it began to move he was held down, stripped naked, and raped, and then thrown out the back door of the van. His head hit the pavement and was so injured that he was never right mentally from then on. I read of similar events in the Chicago Tribune which we took at home. I wasn’t even sure exactly what the word rape meant when applied to a boy, but I had an inkling, and I knew it wouldn’t be a good thing. In many ways I was still quite naïve.

Therefore, I planned to look over the situation very carefully if a car stopped for me. I planned just to back off and wave the car on if it was a fancy car driven by a lone man with sun glasses – or a car or van occupied by several older teens or men, especially if they looked pretty rough. What I wanted was a car or pickup driven by an older man who looked like he might be a farmer. I grew up in farm country, and I trusted farmers! I also wanted to try semis which had the possibility of my riding for long distances and even making some money by helping the trucker.

It had gotten hot so I had started this day by changing into shorts, white socks, a white T shirt, and my Cubs cap. I was already very tan so I didn’t worry much about sunburn. After I had waited a while, I even took off my shirt, but I kept it handy figuring no one would pick up a sweaty kid with no shirt.

Cars were not that numerous on my chosen highway, so my first hitchhiking experience was frustrating. The cars that did go by didn’t seem to see me. After two hours, one of my envisioned drivers did stop – a kind-looking older farmer type, which is what he turned out to be. His pickup truck was well-used and showed it with a lot of dirt. He stopped his truck on the shoulder of the road and opened the door, motioning for me to get in. Then came another difficult conversation of the same type I would continue to encounter.

What’s your name, son?

Kim.

Are you from around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.

No, Sir, I’m just passing through.

Where you headed?

Right now I’m headed for Farmington, but after that I’m going to Burlington, Iowa.

How old are you?

I’m about 14 or 15.

Do your parents know where you are?

I don’t have any parents. I’m just a throwaway orphan just out to try to make my way.

You look like a nice kid. Would you like some work for a day or two?

Yes, Sir, I sure would! I work hard and can rake, pull weeds, weed gardens, wash cars and trucks and almost anything else you might want me to do as long as things aren’t so heavy I can’t carry them. If you let me work for you, I promise to work hard and not curse, lie, sass, or steal. If I should do any of these I will ask you to punish me hard so I will learn to do better.

Quietly, he drove on for a while, but I asked, What shall I call you?

Just call me Mr. Sam, he replied. If I told you my full name, you probably couldn’t even remember how to pronounce it. My family came here from Germany before the war.

Presently, he pulled the truck up a dirt road to his modest home which I soon learned he shared with his very jolly and friendly wife. After I put my backpack on the porch, I asked to use their bathroom right away, which brought chuckles from them. I offered to go to work right away, but his wife said it was lunchtime and that she would feed me before I went to work.

‘You’re so skinny you need some good eating, boy, so let’s get started." We had the biggest lunch I had ever had. Thoughtful, nice ladies like nothing better than to feed a skinny boy!

Then it was work time. Mr. Sam told me to start on their large vegetable garden which badly needed weeding. I saw it was going to be a tough job. There were rows and rows of tomato plants, green beans, carrots, squash, and some I didn’t even recognize. There was nothing to do but to take off my shirt and get down on my hands and knees to start working across the garden. I got so hot I was soon running with sweat all over. Several times I asked for a drink of water which, when one of them brought it, was sweet and cool.

By late afternoon I had only finished a little more than half the garden, but Mr. Sam suggested that I could finish it tomorrow and to take it easy the rest of the day. He directed me to their shower which had only cold water, but it felt great. While I was in the shower, the lady took my clothes so she could wash them. Since that left me naked in the shower, at first I didn’t know what to do, but I put a towel around me and went to my backpack where I still had some clean clothes.

During a great dinner of a sort of vegetable stew plus fruit, both of my hosts showed renewed interest in learning more about me. I was sorry that I had to be so careful about answering their questions. I didn’t want to lie outright, but I still didn’t want to give out information that might lead to my seizure by anyone in authority. I began to learn what it was like to carry heavy secrets. I stuck to my story that I had no home anywhere but was only an orphan boy trying to make his way about. They shook their heads solemnly and orally worried about my safety and ability to survive. They considered inviting me to stay on with them for a while, but I responded that I could only stay for one more day. Although I couldn’t share this with them, I thought that if I stayed too long with anyone the word would get out to the wrong people that an apparent runaway boy was there.

The next morning I continued work on the garden and was finished with it by noon. After another filling lunch, Mr. Sam and I worked briefly on some chores in his barn. It was hard work but I was glad to be out of the summer sun for a while. When we were finished, I rather sadly told them good-bye and thanked them for helping me. I knelt down, said the Lord’s Prayer, and asked for God’s blessing on them. Mr. Sam gave me $6.00 for my work which was OK since they had given me food worth more than that. Mr. Sam drove me in his truck back down the dirt road to the Highway and wished me well and invited me to return whenever I could.

There was little traffic so I started walking toward the next town which I understood was about six miles away. I had figured out that I tended to walk about a mile each thirty minutes, allowing for brief rests and watching the cars go by, ignoring my thumb. I took off my shirt, but I kept my Cubs cap on. I came to a small, clear stream that wandered along a pleasant tree-lined bank. In the heat of the day, it looked very inviting. I wished I had remembered to bring some swim trunks with me when I packed.

Without any further worry about that I walked back along the stream until I was well out of sight from the road, stripped down, and took the first of my many skinny dips. The cool water was refreshing! I realized that after swimming naked, the sun would dry my skin quickly, and I wouldn’t have any wet clothes to deal with.

While I was drying off, I again evaluated my circumstances. I had left home with $73.00 and had earned $11.00 on the way so far. This had seemed like a princely sum, but I quickly learned how fast it would dwindle as I continued down the road. I decided to spend $4.00 in the next town to buy some swim trunks of the quick-dry variety but with built-in underwear. That left me with about $69.00 left. I would have to learn to hoard my money and continue to earn more. I was tempted with an idea that I could save some money by doing some shoplifting. But, one of the vows I had made to myself on the bus when I first ran away was not to steal. This vow had grown out of an incident about a year ago. At that time one of my closest friends showed me a bunch of expensive fishing tackle, tapered fly leaders and other stuff that he had shoplifted.

How did your do it? I had asked.

It’s easy, he explained. All you have to do is pick out something cheap that you can pay for but which comes in a fairly large box. Then you fill the openings in the box with what you want, and you only pay for the one original item.

I had never shoplifted anything before, but I made a bad decision and decided to try his method. I did just what he said, but the store owner was at the cash register. He opened the box and caught me red handed. He was angry!

He shouted, Kid, I won’t call the police this time, but I never want to see you in my store again! If I find you in the store, I’ll take you out in the alley and give you a whipping you won’t forget! Now, get out!

I was extremely embarrassed, ran out of the store and never came