I got a call from a very old friend this morning. I haven't seen him in about 25 years. Him and I were inseparable when we were kids. Lived in the same neighborhood, went to the same middle school and high school. His name is Scott.
Got to talking and one thing led to another and I told him about my collection. He was totally blown away that I had managed to collect many of the radio's we both remembered as kids.
Back in the day when we were running around, I had my Lasonic TRC-920 and he had a GE 3-5286A. The two of us burned through more batteries than a vibrator convention!
While talking, he reminded me of an event that almost cost us both our radios...
We were probably in 9th or 10th grade. I had a habit of taking my radio to school, his dad was a military man and VERY strict. Scott was an only child and his parents watched him like a hawk. He had to keep his room SPOTLESS and his GE 3-5286A was kept on his desk next to his bed. It was in plain view from the hallway so his father could see he was not taking it to school. Every day Scott would head to school THEN his folks would go to work.
Sometimes we would ditch school, walk back to Scott's house and swipe his radio so the two of us could go meet up with other ditchers at the abandoned little league baseball diamonds next to the LA river in the San Fernando Valley. Hey, even ditchers needed music, plus there were always girls there too. Normally, it was no big deal. After school Scott would be home before his folks and they would never know he had the radio out all day.
On this particular day there were about 20 kids partying at the baseball fields and it was a bit more than the neighbors could handle. I'm sure the music didn't help.
The next thing you know, we got raided by the cops. Everyone scattered. This had happened many times before and we had escape routes. Most led across the fields and into the LA River, some kids went into the tunnels, basically storm drains under the city.
But this time, there were many police cars and they cut us off at the pass. A few kids got away, but Scott and I couldn't run full speed with our radio's and I didn't really even try.
We were BUSTED and Scott was mortified! His dad was going to find out he ditched school (a killable offense in his household) but more so, his dad would find out we had gone back to his house after he had left for work and swiped his radio! TRIPLE KILL ! ! !
All the kids that were rounded up were arrested for truancy and taken to the Van Nuys police station where we all had to have someone get us out of the big house! The procedure was, we show the police our school ID, the police contact the school, the school calls our "Contact Number" listed on file and the parent calls the police station. Being the criminal mastermind that I was, on the first day of school when they send you home with "The Packet" for your folks to fill out and sign with phone number and signature for matching purposes, I simply changed the phone number by one digit and signed my fathers signature. That way every time they checked what ever document I brought in that was to be signed by my dad, IT MATCHED!
Of course when they called, they got no answer since they had the wrong number on file.
Both of Scott's parent's worked, so when the school called they got no answer and this was before answering machines were in EVERY home. They were around, but not everyone had them yet.
So, since there was no one to "Clear our good names" we sat! Friend after friend got picked up but we sat and the clock ticked by and the later it got, the more Scott freaked out.
Neither one of us knew if we were going to get our radio's back. The police acted as if they had been confiscated for good! Needless to say, we were both pretty bummed, but Scott was heading for disaster. I had bought my radio on my own and for the most part, my folks hated it. If I lost it doing something stupid they would be HAPPY! But Scott's GE 3-5286A was technically his dad's. It was on a sort of "Permanent Loan". One of those parenting "You can use it, if you take care of it" sort of things. I don't think this would fall into the..."Taking care of it" category.
The cop's had picked us up around 9:30am and it was close to 2:30pm and the clock was ticking. School got out at 3:30pm, Scott's dad would be home by 5:30pm and we had no plan of attack.
Then by sheer luck another friends older and SUPER HOT sister came to get him (think 80's girl, blonde teased up hair, short shorts, half shirt with navel showing, Reebok tennis shoes). She was probably 19 or 20 and her and my older sister were friends so she knew who I was (barely). I was able to convey in a few words and gestures that we needed help getting out. It was tough to signal when your hand cuffed to a bench!
She got it right off and quickly invented a story of how she always takes Scott and I to and from school along with her little brother. The policeman behind the counter didn't even blink an eye and we were FREE! As soon as I was uncuffed I asked "And what about our radio's...SIR". "You mean MY Radio's?" he replied. I could hear Scott's brain explode. It was quickly followed with the "Stay in school, don't do drugs, respect your elders" speech and we were handed our radio's through a small window.
12 seconds later we were basking in the sunlight as if we had just done 20 years in solitary! It felt good.
But it was getting late, 3:30pm now. My friends sister had other business elsewhere and couldn't give us a ride home, so we had to take the bus across the valley, midday which required many transfer's to get back home, plus a few miles on foot.
Scott was still freaking out. He had to get that radio back on his desk before his dad got home. And the race was on.
Each bus ride was an agonizing, slow plotting chug across the city. Stopping every minute or so. People on, people off. The good ol' Los Angeles RTD of the early 1980's. Efficiency hadn't even been invented yet.
For me, it was no sweat. I was out of prison, I had my blaster back, I was stoked! On the bus ride back, I had my radio on my lap playing Van Halen's Women and Children First, life was great. But I knew I had to get Scott back home because quite literally, his dad would whoop his ass. PLUS no more RADIO! Scott had gotten whoopin's in the past, they come and go, but I know the independance of the radio and all the "Girl Catching" power that it provides was at stake. Some how we had to pull this off.
The last bus stop came and we got off. We both knew it would HAVE TO BE a sprint back to his house through the tangle of track home neighborhoods where we lived. We knew a couple of short cuts, down a few ally's, across an empty lot. These would save a little time. But we still had a long way to go. Distance running with a 25 pound ghettoblaster isn't an easy thing to do and even though we were fit in shape kids that ran all the time, this was hard.
We rounded the corner onto his block AT 5:30pm! We both knew there was a very good chance that when we got in sight of his house that his dad's car could be in the driveway. The closer we got, the faster Scott ran. He caught his second wind. He was leaving me behind and low and behold NO CAR in the driveway.
Scott blasted up the front steps, fumbled the key for a second and powered through the doorway. I was just making it on to the lawn as his dad rounded the corner and pulled into the driveway. His dad hated me, I was the "Bad Influence" kid. And truth be known, I probably was. I had really long hair, wore Black Sabbath t-shirts, cursed, drank, smoked pot, ditched school. Basically everything he didn't want his son to be doing and I get that now. But his dad saw all of Scott's friends as bad influences and was very vocal telling us so.
His dad got out of the car with his flat top haircut so tight you could set your watch by it just as I walked up out of breath. He said nothing and walked past me as if I was an empty cardboard box, ignoring my existence. He walked in the house and slammed the door behind him. I listened, trying to hear if there was an ass kicking going on inside, but heard nothing. I waited a few moments and then rang the doorbell. "Is Scott here?" I was such a little punk!
We made it!
Scott came out, radio in hand, like always!
We walked over to my place and took up our regular spot on the curb, on the corner in front of my folks house and played our radio's for the other kids on the block. We relived the heroic story for the other kids and were permanently added to the teenage hall of fame for our acts of bravery and success.
Just another perfect day with our blasters!
Got to talking and one thing led to another and I told him about my collection. He was totally blown away that I had managed to collect many of the radio's we both remembered as kids.
Back in the day when we were running around, I had my Lasonic TRC-920 and he had a GE 3-5286A. The two of us burned through more batteries than a vibrator convention!
While talking, he reminded me of an event that almost cost us both our radios...
We were probably in 9th or 10th grade. I had a habit of taking my radio to school, his dad was a military man and VERY strict. Scott was an only child and his parents watched him like a hawk. He had to keep his room SPOTLESS and his GE 3-5286A was kept on his desk next to his bed. It was in plain view from the hallway so his father could see he was not taking it to school. Every day Scott would head to school THEN his folks would go to work.
Sometimes we would ditch school, walk back to Scott's house and swipe his radio so the two of us could go meet up with other ditchers at the abandoned little league baseball diamonds next to the LA river in the San Fernando Valley. Hey, even ditchers needed music, plus there were always girls there too. Normally, it was no big deal. After school Scott would be home before his folks and they would never know he had the radio out all day.
On this particular day there were about 20 kids partying at the baseball fields and it was a bit more than the neighbors could handle. I'm sure the music didn't help.
The next thing you know, we got raided by the cops. Everyone scattered. This had happened many times before and we had escape routes. Most led across the fields and into the LA River, some kids went into the tunnels, basically storm drains under the city.
But this time, there were many police cars and they cut us off at the pass. A few kids got away, but Scott and I couldn't run full speed with our radio's and I didn't really even try.
We were BUSTED and Scott was mortified! His dad was going to find out he ditched school (a killable offense in his household) but more so, his dad would find out we had gone back to his house after he had left for work and swiped his radio! TRIPLE KILL ! ! !
All the kids that were rounded up were arrested for truancy and taken to the Van Nuys police station where we all had to have someone get us out of the big house! The procedure was, we show the police our school ID, the police contact the school, the school calls our "Contact Number" listed on file and the parent calls the police station. Being the criminal mastermind that I was, on the first day of school when they send you home with "The Packet" for your folks to fill out and sign with phone number and signature for matching purposes, I simply changed the phone number by one digit and signed my fathers signature. That way every time they checked what ever document I brought in that was to be signed by my dad, IT MATCHED!
Of course when they called, they got no answer since they had the wrong number on file.
Both of Scott's parent's worked, so when the school called they got no answer and this was before answering machines were in EVERY home. They were around, but not everyone had them yet.
So, since there was no one to "Clear our good names" we sat! Friend after friend got picked up but we sat and the clock ticked by and the later it got, the more Scott freaked out.
Neither one of us knew if we were going to get our radio's back. The police acted as if they had been confiscated for good! Needless to say, we were both pretty bummed, but Scott was heading for disaster. I had bought my radio on my own and for the most part, my folks hated it. If I lost it doing something stupid they would be HAPPY! But Scott's GE 3-5286A was technically his dad's. It was on a sort of "Permanent Loan". One of those parenting "You can use it, if you take care of it" sort of things. I don't think this would fall into the..."Taking care of it" category.
The cop's had picked us up around 9:30am and it was close to 2:30pm and the clock was ticking. School got out at 3:30pm, Scott's dad would be home by 5:30pm and we had no plan of attack.
Then by sheer luck another friends older and SUPER HOT sister came to get him (think 80's girl, blonde teased up hair, short shorts, half shirt with navel showing, Reebok tennis shoes). She was probably 19 or 20 and her and my older sister were friends so she knew who I was (barely). I was able to convey in a few words and gestures that we needed help getting out. It was tough to signal when your hand cuffed to a bench!
She got it right off and quickly invented a story of how she always takes Scott and I to and from school along with her little brother. The policeman behind the counter didn't even blink an eye and we were FREE! As soon as I was uncuffed I asked "And what about our radio's...SIR". "You mean MY Radio's?" he replied. I could hear Scott's brain explode. It was quickly followed with the "Stay in school, don't do drugs, respect your elders" speech and we were handed our radio's through a small window.
12 seconds later we were basking in the sunlight as if we had just done 20 years in solitary! It felt good.
But it was getting late, 3:30pm now. My friends sister had other business elsewhere and couldn't give us a ride home, so we had to take the bus across the valley, midday which required many transfer's to get back home, plus a few miles on foot.
Scott was still freaking out. He had to get that radio back on his desk before his dad got home. And the race was on.
Each bus ride was an agonizing, slow plotting chug across the city. Stopping every minute or so. People on, people off. The good ol' Los Angeles RTD of the early 1980's. Efficiency hadn't even been invented yet.
For me, it was no sweat. I was out of prison, I had my blaster back, I was stoked! On the bus ride back, I had my radio on my lap playing Van Halen's Women and Children First, life was great. But I knew I had to get Scott back home because quite literally, his dad would whoop his ass. PLUS no more RADIO! Scott had gotten whoopin's in the past, they come and go, but I know the independance of the radio and all the "Girl Catching" power that it provides was at stake. Some how we had to pull this off.
The last bus stop came and we got off. We both knew it would HAVE TO BE a sprint back to his house through the tangle of track home neighborhoods where we lived. We knew a couple of short cuts, down a few ally's, across an empty lot. These would save a little time. But we still had a long way to go. Distance running with a 25 pound ghettoblaster isn't an easy thing to do and even though we were fit in shape kids that ran all the time, this was hard.
We rounded the corner onto his block AT 5:30pm! We both knew there was a very good chance that when we got in sight of his house that his dad's car could be in the driveway. The closer we got, the faster Scott ran. He caught his second wind. He was leaving me behind and low and behold NO CAR in the driveway.
Scott blasted up the front steps, fumbled the key for a second and powered through the doorway. I was just making it on to the lawn as his dad rounded the corner and pulled into the driveway. His dad hated me, I was the "Bad Influence" kid. And truth be known, I probably was. I had really long hair, wore Black Sabbath t-shirts, cursed, drank, smoked pot, ditched school. Basically everything he didn't want his son to be doing and I get that now. But his dad saw all of Scott's friends as bad influences and was very vocal telling us so.
His dad got out of the car with his flat top haircut so tight you could set your watch by it just as I walked up out of breath. He said nothing and walked past me as if I was an empty cardboard box, ignoring my existence. He walked in the house and slammed the door behind him. I listened, trying to hear if there was an ass kicking going on inside, but heard nothing. I waited a few moments and then rang the doorbell. "Is Scott here?" I was such a little punk!
We made it!
Scott came out, radio in hand, like always!
We walked over to my place and took up our regular spot on the curb, on the corner in front of my folks house and played our radio's for the other kids on the block. We relived the heroic story for the other kids and were permanently added to the teenage hall of fame for our acts of bravery and success.
Just another perfect day with our blasters!
