Confession and Redemption, J. Bryant Ray [fb2 epub reader TXT] 📗

CONFESSION AND REDEMPTION
By: J. Bryant Ray


This is a true story based upon an account as told to the author by one of the participants. Names and places have been changed to protect the guilty parties.


This is a story of five boys who were as close as five boys could have been in the summer of 1963. They played sports all thru their high school years; not all of the five played the same sport, that is, until they were introduced to the game of golf in 1962. The superintendent of the county school system was an avid golfer and decided that the local high school needed a golf team. Five of us were selected out of a group of some twenty-five applicants and we proceeded to learn the game of golf. Several weeks went by; in addition to instruction we received from the Superintendent we had also secretly received some tips from a pro at one of the local courses. By now our gang of five had reached the point that we could play together in a multitude of ways to make our skills work to our advantage during a tournament. We continued to practice weekly so we could maximize our effectiveness in the tournaments that Coach Carter had in the works.
In fact it was following one of those Saturday sessions at Jumping Jack Hills that our troubles began. We had just finished 27 holes and each of us was feeling pretty good about our collective game. We stopped at a burger spot on the way home from the course; across the street was a small store where one of the guys said he had bought beer before. We decided what could it hurt to pick up some beer for the trip home, after all we did have food, and what goes best with burgers; “BEER!”

We are driving along singing, eating burgers and drinking beer without a care in the world. Somewhere around the halfway point Bill announces he has to take a leak.
I am not positive who had the not-so-bright idea of attacking mailboxes, perhaps it was the beer talking. As we continued on our way, mailboxes were appearing pretty much equally on both sides of the car. They proved to be a bit of a challenge until you got the rhythm of speed and distance. It was great fun as we continued this game for the next 45-minutes until we approached the outskirts of town.
We still had about 10-15 stones remaining; Ralph suggested we turn around and take a shot at the ones we might have missed! As we headed back it began to be abundantly clear just what we had done. In front of us lay a literal waste land of broken posts, scattered mail and bent mail boxes, some completely broken away and carried two or three yards down the highway. Returning quickly to the car we drove below the posted speed limit back into town. No one spoke the rest of the way home, each of us exiting Paul’s car without so much as a good-bye! That night and most of the next day I remained quiet; but still suffering a great deal of internal torment over what we had done. I was certain that this type of destruction would not go without punishment, the severity of which I was yet to realize! However, in the coming days this matter would come painfully into focus.

On Thursday of the following week the principal over the intercom made the following announcement:
“Attention all students, will the following gentlemen please report to the office; Paul Johnston, Joe McDuffie, Bill Bedford, Ralph Ferguson…and Tommy Johns!”
I felt this huge lump rise from the pit of my stomach up into my throat; my palms began to sweat, my forehead turned cold and clammy and I felt nauseous, all at the same time. This was not so much for what I knew was coming next but more a concern for what the resulting punishment might be. I wasn’t sure what we faced from Mr. Patterson but I was painfully aware of what lay ahead for me when my Dad learned of our little escapade.
Heading down the hallway, the principal’s office was just ahead, and from here I could see Mary Lou Ross, a teacher’s aid and Bill’s girlfriend; she appeared to be crying. The drama was almost overwhelming. As I entered the outer office I glanced thru the Principal’s doorway and my worst fears were realized; for inside stood the Sheriff, Principal Patterson, Coach Carter and one man dressed in a suit with a badge showing.
Mr. Patterson, using his best baritone voice says; “you boys come inside we need to ask you a few questions.”
I look at Paul, he’s looking at Ralph, Bill is practically in tears, Joe is standing as straight as he can, nervously twiddling with a pencil; a habit he has had since kindergarten. Coach Carter is staring right at me with a look of disbelief!
Mr. Patterson introduces each man in turn; “boys this is Mr. Wilkins from the Postal Inspector’s Office and I’m sure you know Sheriff Crawford. Boys I think you know why we’re here. The sooner you tell us the truth, the better it will be for all parties concerned. Mr. Wilkins, will you begin?”
“Thank you Principal Patterson. Boys, I represent the inspection arm of the United States Postal Service, it is my job to investigate claims filed by individuals or companies whenever we suspect fraud or terrorism has been committed within the mail service. On Monday morning I received a call concerning the destruction of several mailboxes. It seems that quite a number, 37 to be exact, of mailboxes were vandalized and a lot of mail was destroyed in the process. What, if anything, do either of you boys know of this?”
A brief moment of silence followed by the sound of sniffling, Bill Bedford is ready to break down.

THE CONFESSION:
Paul speaks up first; “It was me sheriff, I was driving the car. We had just left the golf course and were headed home, we thought it would pass the time a bit if we had a diversion, we didn’t plan to destroy property."
Sheriff Crawford says; “I’m glad you spoke first Paul, I’ve known you boys since you were kids, and I’ve watched you grow up. Besides, we already had your license tag."
Next I speak; “Sheriff, Coach, Mr. Patterson we were wrong for thinking this would be just harmless fun. I guess we were just charged up by the fact that our golf game had steadily improved; we have been practicing quietly and were celebrating a victory of sorts hoping that we could show Coach how much we had jelled as a team. We were looking forward to the next tournament.”
Joe speaks next; “Coach, I am sorry we let the team down, we let you down we’ve even let the school down. Most of all when we turned back toward the road and saw the results, we just got scared, we knew we had done wrong; but we couldn’t fix it.”
Bill, sniffling and sobbing he can only say; “I’m sorry and I am ready for my punishment.”
Ralph is a bit more belligerent; “Coach we just had a bit of good fun, it was innocent, some of those mailboxes were just a piece of tin nailed on a 2X4 post.”
Mr. Fountain stands to speak; “son what is your name?”
Ralph asks; “me? My name is Ralph Ferguson.”
“Son why are you so confrontational? These other boys, they have confessed and seem genuinely sorry for their actions. But son, you have missed the point! It is not about the mailboxes,tampering is a crime punishable by a fine and prison or both. I am sure in your mind some of them were merely pieces of metal nailed to a 2X4 post. However, the contents of these boxes are considered private property.”
I look over at Ralph; he is as white as a sack of fresh picked cotton. I believe he has finally understood the gravity of the situation. The rest of the team is standing in various stages of solitary disbelief. The sheriff stands to speak; “boys, your parents have already been notified; each of them has been asked to come to the post office tomorrow afternoon at 2:00 PM.”
After the sheriff and the man from the postal service exit the principal’s office, Coach Carter begins; “boys I am extremely disappointed in each of you, I had thought you were above such a childish act of destruction. I realize that I was wrong, at least some of you had the courage to confess. However, you can rest assured that there will be disciplinary action taken.”
Principal Patterson says; “you boys are excused for the rest of the day and tomorrow as well. I don’t want you discussing this with any other students, do you understand?”
Almost in unison our response was; “Yes sir!”
I make that long walk home.I walk in the back door of my house and immediately see my Mom standing in the kitchen. The look she gives me says it all; I’m doomed!
Mom says; “how could you have done such a thing?" As I attempt to speak, words will not come; Finally I manage to get out; “Mom, I am so sorry; it was just a case of group thinking, we all just reacted without giving any thought to the consequences of our actions. I am disappointed in myself, not to mention how I feel about letting people down who have always believed in me.”
Mom responds; “I am not sure what your Dad will say, he just called me and told me what the sheriff had said.”
I go to my room to await my fate. It wasn’t long before I hear my Dad come home. There I am, waiting in my room like a convicted serial killer, a murderer of mailboxes, awaiting the call for that long walk to the gas chamber, not even a final meal; hoping against all hope that somehow maybe the Governor will offer me amnesty, the one last chance at redemption that only he can give.
The door to my room opens, my Dad is standing in the open doorway just looking at me with that piercing stare, that look of disappointment, I have seen it many times.
Dad finally speaks; “son, what were you thinking?”
“That’s it, I wasn’t thinking, at least about what the results would be.” I said.
I continue; “Dad, when we turned around and drove back down the road, it was surreal, like a scene from a bad movie. I had no idea of the destruction we had caused. It wasn’t until I saw the mail strewn all along the highway like a bag of garbage that had been struck by multiple cars that I realized the seriousness of what we had done. By then it was too late to fix, we just panicked and ran away. My Dad just walks away and says; “we’ll talk about this in the morning, you know we have to meet with the Sheriff and the postal inspector tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes Sir!”
I am