Jailbreak

I patrolled the Mother Road.

During its heyday US 66 across northern Arizona was a major corridor for stolen vehicles. Most were driven across the desert from Los Angeles, though some funneled down from Las Vegas, Nevada, a hundred miles to the northwest. A lesser number rolled in from the East, their ranks thinned by a gauntlet of police and state patrols.

Those of us working around Kingman during the summer of 1964 caught our share. I was part of a multi-state task force spanning the length of US 66 from Chicago to the Pacific Ocean. Our primary mission was accident prevention, however we remained alert for any violations.

A few weeks prior to my assignment the Mojave County sheriff died in a gun battle with the driver of a stolen car at the state inspection station north of Kingman.

We often parked broadside to the road observing vehicles on the highway, but our usual procedure was to cruise ten miles per hour under the speed limit. If traffic stacked up behind us we pulled over and stopped to let it by. With that procedure we seldom created bottle necks and drivers afraid to pass usually had some reason, which piqued our curiosity. It also gave us opportunities to eye ball vehicles and drivers at close range while they drove past. We watched for certain clues to stolen conveyences or impaired drivers.

One morning at milepost 60, just beyond the Kingman airport, a year-old Corvette slowly eased by after hanging back for several minutes. A white convertible, the lowered top revealed red upholstery. The male occupants looked to be in their teens, both bareheaded. They stared straight ahead into the rising sun.

There is nothing wrong with young men driving nice cars, but usually owners don't need to pry the lock out of the trunk lid. That gaping hole shouts, "stolen car" to a highway patrolman.

After I pulled the sports car to the shoulder it soon became apparent the driver was the ringleader--his passenger the follow-along type. After several minutes of bluster and conflicting stories they admitted stealing the car in Los Angeles.

Transporting a stolen motor vehicle across a state line is a violation of the Dyer Act, so when the youngsters crossed the Colorado River, the theft became a federal crime.

After I finished locking the duo in the juvenile section of the Mojave County Jail, I asked my dispatcher to notify the local FBI office.

Later in the day I met with an agent from the Kingman office and gave him a copy of my report. He said neither teen had a record so he was inclined to release them to their parents. To get the youngster's attention however, he thought he would leave them dangling for a few days--give them something to think about, to worry about, before recommending probation. The trunk lock appeared to be the only damage to the Corvette.

I found it interesting that he chose to sit in my cruiser alongside the highway while we discussed the case. With a wry smile he said, "J. Edgar's limousine is the only air-conditioned car in the FBI fleet. He won't let us have a unit intalled, even at our own expense."

I had already learned Mr. Hoover required his men to wear coat and tie, year around. Even in the desert heat.

When I checked on duty the next morning I found the youngsters had tested the bars on the ancient jail durng the evening. They found some slack between the metal bars and masonry at the window sill. After spending much of the night working at it, the eroded concrete eventually began crumbling and the entire grillwork toppled into the alley.

A small town offers few hiding places for escaped prisoners so shortly after daybreak city officers picked up the two juveniles. This time sheriff's deputies secured them in adult cells--on opposite sides of the jail.

Later in the day the FBI agent told my sergeant the young men didn't know when they were well off. After their night-time escapade he decided to pursue the original charge in federal court, plus the count attorney intended to petition to have them declared adults and file for escape and destruction of government property in superior court.

A state patrolman usually has little opportunity to follow up on his customers and I have ofen wondered what happened to the two young Californians.

Story ID:	3879
Written by:	James Baker (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization:	Writers' Circle
Story type:	Diary/Journal Entry
Location:	Kingman Arizona USA
Year:	1964
Person:	Two juveniles