Did I ever tell you about the time I got arrested?

It was the summer of 1980, and everyone I knew had just graduated from college – or was about to. It was a year of transition, and I felt the pull just as strongly as everyone else, even though I’d left school two years previously to live in NYC, where I’d been working and taking art classes. I could have stayed where I was and finished a graphic design or commercial art degree of some kind. But it was time for a change.

My friend Deborah and I had talked for years – since the 8th grade – about moving to California after college and this was a perfect opportunity – she was finishing up at the University of Oregon and would be graduating at the end of the summer. She invited me out to stay with her in Eugene for the last month of the semester and attend her graduation, after which we’d head south to San Francisco, where we had a friend with an apartment. Plans were set in place.

Before I left NY I planned a number of “last hurrah” events with various friends – a meal in a favorite restaurant, a night on the town, etc. I accepted an invitation from my friend Darcy to spend a weekend at her family’s home in Greenwich CT with her boyfriend and one of his buddies, whom I’d met once or twice before. I took the Metro North train from Grand Central on a beautiful Saturday morning in June, ready for a day or two of relaxation by the pool and the usual shenanigans.

Saturday went as planned – a swim, a meal, a few beers. Sunday morning we decided to have a little adventure and drive out to a nearby lake for a picnic. One thing about this lake is that it is positioned on the border between New York and Connecticut, with the state line running through the middle somewhere. The other thing about the lake is that it was on private property and warning signs were clearly posted at the proscribed intervals. Darcy & Co. were aware that we would be trespassing but assured me that it was no big deal; as locals, they hung out there all the time. So off we went.

It was a bit of a drive to get where we were going, and after about a half hour we came to the end of the road; from there we had to leave the car and walk through a woodsy patch to the lakeshore. We carried our picnic, found a comfy spot, and settled in. We ate, and talked, and relaxed, for a good little while, and were on the verge of deciding to get up and go back to the house when our uninvited guest arrived – a member of Greenwich’s Finest, who had seen our car conspicuously parked on the road and came in to investigate.
A brief conversation ensued during which we all produced our ID and so on. Clearly my friends assumed they’d be able to talk our way out of trouble with no complications or consequences. That was not to be. We were instructed to get in our car and drive downtown, escorted by the no-nonsense cop, so we headed for the police station.

My memory of the events that followed is a bit vague, but I do recall waiting for a long time while each of us was interviewed. Then, the unexpected bonus – fingerprinting! That came as a surprise to all of us, but it still didn’t seem to be a very serious situation. None of us even called our parents. We sat through the process calmly, and were finally told we could go, but that there would be a court date “in about a month,” and we all needed to stay in town until then.

Darcy then protested on my behalf – I lived in New York, after all, and there was no way I could stay in Greenwich for a month, I had a job and had to go home. This was reasonable, and I was allowed to leave after providing my address in the city.

None of us bothered to mention that I also had a one-way plane ticket for Oregon, bought and paid for, dated about a week hence.

Back at the house, we laughed about the way the day had turned out, and as I got ready to head back to the city, Darcy told me not to worry – I would send her my new address once I arrived in Oregon, she and the guys would appear in court, they would explain my absence, and all would be well.

As it turned out, the court date was more than a month later. I spent half of June and almost all of July in Eugene, and Deb and I then moved to San Francisco, where we stayed with Deb’s friend Lisa in a one room apartment on Nob Hill. Great little place with a bakery downstairs, a cheese shop across the street, and a cable car stop down the block.

Several weeks later I got a letter from Darcy to let me know what had transpired at our “trial.” It needs to be said that Darcy and the young men were perfect poster children for the “preppy” upper strata of Greenwich society – in fact they were all from very well respected local families. Darcy is a classic girl-next-door type, and the guys were clean cut and well behaved. And I am sure that if I had been there I’d have been able to carry off a similar degree of poise.

They showed up on the appointed day and waited until their case was called. The judge took one look at the three of them – Darcy with her blond hair flowing and wearing a crisp white sun dress – questioned the police officer who'd brought us in, looked at the file, and said in a very disgruntled tone, “Why are you wasting the court’s time with this? Get them out of here.” Upon which the charges were tossed out and “we” were all free to go.

Darcy sent me a note with a copy of the documents necessary to prove that I was no longer a fugitive from justice, should I ever get myself in trouble in the state of Connecticut again, and I think I have the paperwork somewhere, though I suppose that my fingerprints are still on file at the Greenwich PD. And I still fall over laughing when I remember the story.