The Ventura County Fair was by far the extravaganza of the year for all of us kids. As summer came to a close and the school year was upon us, we couldn't help but anticipate our most cherished holiday, Fair Day. Historically on the first Monday of October every year a huge parade marched down Main Street marking the commencement of the fair which lingered for 14 glorious days.

The Fair Grounds were located on the Pacific Ocean directly south of the mouth of the Ventura River. The main Southern Pacific Railway line stretching from San Diego to Seattle abutted to the east. Two long train bridges spanned the Ventura River. Between the two bridges there was a grove of majestic Eucalyptus trees that provided temporary housing for the bums and hobos that rode the Southern Pacific freight trains up and down the California coast. We called it Hobo Jungle. The only way to get to Hobo Jungle from Ventura was over the railroad bridges.

The hobos were always a great curiosity to my friend Steve and me. On this particular weekend before the fair we were in the jungle exploring when we came across two hobos cooking their lunch over an open fire. We approached them curiously.

"Hello, what is that you're cooking?" I asked.

"Lima beans," the tall, muscular hobo replied.

"Oh, I hate lima beans."

"Lima beans don't taste so bad."

"Is that all you're going to eat?"

"We got a ham bone in there somewhere."

"That's it?"

"It will keep us alive another day," he said.

"Would you like a ham sandwich?" I said. "My mother made it for me but I am not really hungry."

The hobo's eyes lit up and his mouth started to drool.

"That would be mighty nice of you now, lad."

I grabbed by backpack and pulled out a brown paper bag and handed it to the taller of the two hobos.

"Here, take it. There's some potato chips too." I looked over at Steve and said,"Steve, give your lunch to his friend."

Steve tucked his lunch under his arm and scowled at me. "But I am hungry."

"It won't hurt you to skip lunch. All these poor guys have are lima beans."

Steve began to loosen his grip on his lunch and finally handed it over to the short, stout, red headed hobo.

"Here. . . . It's peanut butter and jelly."

Steve and I watched them eat their unexpected bounty with great interest. The red headed hobo stared at Steve's bike while he savored the crunchy Skippy Peanut Butter and raspberry jelly.

"You like my new ten speed?" Steve asked.

The hobo nodded and kept on chewing. After about five minutes the hobos got on their feet, extinguished their fire and began packing up their things.

"Thank you boys, that was great," the tall hobo said. "Who are you kids anyway?"

"I am Stanley Turner and this is my friend Steve Reynolds," I replied.

"Pleasure to meet you, boys. I am Sam and this is Red. Sorry we can't stay to shoot the breeze but the 12:02 is due any minute."

Up on the tracks a workman was busy throwing a switch. Sam and Red waited until he had left and then quickly climbed up to the top of the embankment. We could hear the shrill sound of a whistle blowing. The hobos waited next to the railroad tracks and positioned themselves to jump on board. After the orange and silver engine had rolled by, they looked for an open box car. Spotting one they ran along side the train, hurled in their bed rolls, grabbed onto the car door and pulled themselves inside. As the train disappeared over the bridge, I wondered why men became hobos. What were they doing wandering from city to city anyway?

"Why did you have to give him my lunch?" Steve said.

"All Red had to eat was lima beans for godsakes!"

Steve shrugged his shoulders making it clear he didn't care much about Red. "I'm hungry," he said. "Let's go home."

"You want to jump on the next train and go to Santa Barbara?" I asked.

"Are you crazy? We might get caught and thrown in jail."

"Nobody ever seems to catch hobos? Why would they catch us?"

"They know where to hide and when to get off the train so they won't get caught," Steve noted.

"Wouldn't it be cool to be a bum and travel all over the world, never having to do what your mom tells you?"

"Yeah. . . . That would be cool," Steve replied nonchalantly. "But I wouldn't want to eat lima beans every day."

"Oh yeah, lima beams. . . . Yuk! We better get going, the Fair opens at two and we don't want to be late."

We picked up our bikes and headed toward the railroad tracks. We climbed up the embankment and were out of breath by the time we reached the top. We looked both ways.

"Do you see anything coming?" I said.

"No."

"Why don't you put your ear on the track to be sure?"

"Okay," Steve said as he bent down and laid his ear on the cold steel. "I don't hear anything."

"Okay, you go first," I said. "I'll be right behind you."

Steve pulled his bike up onto the tracks and started crossing the railroad bridge. I followed close behind and peered up and down the tracks warily but saw nothing. The wheels of my bike bounced up and down over each railroad tie making travel across the bridge very slow. I looked up at the steel girders above my head and wondered how anyone could have built such an enormous structure. Steve stopped briefly to tie his shoe. While I waited for him I leaned over the side of the bridge and watched the river slowly winding 20 feet below. As we reached the midpoint of the quarter mile bridge I looked up at the signal light facing northbound trains. A chill darted down my spine as I noticed it was red. I looked down the track anxiously but saw nothing. Then I heard it. It was a soft and distant shriek at first but soon grew in intensity. Steve jerked his head up and gazed nervously down the tracks.

"Oh no! The train is coming," I said. "Run for it!"

We both took off running across the bridge but it was difficult to get up much speed carrying our bikes.

"Ditch the bikes, we'll never make if we don't!" I yelled.

"But it's my new ten speed," Steve replied.

"It will be all right, just drop it by the rail."

We both dropped our bikes and looked back toward Hobo Jungle. The train was on the bridge, just fifty yards behind us. We ran as fast as our bodies and the rugged tracks would allow but the train was gaining quickly.

"Go out on the ledge! We're not going to make it," I said.

"What?!" Steve said.

"The ledge. Come on. Go out on the ledge. Just hold on tight."

I climbed over the railing putting my foot on a three_inch steel ledge that protruded outward. Steve followed my example but missed the slim ledge and nearly fell into the river. I grabbed him by his shirt and somehow managed to hold him until he could get a foot hold. Almost immediately the bridge began to shake violently as the train rolled past.

Our bikes were sucked up by the turbulence created by the engine and then slammed into the railing. Steve again lost his footing and dangled from the rail by just one hand. I stuck out my left foot so he could grab it and keep from falling. He took a swipe but missed. In order to stretch it out another inch or two, I had to loosen my grip slightly. He took another swipe and connected with my sneaker. His weight was more than I expected. I tried to reestablish my grip, but it was to no avail. Suddenly the bridge shook with greater intensity as the heavy tank cars crossed overhead. The jolt caused Steve to lose his grip on the rail and he fell grabbing my leg now with both hands. My right foot was ripped off the steel ledge by the sudden increase in weight. My fingers began to ache as I tried desperately to retain my grip. Suddenly the vibration stopped as the caboose rolled past, but it was too late, my fingers finally surrendered to the intense pain and we began to fall.

The moment between our separation from the bridge and the plunge into the Ventura River seemed like an eternity. The events of my short life flashed before me. I feared I was about to die. As we saw the water rapidly approaching Steve and I screamed. Steve hit the water first and sunk deep into the river. Then I felt the cold river fluid engulf my body. I sank quickly, plunging all the way to the bottom. Fortunately the river's soft sandy floor cushioned my fall and prevented any serious injury. For a moment I hovered near the bottom, disoriented. Then instinctively I thrust my body upward searching for air. As I swam furiously toward the bright surface, I felt like I was being crushed by the vicious teeth of a steel vice. Just before I succumbed to unconsciousness, I reached the surface and sucked in a breath of precious air. After a moment of recovery, I looked around for Steve but saw nothing.

Panic overcame me as the seconds began to tick and Steve was nowhere to be seen. Knowing he must be somewhere close by, I decided I should dive down and search for him. Suddenly from behind I heard the sound of splashing water and frantic coughing. It was Steve. I quickly swam over to assist him as he struggled to remain afloat.

"Calm down Steve!" I said as I put my arm around his waist to steady him. "You're going to be okay."

"Get me out of here," he said as he put a choke hold around my neck. We both began to sink as I struggled to get free. His arm was like a noose around my neck cutting off my oxygen. No matter how hard I fought, it couldn't be budged. My left foot felt the sandy river bottom. Instinctively I thrust us back up towards the surface. We emerged from the water long enough to get one quick breath of air before we descended one more time toward the river bottom.

Finally I broke his tenacious grip, flipped around behind him and pulled him to the surface. As he exuberantly inhaled the cool air he began to relax and I slowly eased him to shore.

"It's not that far to shore. You're a good swimmer, Steve. . . . Come on, help me out."

After awhile Steve began to swim on his own and before long we made it to the riverbank. We pulled ourselves onto the shore and collapsed into the sand's soft embrace. For several minutes we didn't move but just inhaled the cool ocean breeze waiting for our heads to clear. Steve suddenly jumped to his feet.

"My bike!" he yelled. "I've got to find my bike."

I reluctantly got up. "Okay, let's go see if we can find it."

We climbed out of the river bed and up onto the railroad bridge. We looked both ways again for oncoming trains and then walked over to where we had left our bikes.

"Oh no! My bike is wrecked," Steve said.

"You're kidding?" I replied.

Steve pointed to the twisted pieces of metal that just moments earlier had been a beautiful new Schwinn Ten Speed.

"Look at this. Now what are we going to do? My mom's going to kill me."

I walked across the train tracks to where I had left my bike. Unfortunately it was in no better condition than Steve's.

"We're going to have to ditch them," I said.

"What?" Steve replied.

"We'll have to throw them off the bridge and then tell our parents they were stolen."

Steve glared at me in dismay but said nothing.

"Well, do you want to tell your parents what really happened?"

"I guess not."

"Okay then we've got no choice."

I grabbed my bike and threw it into the river. Reluctantly Steve picked up his bike and dropped it gingerly off the side of the bridge and then peered over the railing and watched it sink into oblivion.

"We can't tell our parents our bikes were stolen until tonight," I said.

"Why?"

"Because they'll come get us immediately and we won't be able to go to the Fair."

"You think so?"

"Oh yeah. My mom will freak out when she finds out someone stole my bike. She'll want to call the cops and contact our insurance agent for sure. We definitely have to break the news to them later."

Steve thought a moment and then said,"Okay."

"Come on then, let's go into the restroom and get some towels to dry off."

"But I'm soaked, paper towels won't help."

"Well, they'll have to do. We can't go home and change clothes now it's nearly two o'clock and the fair is about to start."

After we dried ourselves as best we could we headed for the entrance to the Fair Grounds. There was a large crowd gathered around waiting for the gates to open. When two o'clock arrived the Mayor cut a large ceremonial ribbon and the Ventura County Fair was officially opened.

As we always did, we headed first to the midway to ride the giant roller coaster, the hammer and Ferris wheel. Then it was to the arcade to test our skill with a baseball, darts or at the Kentucky Derby. Finally we strolled through the great exhibition hall to see the marvels of modern technology that were always on display. This year what everyone was talking about was the Univac Computer. It was an incredible machine that could manipulate numbers and information so fast it staggered the imagination. The one at the Fair this year was programmed to analyze handwriting and predict the future.

"Let's get our handwriting analyzed," Steve said.

"Okay, how much does it cost?"

"Twenty-five cents."

"All right, lead the way."

Steve muscled his way through the crowd until he stood before the large Univac Computer. A man dressed in a dark suit with glasses was just finishing his explanation to the crowd of the marvels of the machine.

"And this machine will truly revolutionize your life in the very near future!" he concluded.

The man looked down at us, smiled and said, "Hi, boys."

"Hi, we'd like to find out our futures," I said.

"Okay, step right up. Here are two computer cards. Each of you just sign your name on the dotted line and I'll run them through the computer."

He handed us two long cards each about the size of an envelope. There were many holes punched throughout the cards. We both wrote our names carefully and handed the cards back to the man. He put the cards into a machine and began typing on a keyboard. The machine punched additional holes in the cards.

"Okay, here we go," the man said as he placed the two cards on top of a stack of similar cards and deposited them into the computer. The computer began to whine and lights began flashing wildly. After a few moments the large printer attached to the computer came to life and printed out it's analysis. The operator tore off the two printouts and handed them to each of us. Steve began to read his.

‘You are patient, kind and loyal,

"It writes poetry, can you believe it?" I said

"What does yours say?"

"Let me see."

‘Struggling in a hostile world,

"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?" Steve asked.

"I don't know. It sounds like a bunch of garbage to me."

"What I wanted to know was whether or not I was going to be a millionaire," Steve said shaking his head.

I nodded in full agreement. "Yeah, I was hoping to find out if I'd ever own a Corvette."

"What a rip off, huh?"

"Yeah, really," I said as I looked at my watch which fortunately was still ticking. "It's getting late, I guess we better call somebody to get a ride home."

"You can go ahead and call your mom," Steve said.

"No, that's all right. Why don't you call your Dad?"

"Let's flip for it."

"Okay."

I pulled a quarter from my pocket, tossed it in the air and said, "Call it."

"Heads," Steve replied.

The coin fell into my palm and I flipped it over onto my forearm. It was heads.

"Damn," I said. "Okay, let's find a phone booth."

We searched around the exhibition hall until finally we found a bank of phone booths. I took a dime out of my pocket, deposited it into the coin slot and dialed my number.

"We need a ride home, mom."

"What happened to your bikes?"

"They were stolen."

"Stolen! Oh my God. Who would do such a thing."

"I don't know."

"We need to call the police," she said.

I took a deep breath. "Mom, just come and get us, okay?"

"Okay, I'll be right there. Wait for me in front of the main gate."

Mom drove up in our Nash Rambler station wagon. We jumped in the car and were immediately barraged with questions.

"Tell me what happened to your bikes?"

"They were stolen," I replied.

"Well, where did you leave them?"

"In the bike rack in front of the Fair Grounds."

"We'll have to report it to the police tomorrow."

"That won't do any good Mom. They'll never find them."

"You never know. They just might," she said sternly.

"Don't call the police," I pleaded. "It's a waste of time."

"We have to Stan, that's why we have police."

"Mom, come on. . . . Please."

"Stan, that's enough. I don't want to argue about it. . . . Now, how was the fair?"

I fell back into my seat defeated. I said, "It was pretty good until we wasted fifty cents getting our handwriting analyzed by a computer."

"Oh, you mean the Univac Computer. I read about it in the newspaper. What did it have to say?"

I pulled the fortune out of my pocket and began to read it.

‘Struggling in a hostile world,

pursuing your destiny,

you will stand resolute against adversity,

undaunted.’

"Hmm. I guess that means getting what you want in life won't be easy. But no matter how difficult it might be, you're going to keep fighting until you get it."

"How can the computer tell all that just from your handwriting?" I asked.

"I don't know honey, but computers are supposed to be the wave of the future."

The next day mom called the police and reported our bikes stolen. Officer Barnes paid a visit to our house and took our statement. Steve and I stuck by our story that our bikes had been stolen although we were feeling pretty guilty about it.

The next day Steve and I were sitting on our front porch when a black and white police car drove up. It was Officer Barnes.

"Hi boys. I've got good news for you."

"What is it?" I replied.

"We caught the guys who stole your bikes."

"What?" I said.

"We've arrested the guys who stole your bikes," Officer Barnes repeated.

Steve and I looked at each other in sheer horror.

"How do you know they are the right ones?"

"A railroad switch operator out at Hobo Jungle saw them talking to you boys and eying your bikes. He told one of our officers who was out there investigating the theft."

"But you didn't catch them with the bikes did you?"

"No, but that doesn't make any difference. They're just a couple of bums who would steal anything to make a buck. They've probably already sold them."

"What's going to happen to them?" I asked.

"They'll probably get thirty days to six months in jail."

"They'll have to go to jail?"

"Yeah, is your mom home?"

"She's inside."

About that time mom walked out onto the porch wondering who we were talking to.

"Hello, Mrs. Turner. I just came by to tell you we have apprehended the men who stole your son's bike."

"Oh, that's wonderful," She said.

"We'll need Stan and Steve to come to court tomorrow and identify them."

"What?" I said.

"It will just take a few minutes. Nothing to worry about."

"Okay, where should I bring them?" mom asked.

"Just bring them to the municipal court at eleven-thirty."

"Okay," she said. Thank you, Officer Barnes."

Steve and I were sick after Officer Barnes left. We couldn't believe what was happening to us. What were we going to do tomorrow when we faced Sam and Red? That night I couldn't sleep. If I told mom what had really happened she'd never let me go to Hobo Jungle again. Or, worse yet, the judge might put us in jail for lying to the police. Oh my God. What was going to happen to us?

The next day I got up at dawn and ran over to Steve's house. I knocked on his window and woke him up. He opened the window and stuck his head out. I told him to come out so I could talk to him.

"What are we going to do Steve?"

"I don't know. You're the one who said we should ditch the bikes."

"Listen, we've got to keep our stories straight. They'll never convict Sam and Red since no one saw them take the bikes."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Don't worry about it."

At eleven o'clock, Mom picked us up from school and took us to the municipal court. We were scared to death as we walked in a courtroom for the first time in our lives. Sam and Red were sitting at a table directly in front of the judge. The trial was already in progress. The prosecutor was in the process of questioning a tough looking man with black hair and a mustache. When the judge saw us enter he interrupted the prosecutor and said, "All right boys, come on in and sit down." We sat in the front row as directed and watched the prosecutor continue questioning the witness. When he was done he said,"Mr. Turner, will you please take the stand?"

Reluctantly I got up, walked to the witness stand and sat down. My hands were trembling so I tucked them underneath my legs so no one would see how nervous I was.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?" the Judge said.

I stood there staring at Sam and Red in a daze as the Judge spoke.

"Mr. Turner. Will you tell the truth?"

I looked over at the judge. "What? . . . Oh, yes, Sir."

The judge looked at the prosecutor and said, "Okay, you may proceed."

The prosecutor, a tall bald headed man, began asking me questions.

"Mr. Turner, have you ever seen these two men?"

"Yes, Sir. We saw them down at Hobo Jungle on Saturday."

"Did you have your bikes with you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you talk to them?"

"Yes, sir. They were hungry so we gave them our lunch."

"They ate your lunch?"

"Yes, sir."

"What happened next?"

"The train came and they jumped into a boxcar."

"Which direction was the train headed?"

"Toward Santa Barbara."

"Did you see them at any time after you saw them in Hobo Jungle?"

"No."

"Now did you have your bikes with you when you went to Hobo Jungle?"

"Yes, I had my three speed and Steve had a brand new ten speed."

"A Schwinn right?"

"Uh huh."

"Where did you leave your bikes?"

"Ah, . . . well, . . . Ah. Out in front . . . you know, in the bike racks."

"Did you chain them to one of the racks?"

"No, I didn't have a lock with me."

"They were gone when you got back?"

"Yes."

"What time was that?"

"About six."

"That's all for this witness your honor," the prosecutor said.

"You may stand down," the judge said. "Call your next witness."

"The prosecution calls Rodney Pelt."

A bald headed man in his forties took the stand.

"Mr. Pelt, how are you employed?"

"I am on the maintenance crew for the Southern Pacific Railroad."

"Were you working last Saturday?"

"Yes."

"Did you see either of the defendants that day?"

"Yes, I saw them in Hobo Jungle cooking their lunch. Those two youngsters were talking to them. Then, later on in the day I saw them near the fair grounds."

"What were they doing?"

"They were acting rather suspicious."

"How do you mean?"

"They were wandering around like they were searching for something."

"Were they near the bike racks?"

"Yes."

"Did you see them take the bikes?"

"No, but I saw them eyeing them earlier over at Hobo Jungle and they were hanging around the bike racks all afternoon."

"Thank you. No further questions."

"Okay, you may cross examine if you wish," the judge said to Sam.

Sam and Red gave the judge a blank stare. After a minute of silence the judge said, "Okay, the witness may stand down."

The judge looked at Sam and Red and said, "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

Sam stood up and said, "We didn't take nothing judge. We were just looking for food. We always go to the fair cause there is always a lot of good stuff thrown away."

"Do you have any witnesses?" the judge asked.

"No, I reckon not,' Sam said. "We always travel alone."

"Does the prosecution have any questions of the defendants?" the judge asked.

"Yes, Your Honor, I would like to ask Red a few questions."

"Proceed."

"Now Red, you heard Mr. Turner testify earlier, is that right?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you dispute anything he said?"

"No, Sir."

"He and his friend had their bikes with them didn't they?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Now, it's true you took a liking to the new ten speed, didn't you?"

"It was a fine looking bicycle, but I didn't take it."

"Didn't you? You were hanging around the bike racks weren't you?"

"Yes, but we weren't looking to take any bikes. We were just hungry and were hoping to get a handout."

"Isn't it true you had just eaten a nice lunch provided by Mr. Turner and Mr. Reynolds. You couldn't have been that hungry."

"Well. . . . Ah. . . . We were looking for something for supper."

"You took the bikes and sold them, didn't you?"

"No, Sir."

"Come on, do you expect this court to believe you?"

"All right. I've heard enough," the judge said. "Although no one actually saw you two take the bikes I think there is sufficient circumstantial evidence which forces me to find you guilty of this offense. Accordingly, I do find you guilty and sentence you both to ninety days in the county jail."

Sam and Red looked at Steve and me with a cold stare. Suddenly my knees grew weak and I nearly collapsed. The bailiff walked toward Sam and Red and began to escort them out of the courtroom. I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Wait, Your Honor. You can't do this," I said.

"What's that son?" the judge said.

"Sam and Red didn't do anything."

"What do you mean?"

I glanced over at Mom and then back at Sam and Red.

"Our bikes weren't stolen. The train ran over them and we didn't want to get in trouble so we, . . . I made up the story about the bikes being stolen."

"Oh my God!" Mom exclaimed.

The judge peered down at me from the bench and said, "Son it's a very serious offense to make a false report to the police and lie under oath. You're in big trouble, young man."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

The Judge stared silently at me for a moment and then said, "Release the prisoners. Does the prosecution wish to bring charges against Mr. Turner and Mr. Reynolds?"

"Well, Your Honor, perjury is a class A misdemeanor punishable by a $2,000 fine and one year in jail . . . but, in view of their age and the circumstances, no, Your Honor."

All right Mr. Turner, I am very disappointed in you and your friend's behavior but I am greatly relieved that you couldn't let innocent men go to jail. Therefore, I am going to overlook this incident this time but I don't ever want to hear about you and your friend ever lying again."

"Yes Sir," I said

"We won't" Steve said.

Steve and I were greatly relieved after the judge let us go. Mom wouldn't let us near Hobo Jungle any more but it didn't make any difference since Steve refused to cross the railroad bridge anyway. Our parents wouldn't replace our bikes so Steve and I had to sell walnuts and mistletoe at Christmas to earn enough money for new ones. We didn't mind, however, we were just glad this whole mess was over.

Over the next few weeks I thought a lot about my encounter with the criminal justice system and started thinking about becoming a lawyer. It seemed like judges and lawyers had lots of power and that appealed to me. I asked by Mom and Dad about it and they told me all they knew, but suggested I talk to Pamela Brown, one of my schoolmate's mom. I had never realized that Mrs. Brown was a lawyer, she was just Tommy's Mom to me. Anyway the next time I saw her I barraged her with questions.

"Mrs. Brown, what do lawyers do exactly?"

"Well they try to help people in trouble."

"You mean like get people out of jail?"

"Well there are a lot of other ways people get in trouble."

"Like what?"

"Family disputes, financial problems, business problems and lots of others."

"What do you do?"

"I do family law."

"Do you like being a lawyer?"

"Yes. I like to help people solve their problems."

"Do lawyers make a lot of money?"

"Most of them do pretty well."

"Is it hard to become a lawyer?"

"Yes, you've got to graduate from college and then go three more years to law school if you can get accepted."

"Huh. I always thought I wanted to be a forest ranger until I found out they didn't make much money. Now I'm not so sure. I don't want to be poor like my parents."

"Money isn't everything."

"Well whether you're a forest ranger or a lawyer you've got to work hard, right?"

"Yes, that's true."

"Well then if you've got to work your butt off anyway why not get paid well for it. Yeah, I think I want to be a lawyer."