Another blog for readers who like these kinds of stories.
My high school partner for trouble and I might fairly have been called small town punks. We would never steal anything for personal gain. We weren’t bullies, nor would we associate with bullies. We would go out of our way to pay back perceived slights. General troublemaking was also within our skill set.
The local railroad station master became one of our targets. He had suffered some vandalism and accused my partner and I of the deed to both the authorities, and our parents. For proof he offered, “It is something they would do”. The vandalism occurred on a Friday night. My partner and I were on the wrestling team and participating in a match some forty miles away.
We were grievously insulted, mainly that we would be accused of such trifling vandalism. Our standards were much higher. Egging someone’s house! That was junior high level. We were high school seniors.
He drove a very nice newer Buick which he parked, nose in, at the train station. The back pointed towards a wide road with a large snow bank on the other side. One night we arrived with a hydraulic floor jack and a supply of wood shims. Carefully lifting each wheel, we shimmed each side of the axle up just enough for the tires to be off the ground.
Mr. Stationmaster got off work. After starting the Buick, and letting it warm up, he put it in reverse. It didn’t move. Possible frustrated, he revved up the engine in neutral then shifted into reverse. . One studded snow tire got traction, and he flew across the road burying the Buick in the snow bank. Of course, we were parked where we could see the action without being noticed. Of course, we drove off without offering to help.
This guy had enough people in town who didn’t like him that he was unable to accuse anyone. The town chief of police did pull us over a couple of nights later. He asked us about the incident, did we know anything about it, or had heard any talk. Response? “Huh!” Then he moved on to the subject of cherry bombs.