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moose eater
Well-known member
It was, until I got into enough repeated busts that leaving town at age 16 for the UP to find an old hermit I'd read about in the paper, 'Michigan Slim', aka Max Hackel, who was then 86 years old in 1975-1976, and living in an old homestead cabin out in the Yellow Dog Plains up north, became a survival necessity.
I had beat the local PD in court numerous times, but it was the classic progression of winning many battles only to lose the war. And they were lying in half-truths when we would meet in court, to the extent that I knew it was bail or jail. They were going to continue until I lost in more serious ways.
I went back and visited a sort of mentor/big brother in that town, informally, a local cop, when I was back down from Alaska and visiting people in Toronto December 1981/January 1982, then over to Lower Michigan to score some lbs. of weed and hash, and I stopped in on 'George', who was in bed due to working night shift. A decent cop who'd never intended to stay a cop, rather intending to only be a cop long enough to become an attorney; a transition that never happened for him, but he was a good man.
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I told him that trip, as I sat next to his bed, with him still waking up after his wife let me into the bedroom to speak briefly before I continued onward in my trek, that I had never been popped again after leaving Lower Michigan. Not that there weren't many close calls. But the proverbial stick'em label that had been so prominently displayed on my forehead back then where the local PD was concerned, reading "Shake me down and bust me" was rarely as present or problematic after I left there.
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moose eater
Well-known member
