MY MEMORY OF THE CURRY COUNTY JAIL

Vernoy Willis, CHS  '50

MY MEMORY OF THE CURRY COUNTY JAIL
by Vernoy Willis

When I reflect back on growing up in Clovis, I recall the day when

our sheriff took me to the county jail.  It wouldn't have happened

if my family hadn't sold fireworks at our country store, located at

N. Commerce and Prince street.  A 12-year-old boy and fireworks

are a lethal combination.

We were regular members at First Baptist Church, and one Sunday

Temptation got the best of me.  As the church members milled

around outside after services, I sneaked up to third floor and

dropped a lit firecracker into the crowd.  The loud blast may have

scared more h___ out of the people than the pastor's sermon.

The incident was not mentioned as we drove home from church.

Nothing was said during lunch, nor the rest of the day.  I never

heard a word on Monday, and I rode home on the school bus

quite proud of myself.  Obviously I had committed the perfect crime.

As I jumped off the bus, I saw the sheriff's car parked in front of

the store.  He was waiting for me inside.  "Young man," he said,

"We need to take a ride downtown."

We drove silently to Seventh and Main, with me shaking beside him

in the front seat.  He led me into that menacing building and up the

stairs to the top floor.  He walked me down the hall past all the steel

bars, stopping by an empty cell.  "Oh, no," I thought "Is this where

he plans to put me?"

He motioned me to follow him to his office, where he gave me a stern

lecture.  He leaned over and looked me straight in the eye. "I was at

church yesterday," he said.

Finally, we drove back to the store, and I still wonder why I was the

chief suspect.  At least, I proved that us kids at Eugene Fields School

were tougher than nails.

FOR MIL'S PLACE
By Vernoy Willis, guest writer
CHS '50