I was a suburban jd (juvenile delinquent). The guys I ran with and I did a lot of stupid, rotten stuff, but nothing that involved fighting or any weapons. We tore up gardens late at night, pooped in drop-off mailboxes, moved ladies underwear from clotheslines to high in trees (front yard only), broke a few windows and other anti-social stuff.
Our specialty was demolition - started with rockets and mortars (no warheads) and graduated to pipe bombs. We lived close to a wooded area of probably 75-100 acres, so we generally didn't think we were putting anyone other than ourselves in danger. A few explosive stories come to mind:
- A bald-faced hornet nest that was attached to a dead tree got aggressive and stung several of us (there were six in the main group), so we decided to blow those fuckers up. We placed a light load under it, lit the cannon fuse and took off. We failed to take into account that the tree was dead and the resulting explosion smoldered and eventually set the tree on fire. Thankfully some unknown neighbor called the authorities and the fire was extinguished before it burned a few acres of woodland down.
- There was park nearby which had steps down a slope made from old railroad ties, Yellow jackets nested in one of the ties and terrorized little kids in the summer. In a brief moment of sympathy (yeah, right), we decide to blow those fuckers up. Regrettably, the charge was a bit too powerful and it took a couple of weeks for the town maintenance guys to re-build the steps.
- We had played softball in a rather narrow field when we were younger. It's hard to describe, but there was a premium on hitting the ball up the middle. Pull the ball and it might end up in a road. Shank it and it got wet. We called it the bowling alley. It was what we had to play on, so it was ours. For some reason the town decided to give the field a name and erected a damn nice wooden sign, mounted on a 6x6 post right on where the pitcher's mound was. Although we hadn't played ball there for a few years, we still considered it our turf, so we absolutely had to blow that fucker up. It took considerable planning to figure out how to take it down without endangering anyone. I wasn't involved in the placement or detonation of that charge and am not certain it was my guys who did the deed as there were a couple of other groups of guys interested in taking the sign out, but I got shared credit for it in the eyes of the other area jd's That one got some real attention and we subsequently cut that shit out.
It was a different time. You could easily purchase the ingredients to make black powder and even contact gunpowder. Anyone who did that crap today would be tagged as a domestic terrorist. As it turned out, nobody was ever injured and we were just considered little shits. Hell, most of the neighborhood adults had to suspect who was responsible for most of it. Five us were very successful in life. The sixth boy died in a motorcycle accident in our junior year of high school, a couple of months after the sign bit the dust. I have to think that helped turn the rest of our lives around.
Our specialty was demolition - started with rockets and mortars (no warheads) and graduated to pipe bombs. We lived close to a wooded area of probably 75-100 acres, so we generally didn't think we were putting anyone other than ourselves in danger. A few explosive stories come to mind:
- A bald-faced hornet nest that was attached to a dead tree got aggressive and stung several of us (there were six in the main group), so we decided to blow those fuckers up. We placed a light load under it, lit the cannon fuse and took off. We failed to take into account that the tree was dead and the resulting explosion smoldered and eventually set the tree on fire. Thankfully some unknown neighbor called the authorities and the fire was extinguished before it burned a few acres of woodland down.
- There was park nearby which had steps down a slope made from old railroad ties, Yellow jackets nested in one of the ties and terrorized little kids in the summer. In a brief moment of sympathy (yeah, right), we decide to blow those fuckers up. Regrettably, the charge was a bit too powerful and it took a couple of weeks for the town maintenance guys to re-build the steps.
- We had played softball in a rather narrow field when we were younger. It's hard to describe, but there was a premium on hitting the ball up the middle. Pull the ball and it might end up in a road. Shank it and it got wet. We called it the bowling alley. It was what we had to play on, so it was ours. For some reason the town decided to give the field a name and erected a damn nice wooden sign, mounted on a 6x6 post right on where the pitcher's mound was. Although we hadn't played ball there for a few years, we still considered it our turf, so we absolutely had to blow that fucker up. It took considerable planning to figure out how to take it down without endangering anyone. I wasn't involved in the placement or detonation of that charge and am not certain it was my guys who did the deed as there were a couple of other groups of guys interested in taking the sign out, but I got shared credit for it in the eyes of the other area jd's That one got some real attention and we subsequently cut that shit out.
It was a different time. You could easily purchase the ingredients to make black powder and even contact gunpowder. Anyone who did that crap today would be tagged as a domestic terrorist. As it turned out, nobody was ever injured and we were just considered little shits. Hell, most of the neighborhood adults had to suspect who was responsible for most of it. Five us were very successful in life. The sixth boy died in a motorcycle accident in our junior year of high school, a couple of months after the sign bit the dust. I have to think that helped turn the rest of our lives around.
