By:  Brad Cox

One night, many moons ago a sober, sober mind you, Derek Thomso and I decide it would be a grand idea to drive around town and steal all the “Gwenn Montgomery-Teacher for Senate” signs.  Now I’m not saying it wasn’t a good idea, but I’m also not saying it was a bad idea either, you be the judge.

My memories leave me some 10 years ago on a crisp Fall night about 20 minutes from our States Capital, on the mean streets of Pawnee, or the ‘Nee” as I’ve heard it told.  After countless hours of cruising the ‘strip’, only to be rivaled by Matt Glenn, a young adolescent teen and his friends are bound to get board.  How does one cure this boredom?  Depends, sometimes its country cruising and drinking beer, the ever popular underage drinking party, or in the very rare case, stealing campaign signs.  Luckily, for the sake of this story, that night we chose the latter.  After hours of driving around in my RAM D-50 and discussing our pure hatred for ‘Mound Montgomery’, Derek and I decided it was a good idea to drive around town and pluck those stupid apple shaped yard signs out of peoples yards one by one.  Fueled by the nonsensical lyrics of Insane Clown Posse we started down our strategically planned route to comb the town and rid it of the convoluted narcissistic ideals that were, Gwen Montgomery.  We started down the outer most Western confines of P-Town, 13th street.  From there, we would work our way to Pawnees Eastern most sea-board, at 104 and Ferrall Gas.  As we stealthily weaved our way down the presidential streets of Pawnees inner workings we were on a natural high that even Tyler Smith could not imagine (get it, high?).  As my truck bed filled with those 3ft high apple shaped propaganda sticks, I could feel myself wanting, needing, desiring more. As we quickly did a clean sweep of the South side we made a run for it.  As we crossed the tracks I could feel our resolve to bring down that evil bitch getting stronger and stronger.  As we barreled down 4th street heading North, North to only our destiny, we saw something that we could never dream in a million years.  In the yard of that graphic arts demon parents’ house, stood a glorious sight.  We had spotted the Mecca of all signs, a 4×8 plywood sign painted up for all the world to see; her first mistake.. No, no, correction…Second mistake.  As our eyes met like to star crossed lovers for the first time, we both knew what we had to do.  As I came to an immediate halt in the middle of the road, across from where Jennifer Schnapp used to live, we exited the vehicle and moved only with the shadows.  We were the foot-clan reborn (ninja turtles), that night we truly became ‘the night’.  As Derek entered the yard with a sweet, ninja like cart-wheel, I entered from the side with a serious of the most graceful round-off’s you have ever seen; the situation demanded a cool entrance.  Within a matter of seconds we had ripped the sign from the life giving earth that had held it firm for oh so many weeks, tossed it in the bed of my truck and were off into the night, now with more purpose than ever we had a new mission.  As we began scouring the North side of the ‘Nee’ our drive became overpowered with the ever looming thoughts of something bigger and better.  We soon began remembering where there were more of these plywood gifts from God.  The remembrances flowed from our memory banks like the instinctive red-breasted robin to a Florida winter, we knew where to go.  The one in the Ferrall Gas parking lot, the one out by the concrete plant, the one just off the interstate exit and the one posted up the back North entrance into town.  It was almost
to easy, almost to suspicious.  Why would they make these such easy targets?  You might ask, who would take them; I ask, why are they so easy to get to?  After a few minor setbacks of needing wire cutters to free the signs from their iron support posts and a cover, so no one would see them stock piled in the bed of my truck, we had finally achieved what we had set out to do.  Now that we had them what were we to do?  Only the obvious, get some pictures then throw them off a bridge right?  As the five 4×8ft signs stuck out of the bed of my truck only to be covered by a old blanket, we swung by a picked up Trevor and headed for my house.  As we arrived we quickly began to arrange the signs in a way that would best promote our glorious capture.  As we lined the small yard signs around the upright plywood ones I went inside to get my sister.  After about 10minuets of her yelling at me for waking her up she agreed to come outside with the camera.  As she snapped photo after photo we were on such a high that we could not fathom what was to come.  Almost immediately after the mock photo shoot the signs were loaded back up and we were off to find a proper place to appreciate them for days to come, why not at the bottom of bridge.  We headed back into town with a quick stop off by the bridge just off 4th street.  As we launched each sign into the sky and over the railing of the bridge I felt a sense of achievement, pride and possibly wanderlust for what we had accomplished that magnificent Fall eve.  As the signs fell in an almost slow motion manner to their muddy grave in the bottom of Horse Creek I was on such a rush that I forgot one minor detail, one that would lead to the demise of our great plan.  As we went back to my house for the night and went to sleep our thoughts never turned to guilt, or being caught or even why we did it, we just knew we did it and would do it again in a heartbeat if necessary.  As the hours past in the dark night the sun was soon come up over the horizon and wake us for another day, another adventure.  As we awoke I drove Trevor back to his truck and Derek, almost back to his house, almost.  A quick stop off at the ‘lot’ led to a run in with the fingerless glove wearing Dave Bentley whom had recently received a report of missing signs and had recalled myself and a one Mr. Thomso driving around with something in the bed of the truck for a good portion of the night.  He asked, I denied and the game was on.  I was directed to go to the cop shop and have a little chat with Mr. Bentley.  As we arrived we were almost certain we would not be caught, I mean how could he prove it?  After about only 20 seconds at the cop shop I quickly discovered how he would catch us red handed.  Almost as soon as he walked to the bed of my truck he spotted a almost foot long splinter of painted plywood, painted the same color as those damn missing signs, “weird” I said, still clinging to my innocence.  “Weird”, until he had told me they knew where the signs were and Derek and I were to retrieve them and see if the splinter piece matched up with one of the signs.  After a few hours of us slopping around in the mud and getting all the signs back, sure enough the piece fit perfectly.  Dam you Dave Bentley, how could a person who wears fingerless gloves foil me?  I’ll be god damned but he sure did, Dave Bentley 1, Brad 0.  So, long story short, unless you are wanting to do a lot of community service and pay for new campaign signs to be remade, definitely do not steal signs.  If you are wanting a visual experience of this little adventure, contact David Meacham and ask to see the pictures, a good time was had by all…