John B. Chisum
It is amazing how when you are young and bulletproof, long term consequences for your actions have little meaning. In 1992 I was a sophomore at LSU. My main concern at the time was not poli-sci or whatever major de jour I was pursuing. If women and bars were legitimate curriculum choices, I would have had a double major.
I sat in a dive bar not far from the gates of my beloved LSU—Curly Hallman’s 2-9 football season be damned. In a corner next to the jukebox stood a stack of Tiger Rag newspapers. My friend and I were day drinking on a budget. With not much happening in the middle of the day we started browsing through the newspapers out of boredom. On the last page, there was a coupon for one free drink at the Ramada Inn on Nicholson. Our keenly astute scholarly minds quickly picked up on the fact that the coupon did not say one free drink per person but one free drink per coupon.
My buddy and I acquired a pair of scissors from the bartender and got to work. We walked out with 31 drink coupons and headed directly to the Rama Dama. Without cell phones and the fact most responsible people were either at work or in class, we weren’t able to get ahold of anyone else to share in our new found wealth.
Three hours and a bunch of bourbon and cokes later, it was time to make our way home. To this day we don’t know whose idea it was. For some reason we thought the couch in the lobby of the Ramada Inn would look perfect in our apartment. In a haze of booze-fueled passion for interior design we mustered the strength and coordination to make it to my buddy’s truck and set the couch in the back. Before we even got the truck in gear, the parking lot turned into the final scenes of The Blues Brothers. It had to be change of shift, because we had at least a dozen squad cars converge on us with lights, sirens, and loud commands barked over patrol car PAs.
Otto von Bismarck once said: “God has a special providence for fools, drunkards, and the United States of America.” Thank God my friend and I didn’t have one of those “hold my beer” moments and start swinging or try to flee in a blaze of glory. The result of such actions would have been assuredly catastrophic.
After making bail, we went back and spoke with the manager the next day. We apologized profusely and admitted our stupidity. He let us work for him for a week with no pay in exchange for dropping the charges, which were initially felony theft. Neither of us had any type of criminal record so we weren’t looking at prison time, but I am grateful to this day to that man for giving us the opportunity to make amends without going through the justice system. Charges like that on a person’s record are generally frowned upon by most employers.
End of story right? Fast forward 31 years. I served in the Marine Corps and received an honorable discharge. I have taught school in 4 different parishes over the past 25 years. I have been issued a concealed weapons permit twice. I have a UPIN from the FBI to purchase firearms. After all of these background checks and fingerprints, the FBI flags me on my third renewal of my FFL. Amazingly, the DA and Clerk of Court in Baton Rouge both have a record of the charges being dropped. They just needed $50 to wet their beak a little to give me a copy. The ATF got their required proof and renewed my FFL.
I have been teaching young people for a quarter of a century now. One lesson I try to impart to them is that in our modern computer age, your actions will follow you. Try not to record and certainly don’t broadcast potentially dumb actions. Learning from your screw ups is an important part of maturing—the specifics of expungement isn’t a bad lesson to learn either. My actions followed me from a time when cell phones came in a bag and there was no social media. I don’t think young men are going to stop being reckless and making mistakes anytime soon. At least I hope not.
