Stolen Playboys

Living in a Body

Stolen Playboys

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Stolen Playboys

Episode 31 -- The Adventures of a Minister's Son

Hal Walker

Sep 10, 2022

Hi. I’m Hal. Welcome to “Living in a Body.” I’m so grateful for this outlet to express myself and I’m so glad for your caring attention. I recommend clicking the LISTEN NOW button above. (9 min listen) Please feel free to share.

Stolen Playboys

I knew exactly where the Playboys were. I knew right where he kept ‘em. They were in the left hand closet of the master bedroom on the upper floor of the Peterson’s split level house. There was a tall stack of ‘em just sittin' there waiting for me. My plan was to sneak in the house, run up the stairs, grab the magazines and be back out to the garage before anyone noticed. The plan seemed fail proof. Unfortunately though, it failed.

I was the Peterson's favorite babysitter. I lived just seconds from their back door and I only charged about two bucks an hour for my services. For a ten dollar bill, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson could go out for a night on the town. Thirteen years old and full of ingenuity, I was a great babysitter for their three kids. It's been over 40 years now and the memories are distant, but my time spent there on Norwood Street with Micheal, Lee and Elizabeth is carved into the folklore of my adolescent life.

It was the late 70's and I couldn't have asked for a better gig. The Peterson's had a big TV, great snacks in the kitchen, a modern split level house and a big stack of Playboys in the dad's closet. Don't ask me how I discovered those magazines cause I don't remember. But it probably had something to do with me snoopin' around looking for trouble after the kids went to bed.

To get to their back door, I'd run out the front door of my house, cross over Beech Drive, sprint through the side yard of Marylou White's house and then jump over the split rail fence into the Peterson's backyard. From my door, I could be at their door in less than 45 seconds.

In that dense wooded yard stood the tallest, coolest tree house in all of Kent. Hovering way up high on stilts, it was surrounded by huge beech trees. It was the kind of well built structure that every kid in Ohio dreams of having in their backyard. While the parents were away, the kids and I would climb up the ladder and we'd spend long summer evenings procrastinating bedtime. From the carved out windows of the tree house, you had a good view of the split level. You could see through a big picture window into a modern 1979 living room with a fireplace. Coming from my life in a two story ranch, I remember how cool that split level was -- with the two short sets of stairs leading either down to the living room or up to the bedrooms and the bathroom.

The Peterson’s Split Level on Norwood Street

When the Peterson's went on a two week vacation, they left me in charge of mowing the lawn. The agreement was that the retired next door neighbor would open the garage door so that I could get access to the lawn mower. With this information in mind, my son-of-a-minister adolescent brain came up with an elaborate plan. As I write this today, piecing together the memories from forty years ago, I'm fairly certain that I pre-meditated the whole thing.

On the first mowing, once I had access to the garage, I would check to see if the door into the house was unlocked. I knew it would be, cause it always was. I'd sneak into the house, grab a few Playboys and be out before the neighbor got back to check on me. On the second mowing, I'd simply do it all in reverse. I'd put those magazines right back into the stack and no one would ever notice that they'd been gone. What could possibly go wrong?

The mowing day arrived and I left my house with the anticipation of a 13 year old boy about to have possession of some Playboy magazines. The neighbor was glad to open the garage door for me. When he left me alone with the lawnmower, it was time for my scheme to unfold. As expected, the door into the house was unlocked. With my heart in my throat, I turned the knob and I entered the Peterson's familiar basement. Alone in the split level, I ran up the first set of stairs, past the kitchen and up the second set of stairs. Then I turned right into the master bedroom and I opened the door to Mr. Peterson's closet. And there they were in all their glory -- a whole stack o' Playboys. I swear there must've been at least 100 of 'em just sittin' there waitin' for me. I stuffed a few of those magazines into my pants and I started heading toward the exit.

When I came out the door into the garage, I was greeted by a very unwelcome surprise. In all his terrifying glory, the neighbor was standing there wondering what I'd been doing in the Peterson's house. I don't remember what kind of excuse I made, but I do remember that man stickin' around until I finished mowing the lawn. With those Playboys stuffed down my pants and that neighbor watching my every move, I was a very uncomfortable young man, to say the least.

Eventually, I got the lawn mowed and I made it home. I put the Playboys safely under my mattress. It's been a long time since I've kept any contraband under my mattress, but that's definitely where the magazines went -- my special secret place where my parents would never look. By the way, if you happen to be a parent of a teenage boy and you're wanting to find out if they have any X-rated magazines in their possession, don’t check under the mattress. I guarantee that's where they'll be.

As planned, a week later, I returned for the second mowing. With the Playboys hidden down my pants, I got the neighbor to let me back into the garage. But this time, when he left me alone and I went to turn the knob, the door into the house was locked! At that moment, my world came crashing down. It suddenly became very clear that the neighbor's suspicion had destroyed my plan. He was making sure that I wasn't gonna get into that house to do whatever mischief I'd gotten into the week before. What would I do now?! Here I had these stolen Playboys in my pants and no way to return them to the rightful adult owner. This was a disaster.

Once again, my son-of-a-minister adolescent brain went into action. I came up with a new plan to resolve the dreadful situation. I would wrap those magazines in some newspaper and stash them up on a high shelf in the garage. Then I'd go home to write an honest note explaining the whole thing with an apology to Mr. and Mrs Peterson. I’d put that note in an envelope and then return to the place of the crime to deliver it into the mailbox -- hoping and praying never to see the Petersons again. So that's exactly what I did.

Months went by and I never heard from Mr. and Mrs. Peterson. I can't know what they were thinking, but I imagine they were pretty embarrassed when they learned that Rev. Harold Walker's son knew about the tall stack of Playboys in their closet. Looking back now, it seems like a normal enough human kind of situation, but at the time, it was a shameful secret that I couldn't share with anybody.

I did babysit for the Peterson's one more time. When they got home late from the night out, they were well lubricated and acted particularly friendly toward me. We didn't talk about the Playboy magazines, but the sense they gave me was that we were gonna put that little secret behind us. The elephant in the room would never be mentioned. Our unspoken shame would live forever in the closet -- kind of like those Playboys.

That’s Episode 31 for you. True story. Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate you. Have a great Saturday. ❤️ Hal