I do not remember my very first act denoting criminal tendencies. The act which first brought me into the clutches of the law must have been the culmination of a passion nurtured by similar acts, but on a much smaller scale. A weakening of the will power, perhaps, by the pool-room environment of twelve months or so, was back of it all. Preceding the act which brought about my arrest I know I committed many other acts of petty thievery. Like yesterday that arrest comes back to me. Imagine a department store at the holiday season; throngs of shoppers crowded here and there; sales-people busy with fussy customers; floor-walkers watching for crooks. There by the jewelry counter two boys in their teens stand watching and waiting, a small hand reaches out to a case of rings, nervous fingers lift a “sparkle” from its velvet bed, two boys turn from the counter and follow the crowd into the street outside.

Many an anxious hour followed the commission of that first big act. A thousand times I wished that ring back in the store. I saw a detective in every face, a prison in every dream. Back to the pool room we went with our prize. It was soon disposed of. At the price for which we sold it we could have sold a million.

One night, about a week after this event in my life, I was called to the door of my house. I found a stranger who asked if I were a certain party. I answered in the affirmative. Straightway he proceeded to tell me that I was under arrest. Of course this was what I had all along been expecting, and so it wasn’t very surprising. It was the culmination of my fears, and I was sort of dead to any emotion. This detective was good to me. He was a great big fellow with a pretty good heart.

Next morning at the station house the firm was inclined to treat me leniently. The ring had been recovered, and on the promise of my father to look after me, and on my own promise to behave in the future, the judge dismissed the case.

I soon found the old environment calling me in tones which I could not resist. I slipped back again to the old pals and companionships. The ice was broken. I found each succeeding act against the law much easier of commission, until the habit became formed. Crime to the professional thief is nothing more or less than habit. That is why the reforming of such is so difficult. I lost all sight of the morals. The right or wrong of an act never enters into the mind of a criminal. His senses in this respect have become atrophied. Each act is a business proposition, considered from a business standpoint, and measured only by dollars and cents, and the opportunity for a clean “getaway.”

I did not confine myself to shoplifting. I soon graduated from this class into something bigger. I remembered the teachings of school days, the copybooks wherein were facsimiles of checks, promissory notes, etc. I soon put this learning into criminal practice.

Suggestion, while perhaps not a direct contributory cause of crime, is nevertheless so intricately interwoven with the big causative agencies that it is mighty difficult to say what part it does play in the formation of the criminal. That it plays a big part there is no gainsaying. A mind lacking will power is like a sheep—ever willing to follow a leader. If that mind possesses criminal tendencies, a method of crime is easily suggested by simply reading of other crimes. I know not whether it is pertinent to the query or not, but one of the big facts about the men in the underworld is that nearly all are inveterate readers of the daily press.

Whatever part suggestion may have played in the lives of other men in the underworld, it was a potent factor in one of the crimes of my early career. The proprietor of the pool room which we made our rendezvous had a relative who suddenly died. Wishing to show his affection for the departed, he sent me to purchase a floral piece. Being short of change, he wrote a check for ten dollars and bade me give it in exchange for the wreath. From this incident in the life of legitimate business was suggested an illegitimate use of the same idea. Why could I not do the same thing? I reasoned. The more I thought of it, the more certain I became of its feasibility. I tried it out and it succeeded beyond all expectations. This success hastened me on to the inevitable day of disaster. All crooks are possessed of a little more than their due share of vanity; my success in the new line puffed up my pride considerably. I was only a kid, I reasoned, doing a man’s work in the underworld. Of course there was no big money involved, but the money there was looked awfully big to me.