Post by wildfire on Feb 22, 2005 16:08:17 GMT -5
It was in many ways a very ordinary crime for the city of Chicago . . . and at that, a non-violent one.
In one sense, the robbery that occurred during the night of Friday, June 18, 1976, was the most ironic you're likely to hear about for a while.
Sixty-one-year-old Clay had driven all the way from California in his Dodge van. He was here on business, he told police later, and very tired when he checked into the Hyatt House.
The van was parked in a lot outside his room . . . under a light, in fact . . . and Clay could see it from his window.
But he was asleep that night . . . when the robbery took place.
The next morning, Clay got up, got dressed, and walked out to the parking lot to discover that his van had been ransacked.
There were a tape recorder, a pair of binoculars, an outboard motor, and brand-new fishing gear . . . even a cache of ammunition. But all that was left behind, unharmed. All they'd stolen . . . was his gun.
When the investigating officer raised an eyebrow, Clay explained that it was an antique . . . an 1866 Remington revolver. And its possession was all right because he, Clay, was a lawman himself.
How strange that this particular lawman would one day meet his match in Chicago, outwitted by a petty crook!
"I'll remember to hook up my alarm system next time he said.
And who might have guessed that this symbol of justice was to sleep through the only real crime he ever knew . . . and that someone else would have to avenge it for him?
'There will be retribution!" he assured everyone, with a barely perceptible smile.
And somebody was heard to say, as he mounted the Dodge van and drove on his way, “Who was that masked man?"
Why, he's Clayton Moore . . . The Lone Ranger.
In one sense, the robbery that occurred during the night of Friday, June 18, 1976, was the most ironic you're likely to hear about for a while.
Sixty-one-year-old Clay had driven all the way from California in his Dodge van. He was here on business, he told police later, and very tired when he checked into the Hyatt House.
The van was parked in a lot outside his room . . . under a light, in fact . . . and Clay could see it from his window.
But he was asleep that night . . . when the robbery took place.
The next morning, Clay got up, got dressed, and walked out to the parking lot to discover that his van had been ransacked.
There were a tape recorder, a pair of binoculars, an outboard motor, and brand-new fishing gear . . . even a cache of ammunition. But all that was left behind, unharmed. All they'd stolen . . . was his gun.
When the investigating officer raised an eyebrow, Clay explained that it was an antique . . . an 1866 Remington revolver. And its possession was all right because he, Clay, was a lawman himself.
How strange that this particular lawman would one day meet his match in Chicago, outwitted by a petty crook!
"I'll remember to hook up my alarm system next time he said.
And who might have guessed that this symbol of justice was to sleep through the only real crime he ever knew . . . and that someone else would have to avenge it for him?
'There will be retribution!" he assured everyone, with a barely perceptible smile.
And somebody was heard to say, as he mounted the Dodge van and drove on his way, “Who was that masked man?"
Why, he's Clayton Moore . . . The Lone Ranger.