Back Row: John Pelikan, Steve Ytterberg, Dave Connell; 

Front Row: Thruston Awalt, John Mansfield, Roger Klock, Jim Kendrick, Stu Tiekert, Gary Decker, Tom Weed, Paul Spivey, Richard Smith; 

Missing from photo: Paul Flandreau, Robbie Shipman

This classic caper by the DHS Class of ’68 was finally revealed by Steve Ytterberg and Jim Kendrick on September 15, 2018 at our 50th reunion.  This is the written compilation of the gang’s memory by Jim Kendrick, pictures courtesy of John Mansfield.

Background

We were impressionable and energetic teenagers. The Cold War era inspired countless espionage, spy, sleuth, and adventure movies and television. All the original James Bond films, I Spy, Man from Uncle, Get Smart, Where Eagles Dare, The Thomas Crown Affair, The Ipcress File, Ice Station Zebra, Our Man Flint, Arabesque, and so on. 

Thruston Awalt: Senior year, one of our teachers thought it would be neat to have a film festival, with films created by, produced by, and starring Darien High School students. Originally our idea was to produce a short silent film of someone driving a VW down the halls inside DHS. Of course it must feature a pretty girl, and we wouldn’t disappoint—our 'eye candy' driver was to be Carol Waszkowski in a short dress and go-go boots. 

But first we needed a reconnaissance mission to study viability. The old DHS main building was one-story, and configured in a cross shape. It was roughly oriented to the four cardinal compass points. Its intersection was notorious for traffic jams and mayhem between classes. 

So one night some of us broke into the high school to case the joint, dropping in through a skylight. We discovered the center post of the double entrance doors couldn’t be removed to allow our car to pass through. This was immediately frustrating. (By the way, the film festival ultimately never came off, so our film couldn’t have been appreciated anyhow.) 

Anyhow, to vent a little, we left a “calling card”: a “tank barricade” in the intersection, assembled from cafeteria tables, floor to ceiling, and filling the entire space. All 14 of us, incidentally now actual seniors, thought it was pretty funny. 

Thruston Awalt remembers: “Next morning I arrived earlier than usual, and found all but one or two tables gone. Head janitor, Mr. Capocchi's (sp?) assistants were hustling them back into the cafeteria as quickly as possible. Rich Smith, upon seeing me in the hall blushed bright red, and said, ‘Capocchi was up by the office this morning watching everybody come in, and he just glared at me as I walked by... I'm sure he thinks I did it.’ ...I wonder what Mr. Capocchi would have done with a VW parked in the intersection?”

So, the intersection wouldn’t work. We went back to the drawing board. 

The Crime

Who’s idea was this, anyway? A Volkswagen Bug on the school roof? Teenage boys with time on their hands...

John Mansfield recalls that for $24 John Pelikan bought an old VW Bug from fellow classmate, Chris Smith. Both engine and transmission had been removed. It was parked in his driveway on a (boat?) trailer. Perfect. 

A number of our group were disciples of physics teacher, Eddie Yokstas. They calculated the car weight, minus motor and transmission, to be not-so-heavy. John Mansfield’s mechanical drawing teacher, Mr Pepe, confirmed the roof should hold the weight. John asked about it in conjunction with his independent study architecture project that involved an addition to the high school. So stress tolerances for the high school roof? “No problem,” as Eddie would say. 

The lowest roof height was behind the school on the west wing, which held the cafeteria and admin offices. I’d guess it was only about 10 feet.   Somehow we fashioned a wood ramp. John Mansfield borrowed a Griphoist® from someone he worked for in a posh section of Tokeneke or Delafield Island. It could pull really heavy stuff.

On Mothers’ Day—May 12, 1968—fourteen boys—all in the top quarter of the class, mind you—met at John Pelikan’s on Ring’s End Road. By the way, Pelikan was our official photographer, who documented this event with outstanding pictures. It was Sunday, and a bit rainy, as Roger Klock remembers. We attended no church events that night. We had obtained a number of walkie talkies for our security squad, which included Paul Spivey.

We drove the trailer and Bug north, up secondary roads to the high school. The “coast was clear,” according to our lookouts. We rolled the trailer to the hoist location and unloaded the VW. Someone was already on the roof, securing the Griphoist® in place. How did we get the ramps there?

We raised the ramps into position, extended the cable, hooked it to the VW, and with others guiding it up the ramps, as Tom Weed winched it up to about a 45 degree position. The taller guys (Pelikan, Mansfield, Smith and Tiekert) picked up the end of the ramps once the car was on them so the car could be winched and rolled off easily onto the roof. We rolled it south across the roof into place over the most prominent school entrance—(the C? wing). We raised it up on cinder blocks, as a  “cherry on top.”

One of our lookouts then reported a police car slowly cruising the school parking lot. Adrenaline rushed. When it became clear he wasn’t going anywhere, we didn’t know what to do. Too late to abort. But eventually he slowly drove off. 

The Getaway

We disposed of the ramp in the woods far behind the school, and dispersed to our homes by various routes, anticipating a hilarious Monday morning at school. 

Roger recalls escaping in his father’s Lincoln Continental loaded with 4 in front and 2 in back. Remember those full bench seats front and rear? Tom Weed and Thruston were likely among them.

Roger pressed on the gas and the car went nowhere. Thurston noticed the shift lever was in neutral, and shifted into drive while Roger was pressing harder on the accelerator to get it moving. This combination worked, but left about 20’ of rubber, which is what attracted he cops’ attention.

Down High School Lane the cops pursued Roger, who was trailing Richard Smith’s station wagon—full of an additional 4-6 guys, among whom was John Mansfield. Roger was pulled over as Richard’s car rounded the corner. After some discussion, and copying down Roger’s plate number, they let Roger go. 

John Pelikan recalls, “I ducked into bushes with Steve Ytterberg and watched the VW discovery unfold. We had to walk home, me all the way to Ring’s End Road.” 

According to Steve (and Pelikan?), the cops returned to the school. Supposedly someone reported the high school would to be vandalized that night. While searching from the police car for damaged windows, their spotlight reflected off the VW’s hub cap. The cops discovered what we’d done.

An APB went out for Roger’s car, which was pulled over a second time, this time next to the Noroton Presbyterian Church. With only one more passenger to drop off home, Roger almost made it! Coincidentally driving by, John Mansfield remembers the cop had to move his own car out of the way to let John pass (with the hoist) on his way back to Doug Goble’s house, where he boarded that year. 

Busted 

We all were rounded up and brought to the police station that night, in most cases with our none-too-happy parents. We were all charged with breach of peace. Paul Spivey wrote: I remember being brought to the Police Station where one of our party looked up the charge in some book the police had, and determining yep, they've got us.

Gary Decker remembers the desk officer at the station called either the principal or the superintendent of schools (Dr. Bruno?). The result was that if we could get the car down before school started Monday, he favored of not pressing charges. The officer seemed concerned by the risk of possible injury to these "minors" while removing the car. 

Dr. Bruno was notified of the incident. He reportedly looked out his window to make sure it was not his VW. He wanted our Bug down that night, so we wouldn’t receive any publicity.

Roger’s parents were away that weekend. So from the Police Station by phone he broke the news that he’d been busted to his then-74-year-old visiting grandmother. She took it rather well, he says.

So we took it all down. Awkwardly. Apparently we’d planned only the car’s ascent—and not its descent. Nothing was left of it by school the next morning. Except the steam coming out of our parents’ ears. Needless to say, this totally thwarted the comedy we’d hoped our classmates would enjoy Monday morning. 

Justice

The state sent inspectors to the school to determine what damage was done. Not only was there no damage, they couldn’t figure how we got it onto the roof. When asked, Mansfield recalls our standard answer to that question from the newspaper—even from the judge—was simply “physics principles.” 

Gary Decker recalls the city attorney, a friend of his family’s lawyer-friend, reported a group of Columbia University students considered protesting (as a miscarriage of American justice ) in front of the town court house if our case went to trial. 1967-68 were years of student protests, and Columbia’s SDS was at the vanguard of this. For sure they'd have New York television coverage there to witness the rally. Apparently a Columbia student must have been connected to Darien or to one of us. Darien was anxious to drop charges and avoid negative publicity.

So, though a court date was set for many weeks away, we were unexpectedly yanked out of school one rainy day to appear before a judge in Stamford. Each of us was required to have his own individual lawyer. We stood together in the court room. The judge may have said something like, “what do you have to say for yourselves?” Lawyers brought up our collective positive academic standing, that it was just a prank, and no harm was done. We demonstrated remarkable posture and humility. We apologized and swore never to anything like this again...

By the way, one argument against breach of peace was that we clearly didn’t breach the cop’s peace in the parking lot, as he was there all along, it turned out. Following a slap on the wrist, charges were dropped, though it was still on our police records, which after a certain time could be expunged for a price. 

But no surprise, our parents administered their own justice. I think I was basically grounded forever and had to agree to anything my folks demanded. Paul Spivey recalls, “...I probably wouldn't get into college, since my father was likely to kill me.”

Postscript

The town First Selectman Bill Patrick lived on my street. He would often stop by to mooch a drink from my father. Dad thought scotch tasted like dishwater, so kept none around for himself. But he liked a good practical joke, like always serving Patrick from a Chivas Regal bottle, containing only the cheapest possible rot-gut scotch. It really tickled Dad to hear Patrick remark, “Oh...that’s good scotch!” 

Anyhow, one night several weeks after Mothers’ Day, I opened the door for “Mayor” Patrick. His eyes lit up, he grabbed me by the shoulder and begged, “Jimmy, how’d you do it? That was great!” I replied, “Tell that to my dad—he thinks I’ve ruined my life forever!” I lived and walked on eggshells, as it took Dad a long time to get over it. Later he actually paid to have my record expunged. 

Despite having to remove all evidence of our bold and remarkable feat, and despite the absolute denial of hearing everyone’s amazed laughter...John Pelikan’s outstanding pictures appeared four days later on The Darien Review’s front page, It’s rumored The New York Times also published one, too! Many of us might have been labeled nerds or geeks. But when the rest of DHS found out about our crime we actually enjoyed a kind of instant (and brief, as Paul Spivey recalls) celebrity. I even earned “respect” from my (now late) homeroom bully-tormentor.

The Senior Prank that Eclipsed The Great VW Caper or VW version 2.0