What, talk about myself? At length? Okay.
I guess I’ll never “know,” in the literal sense. But I do know that reading that dumb article was creepy as hell; it almost certainly was me they were describing (the vast majority of my fellow students either rocked a country-preppie thing, or a metal/redneck look). The shoes in question – which were for a time associated with West Coast gangs – were a giveaway; I was the only dude who had them.
Meanwhile, there was pretty much only one place where kids were allowed to hang out within town limits, which was openly monitored by LE. There was a rumor going around that they were compiling a list of troublemakers, based on those observations. Logically, it was kind of impossible to not mingle with the “bad” kids (again, small school/single contained hangout spot), so the worry was that you’d end up on The List accidentally. I actually did have a higher-than-average experience level with mind-altering chemicals, but those behaviors were (at least at the time of that article) strictly limited to rare visits to a bigger city, were totally under the radar, and in no way mercantile. At home, my peers were basically dorks and band geeks; partying was staying up late to watch weird movies, drink a lot of caffeine, and maybe make a prank call. I was about the least threatening “gangster” possible.
And yet, my harmless friends and I got bothered by LE, pulled over for imaginary infractions and such, quite often. At the time, I just chalked it up to boredom on their part.
I ended up moving back home after an abortive college attempt (~ 20 years old), and was arrested – along with a large group of teens and adults – in a raid on a local backwoods drug dealing operation. All the other people swept up, adults included, were released within a couple of hours. But I was held for a few days, on felony charges of helping run their pathetic little drug ring. These were people whose names I didn’t even know, and with whom I’d probably exchanged a handful of grunts during a handful of very reluctant visits. But the LE officers interrogating me were sure that I was an integral member of the group. It was weird, but I again chalked it up to a combination of boredom/fishing and bad luck.
After I left town for good, the school system instituted a general drug-testing policy for all after-school and club activities, which caused a bit of an uproar. During all of that, the infamous List was finally publicly referred to, in the course of justifying the new rules. Caveat: I could be wrong about the particulars; I no longer lived there, and my memory of that time period could best be described as “fuzzy.” But, in any case, The List – grouping kids into criminal classes by dint of what they wore, or who they chatted with after school – was a real thing. Did it specifically list grumblebum, known wearer of thug clothes and suspected hillbilly syndicate associate? I’ve never read it, so I’ll never know. I’m no conspiracy theorist… However.
What I do know is that I was targeted early in life for my fashion choices, then routinely stopped and questioned, and ultimately arrested – completely groundlessly – for pretty much the exact suspected activity “proven” by my dress. Within roughly six years.