The Walking Bridge Autobiography by Robert M. Gebhardt
Introduction 1986 and I am reminiscing about the summer of 1983 when I smoked my first joint behind the Martin Luther King Jr. School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I am pondering my fate and desperately looking for an escape from this cell.
I was sitting in the juvenile lock up at 40 Thorndike Street waiting to see Judge Jackson. She was black, tough and sentenced me to be committed to the department of youth services until my 18th birthday. It was like she enjoyed putting away a little white boy for all the years of persecution she faced in her battle up the ladder in the system. I had no one to blame but myself, of course. The influence of cocaine, and other drugs and alcohol were taking its toll on me and I was only 16 years old. My long road of addiction, crime and “the system” were about to be embarked upon. Before I get into the beginning of my life around drugs and evil, for the record, the following is a true account of my life. The names used have NOT been changed. Many years have gone into this story. I tell life as I see it and believe nothing of what I hear and some of what I was unfortunate to experience. During the course of 40 years, keeping my eyes and ears open and my mouth shut, became difficult. The tongue is capable of much destruction. So to make this book sound as real as it was, I regrettably use profanity, words that destroy, rather than build up, but I rebuke foul language and will use it only where necessary. Remembering, it is not what a man received in life that made him famous, rather, it’s what he gave. Or what he took.
In saying this, please know today I do not glorify my actions. It is a rather humbling experience to “put it all out there”. However, the “except when to do so would harm you or others” clause must come into play at certain times. These are the laws of a good writer. I hope you will find fond memories that will comfort you and possibly even assist you in your life.