That evening rich people were going to come to the shelter and pay a hundred dollars to eat the food that the poor people ate every day for free.
Clyde Livingston, who had once lived at the shelter when he was younger, was going to speak and sign autographs.
His shoes would be auctioned, and it was expected that they would sell for over five thousand dollars.
All the money would go to help the homeless. Because of the baseball schedule, Stanley’s trial was delayed several months.
His parents couldn’t afford a lawyer. “You don’t need a lawyer,” his mother had said. “Just tell the truth.”
Stanley told the truth, but perhaps it would have been better if he had lied a little.
He could have said he found the shoes in the street. No one believed they fell from the sky. It wasn’t destiny, he realized.
It was his no-good-dirty-rotten-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather!
The judge called Stanley’s crime despicable. “The shoes were valued at over five thousand dollars.
It was money that would provide food and shelter for the homeless. And you stole that from them, just so you could have a souvenir.”
The judge said that there was an opening at Camp Green Lake,
and he suggested that the discipline of the camp might improve Stanley's character.
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