True confessions of a convict turned journalist

This week I’m going to share with you a chapter from true confessions of a convict turned journalist. The suspense thriller that’s about to unravel may make you never think the same about this publisher. 
As you’re about to find out, my fascination with crime began at a very young age. Fourteen years old to be precise. 
Often times we wonder what experiences in life mold and shape us into the person we become. For me, it was spending a night in the county jail. 
In fact, I was lucky enough, or unfortunate depending on how you look at it, to be the first prisoner ever booked into the McLeod County Jail in Glencoe back in 1982. My offense? Felony criminal damage to property. 
Just a short time into my teenage years, I got a little carried away one night and went on a rampage damaging property all over town. The law quickly caught up to me and hauled me off to jail. 
Let me guess, you didn’t think I had it in me, right? 
Well, you’re exactly right. I don’t. Committing crime isn’t for me. 
Now I hope you’re still reading this column because only parts of it to this point are true. I did spend a night in jail, but I did not commit a crime to end up there. I was charged with a fictitious crime (criminal damage to property) as part of a voluntary “dry run” training exercise for jail staff. 
Armed with my reporter’s notebook and Minolta camera, I chronicled my experience in the hoosegow for readers of my hometown newspaper where I worked at the time. 
Every once in a while I still have visions of the cement walls and iron bars dancing through my head. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable night of rest I’ve ever had. 
McLeod had just built a new jail and the sheriff at the time invited me to take part in the training. Being the young and naïve teenager I was, I thought to myself how could I pass up an opportunity to spend the night in the pokey. Stupidity perhaps would better describe me.