So I did my two weeks and was then transferred back to rehab.As soon as I got back there, a new kid introduced himself and said, “I heard that I should talk to you about breaking out.” So, I agreed to escape with him a couple of nights later.

The doctors seemed to feel that I needed to learn about family dynamics-and that was basically it. Sometimes I picked up the phone and called random places but the environment wasn’t conducive to much chatting. And the hospital food was decent: I had just started a vegetarian diet, so I quickly learned about side dishes. One elderly woman insisted that we stay in touch with each other in the future, as she enjoyed my artwork. It was actually pretty chill. The other patients were a combination of senior citizens, suicidal teens and whoever else. My days at the hospital consisted of group therapy, arts and crafts class, and one-on-one counseling. Apparently, I had barely drunk any water in the last couple of weeks. I remember their first concern was dehydration. I had my own room, bathroom, a phone and a TV. So, I was transferred to a lockdown facility in an actual hospital. Back to RehabThis time, the rehab people insisted that I must be placed in a psychiatric hospital for a two-week observation before they would allow me back. After my parents explained the situation, the police ultimately drove me back to the rehab center. It turned out that some other neighbor had witnessed the chase and called the police to our address. They brought me back home and, after a few minutes, the police rang the doorbell.

I took off running but they caught up to me and tackled me. They all got in a pickup truck and cornered me. Then, one day, a couple of weeks later, I was just walking around and-being the type of person who generally stands out-was noticed by a friend of my parents, who alerted them to my whereabouts. I lined up a couple of places to stay and some clothes. I still had no clothes and no shoes but that was not going to deter me.I also had no money-or really anywhere to go-so I had to hit up anyone I knew for some assistance. I jumped out of the bathroom window, 15 feet down. I got up around four and he was totally asleep in his chair. So, I escaped by myself. There was an old African-American man assigned to the sleeping area to monitor us overnight. One other kid did too, but when the time came, he decided against it and instead wanted to commit to the program.

My Not-So Great EscapeI hung around for a couple of weeks, got to know most of the other kids and learned how things worked at the place. The problem: I was stuck in a juvenile detention center. By my second day, the staff had tackled me to the ground, held me down, ripped off my clothes-I remember I was wearing a Dead Kennedys shirt-shaved my head and put me in overalls with no shoes. I’m not exactly sure what lesson I was supposed to learn from that but I definitely still wanted to record my prank call album. I was tricked into coming there and was resistant to their treatment. This was one of those common 1980s teen-dehumanization places. And it was an indefinite program, so a kid usually only got out when the insurance funding finally reached its limit. The problem: I was stuck in a juvenile detention center.My parents put me in rehab for my wild behavior and involvement with weed. I had been experimenting with phone recordings for a couple of years already now I wanted to actually document it. The year was 1986, and I wanted to record my first prank call album.

Prank call recording