I guess I can now talk openly about my criminal past. Not only has the statue of limitations expired, it's covered with mold, moss and mildew.
The year was 1970 and I was out for a good time. There was only one problem: Johnny-Law didn't think I was old enough to patronize the college bar.
But a friend of a friend knew a guy who could fix me up with a fake ID for the price of a 12-pack. I put in my order for maturity documentation.
I was sweating bullets the first and last time my identity make-over was ...