How I Stole a Ming Scroll

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It was my mom's birthday. My sister lives in San Francisco, so we met there to celebrate. I was an art student in Los Angeles, and I flew up. We all decided to go to a Richard Avedon photography show in Berkeley. I was kind of a con artist — small jobs, like getting in movies free — and I guess I was ready for a big job. While they were all looking at the photographs, I went to the next gallery, where the museum was installing scrolls from the Ming dynasty. The room was unguarded, and I slid an 8-ft. piece of Plexiglas out from its holders, removed the scroll and rolled it up. I then placed it in the sleeve of my Windbreaker and carried it out, kind of swinging it in a natural arm motion. I leaned the scroll on a ledge right in front of the security guard and went over to the Berkeley art school where I found a bag and a batik print in the garbage. I went back and rolled the scroll in them. My mom, sister and a friend came out and, with surprised expressions, asked, "What is that?" I said, "It's your birthday present, Mom." Later, I gave her the batik print.

I kept the scroll in my closet for several months. Occasionally, I would bring it out to show friends. I even had an offer from a shady friend of a shady friend to acquire it for five grand but decided not to sell. Then, when I was going home to Washington State for summer break and was about to run out of gas near Berkeley, I decided to take the scroll to its rightful owners and claim the $500 reward that had been offered for it. The curator was very nice and told me I could leave because I returned the scroll unharmed. I said that I wanted the reward. He said, "O.K., if that's the way you want it," and called in the police.

The cops kept asking me to repeat the story of how I found the scroll, and they kept telling me that I was changing it and tripping me up. After an hour, they said, "Patrick Bucklew, did you steal the scroll?" I said, "No." And they asked again and again. Finally, I cracked. I just wanted to go home. They locked me up, and I called my dad, who hung up on me. Then he got me a very good lawyer. I spent three days in jail. After I was released, I didn't have the 50¢ it cost to take a bus to my lawyer, so I had to bum money from someone who asked what it was for. I told him I was an artist and needed help. He then showed me an article that had just come out — the title read ARTIST STEALS ART. I said, "Hey, that's me!"

My criminal days ended with the judge giving me a $500 fine and telling me never to come to California again.