An excerpt from Stronger by the Day, by Raymond E. Lumsden:

A funny image of the five of us pulling the safe from the country club in the little, red PF Flyer wagon runs through my mind as I stand in the Nobles County Court House of Worthington, Minnesota, awaiting sentencing. I'm dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit, handcuffed and leg-shackled, my restraints drilled into the floor. Two guards stand close by me to thwart any possible attempts at escape. "Are you finding these proceedings amusing, boy?" Judge Jeffrey L. Flynn asks, catching my grinning and snickering. "No sir, I don't find these proceedings amusing at all," I answer sarcastically. While my public defender and the prosecutor approach the bench, my mind wanders not too far back, to the night at the Worthington Community Pool and Country Club. It had taken the combined strength of all five of us to lift the massive safe onto the wagon, its little round wheels nearly buckling under what we judged to be at least a couple hundred pounds. In order not to be seen, we had to avoid the streets and traverse backyards over the two miles to my friend's garage. A motley crew we were indeed-me, my brother, Bill, and three of our friends. Even nine-year-old Aaron joined us. He had snuck out his second floor bedroom window, sliding down a rope made out of torn sheets.
Bill and I had climbed the fence around the community pool and used a crowbar to pry open the main door to the storage locker, where we had been fairly certain we would find a blanket and some cash. However, when we opened the locker, those items were nowhere to be found, so we moved on. We then headed for the clubhouse, where we knew they sold golfing clothes, served food, and had other items like lighters and supplies. I gained entry by climbing onto the roof, breaking and then crawling through the top window, and then I went downstairs and let my accomplices in. As I walked by the office, I spotted the safe. It was a bulky mass of metal that stood about five feet tall. It took the better part of three hours to maneuver it outside.
Once we got it to my friend Chad's garage, I immediately began peeling the safe, a skill I learned from the pros I had met during days I spent with mob members. This was done by weakening its foundation and structure, which I accomplished by beating the shit out of its outer walls with a five-pound sledgehammer, each blow fueled by years of pent up rage and anger. I then took my all-purpose burglar tool, an electric sawzaw blade, and sliced a thin line through the steel casing. I peeled back a layer of steel until I got to the next layer, a steel mesh, which I was also able to cut through with the blade. The layer underneath that was the cement, which was easily softened up by rubbing it down with water. I shattered the cement with the sledgehammer and cut through the last layer of steel. I then reached in and drew out pre-counted wads of crisp, new bills. Tons of cash-I couldn't believe my eyes! "Holy shit! How much do you think is there?" Bill asked. "You mean, holy [expl.] shit?" I exclaimed. "Who the hell knows? Shit, what are we waiting for? Let's count it!" Bill answered. It took the five of us a while to count the money, which was more than I or any other 16-year-old had seen or handled. It was a fantasy, a bank heist scene right out of a movie. "Twelve [expl.] thousand dollars! Shit Bill, we're rich!" I yelled.
We decided to give our so-called friends a cut, put the remaining $10,000 in a bag, and make our way back to our familiar hideout in the park. About three hours later, we hear something going on outside, a rustling and snapping of branches underfoot. "You hear that, Ray?" Bill asked me. "It's the cops. Billy and Chad [expl.] ratted us out! You stay here," I instruct them before taking off with the duffel bag filled with money. Not only did I want to divert attention away from Bill, but I could also outrun my brother running backward. I run as fast as I can, knowing that I can outrun any fat, donut-eating cop in town. I was the fastest runner in school-I could do the 200-meter dash in 23.9 seconds, and a mile in just over five minutes. I never lost a race, and have the ribbons and trophies to prove it. I run and run and run, with everything I have in me. I run until I got to a bridge that crossed over Whiskey Ditch. I look around and find a big, gray, jagged-edged rock. I put it into the bag and toss it into the river. Along with the money, the bag held my license and social security card, my mother's new phone number, a picture of my childhood friend Jessica Rust, a photo of my newborn son, Anthony, and a switchblade knife that I carried for protection. I do not know what made me put those personal items in the bag except for the fact that I assume I will eventually get them back, along with the money. I figure that I can move faster and quieter without them cluttering my pockets. This proves to be true. I successfully keep my cover from the cops for nearly five hours, but it is impossible to avoid detection by the K-9 partner who picked up on my scent and tracked me down. Despite the hours of brutal, relentless questioning by the police, I never told them where the money went or that anyone else was involved.

Make sure to pick up your copy of Stronger by the Day to read the rest of Raymond Lumsden's amazing story. Click to order.

Click here to read the Back Cover and Reviews