Mr. Hitchcock wanted to teach his son Alfred a lesson he would never forget. So, with the cooperation of local police the plan was set.

The scheming father sent young Alfred down the street to the local police station with a note sealed in an envelope. "Wait there for a reply," his father said.

The young boy ran as fast as he could, after all, the note must be important. When he arrived at the police station he meekly handed the envelope to the officer at the front desk.  The policeman tore open the envelope and took his time reading the note. He crumpled up the paper and said, "Come with me, Alfred."

They walked down the hall to a vacant cell. At first Alfred was amazed, he had never seen the inside of a jail before, but his amazement was about to vanish, in a single heartbeat.

When the reached the end of the hall, the policeman opened the cell door on the right and pushed the boy in, slamming the door shut. Alfred was stunned and confused. As the officer walked away, Alfred could sill hear the echoing words, "This is what we do with naughty boys."

For ten minutes young Hitchcock cried, yelled, screamed, and cried some more, but no one was there to hear him. He was alone and terrified. Finally, the officer returned, as the note had instructed, and release the boy without saying a word.

Hitchcock ran and ran and ran. He was free but afraid to go home, afraid to talk about the lesson of the cell. Never again did he trust his father and that jail cell terror stayed with him for the rest of his life.

Oh, he learned to deal with it; he turned it into an uncanny ability to create suspense. He taught us to enjoy being a afraid.

Alfred’s father wanted this to be a lesson that forced his son to grow up, to be a man, but Alfred missed that lesson. He missed the point altogether. He learned to be afraid, very afraid.