One day in 1985, two men came into my home and robbed me at knifepoint. Here is my story.
A story from my day in 1985
It was April 3rd, 1985. I was 25 years old. I had a one-year-old daughter napping in her bedroom just off of the living room. My husband was working out of town. I was cleaning the house. I liked it quiet. I moved silently through the house.
Our house was small. Entering the front door you could turn right to go to the kitchen, turn left, walk through the living room, and into our bedroom. You could walk straight to a small hallway. Straight ahead was the bathroom. To the right was my daughter’s bedroom. To the left was an extra bedroom and off of that was a “bonus” room. My grandmother owned this home before we did and she built a large room that had a door on each side leading to the backyard.
It was early afternoon. A nice sunny day. I had left one of these side doors cracked open to let the cat come and go and to let a nice breeze in.
I walked from the living room, into the hallway and made a left into that extra room.
There stood two young men. One man held a knife and blackjack. I was so shocked to have them standing there in my house. A weird voice came out of me and very aggressively said “Get out of my house”, “Get the fuck out of my house”. The blonde waved the knife at me and wanted money. I told them again to get out. I just wanted them out. He told me to give him my wedding ring. I said no, I would give them money. All I could think about was to get them out of the house. My house. My home. How dare they be in my home.
I never had cash. The only reason I had $40 in my purse was because we were going to my parent’s home in Palm Springs that next weekend and I had cash to take with us.
They followed me into the living room where my purse was. They never knew I had a baby sleeping in the other bedroom.
I told them I would give them the money once they were outside. All I was focused on was getting them to leave. They didn’t go for that. I handed them the $40 and they left. Thank God.
I ran and locked all of the doors and called 911. The police came, dusted the back doors for fingerprints, took my statement and had me describe what they looked like for a police drawing.
I remember telling the police I wish I’d had a gun. I never wanted to feel like that again. It just seemed so violating to have them in my house. To have someone unwanted in your space. I have a gun now. But to use it I know I would have to be willing to shoot someone and I would need to make sure they couldn’t take it from me. Lots of things to think about. But at the time I wanted a gun. And to be honest, I think I would shoot the person. It’s me or them right?
My Dad came down to the house. My parents lived just up the street. I called my husband. He was out on a jobsite and we spoke on the phone when we could. No cell phones back then.
I told my neighbors to be on the lookout for these two guys. You couldn’t miss them. They looked so young. One had dark red hair and the other had blonde hair.
My Dad took my daughter and I out to dinner. My Mom must have been out of town. I insisted I was ok to stay in the house over night alone. I was very independent growing up. Two of my brothers offered too. But nope … I had to be able to live in my house without being scared.
I was scared. I was sitting in the living room watching TV when around 10pm someone knocked on the door. I think I hit the ceiling! It was the police. They had arrested the two guys. They wanted me to know. Thank you!!
Right around this time the “Night Stalker” robberies by Richard Ramirez were going on. If you’re not familiar with that story, he broke into people’s homes and committed many murders between April 10, 1984 and August 24th, 1985.
So … after being robbed and with the Night Stalker roaming around, I didn’t sleep very well. Every door was locked and double checked to make sure I was safe. When my husband would come home on weekends, I would drive him a little crazy locking doors.
I’ve always kept doors locked to this day. I pray that I never come across someone in my home again. I would want to kill them. Literally. I never want someone to make me feel like that again.
I know I’m very lucky. That day could have gone a lot worse.
My previous story about walking in someone’s shoes and not judging them until you do, comes to play here. Most people are never a victim. Victim’s stories differ in experiences. So it’s hard to understand what a victim has gone through, how they feel, unless it happened to us.
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