Since the house was constructed with all bedrooms on the second floor, placed around a circular balcony, one could stand outside their bedroom or the three bathrooms on that floor and look down to the first floor below. There were very high ceilings and, thus, many stairs going down from the second to the first floor. Along the railing of that balcony, the builder had placed a flower box, which I took joy and pride in filling with potted plants as Grandmother had taught me earlier in my life.
On one particular evening, enough time had passed since our last incident that I had gone to bed after checking and rechecking doors, window locks, and every possible entry. I even sat on the stairs and stared for a time high up at the skylight far above us, wondering whether one could climb up to the roof, crack the dome, and enter that way. I concluded no human could endure the twenty-two-plus-foot drop from that glass dome to the balcony floor.
Once in bed, I lay awake for a long time before I fell asleep. I was awakened by the opening of the heavy glass deck door. Heart thumping, I rushed to the balcony to peer over and saw curtains being blown inward by the chill wind of the winter night. I rushed around the circle and into Kellie’s room.
“Shhhh—Mom, quiet down. It’s all right, you’re hearing things.”
“No, no, no, Kellie, please.”
She followed me out of the room and went into my bedroom to call the police, while I continued to bend over the railing of the balcony. And there he was, a crisply dressed, brown-haired man who looked up at me.
Our eyes met, and when he made no effort to turn and run, I knew I was in trouble. I began yelling and ran to grab the phone from Kellie to tell the police to hurry. The woman on the other end, whose voice sounded familiar, said, “Now, Melba, calm down—please don’t have a heart attack. They will be there in a moment.”
When I went back to peer over the railing, the man was climbing the stairs with a butcher knife in his hand. My brother, who had spent his life as a policeman and US Marshall, had told me, “Once your attacker comes near, you have lost the battle. Never ever let them near.”
“Please help me, Jesus, please, please . . .”
That’s when my eyes fell on the clay pots filled with flowers I had so carefully planted. Instinctively, I reached for them and began to toss them down. So there Kellie and I stood, tossing my beloved pots down the stairs into the face of our would-be robber, who appeared stunned by our actions. We tossed as hard as we could as we screamed at him like madwomen. At first, he seemed determined to come up, but a few hits by pots filled with damp dirt and the rain of cracked-clay-pot debris caused him to stop and think for a moment. The boys had bravely joined us, flinging their toys down at him.
After what seemed like forever but was only a few minutes, two policemen arrived. There they were outside the stained-glass window, valued at $70,000, banging their fists on the door frame.
“Please, please,” I screamed. “Don’t! Don’t! I’ll let you in or, better, go around.” The robber looked around and headed for the door he had apparently entered. The same one I was directing the police to enter. When the police came inside, we pointed them toward the robber, but they wanted a description and time to summon help—lots of help. There began a circus that would go on for the next two hours, whereby they would light up the neighborhood and mount the roofs of our neighbors. For those who had not been aware of “African Americans in the neighborhood,” this was our now infamous introduction. “We’re here!”
I would awaken at 3:13 every morning for the following year if not longer.
As Christmas drew near, we opened the small storage room adjoining the garage only to find all of our decorations and my papers dumped out on the floor. They were meticulously rummaged through as if, once more, someone knew exactly what they were looking for.
My prayers grew more frequent and longer as I focused on how we could find another home. More and more, I wondered how we could survive in an environment that was affecting my health and my hope. Still, the practical truth was that it cost thousands of dollars to move and many, many hours to find a place. Both Kellie and I were midway on our doctorates. Refiling and organizing the books and papers attendant to that move was unimaginable.
We decided if God was with us always, we would not be chased away by human invasion. We proceeded to practice contentment, even in that house and yard. Somehow, the quiet presence of Jesus’s spirit and His promise of safety and harmony at home brought us peace. I posted sheets of paper on the front and back doors and the window the robbers had attempted to enter saying, “Please come in and take what you wish and enjoy it in good health. The door is unlocked. Please don’t make a mess.”
No one bothered us again in that house. We lived there for a year until a notion and a need directed us to move.
Even in the face of my distraction with earthly beauty and pleasures and my overwhelming fear at the intruder, God remained with me, protecting me every moment.
Nineteen
Terror Times Two
My twins were rambunctious and always ready for adventure. Since I was working full-time as a professor by the time they were eight, I had to have a caregiver to get them off to school. One morning when I arrived at the university, my assistant, Grace, reminded me I had planned an exam for my first-class students. Checking my briefcase, I discovered I had left the exam at home. A university exam day is precious and not to be skipped for anything but an emergency.
I told Grace that if she would take over the first fifteen minutes of my class and have students discuss the news of the day, I would rush home to get the exam.
I arrived home to find my nine-year-olds being ushered out the front door to a blue Lexus convertible by a strange man I’d never seen before.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Thank you, Mom. We got the new puppy you sent,” Evan shouted.
“Hi, Mom, school,” Matthew said. “Our puppy is in the car.”
“This is the man you sent to pick up the boys,” Mary, my caregiver, explained from the doorway.
At this point, the man stared at me with a look of fear, jumped down the first three steps, ran to the car, and gunned his engine and sped away.
“Leave the puppy,” the boys shouted.
“Hey, there! Who are you?” I screamed.
The boys spoke up, both at once, obviously disappointed. “That’s the man that’s going to get us a puppy. And give us a job walking his puppy after school.”
“Where did you meet him?” I questioned.
“At school,” Evan said.
“No, no, no, at Walgreens, over there,” Matt said.
As the boys completed their story, I was hysterical inside, to say the least, but pretending all was well. I immediately called the police. When officers arrived, they knew of a similar situation not far from my house. They recognized the description of a tall man with a muscular build and a mustache. They referred to him as one of the “bears.” I wondered why the officer referred to him as one of the bears as he was skinny.
Shortly afterward, they sent a team of officers, a man and a woman, from the sex crimes unit to the house. The woman separated the boys to interview them.
Although I had instructed them not to talk to strangers, not to take offers of candy or gifts from strangers, they were not prepared to deal with an offer of their own puppy and a paying job walking another puppy. They had not bothered to tell me about it as they hoped to make money for a birthday present for me. After lengthy questioning, they reported reluctantly that this man had been after them for a while.
Two hours later, I realized I had skipped exam day and two classes without even notifying Grace I wasn’t coming back. My cell phone, left behind in the car, was clogged with calls and texts. From then on, my heart, head, and energy were focused on one thing only—protecting my sons. The police warned me that they did not have enough resources and men to guard my sons and me twenty-four hours a day. It would be up to me to arrange my life so that I knew where my b
oys were at all times of the day and night. It would be up to me to protect them.
Our lives became a living nightmare, full of stress and uneasiness. As nine-year-olds, the boys didn’t want to spend all their time with their mother. My friends already called me “Smother Mother.” Later on, I could look back and mark that day on my calendar as the beginning of a dreadful year, causing me to be overprotective.
First, I sat down and made a detailed schedule, as I needed to make provisions for someone I trusted to watch the boys when I couldn’t. The routine made the boys as nervous as it made me, except they didn’t quite understand why I was fearful. They were disturbed that they could no longer play alone with their friends.
In the days to come, we altered all our habits to ensure our protection. During the cool weather, I used to go for walks in the enclosed local shopping mall, which had a clearly defined play area with children’s furniture and a food court. We would walk for a while and then settle into the food court and take advantage of the variety of restaurants.
On this particular day, I was sitting on a bench looking at the boys, who were standing fifty feet away ordering the food they had chosen for dinner. Suddenly, two large men moved in to sit on either side of me. They closely resembled Smokey the Bear, whom I often saw on television. They were tall, stocky, muscular, and wore beards. As they moved closer, their presence began to chill my mind, and their words—veiled threats—immersed me in fear.
“It’s best you not disturb anyone or call the boys,” the older one said. “May we have a moment of your time?”
“How can I help you?” I spoke calmly despite my hysteria.
“I understand you have had an incident and told the police about our friend’s generous offer of a puppy the other day. We’d like to relieve you of that problem before it grows so big you can’t handle it.”
“Excuse me,” I said, “what do you mean by that?”
He replied, “You don’t really need to be discussing your issues with the police. We know your boys and want to see them safe. Such fine young men they are.”
His smile brought burning anger to my entire being. “Why do you care what I do with my boys?”
“It would probably be in your best interest not to burden the police with your small and inconclusive issues. Best not to talk anymore about the ride and the dog-walking job your boys were offered.”
“Why? How could it be in my boys’ best interest?”
“It’s in everyone’s best interest. You’d keep them alive.”
“Or, let’s look at this problem another way,” the younger one said. “You could probably use a house. We don’t want to think of our professors renting. It’s not a good role model. You’re a renter, aren’t you?”
The fear was burning through my body. How could I get from between these men, get my boys, and get out of there safely? What was I going to do? In the back of my mind, I knew I couldn’t offend them. Should I call for help? Just shout “Help!”? Should I try to flag one of the policemen nearby?
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“You live in somebody’s house near Walgreens. We are prepared to provide you with a residence that you would own. You could pick out new carpeting and choose the furnishings, right here in Mill Valley. We would take care of that. Your boys would be safe. Maybe we could even mentor them.”
“I see,” I said. Something told me not to get angry, threaten them, or say anything negative. They were too big. They still squeezed me between them, and I could feel their strength. Their arm muscles bulged. Their bodies looked as though they were chipped from concrete. They had chiseled, muscular faces, and one of them had dyed hair. Right away, it occurred to me they knew more about me than I knew about them. They knew my residence, my workplace, and more. I knew nothing about them. I was vulnerable. The police couldn’t find them immediately, but they could find me.
“Don’t talk to the police again. You must drop the matter.” Then just as quick as the bears came, they stood and said, “We’ll be in touch,” then disappeared into the crowd.
I was shaking so badly yet paralyzed with fear. Please, God, give me strength to collect myself and get my boys without frightening them.
All I wanted then was to get myself and my boys out of there alive without alarming them. With my heart beating a thousand beats a minute, I rushed to the boys. I paid for their dinners, bagged the food, and hustled them to the car, which was parked in a dark, underground area. Fortunately, I had parked at the end where there was some light. Although I was very frightened, I couldn’t let anyone know just how frightened I was. But the boys knew right away there was something the matter.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Matt said. “Why do we have to go now?”
They were fretting about leaving the mall as they had wanted a ride on the carousel before going home. I told them we couldn’t miss a special TV show. I told them we must pray to ask God to come with us. So we prayed in the car. When they were five, I had begun a habit of praying every morning on their way to school. Now was the time to add the habit of afternoon prayer. From that day forward, every time we’ve gotten into the car, we’ve begun the trip with prayer.
As time passed, the bears came to the house and climbed the stairs to the front door and rang the bell to reemphasize their offer of a house if I kept my mouth closed. They called our house at midnight or 1:00 a.m. or 2:00 a.m.—whenever the mood hit them. They also followed us into church and to the barber shop. Meanwhile, I found myself in the middle of a major police investigation. The officers confiscated all our home computers and assigned a patrol car to drive by our house several times at night.
I kept wondering, Why me, God?
As the days rolled by, the boys became more restless in the confines of the house and car. Even when they went to their favorite places, I was with them, directly next to them.
The days turned into months, and I prayed harder and had peace of mind only when we were in church with our friends all around us. I could only confide in a few people who occasionally came to spend the night to guard us. Although I felt like we suffered forever, I had faith that God would care for us and guide us to safety and peace. Some days I cried in my car parked in the lot of the university. “Please, God, will we ever be free again?”
On one occasion on a Sunday afternoon, we went to a local grocery store, which I had changed to in order to avoid anyone tracking me. The boys had a habit of getting their own basket and veering away from me to collect their favorites. It was a huge store with many aisles. Soon the boys came running up to me and began dumping their purchases in my cart. They were pointing to the left and telling me the bears were over there. I collected them by my side, got in line, and proceeded to the checkout stand. As usual, one skittered away from my side for bubble gum and the other followed. Suddenly, the two bears approached. One got in front of me and one behind, between me and the boys.
Standing there amid all the customers checking out in the front of the grocery store, I knew I had to remain calm and knew God was right there, right then. The boys knew enough about the situation, because of police lectures, that they were distressed. They stopped bickering about gum and pushed their way past the men to me.
“Thought any more about that deed to a house with your name on it? The offer stands, you know.”
I answered as calmly as I could. “Yes, it’s very generous of you.” I avoided eye contact as I looked down and stroked Evan’s hair, since he was on the brink of tears.
It was time for the one in front of me to check out. “I’ll be in touch,” he said as he left, the second man trailing behind.
It was dusk when we got outside the store and headed for our car. All of a sudden, as I loaded the groceries into the trunk of the car, a bright light was in our faces. A car raced toward us, then screeched to a halt with the lights shining in our eyes. There was nothing I could do. Aloud I said, “Lord, have mercy on us!”
Six months later, the police tracked the predato
r down through the information on our computers. They knew his name and where he lived. They had his correspondence with the boys. He had been pretending to be another boy in another city and a member of their Scout group. He continuously invited them out. At that point, we realized God had been with us every step of the way.
The next day, the police told me they had arrested the predator and the two bears. A court date would be set, and the boys would need to testify. That worried me. We had to go to the police station several times, and several times the female police officer who had been with us from the beginning came to the house to interview the boys for court, to clarify events with the predator.
When the court date came, the twins were frozen with fear because they had never been on the witness stand before. They didn’t want to go. When we got to court, the female officer was waiting for us. She took us into a room next to the courtroom and told us to have a seat. She’d be back when we were needed. As we waited, I prayed. I felt as though this event would unhinge me.
After about an hour, the officer returned to say the predator had pled guilty and that the boys’ testimony was not necessary. After signing some papers, I took my boys’ hands in mine and together we walked out of the building. Taking a deep breath, I got into the car and we prayed, “Thank You.”
From that time forward, I have thanked God. There have been no more midnight phone calls, no more threatening cards. We have been safe.
As complex and dangerous as a predicament may be, God is as close as our skin. Although peril feels like forever, God is here now. He will guide us through the jungle of fear, if only we will listen and obey.
Twenty
Where There Is Faith, There Is Hope, Forgiveness, and Gratitude
Tuesday, November 9, 1999
Washington, DC, the White House: Is this really happening to me? the voice in my head asked over and over. There I was walking down the hallway of the White House. President Clinton walked directly on my left and a throng of erudite statesmen surrounded me as we approached the Gold Room. I was there with the other members of the Little Rock Nine to receive one of our country’s highest civilian awards, the Congressional Gold Medal. As we neared the wide, double-door entrance, our pace sped up, and the vast audience of dignitaries stood and applauded. We nine were allowed to bring ten of our family members and friends. It was a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. The snap of cameras filled the air, and photographers darted back and forth.
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