The Kidnapping
Sept. 21, 1970
Back in Houghton Lake, Vicky, the same Vicky who was in
N.Y.C. when I was staying with Mike and Sandy, wanted to go with me
out west. I thought it would be okay if her parents said it was
okay. Vicky was a fairly attractive girl with long blond hair and,
more importantly, she was twenty-one. Even though her parents were
against the idea, they let her go because once Vicky made up her
mind about something there was no stopping her.
It was a miserable day when we left Houghton Lake. It didn't
take long before the cold, wet, weather took its toll on us. By the
time we reached Illinois our "good spirits" had vanished. When we
crawled into our tent, struggled to get our wet clothes off and our
bodies into the sleeping bags, I realized that a two-person tent was
really meant for only one-person. It didn't help matters that in the
rain, in the dark farmer's field, I never did get the tent set up
correctly. We stayed in the half falling down tent until late the
next morning. Our late start, after the heavy mist stopped falling,
was made even later because Vicky wouldn't leave the tent without
first applying make-up to her face. By the time we walked out of the
farmer's field, through the tall, wet, grass, it was noon and we
were soaking wet once again. Back on the highway, when a trucker
stopped for us, we wanted to celebrate, especially when the driver
told us he was going all the way to Nebraska.
It was obvious the trucker had an eye for Vicky. When she
went into the bathroom at a truck stop, he started asking me
questions like, "Are you married?" I should have said, "Yes." When
we pulled into another truck stop outside Des Moines, and he handed
me his coffee thermos and told me to go fill it up, like a good foot
solider I did exactly what I was told, but when I returned the truck
and Vicky were gone. By the time I found a phone, miss-dialed the
police three times, and was connected to the department of missing
persons, Vicky came walking up to me. She was half crying and half
out of breath. When she realized she was being kidnapped, she
started kicking and screaming. She wasn't just making noise; she was
literally kicking the trucker. Her determination not only caught the
trucker off guard, it also damaged him, at least according to Vicky.
And when he pulled the truck to the side of the road, Vicky leaped
out, but she wasn't done with yet. She wanted our backpacks. He
didn't respond. He just drove away. Vicky was safe, but we lost
everything, including our money (it was in our backpacks). After
telling her story to the pig on the other end of the phone, he put
her on hold and transferred the call to the crime department.
Two hours after we reported the incident, a black-and -white
rolled into the parking lot. The officer in the car was not sent to
help us; he was there to get a cup of coffee. After hearing about
our misfortune, he took the report and called it in to the station.
We gave him a description of the truck, and Vicky gave him part of
the license number. He assured us that the police would do
everything in their power to get our belongings back, and then he
asked where we could be reached. "We're not going anywhere," Vicky
exclaimed. Three hours later another black-and-white pulled into the
truck stop and informed us that they couldn't find the truck. We had
no place to go except home.
It was almost dark when another trucker picked us up; an okay guy
this time. When he dropped us off, some freaks picked us up and took
us to their home in Moline, Illinois. We slept on their living room
couch and, in the morning, after a good breakfast, they drove us
back to the interstate. These people, two girls and three guys,
turned us on to spirit-lifting music when they played the music
of "It's a Beautiful Day." After a full day of hitchhiking, we
arrived back in Houghton Lake, tired, disappointed, and broke.
Two weeks later, the Des Moines police department called up
and told me my backpack was found in a farmer's field. My wallet and
money were still inside and if I wanted my stuff back it would be
waiting for me at the Des Moines police station. I wanted to go
back, but Vicky was a problem, she still wanted to go with me. With
her parent's to back me up, I convinced her that it wasn't a good
idea. I told her I would send her things back to her and when I
finally did leave there were no hard feelings. Traveling the open
road was risky anyway, but in the company of a female, it was double
trouble.
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