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  • Writer's picturePaula F. Hill

The Gratitude of a Robbery


Putting the loose change from my purse, back into the coconut half that sits on my walnut chest of drawers, was habit. As soon as I flung my purse on the couch, I tipped the coins in the souvenir. This particular afternoon however, the container wasn’t on my bureau. I expected the cat must have flipped it and searched the floor below. I looked behind the cabinet, along the baseboards, under the bed and in the hallway. Nothing. Then I noticed a dime sleeve, flat on the floor in the living room. The three dogs, normally excited to head out the door were acting strange. Tyrus had his head down low, shoulders hunched a bit. Bailey was sitting on the oriental rug, hovering in front of the pellet stove. Jax, an energetic Aussie stood next to my left leg, whining a bit. What the heck is going on?

I raced back into my bedroom, to pull out the cloth bag of coins I rolled to cash-in for our holiday trip to Wisconsin for Christmas. It was normally hidden under the sweaters and heavy blankets at the top of my closet. The red bag was gone and along with it, my passport wallet and $1800 cash for said excursion. “We’ve been robbed!" Taelor flew into her room to check her piggy banks. She’d just gotten money for her birthday, $68 in all, and it was missing. A second bank, a blue bear with a pasted-on mustache, must have escaped their surveillance. Taelor, in obvious distress, started wailing.

I phoned the cops as soon as I discovered the truth. The robbers had scoured the house and the three dogs didn’t deter them. The police were on their way. I began calling all of the neighbors to alert them. Taelor was crying louder now, so discouraged and angry that someone would go into a child’s room and take her money.

I was beside myself with fury. Little-by-little, the stories leaked. The guy behind me had collected all of his coin from around the house and put the massive mason jar on the counter to take to the bank later in the week. When he got home that afternoon, he thought it strange the upper bedroom window was ajar. He went to investigate. The house clearly had been foraged, jar was taken, of course, but he must have scared them off. The window was opened to sound the alarm if someone pulled up in the driveway. They got away with, not only the coins, but a cell phone and chargers, and a walkman.

Another house down the street was burgled the following week. The woman, just having had knee surgery, was upstairs in her room with the small breed dog, watching a movie. Neither heard them enter and take the six months prescription worth of pain pills from the kitchen cupboard. The change from the pharmacy was taken as well.

In the meantime, I was piecing together the chain of events. Ted, the next door neighbor, ran over to meet up with me and the cops. He told the police he SAW the kid, walking on the street in front of his house in the middle of the afternoon, coming from the woods. Ted was outside on his porch and hollered hello to the boy. My question would have been “Isn’t there school today?” He must have been loaded-to-the-gills with coins, walking like the chain gang. Ted didn’t notice the youth’s pockets, but gave the cops a detailed description. Later in the day, he found the coconut and a few more coin wrappers on the trail behind his house.

As he replayed the story to me later, I remembered a kid who looked just like that. I was walking my dog downtown a few weeks prior. He stopped me and asked if he could pet Ty. He got on the ground and gave him a huge hug and pet him, taking Tyrus’s face in his hands. Clearly not afraid of this 100# beast. Hm. Must be the same young man!

In the meantime, doors around the area were being opened and goods taken. Cash, pills, drug paraphernalia, cigarettes, handheld tech equipment - anything small and marketable. And obviously, things they could carry easily, without being targeted.

The police chief held a community meeting. Up until now, we were a small town, doors unlocked kind of place. Even the mayor sheepishly claimed her doors were always open. She wanted the teens to know there was always a safe haven, in case they needed a place to hang out or even crash overnight.

NOT ANYMORE.

The police found the kid and his family, dad (Henry) and two older brothers, living on the fairgrounds in their trailer. It was off-season and they had the only occupied site. Henry had odd jobs around town, struggled with addiction, and constantly whined about his wife leaving him to his own devises with the three boys. The cops parked a white elephant motor home two sites down from , to investigate the family. Their cover blown in a matter of days, Henry popped the steps and they took off for parts unknown.

In the meantime, a representative from the Quaker Church approached me to share about their Conflict Resolution Program. They got the perp together with the victims to sort out the healing process. I told them, when I found out who it was for sure, I would gladly participate. I then held a meeting with the Juvenile Court Public Defender to let her know I wanted to have a private conversation with Kenny (if he was indeed the criminal) so the doors of communication could remain open. She knew Kenny well, was familiar with the older boys' connection with Trouble, and Henry.

Nothing could be proven until someone was caught red-handed. The opportunity came a few weeks later. An unfamiliar car was in the driveway in the next town over. The folks were on vacation and the neighbor called the police. It was the County Sheriff who nabbed the crew. They were in the house, collecting goods. He quickly got a search warrant and the found a lot of the missing items from the robbery reports the week before.

Turns out, the oldest boy in the clan gathered younger kids to steal for him. They drove the stash up the peninsula to sell to a guy who then took the goods, via the ferry system, into Canada. There were five young boys, who were mostly just needing to belong somewhere, three of whom had been booted from school.

Since I couldn’t prove the cash they found was mine, I didn’t get the $1800 nor my coconut container back.

As I sat in my AlAnon meeting at the end of the week, sharing my story in tears, I released a lot of the anger and resentment I felt towards these young boys. After spilling my guts, I went to the bathroom. I was stopped by several people, giving me hugs, sympathy, and words of encouragement. When I returned to my chair to collect my things, there was a small red envelope. I opened it to find $650 in cash. My friends from the meeting had collected the money for me. I shed a pond of gratitude tears.

The family left the area and I never got to give Henry any parenting advice. What I would say is: “Thank you for the best lesson EVER, on forgiveness and gratitude.”


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