It was a wet, dreary, and “chilly enough for a sweater, but not quite cold enough for a winter coat” day in Columbus, Ohio. I was 20 years old at the time and had just returned home from Miami, Florida. We jumped in my mother’s rusty, old, 1977 sky-blue, Ford Granada. I remember it taking a bit of strength to open the long, heavy car doors as they were made out of 100% steel and creaked from the rust when you opened them.
We headed to Schottenstein’s to buy Natasha (my daughter) a present for her 2nd birthday; it was October 7, 1987. My mother drove and I sat in the passenger seat. Natasha was strapped in a seatbelt directly behind the drivers seat. Mom didn’t believe in wearing seat belts. She said she was afraid of being trapped in hers should she ever get in a car accident. I would’ve worn mine, but it wouldn’t fasten closed and was broken, much like the rear passenger door that wouldn’t open, the brakes that were barely functioning, and various other issues my mother couldn’t afford to fix.
My mother and I argued about going to Schottenstein’s because I hated it. It was always a mess. Nothing was organized; clothes were always thrown on top of racks, falling off of hangers, lying in messy piles, and strewn about the “not so clean” floors or “stained” carpeted areas of the store. The dressing rooms always smelled like “eau de ass and feet”, and the women shopping about reminded me of aliens on a “gotta save 50 cents or else I’ll be obliterated from existence” mission – losing all respect for their fellow shoppers and throwing all politeness out the window, they scurried about relentlessly searching for the so-called perfect deal.
Babies with snotty noses, and dirty diapers that were desperately in need of changing were crying and screaming in their strollers, tossing their bottles on the floor in an attempt to awaken their female guardians from their “gotta save 50 cents or else” trance, for attention. Toddlers zipped in and out of clothing racks and dressing rooms, pulling more clothes to the ground, and stepping on the ones that were already there, leaving dirty foot prints to add to the poor quality of the irregular assortment of discount rags.
I agreed to go as long as she agreed to make it quick.
We headed towards the highway and merged into traffic. It began to rain again. All I could think about was the dreaded shopping experience I was about to endure. Then all of the sudden our car began swerving all over the road. My mother screamed, “Oh my God, Angela, there’s something wrong with the car”. I reached over from the passenger seat and grabbed the steering wheel in an effort to help her regain control but it was pointless.
The steering wheel felt like it was a spinning disc with nothing attached to it. We began to slide into the median and time must have stopped because I remember it as if I was watching a movie in slow motion. I remember hearing the loud, deep tone of the 18-wheeler’s horn. I knew that sound. When I was a child we would quickly pounce into the back seat of the car whenever we spotted what we called a “semi” or 18 wheeler and make a motion with our hands as if we were pulling a rope down from the ceiling to get the truck drivers to sound their horns. I remember thinking about that childhood memory and then saying “Oh Shit” and hearing the 18-wheeler’s horn blow twice.
I smelled something strange and strong. The smell was so strong it was annoying. Almost like a slap in the face. “Smack” it hit me once, then “Smack” it hit me again. I struggled to awaken out of the deep sleep that held me hostage. One more blow from the smell and I awakened to make it stop.
I looked around confused and dazed trying to make sense of it all. I saw blurry faces and heard voices and faint sirens. Everything blended together. “Where was I?” “What happened?” “Why were all these people hovering over me?”
My vision began to clear up just enough to be able to tell the difference between males and females and my mind began to make sense of simple concepts.
A man standing over me asked if I was all right – he was the one holding the smelling salts. He repeated several more times, “Are you alright, are you ok, can you hear me?” I instinctively pushed his hand away and said, “Yes, I’m alright.” “What happened?” “Where am I?” He exclaimed with disbelief in his voice, “I can’t believe you’re alive!” Then he shook his head and continued, “You were in a really bad automobile accident, but you’re going to be ok.”
My vision was still somewhat blurry and I was totally confused. I squinted my eyes in an attempt to see his face and to see the others whom voices I heard around me. I could make out a cop and a male and female paramedic. The cop asked me if I remembered what happened. Suddenly my mind flashed to my baby girl. I tried to jump up out of the gurney, but I was tightly strapped down. With panic and fear in my voice, I demanded, “Where is my baby?” “I need to know where my baby is.” The cop answered, “Your little girl is fine.” “She’s in another ambulance on her way to the hospital, but she’s alright, I promise.” I was relieved and exhausted and fell fast asleep.
When I awoke again I was in a hospital. There were metal beds surrounding me on all sides. I heard a woman screaming in pain. I looked around to see who this screaming and moaning woman was and it was my mother. I was still groggy and weak. My mind kept fading in and out. I wanted to do something for her but I couldn’t move. Then I heard them wheel up another hospital bed right in front of me. I looked over to see who it was and it was my baby girl. She was in a hospital bed for toddlers that resembled a rolling, metal animal cage. Today was her birthday; she turned two years old today.
I was so confused and yet so happy to see that she was all right. When one of the nurses passed by I yelled out for her to come to over to me. I then asked the nurse if Natasha was ok and if she could wheel the cage-like hospital crib close enough so that I could touch her. The nurse said ok and wheeled Natasha closer. Natasha looked around curiously; totally unaware of what was going on. As her bed was being wheeled toward mine she caught a glimpse of me and her chubby round face lit up with joy. She was in a seated position and although she reached towards me with her hands and arms she never attempted to stand – I assumed she was afraid.
My mother was still moaning and screaming. She had to be in excruciating pain because she had a very high tolerance for pain and definitely wasn’t a moaner. I wanted to help her but there was nothing I could do. A police officer came by and began questioning me. He asked me if I knew why we were in the hospital or how we ended up in the car accident. I had no idea. I couldn’t remember anything. He told me that we were lucky to be alive. Then I asked him what happened. He told me that we were in a very bad car accident and that we were t-boned by a semi (18 wheeler) on the highway. He couldn’t believe that I didn’t remember any of it. He just kept shaking his head saying that we were lucky to be alive and that no one could believe we survived. He asked me if I remembered walking along the side of the highway. I didn’t.
He told me that they had to pull my mother out of the car with the Jaws-of-Life and that the accident caused a multi-vehicle pile-up. He also said that my mother had sustained a concussion, broken ribs and a broken hip. One of the nurses or paramedics (I really don’t remember which) came by just as the police officer was filling me in on what I had just experienced – once again I was reminded by another person that no one could believe we survived.
I was in so much pain. My right shoulder hurt so badly. I could tell by the fading sounds of her moans down the hospital corridor that my mother was being wheeled away. Nurses, doctors and paramedics kept stopping by shaking their heads in disbelief to say the same thing, “I can’t believe you guys survived”.
The following day I awoke still in the hospital but with my right arm in a sling. I heard a young man soliciting newspapers in the hallway. He poked his head into my room and asked me if I’d like to read today’s paper. I quickly said, “yes” and he handed me the newspaper and then held out his hand as if to receive payment. I looked at him in confusion. He said, “That’ll be 25 cents please”. I replied, “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t have 25 cents”. He looked at me and hurriedly exclaimed, “Don’t worry about it, it’s on me, have a nice day”. I didn’t usually read the newspaper or pay much attention to the news, but I was hoping I could find out more about what actually happened with our accident – as I still had no recollection of anything except waking up in the ambulance.
I slowly laid the newspaper across my lap and used my fingers to feel around for the electric switch to raise my hospital bed. Once my bed was just right and I was as comfortable as I could be with a fractured right shoulder, I settled into the pillows beneath my head and picked up my newspaper to begin my search. I looked at the front page and there was nothing so I decided to look in the local section. I opened up the newspaper to the local section and read the heading “ROBBER KILLS SELF AFTER CALL SPARKS CHASE” it looked like an interesting story so I continued to read further down,
A man who robbed a Hilliard bank and led police officers on a 15-minute chase before shooting himself in the head yesterday might have escaped if an alert passer-by had not dialed 911, Hilliard safety officials said.
It was the second bank robbery in the city’s history, police said.
The robber, Walker Johnson Jr., 50, of 1026 E. 20th Ave., was taken to Mount Carmel Medical Center, where he died about 9 p.m., a hospital spokesman said.
Police said a man matching Johnson’s description walked into the Ohio State Bank, 3545 Main St. in Hilliard, about 3 p.m. wearing a costume mask with black fur. Once inside, he demanded cash from tellers at gunpoint.
A man who had just left the bank told police he saw the robber put on the mask before entering the bank.
The witness ran across the street to a grocery store and told a woman in a phone booth there to dial 911 for the police, Hilliard Safety Director Charles Schneider said.
Hilliard Detectives Mike Redmond and Joseph Coniglio were finishing lunch across town when they heard the bank robbery call over their police radios.
As they drove toward the area, the dispatcher broadcast a description of the robber’s car, Redmond said. The car crossed in front of their unmarked car at Roberts and Walcutt Rds. moments later.
T
he ensuing chase went east on Roberts Rd. to Westbelt Dr. and a corporate park parking lot, then back on Roberts Rd. to I-270 southbound and I-70 eastbound.
During the chase, the driver, later identified as Johnson, waved a pistol at them and might have fired one or two shots, Redmond said.
Johnson drove through construction barrels on I-70 and finally struck a concrete divider just west of Wilson Rd., police said. The impact sent his disabled car off the right side of the road into an embankment.
“We had all pulled up and we saw him lie down in his seat. That’s when he must have shot himself,” Redmond said.
A .32-caliber pistol and a plastic bag containing cash were found in the car.
Redmond said he was a patrol officer in September 1984 when the last robbery was reported at a Hilliard bank on Main St. Redmond and a detective caught that suspect on Leap Rd. after a similar chase.
Being two for two in bank robbery arrests has not gone to his head. “It was just luck we found him,” he said. “Ninety percent of police work is luck anyway.”
This is a copy of the exact article from the Columbus, Dispatch archives. This bank robber was my father!