65RoadRacer
Well-Known Member
Just a little story I wanted to share about my youth and someone famous that I met nearly 40 years ago. I should probably say...
When you meet someone infamous and you didn't even know it
Back in 1979 when I was 17 living in Maryland, due to some family issues I ran away from home and hitchhiked across the country. I met my fair share of crazies and other questionable individuals along the way, but one night in particular I got into a car I shouldn't have gotten into.
It was a dark, side road off the freeway north of Los Angeles about midnight, and it was pitch black. The car came along after hours of walking and pulled over when I stuck out my thumb. When I got in the car, I could tell the guy was high and had been drinking - he reeked of it. He started to ask about me, and then started to go into graphic detail about what he likes, and told me that he liked boys and girls, but mostly boys. I was small, and probably looked to be about 14.
Yeah, I got kinda scared, and I didn't like how the conversation was going, so when we got to an intersection I reached for the door handle and told him I would just get out there. He reached over and grabbed me by the collar, and said something to me like, "Stay in the car, please. If you try to get out I'm going to cut you into pieces." I remember 'please' and the part about 'cutting me into pieces' very well, the rest of the interaction is a little fuzzy.
I complied with his request; after all, I was about 5'6" and all of 110 pounds soaking wet so I didn't fight him. I was even more scared at that point. He turned left - away from the freeway - and headed down a dark road. Up ahead there was a vacant service station, all I can remember is a large woodpile, and it was dark. I wasn't sure what was going to happen.
He got out to relieve himself, and told me to stay in the car. That time I wasn't going to comply, so as I watched him walk away I quietly opened the door and I ran towards the freeway. I got to the overpass and ran down the ramp, and continued to run down the shoulder, heading south. Then I heard that car coming up behind me; it was a VW bug so I could distinguish it from the other cars. The car had only one headlight functioning, so when I turned to see it I froze in my tracks. I couldn't move, but as the car went past me I figured he kept going because there was a bit of traffic.
I started walking on the shoulder of the freeway and a CHP car pulled up ahead of me; I was afraid I would get in trouble being a hitchhiker, so I darted across the freeway, jumped a fence, and walked through a neighborhood to get away from the cops.
I had a blue ski jacket that was tan on the inside, and had removable sleeves; so I unzipped the sleeves and stuffed them in my back and reversed the jacket in case the cops came after me. They did, but I heard one say, "nah, he had a blue jacket" and they went ahead. In a case of 20/20 hindsight, I probably shouldn't have run from them and told them what had just happened.
I never really told anyone about that night until about 1994, when I heard that some guy who was on death row was going to be the first person in California to die by lethal injection. It was a big deal to the state, but something else about him caught my attention. He was in prison for picking up young hitchhikers in Southern California in the late 1970s and early 1980s and killing them. The man's name was William Bonin, the infamous Freeway Killer.
It was too eerie, so I started doing some research and found a former detective named John St. John - he was the man that caught Bonin and arrested him. We talked about my experience back in 1979; of the five men who were killing kids at that time, two were incarcerated, one was out of town, and the other two - William Bonin and Randy Kraft - were possible suspects. I described the guy as having long, darker hair and a mustache, St. John told me that he felt it was William Bonin that was driving the car I got into. Finally seeing a picture of what Bonin looked like at the time of his arrest sent shivers down my spine.
Fast forward to last year, I started talking with a guy who was known as the "only survivor of William Bonin" - his name is David. Bonin kidnapped David in the mid 1970s and raped him and tortured him. In an odd display of conscience, Bonin apologized to David and let him go. David was in a few media stories, and was involved not only in putting Bonin and others away, but in helping to keep them behind bars to this very day - over 40 years after his own attack. As a result of his testimony and involvement, he is still getting death threats from those still incarcerated.
He and I have chatted a few times; he probably knows more about these guys than anyone alive right now. After telling him about that night and things that were said, he, too, feels that I got into the car with William Bonin that night in 1979.
The timing fits, as Bonin was released from jail in October 1978, and started killing again in early 1979. His first known victim was killed on May 28, 1979. Had I not run away from him, I very well could have been his first victim after his release from prison. The group of known people who got away from Bonin was presumed to be only one person: David. I can't say there was nobody else as fortunate as me, David told me there was another guy that they found who also got away from Bonin. So maybe it's 3 people who got away from the guy who killed over 20 kids back then, and I am one of the three.
It makes me look back on my life, and how my mother's reaction when I had told her about that night was less than I would expect from a parent. She basically told me that I got myself into that situation. I sort of feel like she didn't believe it really happened, as I had told her there were a number of older men who attempted to have sex with me, or offered to take me home.
One guy had reached over and grabbed my crotch while he was driving and pleaded with me to go home with him, so I opened the door and stepped out of the moving car, tumbling on the pavement. When he stopped, I got up and nearly broke the door off the hinges, slamming it so hard forward that it bounced back and slammed shut. I never spoke to my father about what happened, not that he would care or listen anyway. Both of my parents have since passed away, so I never really got to tell either of them just how insane that night was back in February, 1979.
I believe most people would think, "wow, you sure are lucky" if they believed my story at all, but it's deeper than that. I was thisclose to one of the most infamous serial killers in modern times - he actually grabbed me and pulled me back into the car. For nearly 15 years I didn't know anything about William Bonin, or that I had gotten into a car with a guy who would start killing teenage hitchhikers just like me a couple months after the night I met him.
But it's okay... if someone else told me this story I might be skeptical too, and I really wouldn't know what to say. I guess it's comforting that when I told David about what happened and how it's been heavy on my mind, he said he understands why I reached out to him to talk about it. Of all people I could talk to, he's surely someone who would get it; however, my situation is a mere drop in the bucket compared to what he endured just a couple years earlier. Looking back.... to think that night could have been my last night alive, it kinda blows me away.
Thanks for letting me share it. I've been in some weird situations, but this one was definitely one to remember.
When you meet someone infamous and you didn't even know it
Back in 1979 when I was 17 living in Maryland, due to some family issues I ran away from home and hitchhiked across the country. I met my fair share of crazies and other questionable individuals along the way, but one night in particular I got into a car I shouldn't have gotten into.
It was a dark, side road off the freeway north of Los Angeles about midnight, and it was pitch black. The car came along after hours of walking and pulled over when I stuck out my thumb. When I got in the car, I could tell the guy was high and had been drinking - he reeked of it. He started to ask about me, and then started to go into graphic detail about what he likes, and told me that he liked boys and girls, but mostly boys. I was small, and probably looked to be about 14.
Yeah, I got kinda scared, and I didn't like how the conversation was going, so when we got to an intersection I reached for the door handle and told him I would just get out there. He reached over and grabbed me by the collar, and said something to me like, "Stay in the car, please. If you try to get out I'm going to cut you into pieces." I remember 'please' and the part about 'cutting me into pieces' very well, the rest of the interaction is a little fuzzy.
I complied with his request; after all, I was about 5'6" and all of 110 pounds soaking wet so I didn't fight him. I was even more scared at that point. He turned left - away from the freeway - and headed down a dark road. Up ahead there was a vacant service station, all I can remember is a large woodpile, and it was dark. I wasn't sure what was going to happen.
He got out to relieve himself, and told me to stay in the car. That time I wasn't going to comply, so as I watched him walk away I quietly opened the door and I ran towards the freeway. I got to the overpass and ran down the ramp, and continued to run down the shoulder, heading south. Then I heard that car coming up behind me; it was a VW bug so I could distinguish it from the other cars. The car had only one headlight functioning, so when I turned to see it I froze in my tracks. I couldn't move, but as the car went past me I figured he kept going because there was a bit of traffic.
I started walking on the shoulder of the freeway and a CHP car pulled up ahead of me; I was afraid I would get in trouble being a hitchhiker, so I darted across the freeway, jumped a fence, and walked through a neighborhood to get away from the cops.
I had a blue ski jacket that was tan on the inside, and had removable sleeves; so I unzipped the sleeves and stuffed them in my back and reversed the jacket in case the cops came after me. They did, but I heard one say, "nah, he had a blue jacket" and they went ahead. In a case of 20/20 hindsight, I probably shouldn't have run from them and told them what had just happened.
I never really told anyone about that night until about 1994, when I heard that some guy who was on death row was going to be the first person in California to die by lethal injection. It was a big deal to the state, but something else about him caught my attention. He was in prison for picking up young hitchhikers in Southern California in the late 1970s and early 1980s and killing them. The man's name was William Bonin, the infamous Freeway Killer.
It was too eerie, so I started doing some research and found a former detective named John St. John - he was the man that caught Bonin and arrested him. We talked about my experience back in 1979; of the five men who were killing kids at that time, two were incarcerated, one was out of town, and the other two - William Bonin and Randy Kraft - were possible suspects. I described the guy as having long, darker hair and a mustache, St. John told me that he felt it was William Bonin that was driving the car I got into. Finally seeing a picture of what Bonin looked like at the time of his arrest sent shivers down my spine.
Fast forward to last year, I started talking with a guy who was known as the "only survivor of William Bonin" - his name is David. Bonin kidnapped David in the mid 1970s and raped him and tortured him. In an odd display of conscience, Bonin apologized to David and let him go. David was in a few media stories, and was involved not only in putting Bonin and others away, but in helping to keep them behind bars to this very day - over 40 years after his own attack. As a result of his testimony and involvement, he is still getting death threats from those still incarcerated.
He and I have chatted a few times; he probably knows more about these guys than anyone alive right now. After telling him about that night and things that were said, he, too, feels that I got into the car with William Bonin that night in 1979.
The timing fits, as Bonin was released from jail in October 1978, and started killing again in early 1979. His first known victim was killed on May 28, 1979. Had I not run away from him, I very well could have been his first victim after his release from prison. The group of known people who got away from Bonin was presumed to be only one person: David. I can't say there was nobody else as fortunate as me, David told me there was another guy that they found who also got away from Bonin. So maybe it's 3 people who got away from the guy who killed over 20 kids back then, and I am one of the three.
It makes me look back on my life, and how my mother's reaction when I had told her about that night was less than I would expect from a parent. She basically told me that I got myself into that situation. I sort of feel like she didn't believe it really happened, as I had told her there were a number of older men who attempted to have sex with me, or offered to take me home.
One guy had reached over and grabbed my crotch while he was driving and pleaded with me to go home with him, so I opened the door and stepped out of the moving car, tumbling on the pavement. When he stopped, I got up and nearly broke the door off the hinges, slamming it so hard forward that it bounced back and slammed shut. I never spoke to my father about what happened, not that he would care or listen anyway. Both of my parents have since passed away, so I never really got to tell either of them just how insane that night was back in February, 1979.
I believe most people would think, "wow, you sure are lucky" if they believed my story at all, but it's deeper than that. I was thisclose to one of the most infamous serial killers in modern times - he actually grabbed me and pulled me back into the car. For nearly 15 years I didn't know anything about William Bonin, or that I had gotten into a car with a guy who would start killing teenage hitchhikers just like me a couple months after the night I met him.
But it's okay... if someone else told me this story I might be skeptical too, and I really wouldn't know what to say. I guess it's comforting that when I told David about what happened and how it's been heavy on my mind, he said he understands why I reached out to him to talk about it. Of all people I could talk to, he's surely someone who would get it; however, my situation is a mere drop in the bucket compared to what he endured just a couple years earlier. Looking back.... to think that night could have been my last night alive, it kinda blows me away.
Thanks for letting me share it. I've been in some weird situations, but this one was definitely one to remember.
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