Here's An Old Story For You

My friend Dean requested an old story from me the other day [month]. Since we go way back I told him I would oblige him. This is a long one, but here we go:

An Interesting Thing That Happened To Me Right Before I Moved To Cali

The summer of 1984 was a busy one for me. I was working two jobs to pay for a trip to Scandanavia in August - lunch shift at McDonalds and evenings at the movie theater. This particular Saturday night had me scheduled to work the snack bar at the drive-in.

I got a call late in the afternoon from Jennifer, who was supposed to work the box office that night. She needed to trade slots with me for some reason - it had something to do with her other job at the local market. I jumped at the opportunity to trade slinging sodas and popcorn for sitting in a nice quiet booth selling tickets.

Here is a picture of the box office I speak of. When I worked there it was the Forty-West Drive In. It closed in the late 80's and and reopened as the 66 Twin in 1999.

I got to work as the sun was setting. After hanging out in the snack bar for a few minutes I collected the combination tackle box/cash register and headed across the rolling gravel hills to the box office.

It was a busy night - not surprising considering the general lack of Things To Do On Dates In Weatherford, Oklahoma - and I sold well over $1000 worth of tickets before the movies started. As things quieted down I scrounged up a legal pad and started writing a letter to a girl I had met at camp that summer.

Then things started to get interesting.

I was surprised to see a man walk up to the box office. I was more surprised when he pulled a gun out of his pocket, pointed it at me, and told me to "put all the money in the bag," which he handed me.

I thought about this proposition for about two seconds. I could tell Mr. Robber was nervous - he kept repeating "I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to hurt you." I didn't want him to hurt me either. So I started shoving bills into the bag.

About this time Dan, the owner of the theater, was leaving. As he drove out the exit lane, thirty yards or so in front of the box office, he noticed Mr. Robber leaning on the windowsill of the booth.

It appeared to him that one of my friends was visiting with me at work. This sort of fraternization was frowned upon, and Dan decided to drive over and take me to task for my transgressions. Since his headlights were out Mr. Robber did not see him pull into the entry lane.

I had finished putting the money into the bag and was handing it to Mr. Robber when Dan noticed the gun pointed at me. Realizing that Mr. Robber was getting ready to run off with his money, Dan jammed on the gas to run him over. Sadly, he spun out a bit on the gravel, giving Mr. Robber time to turn and run. Dan clipped him, knocking him over the low white fence that edged the entry lane, but he quickly got up and dashed off into the night.

Dan wheeled his car around the back of the booth as fast as he could, yelling "Where did he go? Where did he go?" Frankly, I had no idea where he had headed. I yelled that he had headed off towards I-40 - which ran about 50 yards from the booth - but I really didn't know for sure what direction he had gone.

Dan screeched off in a cloud of dust, screaming "Call the cops! Call the cops!"
I silently thanked whoever had put the emergency number sticker on the phone as I dialed the police.

Here's how that conversation went:

Me: "I'm calling to report an armed robbery."

Dispatch: "Can you repeat that?"

Me: "An armed robbery at the Forty-West Drive In."

Dispatch: "When did this happen?"

Me: "Just now, a few minutes ago."

Dispatch: "Where did the robber go?"

Me: "I really don't know - I couldn't see which way he went."

Dispatch: "Ok, stay on the line. I'm going to put you on hold for a minute."

Excuse me? (I realize now that he was putting the call out on the radio but at the time it was a little unsettling.)

I suddenly realized that I was sitting in a well-lit glass box, surrounded by a murky darkness that held at least one gun-wielding bandito. I dove for the floor while I waited for the dispatcher to come back on.

When he came back he advised me to stay calm and stay put and that the police were on their way. Sure enough, within a few minutes all four of Weatherford's police cars came screaming past on Route 66.

At this point I will leave my first-hand account.

Now, the drive-in is a couple miles west of town and there's not much else out there. Next door to the drive-in is the (then new) ShoWest 3 walk-in three screen theater, and next to that is a farmhouse, but that's about it.

Ms. Accomplice had parked their van in front of this farmhouse, where she waited while Mr. Robber took care of the robbing. After getting bumped over the fence, Mr. Robber ran to the van and hopped in. Ms. Accomplice stomped on the gas and they zoomed off into the night.

That would have likely been the end of it, but for one thing. The occupants of the farmhouse saw Ms. Accomplice sitting in a van waiting in front of their house and watched the guy jump in. Suspecting they were up to something, the farmer jumped into his station wagon and gave chase.

When the local police caught up with the van, the station wagon had somehow managed to get them pulled over. Mr. Robber jumped out of the van and made a dash for it across the fields, while the police officer kept his car's spotlight trained on him. The officer got out his rifle and fired off one round before Mr. Robber stopped in his tracks. (He later expressed some regret about this, saying to me "I would have hit him if I hadn't had to put the light down.")

They put Mr. Robber in the back of the car and drove him back to town, where he was booked into the local jail.

In the meantime, another officer came by to question me about the proceedings. They were very curious about the gun as they hadn't found it in the van. I wasn't very helpful. I was able to tell them that it was:

(a) metal
(b) bluish

and most importantly, as far as I was concerned

(c) pointed at my face

I went down to the station and filled out a police report, and that was the end of my involvement. They never found the gun, and I have no idea what happened to Mr. Robber or Ms. Accomplice The Van Driver.

When I got home my mother was in near-hysterics. At the time, I thought she was overreacting a bit - I was 17 and therefore knew that I was immortal. Now that I am a parent myself I can appreciate her position.