If Mary Ellen had been feeling well, we would not have been robbed. Mary Ellen and Wheeler Crawford were our “across-the-street” neighbors on Grand Valley. They were from Fishkill, New York and Mary Ellen had the greatest New York accent I’ve ever heard in person. Her lectionary readings on a Sunday at Christ the Good Shepherd were a wonderment of sound. Her neighborhood shouts to Wheeler were equally amazing. Mary Ellen was also the local town-crier, knowing just about anything and everything of importance going on in our neighborhood. One of her portals for observation was the window above her kitchen sink, directly opposite to our driveway. For most of the day, she had an excellent view of our property. Except on that day in early April of 1986, when Karen and I had a telephone call from Aunt Mary summoning us to come to Ohio, immediately, since my father had taken an unexpected turn for the worst in his health.
Usually, if both of us were to be out of town, because of a planned vacation, we routinely made arrangements that included informing Mary Ellen and other friends we would be gone. We often took the precaution of notifying the local sheriff’s office so that a patrol car passing through Ponderosa would be aware of our absence. It was also common for us to set the light-timers in several rooms, giving the appearance that someone was in the house in the evening. However, the suddenness of our needing to leave town precluded this planning, as we hurriedly booked a flight to Niles.
It turned out that Aunt Mary’s assessment had proven incorrect; my father was not in any immediate danger. Karen and I returned to Houston and discovered that the window on the backdoor had been broken and the house had been ransacked.
The items we found to be missing were those which were easily transported in a pillowcase, evidently one taken from our own bed. However, I was distressed that my mother’s engagement and wedding rings were gone. I had inherited them the year before, following her death. They were probably not expensive, but they did have a very sentimental meaning. This was also true for a black, onyx ring with a silver fraternity crest I had possessed since my junior year at Kent State, as well as a gold-plated DU fraternity pin I had presented long ago to Karen. Her own, attached Alpha Chi Omega pin had also been taken. Ironically, they also made off with my father’s coin collection, which he had given me only a short time before. The collection, itself, was of average value; he liked collecting coins but had no further use for them. I, myself, had no interest in coins. Fortunately, my stamp collection, of somewhat greater value financially and emotionally, was left behind.
Karen also lost her jewelry, which, at the time, was mainly of the costume variety, rather than the real gems I was able to give to her in later years. She did lose a number of clip-on earrings. As a result, she decided to have her ears pierced. Posts and loops with true gems replaced those which had been lost. The only other item that seemed to be missing was a small, fox stole her mother had given her. Karen seldom wore it, but the sentimental loss was, nevertheless, significant.
There was, however, one pair of items which were not taken, but had been considered by the thieves. Smudged fingerprints were found on two gold-plated pyx used for carrying consecrated hosts from the church to where they would be distributed to sick people who wanted to receive communion. I have often wondered if those responsible for the break-in were actually Catholic-raised robbers, superstitiously concerned about the nature of what they took and what they left behind. We also thought they may have been teenagers living in the neighborhood. They had carried off only items easy to transport and to fence. Common electronics remained untouched. The only other “clue” came from our observation that they had consumed most of a quart of orange juice left in the refrigerator. I would guess they were young teens, not yet interested in our liquor cabinet.
In the weeks following the robbery, I did make visits to the local pawn shops, but without identifying any of the missing items. Apparently, the criminals, themselves, traveled farther from home to fence what they had taken. The police did not locate any suspects. The fingerprints recovered from the pyx evidently were not on file – indicating, to me, that the culprits were young, and probably from the neighborhood, since they knew we were away for several days.
During these days, there was the usual sense of “violation.” Some unknown persons had been in our home and had robbed us. Would it happen again? Once they had successfully accomplished taking small pieces, they could carry away in a pillowcase, would they come back for larger items?
Mary Ellen was as disturbed as we were about the robbery. Perhaps, even more so. If she had not been ill in bed during those four days, she would have been standing at her window over the kitchen sink, observing everything going on in the neighborhood and being very willing and capable of notifying the sheriff’s office of what she was seeing. I agree: if Mary Ellen had been feeling well, we would still have the jewelry, coins and a moth-eaten fox stole, one not worth being stolen.