What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

If the expression is true, I would like to thank Cheyenne (I went with the traditional spelling) for making me stronger.  Let me explain why.

My heart skipped a bit when I read the following headline last weekend:

Minneapolis Good Samaritan murdered trying to help stranger                      

This happened last Saturday afternoon and grabbed the attention of my wife and work friends because I told them a similar experience that happened to me, and just two nights prior to the news story.

As anyone who has read this blog religiously would know, Thursday is my bowling night. This is also the night my wife works a late shift with a client and doesn't get home until after 11p.  Last week, I was upstairs surfing the Web and listening to music when the dogs started to bark furiously.  This isn't uncommon as Jack will wait in the kitchen until one or the other of us returns home and offers a loud and rambunctious greeting.  What was odd on this night was the barking started at 10:30 and became progressively agitated.

Annoyed, I went downstairs to see what was the matter.  Through the large window of the kitchen door (for which we need to get a curtain), I could see a black woman in her late teens to early twenties standing on the back porch. I opened the door and asked the key questions including "who are you?" and "what are you doing here?"  She was concerned the dogs would bite her and when I told her they wouldn't, asked to come inside.  The temperature had dropped below zero and I wasn't going to have a conversation with the door open, so I let her in.

She claimed she was with a couple friends in a pick-up truck and they were driving by the lake a block away.  They saw a police car at the far end of the street and her friends asked her to see if they could get through.  There was heavy snow that morning and our neighborhood streets hadn't been plowed. When she approached the police car, her "friends" threw her bag out of the truck and took off.  Somehow, the police found her bag and searched it, but didn't find anything, so left it with her.  They also refused to give her a ride home.  So, she was reduced to knocking on doors to find someone to help her.  I used to think I was required to be in a needy person's line of sight to be harassed, but I guess I just exude "sucker" like a clarion call.

Right away, her story didn't add up.  I couldn't understand why her friends couldn't drive up to the police car, rather than have her get out of the truck. The police searching her bag was a little unsettling and their refusing to give her a ride seemed cruel, but not beyond the realm of possibility.  

I asked her if she had someone to call.  She said she could call her brother, but he was working until midnight.  She called him, but when he called back there was no connection because both handsets of our land line lost their battery charges.  I had my cell phone, but I didn't want to go through the process of calling her brother and waiting for him to call back again.  I asked if she had any money.  Of course she didn't and conveniently had loaned her bus pass to her sister because her car wasn't working.  Faced with the choice of having a stranger in my house until the witching hour or throwing her out into the cold, I decided to offer her a lift home (SUCKER!  SUCKER!  SUCKER!).  Looking back, I had a couple bucks and some change in the car; which I could have given her, along with a ride to Sun Ray to take the bus. Instead, I took her from St. Paul to this area of north Minneapolis:

Yes, this is a crime map of the area.  I take heart there was only one murder in the area (the black "M" in the upper right hand corner).


I know what some of you must be thinking; "are you stupid?!"  Well, that seems to be the consensus. I was still trying to reason out the truth.  Fact is, I've had a strong suspicion one of my neighbors is a regular user of certain paid services. There have been a couple times when I've see a young woman appear at the end of the block, walk a little ways, and be met by a car, if one wasn't waiting already.

I was anxious as I pulled on my boots and coat.  Was I on the path to getting mugged?  I remembered from kidnapping movies it was important to humanize the victim, so I introduced myself.

"I'm Cheyenne," she replied.  Of course you are.

When in the car, I didn't notice any scented lotions and unguents normally associated with the trade, so I didn't have a definitive answer.  The trip was relatively quiet, me worried about my health, and Cheyenne deep in her own thoughts.  I asked a few questions to break the silence.  I remembered her saying she was a student.

"Where do you go to school?"

"Augsburg College."  We were taking I-94 and would be driving by the campus.

"What are you studying?"

"Herpetology."

"Ah, herpetology."  Herpetology?!

I knew herpetology was related to the study of animals, but didn't know what types. Turns out it's the study of amphibians and reptiles and Augsburg College does offer courses in Biology that might cover reptiles, so that part of her story sorta checked out.

"Do you live with classmates or with family?"

"With family."

I was getting the sense she wasn't interested in conversation with her one and two word replies.  Plus, I was getting into the dangerous territory of asking the types of questions a john or sexual predator might (I assume).  A heavy quiet filled the car until we were at the highway exit.  She asked if she could use my phone to call her folks to open the door when we got to her house.  I envisioned that would be the point when she would yell "later, sucker!" and go "apple picking."  I told her to call them while we were still driving and advise we would be there in about five minutes.

I missed her street and took a left at the next one.  About three or four blocks down, we saw the lights of a couple police cars.  She made a comment about "here we go again." We turned left well before we reached the "po-po" and traveled to the end of the block. Her house was on the corner and I pulled to where the snow had been cleared.  She got out, grabbed her bag from the back, and I wished her good night and good luck as a Suburban approached from the opposite way.  I gave a look to see she was heading to the house, then left as quickly as possible.  

On the way home, I called my wife to tell her what happened and to check to see if everything looked okay from the street before going into the house.  I left a couple lights on so she could see if the dogs were looking out waiting for her.  I kept her on the phone while she checked around the house.  All was well.

So, what did I take away from all this?  Did I single-handedly improve race relations in Minnesota?  I'm I some kind of hero?  I think yes.  Ultimately, I took the same chance as someone who decides to give a hitchhiker a lift.  It was a random act of kindness, but I probably shouldn't push my luck.  Sorry, hitchhikers.  I've done my good deed.