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Two Masked Men And A Memorable Christmas Lesson

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By JOAN S. BANCEL

Published: December 25, 2007

I am now 89 years old and feel this is my last chance to get the message of the advantages of gun control to the public.

This event happened in 1932 in Fremont, Neb., a small town of about 12,000, 36 miles west of Omaha.

My father owned a jewelry store for many years. These were Depression years and being in the jewelry store business was not a very profitable business. The entire family worked and only my aunt was paid a salary. Our sales were mostly Christmas cards.

Tom Brokaw's book, "The Greatest Generation," is a generation too late. Our fathers and mothers were the heroes of those times.

Crime was on the rise and my grandfather was adamant that there was never to be a gun in the store or in my father's possession. Although he made many trips into Omaha to the wholesalers to buy watches and jewelry, he never carried a gun.

Saturday night and the stores would be open until 10 o'clock. Tom Lolly (and that really was his name) opened the front of my father's store and called in, "Tom Lolly's hot tamales!"

My father welcomed him in as it was almost closing time. My uncle had already put on the coffee pot in the back room. It was a Saturday night custom that I was enjoying for the first time. I was now old enough to wrap Christmas packages and my Aunt Nettie Spangler had taught me how to tie the bows. I was feeling very grown up.

We closed the store, said good night to everybody, including the watch dog, Gypsy, who slept by the safe, and left. The snow had been falling all evening in big fluffy flakes floating down. It was beautiful and we were in a very holiday mood. The drive home was slow as the streets were not plowed. My 16-year-old brother, Stephen, was upset as he was not allowed to drive.

As we turned into our driveway and saw the garage doors open, my father said, "That's very odd. I know I closed them when I left." He drove into the darkened garage, stopped the car and turned off the engine.

Immediately there was a loud tapping on his window. Both the front and back doors were opened and two masked gunman ordered, "Move over!" One got into the front seat beside my father and one in the back seat beside my mother.

"Hand over the keys, buddy, I saw you snatch them," said the man in front. My brother gave them to my father, who gave them to the driver. As he did so, the diamond ring on his left hand caught the bandit's eye. "I'll just have that too," he said.

It all happened so quickly that we were momentarily left speechless. "Don't you hurt my Daddy!" I cried out. The man sitting next to my mother replied, "Nobody will get hurt if you sit still and stay quiet."

As they backed the car out of the garage and turned toward the street, I saw my neighbor sitting in a chair, calmly reading a book, perhaps the Bible. I thought for a moment to tap on the car window. How useless, I thought.

Instead I blurted out, "My mother does a lot to help poor people. She can help you if you need anything!" He replied, "I'm sure she would." His voice was so gentle it immediately calmed us.

"Where are you taking us?" my father asked. The driver replied, "If you will just be quiet and cooperate, you will find out." Silently we drove through the town into the countryside.

Now the snow was falling heavily. The country roads were not plowed and the ditches on the sides filled. Our fears transferred from the masked men to the road. Where were we? Who could find us if we slipped into the ditch? The snow was almost blinding the driver.

In the distance we saw the blinking of another car's headlights. We stopped immediately. The driver asks, "Do you have a gun in this car?" My father answered immediately in a strong voice, "Absolutely not!" The driver answered quickly, "Smart man. Don't ever carry a gun. You'll be the one who gets shot."

My father had a collection of hunting rifles and went pheasant and duck hunting every fall. He never owned a handgun. His father had once told him, "I don't want to hear of you ever carrying a pistol. I don't want you keeping one in your jewelry store either. Rifles are for wild game, but pistols are for men." For security, we depended on our pet dog.

As our captors backed out of the car, their red bandanas fell from their faces. Looking at them eye to eye, we could see that they were as frightened as we.

The one who had been the driver said harshly, "Don't leave this spot for half an hour. I repeat, half an hour!" They turned and ran down the country road in the glare of our headlights. We watched them disappear into the darkness.

In the distance we could tell the car there was turning around. Assuming it was their getaway car, we felt safe to return to town.

"Guess what?" my brother exclaimed laughing as he said it, "I've got all my Christmas money. I had it in my watch pocket instead of my wallet! I can go to the Christmas dance!"

Suddenly the snow stopped and we could easily follow our tracks back home. It was after midnight and the town was quiet.

Suddenly it was a silent night, a calm night, with a Christmas blessing.

Joan Spangle Bancel lives in Sun City Center.

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