Explosions, Fear, and Overcoming

Growing up in St. Louis and St. Louis County, I was aware of Mafia ties in the city - the Cosa Nostra. I don't think I heard about it often, but every once in a while a car was bombed, and the Cosa Nostra was named as the probably cause. I always had a horror of being in a car when a bomb went off - of losing body parts. That seemed worse to me that death.

Shortly before I turned twenty, I went to work for a small telephone company in one of the better areas of the county. It was a small, corporate office were I worked as a secretary. I did not work directly with the president of the company, though I saw him frequently; he was a family man with several children (12 or 13, I think) and was well liked by everyone.

I only worked there a year, and some time after I left the company to go back to college - a few years later, I think - my mother called or wrote me that Mr. L., the president of the company, had been killed in a car bombing in the sub-level parking area of the building in which I had worked. The news was shocking and sad; especially when it was determined that he was probably not the real target. His car, a dark, very upscale sedan looked just like many cars driven by other high level executives in that area. The bomb had been placed in the wrong car; it was intended for someone else.

A number of years later, my husband, children and I moved to a small town in the middle of Missouri. I had not particularly wanted to move there, though there was no concrete reason except that the town was very small and had a reputation for racial problems.

We moved into our new home on a Saturday in mid-June, and my husband had to leave early Monday morning to attend a meeting about 100 miles west of where we lived; he would be gone for several days. I probably got up to fix him coffee and breakfast before he left; however, when he was ready to leave, I was already back in bed since it was about 5:00 A.M. He said good-bye, closed the bedroom door, and left the house. About a minute later the bedroom door opened. He stuck his head inside and said, "Oh, by the way, I've been told there are people here who may try to hurt us." With that remark, he closed the door, left the house, and drove down the highway.

His statement came as a shock to me; I hadn't heard anything about threats against us though I knew this was always a possibility. I was home alone with three relatively small children wondering what might happen. No one saw anything of us for the next thirty hours or so except my left hand reaching out through a small crack when I opened the front door just enough to get my arm out to "feel" for mail in the box by the door. After quickly pulling my arm back inside the relative safety of our home, the door was closed and locked. I was just sure that someone had already or would put a bomb in my car; and that when I turned the key in the ignition, it would explode.

We stayed inside the house until the next afternoon. At that point, I had to decide how I was going to spend the rest of my life. I decided that I could not live in fear; I was not going to be a prisoner in my own home. We had to get out of the house and face the situation head on. Despite this decision, I was afraid as I got us all in the car, especially when I turned the key in the ignition. I was really afraid there was a bomb and that the car would explode. When I turned the key, there was no hesitation like there was in The Pelican Brief. The car started just like it always did, thank God. I backed out of the driveway and drove to Dairy Queen where we had a nice kids' meal, probably followed by ice cream.

While I never forgot what my husband said to me that morning, I don't think I ever really worried about our safety again. We did face some problems in that town, but I came to genuinely like living there and was very sorry when we moved away. It is one of the places I think of as "home."

Blessings to all.