True Crime Walk: Did I Escape the Night Stalker? | 15 Minutes | 60

Let’s go for a walk and talk about the morning a man tried to shoot me. And that man may have been the Night Stalker.

This is my true story, and it will pull you in while you walk… making time fly.

Just a quick heads-up before we start: since this is a true crime story, we do talk about real-life violence.

So here’s the situation…

You’re 18. It’s early and still dark. You’re jogging with a Walkman (because, you know, the 80s).

A car pulls up. You lean in the window. And you’re staring straight into the barrel of a gun. Yes, a gun.

And because your brain has zero reference for what’s happening… you think it’s a joke.

As we walk I tell you what happened next, and why there’s a pretty good chance the man in that car could have been Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker.

I also wander into:

• My backstory growing up in the safe country of Norway
• Being 18, naive, and way too trusting for Los Angeles
• Working at the District Attorney’s office and reading real and gruesome case files all day (yikes)
• The moment it finally hit me… that the man with the gun wasn’t joking
• And the time I decided to be like a “fainting goat” (super helpful, body. Thanks)

This is a brisk walking workout to get your heart rate up (in more ways than one!). You’ll get about 1500-1700 steps in and maybe break a sweat. You can do this walk outside, or inside on a treadmill or walking pad.

There’s background walking music to keep your pace, and a bell at the halfway point so you know when to turn around (and so my story doesn’t take you down a rabbit hole and you have to call an Uber to get home).

Today’s walk is a little different. A little heavier. But also kind of fascinating. The things I have seen and done…
 
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Transcript

Main: 0:06

This is a different type of walk. It's a story walk, true crime for my real life. Start walking with me at an easy warm-up pace. You can walk outside or inside on a treadmill or walking pad. So picture this. It's 5.30 a. m., late November, 1984, and we're in Montebello, California, in the San Gabriel Valley. It's still dark outside. I'm jogging along with my Walkman, probably listening to Duran Duran because, you know, the 80s. I'm going opposite traffic on the sidewalk. As I run along the dark street, a car heads slowly towards me. The engine rumbles as the car creeps down the road. But when it gets to me, it stops. So I stop. The window's already rolled down like it's waiting for someone. I lean in, thinking the driver needs directions. And the first thing I see is not the driver, but the barrel of a gun. And that barrel is pointed right at my face. When you see a barrel up close, you only see the hole. The hole where the bullet comes out. That's what your eyes are drawn to, and nothing else exists. Then I hear, get in the car or I'll blow your head off. I take a moment. I don't scream. I don't run. I do the unexpected. I straighten up really slowly, take my time putting my earphones back on, pivot, and just start lightly jogging away. Because I thought he was joking. I had no reference for this in my brain. The man who tried to shoot me, I have no idea who he was, but there's a chance it was Richard Ramirez, the night stalker. The timeline fits. The location fits. The behavior fits. And that's unsettling. I still wonder sometimes what would have happened if I'd gotten in the car. Probably wouldn't be here to tell you this story. Walk a little faster. Your shoulders are down and relaxed. Let your arms swing loose. You're going to follow the beat. In order to understand why I didn't panic and get in the car, you have to know a little bit about who I was in 1984. I was 18 years old. Naive. Trusting. I was fresh off the plane from Norway. I'd only been back in the U. S. about six months when this happened. I grew up in Norway where I felt perfectly safe. We had one Norwegian TV channel and two Swedish TV channels. That's it. We had virtually no crime shows. And I watched a lot of Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, and Gene Kelly, all dancing on air. I really didn't have much of an understanding about predators or criminals. And violence wasn't part of my reality. Growing up, I spent a lot of time by myself with books and cats. Surprise! My single mother was an alcoholic. I didn't do much but go to school, work, and then read. Yeah, I was a little weird and a little isolated. I just had a couple of friends. I was a geek during the very, very early years of technology. So just before I turned 18, I ran away from home, across continents, and back to the U. S. with $1,000 to my name. I learned to type and learn to type on an American keyboard. I worked all kinds of temp jobs throughout the Los Angeles area. From the San Gabriel Valley and the Fashion District to downtown Los Angeles and Wilshire, I worked everywhere, every assignment. I would take the bus to work through the smog in the concrete jungle. Then after work I would take another bus to East Los Angeles College, where I took classes at night. And every morning before I went to work, I would jog. So I had no street smarts, yet I felt perfectly safe, because I'm a blonde. Yeah, yeah, yeah. And sometimes I kind of felt like I was watching a movie, watching me living my life. And nothing harms you, really, in a movie. So when the headlights came towards me and the car slowed, I was completely clueless to any danger. I just leaned in, ready to help, all five feet and 110 pounds of me. When I heard, get in the car or I'll blow your head off, my brain just thought, oh, this is a joke. How silly. This is my first real American prank. This is how things are done here. Even though I could clearly see the barrel and I could clearly see the gun, I just didn't get it. So that's why I took my time standing back up, putting my earphones back on. I wasn't in a hurry. I didn't sense danger. And as I jogged away at a nice, slow pace, I didn't feel one bit scared. the funny thing about this now was to think about the man who sat in his car, engine idling, as I jogged away. He was probably so confused and startled that this didn't go according to his plan. Because I didn't scream, I didn't show fear, and I didn't get in the car. I didn't react the way he expected. I just took my time leaving, and then he finally peeled out of there, I think once he got over his shock. I lived around the corner from the incident, and jogged home telling my dad, Oh my god, dad, the funniest thing just happened to me. And my dad, of course, didn't laugh. He ran outside, but the man was long gone. Hold a steady pace, relax those hands, you're going to roll through each step as you walk, stay with the beat. Now the day that this happened was also my first day working at the Los Angeles District Attorney's office in the Criminal Courts Building in downtown Los Angeles. Ira Reiner was about to be sworn in as the District Attorney. At that point, I really didn't even know what a District Attorney was, or what he did. It was just a new assignment for me. And later, I got invited to Reiner's swearing-in ceremony, but I didn't understand that big deal. I worked in the typing pool in a big open area, with buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, typing away on those old IBM Selectric typewriters. If you know, you know. We all had stacks of case files on our small desks. We would pull out sheets called Statement of Facts for each case. These statements summarized the cases and who did what, to whom, when, and how, in grizzy and horrible detail. It felt surreal sitting in that office, typing away, reading the awful things that happened to people. Thwack, thwack, thwack. All day long. Horror, horror, horror. All day long. That first day, just a few hours after laughing about the man who tried to shoot me, I was reading about the terrible things that people did to each other. Real things. Awful things. And that's when it hit me. The man in the car hadn't been joking. This stuff actually happens. And I was shocked to my core. So I'd either been lucky or stupid, or both. And my stupidity saved me from something that we'll never know. Pick up the pace a little. Strong, steady stride. Follow the music. So Richard Ramirez was the Night Stalker. Most people remember him from that awful, sweltering summer of 1985. But his first confirmed murder was in April of 1984. So by November of 1984, when that gun was pointed right at my face, he was already active, already escalating, already breaking into homes and terrorizing people across Los Angeles. Ramirez murdered, raped, and maimed. He dabbled with pentagrams. And even made one woman swear her allegiance to Satan after he shot her fiance. During the heat wave of 1985, people stopped sleeping with their windows open. They were terrified. Many victims had one thing in common -an unlocked door or open window Ramirez would use to get inside. So everyone shut everything tight. And no one had air conditioning. We all suffered through those long, hot nights, listening for any unusual sounds, startling at every creak of the house. It was so miserable. Millions of Californians were held captive inside their homes. They didn't even feel safe in their cars. One victim was pulled out of her car and murdered right there on the street. The entire city was a hunting ground. We were prey. Helicopters circled overhead. It was nonstop news coverage. But at the end of 1985, RIchard Ramirez was finally arrested and the city could breathe again. We could open our windows without fear again. Ramirez was eventually convicted of 13 murders and in 1989 was sentenced to death in the very same building where I had worked at the District Attorney's office. I can't prove that the man who tried to shoot me was Richard Ramirez, but the timeline matches, and that makes it kind of heavy sometimes. Wondering. Not knowing for sure. And thanking my lucky stars. Maintain a strong confident walking rhythm. Steady pace. Keep your shoulders relaxed, down away from your ears. And here's an interesting tidbit I just learned recently. One of my uncles was in the LAPD, and it turns out that he was part of the team that arrested Richard Ramirez that August of 1985. So our family was possibly touched by the same case from two different directions. That's kind of weird, but kind of interesting. I never made the connection between what happened to me and Richard Ramirez, but many years later, my son had a law enforcement teacher in high school who worked cases in that era, and when he told her about what had happened to me, she said it could have been Richard Ramirez. Everything fit. And after that, I just couldn't really stop thinking about it. About a month after my near shooting, I was out jogging, another early morning. A car came to a stop directly across from me, and suddenly I'm sitting on the sidewalk. It's not really a great self-defense move, just sitting there on the chilly cement, but my legs had completely given out. It turns out the car was someone picking up a neighbor, but my body said time to panic. And then I fell just like a fainting goat, completely useless on the sidewalk. it could have been a delayed adrenaline response, or maybe it was the fact that I learned that bad things really did happen after typing up hundreds of statements of facts. Slow your pace just a little. Roll those shoulders backwards. Big rolls, big rolls. Going to do a little recovery. Roll those shoulders forwards. Take a deep breath in through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. Sometimes I look back at that 18 year old me, the one who was so clueless, so naive, and so lucky, and I really just want to give her a big hug. Because if I had any other frame of reference, I might have obeyed and gotten into that car. So what stopped me that morning? I always told my kids and their friends, if that happens to you, don't get in the car. Run. Take your chances. You're safer outside the car. Never be polite. Just run. But we're safe now, you and me. Take a deep breath again through your nose. And exhale through your mouth. You're going to find and release any tense spots in your body. Shake out your hands. Relax your jaw. Because a lot of times we store tension in our jaws. Make sure your feet aren't gripping the bottom of your shoes. When you're done with this walk, maybe do some quick stretching. Stretch your calves. Stretch the front of your thighs. And drink some water. Gradually slow your pace a little bit more. And if you liked today's story walk, if it distracted you and made the time fly, let me know. I'm on Instagram, Facebook, and Threads at YourWalkingPodcast. Or you can leave me a comment on Spotify. I always love to hear from you. Slow it down again. Thank you for coming with me on this story walk journey. And I will see you next time.