It’s funny how dreams can be infectious; how someone else’s dream can help clarify your own desires and give your life purpose and direction. That’s how it was for me. James’s dream resonated strongly within me. His need to help others, people like his uncle, awoke the same desire in me. I had lived through my own injustice and although there wasn’t anything that I could do for myself, I knew that there were plenty of other people that could be helped. I would create my own foundation, one that would help victims of human traffickers reclaim their lives. I would help families like mine.
I was four when mom and I were kidnapped. We had left the mall, after shopping for some new clothes at Gap Kids, and we were walking to our car. Mom was telling me about somebody she met at work, she was a social worker and she worked out of a community center in Dell’s County, when two men approached us. One was really big; even bigger than dad, and the other was smaller but fat. The fat one said something to my mother, I don’t know what because I wasn’t paying attention yet, and he showed her something under his coat. I now know that it was a gun, but four-year-old me had no idea. Mom looked around and the man said, “Now!”. She dropped our bag and picked me up and headed straight to our car. One man walked ahead of us and the other followed us. I didn’t know what was happening. I just clung to her. When we got to the car, the fat man said, “Keys!” and my mother handed him the keys. The big man got in front and started the car, while the fat one got in the back with my mother and me. My mother held onto me the whole time. She didn’t put me in the car seat like she always did. She didn’t even put on a seatbelt. I don’t remember anything of the incident after that.
They found me on the side of the road, sitting and crying. Fifty feet away, our car was a total wreck. The fat man was dead in the backseat. The big man had been knocked out by the impact and he ended up in a coma for months before going to jail. Mom was gone. I never saw her again.
John Buckler was the hero of the day. A police officer on his day off and just leaving the mall, John saw mom drop the bag and walk off, holding me, towards the car. From the way mom just abandoned her bag and quickly scooped me up in terror, John suspected that the kidnappers had threatened her with guns, and he didn’t want to endanger us. He raced to his car and as our car drove away, he followed and called in a possible abduction. Not having his gun, a pair of handcuffs, or any way to stop the kidnappers, John stayed a few cars back, making sure not to lose us and kept a running commentary for the police about our position. Everything was going well, and the police were converging on us, when the driver of our car raced through a yellow light and John got left behind. He wasn’t too worried, because there weren’t many options up ahead. By the time he caught up to us, it was all over but the cleanup. A few miles up the road he saw what was left of our car after our driver ran a red light, got sideswiped by a truck and crashed into a traffic light.
John was sure that we’d all died in the crash. He was the first one on the scene and he raced to check out what was left of the car. He saw the bodies of the kidnappers but couldn’t find mom or me. Thinking that we’d gotten thrown from the car, he started looking all around. It took him awhile to find me, because I was so far from the crash site and well before it.
My memories only restart after dad came to get me at the police station. It took some time because dad was in his shop working at the time and it was so noisy that he didn’t hear the phone when the police called. A nearby police car had to be sent to find him and they brought him back.
My dad was holding me and John was soon filling him in on what had happened. When he finished, dad asked, “How did they get out of the car? Where’s Hannah? Why was Abby all alone on the side of the road?”
“We can’t answer those questions yet. The only thing that we can think of is that shortly after I lost sight of them, they met up with another car and transferred your wife and Abby to that car. Somehow, Abby got away and it was too public an area to chase after her. Both cars took off. The one with your wife got away. The one with the original two kidnappers ran the red light in their rush and got hit by a truck.”
“How do you know there was another car? You said that you lost sight of them for a minute.”, dad asked.
“The kidnappers were at the mall and we haven’t found any cars there that can be traced to them. It’s possible that they used public transportation to get there, but with your wife’s disappearance, we think it’s more likely that another car was involved. I know it leaves a lot of unanswered questions, but it’s the best we could do so far with the facts we have.”, John continued, “We’ve set up roadblocks within a 10-mile radius of the crash site, and we’re looking for anyone that fits Hannah’s description, but we’ve gotten no hits so far. We’ve alerted police departments across the state and the picture that you brought in will be circulated to all of them.”
We spent the rest of the day at the police station. Dad sat me down and asked about what I could remember. I told him about the big man, who was even bigger than he was, and about the fat man. I told them that mom held me in the car and that I wasn’t in a car seat. And that was all I could remember.
Life didn’t go back to normal after that. Mom wasn’t there anymore, but Mom’s parents, Bubbie Brandy and Zaidie Steven, were there everyday for the next several weeks. They helped take care of me, while dad worked on trying to find mom. John Buckler really took the case to heart and made sure to keep dad updated on anything that came up. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to tell. In the first few weeks, there were a few reported sightings of mom, but no one could really be sure, and the trails let nowhere. The only real lead that we had were the kidnappers themselves. Len Johnson, the big one, and Karl Snow, the fat one, had been arrested previously on human trafficking charges. Unfortunately, they were released when their accuser disappeared. John was trying to find some connection to an organized crime ring or even to any associates, but the two had left no other trails to follow. John never gave up on my mom and he eventually became a family friend. He’s retired now, but we still keep in touch and have him over for supper two or three times a year, even though we don’t talk about mom anymore.
Uncle Magnum was there for us too. He moved in with us for three months afterwards and he’s been a huge part of my life ever since. It was his idea to get me started in Kung Fu. He was almost a Kung Fu master by then and was already planning to open his own school as soon as he could. I didn’t want to try it at first, but he explained that if I tired really hard and learned Kung Fu, then if someone tried to take me again, I’d be better able to protect myself. He made sure that I understood that it would take a very long time to get good enough. I don’t know if it was his plan, but the idea of being able to do something lit a flame within me. I had been pretty sad since mom was taken and I just wanted to stay safe in my room all the time. The idea that I could fight back was a totally new to me. I was so little compared to those men. Even mom couldn’t do anything. Uncle Magnum explained that the Kung Fu that he would teach me was created by a woman and it was a special form of Kung Fu designed for smaller fighters. I agreed to try it and with daily lessons, I started to come out of my shell again and life began to take on a new normal.
New normal was Kung Fu lessons, kindergarten, helping dad in the shop, movies with Uncle Magnum, and weekends spent looking for mom. Dad knew that searching for mom was nearly hopeless, but nearly hopeless was slightly hopeful. Dad and I visited every hospital within a half a day’s drive of our house and some even further out. He’d stand outside where the doctors, nurses and orderlies would take their smoking breaks and talk with them about mom. He had a stack of pictures of mom with our home number on them and he would hand them out to whoever would take them. He asked them to post the “Have you seen this woman?” picture on their bulletin board and he would shake their hands and thank them for helping.
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When we finished with all the hospitals, we visited churches and soup kitchens and bingo halls. Anywhere a diverse group of people would congregate, we would show up.
For two years dad and I made our weekend trips and for two years we heard nothing. The police came up empty handed as well. Nobody had seen her and there were no more clues to chase. On the second anniversary of her abduction Harry Kronin came to visit with dad. Harry was mom’s old boss at the community center. He was always really nice to me, but I could tell that I never wanted to get on his bad side. He had an air of authority about him that you just didn’t want to challenge. It was strange because he wasn’t physically imposing. He didn’t tower over you like dad did. He was of average height and medium build, with slightly greying temples and he was just starting to get soft around the middle. It took me awhile to pin it down, but it was his eyes. There was a focus behind those eyes, a drive. He had things to get done and you didn’t want to stand in his way. I imagine that he usually got what he wanted.
Dad and Harry greeted each other like old friends. They talked a bit about old times and a bit about mom; each telling the other stories that they already knew. It was comforting to them. Harry had been more that just mom’s boss. He had been her mentor and before she was taken from us, he had been guiding her career so that she would take over for him one day. I liked knowing that mom was good at her job and that she loved what she was doing.
After the stories and the small talk, dad brought Harry a drink and asked, “What brings you by, Harry? I know it wasn’t to get me to come back to the center. I was only there because of Hannah.”
“I’m not at the center anymore either, Josh. I got an offer last year that I couldn’t turn down. I took the dean’s position out at Galt University.”, Harry answered.
“I’m not familiar with Galt. Duke and UNC, I know. What’s so special about Galt that you left the center for it?” Dad leaned forward, genuinely interested in Harry’s answer.
“Galt is a small to medium sized university by those standards. It’s not really a university like most people think about universities. It’s more like a glorified trade school. It was started 40 years ago by an ex-miner millionaire, Matthew Choler, who wanted to set up a mining school that actually produced miners and mining managers who knew what they were doing. He was a frugal, no-nonsense guy and he wanted his school to shed the useless frills that universities were getting known for. He had no patience for soft courses. He saw what the west coast universities were turning out as graduates and he didn’t think very highly of them. He felt that those universities were producing, and these are his exact words, “human bullshit factories”; graduates that could spout pretty words but little else. His wife, Margaret, convinced him to expand on his idea and have several different specialty schools within the university, as mining was too specialized. He relented, but he chose those schools carefully and he set them up differently than other schools did. Galt University has no English department, no Philosophy department and no Humanities courses. There are no gender studies courses and no sports departments, although we have a very nice gym for our staff and students. Each school has to be about a career, a job, a life earning and being productive. The arts were ok, if they were used to produce something. He insisted that there would be no modern art taught. “Graduates could learn to sneeze on a canvas at someone else’s school”, he was fond of saying. The schools have changed with the times a bit, but they’ve mostly true to his original vision. We have mining, architecture, business, engineering, chemistry, and computer science. Every school at Galt exists to ensure that our students can work in their chosen profession. We don’t turn out many CEO’s at Galt, nor many upper management types, but our graduates are some of the finest floor managers and supervisors around. They know their trades and they get the job done properly.”
“That sounds right up your alley, Harry. I can see why you took the job. It’s the next evolution from what you were doing at the center. So, why are you telling me about it?”
“Josh, I need you to come work at Galt’s mining department.”
“I’m a blacksmith, Harry. How does that even fit in to a mining department?”
“Josh. Don’t play games with me. In the old days, most mining resources went to the blacksmith for processing into useful products. I’m aware that times have changed, but our students still benefit greatly from the material science knowledge side. They gain insight into the real-world applications of their knowledge and they learn a new skill. You should also know that each of our departments needs to be self-sufficient from an operational budget perspective. The school provides for capital expenditures, such as facilities and equipment, and for overall administration, but each department must cover its own operating costs. Mostly this is done by hiring out their students to work on projects for companies all over the world. All their work is overseen by the teachers and so the companies are getting quality work for apprentice prices. In your case, you and your students can sell your works to generate revenues. These revenues would pay for the materials that you use to produce your goods.”
“So, I’d have all of the headaches of running a business, as well as a ton of work teaching and overseeing the work of dozens of apprentices? Really Harry, stop sugar-coating the job. You had me at the ‘less freedom to live my life the way I want to’ part. Where do I sign up?” Dad isn’t usually the sarcastic sort, but when he does, it effective.
“You wouldn’t be head of the mining school, Josh. You would be teaching the advanced classes of blacksmithing. All your classes would be taught in our blacksmith workshop. Every student has his or her own hearth and anvil to use. As a teacher, you would have your own shop in the working area. An assistant will also be provided. Ten percent of anything you create and sell would go to the school. The rest is yours. The split for students is 75% for the school, 25% for the student, after expenses.” Harry stopped to take a sip of his drink. He thought for a bit and continued, “You loved working with the kids at the center. I know you did, so don’t deny it. I know Hannah convinced you to try it, when all the times I asked before failed, but she told me how you’d talk about the sense of accomplishment that you ignited in the kids. You are one of the best at what you do, and you enjoy passing on that knowledge. Why not start that again?”
“The kids at the center were underprivileged kids that had no future; no one paid any attention to them. A lot of them thrived when given a chance. Watching them create things and feel a sense of accomplishment for the first time in their lives was amazing. But I can’t go back there, Harry. That center is tied too closely to Hannah, in my mind. I also don’t want to teach a bunch of overprivileged college kids.”
“I know why you stopped going to the center, Josh, and I don’t blame you. However, the students at Galt are not overprivileged kids. The spoiled kids go to other universities and waste their parent’s money. Most of the students at Galt are there on working scholarships and are accepted based on recommendations from our alumni, from the companies that we work with, or from places like the center. We take students that want to learn. You should also be aware that our university has no unions, only one committee, which you will not be part of, and no student government that can interfere with how the school is run. Besides interpersonal issues, there are almost no politics to play at Galt. Everyone at the university is either there to work or learn or both. Anyone who is simply looking for a way to put off adulthood for a few more years is asked to leave.”
“My last card to play is housing.”, Harry continued, “As a faculty member, you’ll get to choose from our available housing. Our business department has a real estate division and a student agent can show you the options available.”
That was how dad and I ended up moving to Briar County, over two hours away from Dell. Harry didn’t convince dad that night to take the job, but he kept after him and eventually dad caved. We moved in time for the next school year and dad’s been teaching there ever since. He loves his job and even agreed to teach a few beginner courses. He still has lots of time to work on his art pieces. Over the years, he’s developed a very good reputation as an exceptional artist and the prices that he gets for this art has been growing. A few months ago, the University held an exhibition of his work and they sold out in a week.