I am planning to write some fresh content today, but I wanted to repost this piece I wrote on March 23, 2015. It’s here “as/is”. I think it will be interesting to people who know the Williamsburg/Yorktown/Gloucester areas in Virginia, as well as those who knew me when I was young.
Today’s post is inspired by an article I just read in the Huffington Post… The featured photo is a picture from the National Park Service of the Parkway in spring…
I have mentioned before that I grew up in Gloucester, Virginia, not too far from Williamsburg and Yorktown. I spent much of my young life traveling on what is known as the Colonial Parkway, a 23 mile stretch of scenic road between Yorktown and Jamestown. As a kid, I’d ride with my mom on the Parkway to get to Williamsburg. We often went there to go shopping or stop by the Naval Weapons Station, which used to have a small commissary my mom favored over the larger ones at Fort Eustis and Langley Air Force Base. It’s a beautiful drive. I actually enjoyed making that drive when I was younger and had jobs in Williamsburg, though sometimes I would take an alternate route just to shake things up a bit.
I grew up in the 1980s. During that time period, there was a series of murders that took place on the Colonial Parkway. The first one happened in 1986, when I was fourteen years old. The two victims, 27 year old Cathleen Marian Thomas, and 21 year old Rebecca Ann Dowski were last seen hanging out in a computer lab with friends at the College of William and Mary. Three days later, a jogger on the Colonial Parkway spotted Thomas’s car on the edge of an embankment. The women had been strangled and their throats were cut. The killer was never found.
As time passed, there were more murders. I’m not going to detail them in this blog post because you can read the article I linked for more accurate information than I can possibly offer. I will mention one other pair that were killed because I remember them the best. On April 9, 1988 20 year old Richard “Keith” Call and 18 year old Cassandra Lee Hailey went out on their first date. They were both students at what is now Christopher Newport University. They disappeared after that fateful first date and haven’t been seen since. They are presumed to have been victims of the Colonial Parkway killer.
I believe Keith Call was from Gloucester, so I remember hearing more about him and Cassandra Hailey than the other victims. I remember seeing the posters asking for information about their whereabouts. That same year in Gloucester, a teenager named Laurie Ann Powell was also reported as missing. She was a graduate of my high school and was last seen alive on March 8, 1988. She was found in the James River April 2, 1988. I remember there were posters on the walls at my school about her, too. I remember reading her “senior will” in the Dukes Dispatch school newspaper and thinking how eerie it was. She had written this memorial to her high school days, not knowing that she wouldn’t have many days beyond high school. I never knew her because she was a few years ahead of me. Over twenty-five years later, the murders still haven’t been solved. The killer(s) must either be dead or locked up somewhere, since as of around 1989, the murders seem to have stopped.
It never occurred to me to be afraid to drive on the Colonial Parkway. I did it all the time. I remember having a job in Williamsburg and my boss– a woman I couldn’t stand and who likewise couldn’t stand me– used to scold me for driving that way to work. Coming from Gloucester and needing to get to the part of Williamsburg where I was working, the Colonial Parkway was the quickest and easiest route. And again, it was (and still is) a very lovely drive. Fortunately, I never broke down on it, though I did end up in a very scary situation once that involved the Parkway.
I’m about to veer off topic a little bit, since this incident has nothing to do with the Parkway murders. It does have to do with a sleazy person, though, who scared the shit out of me while driving on the Colonial Parkway.
From late September 1997 until mid August 1999, I lived with my parents in Gloucester County. I was fresh from the Peace Corps and dealing with some rather serious depression and anxiety issues. Because my father was an alcoholic and we didn’t get along, I needed support. At my mother’s suggestion, I started attending Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings in Williamsburg.
The meetings were held every Wednesday night at a large Methodist church near the College of William and Mary. I looked forward to attending the meetings because most of the people who regularly showed up were nice folks and it was helpful to talk with them. One of the guys in it actually hooked me up with the therapist who helped me get over depression. Because he had issues with depression and ADD, this guy knew all the shrinks in the Williamsburg area and said Dr. Coe was the best. I have long since lost touch with the guy who recommended Dr. Coe, but Dr. Coe is now my friend rather than my shrink. At the very least, I will always be grateful to ACOA for that connection.
There was a guy named Peter who used to attend the ACOA meetings. Peter lived in Surry, which is a community not far from Williamsburg, but in order to get there efficiently, he had to take a ferry across the James River. He was a swarthy guy with dark curly hair and luminous hazel-brown eyes. I don’t know what his ethnicity was, but I would guess he was of Italian or Greek descent. Perhaps he had gypsy blood. He wasn’t bad looking, but my initial impressions of him were not positive.
I didn’t like Peter. He used to make fun of me and harass me during the meetings. I didn’t think he liked me; but in retrospect, he must have thought I was somewhat attractive. His way of showing his “attraction” was to be annoying, snarky, and critical. One time, he looked in the front seat of my car at some books I had picked up at the library. One of the books I had borrowed was called Sex For Dummies. He thought that was funny and felt the need to make rude comments about it.
After awhile, he either became less obnoxious or I got used to him. For awhile, I didn’t dislike him as much as I had. I even started bantering with him. Though he had a lot of baggage owing to being raised by an alcoholic, he would tell us interesting stories about his plans to build a house out of straw. Eventually, he hooked up with some woman and they had a baby girl, though they never got married. I remember one night, they came to the restaurant where I was working and had dessert on the terrace. I think I even waited on them.
In August 1999, I went to grad school. I came back home for fall break. A male friend of mine from college was in Williamsburg for a teacher’s conference, so we made plans to get together. It was a Wednesday night, which was also the night of ACOA meetings. I decided to stop by and see old friends I knew from that group, then meet my old college friend at his hotel room.
Well, it turned out that night, ACOA was cancelled. Since I no longer lived in the area, I didn’t know. Peter also didn’t get the message. He showed up at the church and we sat around and talked for awhile. He made a comment about how “good” I was looking. I had lost a lot of weight working at a restaurant in Williamsburg and hadn’t yet had time to regain it at school. He asked me if I wanted to go see his baby.
In retrospect, I should have said no. My friend was waiting for me and, honestly, I didn’t even like Peter that much. But we were getting along and, for whatever reason, I was curious about his baby. I guess I also didn’t want to be rude. He and his girlfriend had broken up, but she allowed him liberal visitation. He called her and said he was coming over to see the baby and she agreed.
I stupidly let Peter drive me in his truck rather than following him in my own car. We went to the ex girlfriend’s house and saw the baby. The ex girlfriend was noticeably tense and seemed upset with Peter. I seem to remember her telling him he was a jerk. I paid little mind to it. The baby was really cute and I was entertained by watching Peter thrill her by holding her up high and twirling her around. The baby seemed to enjoy Peter’s roller coaster moves and responded by smiling and laughing. She had Peter’s eyes and coloring. She has probably grown up to be very exotic looking.
After our visit with the baby, we got back in Peter’s truck. We were chatting casually. I was telling him about school. I expected him to take me back to the church. He headed for the Parkway instead. I told him I needed to get back because my friend was waiting for me. He said he thought maybe I could blow off my friend. I insisted that I wanted to get back. He said he wanted to “hold me” for awhile.
Suddenly, my brain was crystal clear. I somehow managed to stay cool as I insisted that he take me back to the church so I could get my car and go. I reiterated that my friend was expecting me and would call the police if I didn’t show up. Now, in truth, I doubt my friend would have called the cops. He probably would have worried, but ultimately might have thought I had simply stood him up. However, he also knew I wasn’t the kind of person to stand people up, especially him. He was one of my best friends.
I sternly informed Peter that if I didn’t show up for our appointment, my friend would be looking for me. All Peter knew was that my friend was a guy. He may have even figured my friend could beat the shit out of him.
Peter argued with me, then started lecturing me about how I let other people control me. What was the harm in blowing off my old friend and having a little fun with him in his truck? I thought that was a pretty rich comment, since I had made it clear that I didn’t want to be with him in the way he was suggesting. Indeed, it was obvious he was upset because I wasn’t allowing him to control me. Fortunately, my tone of voice convinced Peter that he needed to do what I said. He finally took me back to my car and I will never forget the overwhelming sense of relief I felt when I was no longer in his truck with him. I swear, I felt like I was about to shit my pants. I was petrified.
I remember being polite to Peter as we said goodbye. Then I went to see my friend. I was really shaken up and upset. We tried to go out, but I was too freaked out to enjoy the evening. Later, I was really pissed off. I have mentioned before that I have never been much of a dater and I don’t generally attract abusive people. Most of the guys who have liked me are nice to a fault. Peter didn’t like me. He saw me as someone he could talk into fucking him. He was a colossal asshole.
Not long after that incident, I visited friends at the restaurant where I had once worked. I was pretty shocked when I saw Peter on the waitstaff. He didn’t last long, though. He came over to say hi to me. I am sure he could see it written all over my face how much I despised him for what he tried to do. Perhaps he didn’t have any criminal intentions toward me, but he showed extreme disrespect. And it’s that experience, not the Parkway murders, that makes me think less of the pretty 23 mile drive. I haven’t been to another ACOA meeting since.
I wonder if Peter’s ex girlfriend continued to be so liberal about letting him visit their baby. That girl is now a teenager. Hopefully, Peter wasn’t a terrible father to her and my instincts about him were wrong. I can’t help but feel sorry for his ex girlfriend, though. I would hate to have a child with a man like Peter. Clearly, he was aptly named, too.
