1978, La Crescenta, California

By Conni Su Siminski

The man sat alone with his back to me. I noticed his smooth neck. It was clean shaven. He sat in a middle booth at the McDonald’s in the sleepy hillside community of La Crescenta. The man had thick broad shoulders, much more buff than my husband’s. His elbows resting on the table accentuated his arm’s muscularity. He wore a light colored shirt, as best I recollect nearly 30 years later.

I can’t remember every detail from that evening in 1978, but I can’t forget the important facts, as much as I’ve tried. I don’t remember the drive to McDonald’s but I will never forget the terror inside me on the ride home, and neither will my daughter, Kerry.

My husband went out of town on business. My two young daughter’s suggested going to McDonald’s after I picked up Kerry, 7, the oldest, from soccer practice. When we got to McDonald’s, Kerry might’ve said, “Get me a cheeseburger, fries and a strawberry shake, Mom,” probably forgetting the “please” before charging off to the restroom. Clearly, I know Kerry went in the bathroom because her coming out marked a shift in my feelings that night.

I remained at the counter with Joslyn, my 3-year-old who stood next to me, twisting my skirt and surveying the eatery at Foothill and Boston for a familiar face. Together we carried the tray of dinners and drinks toward the wall of booths. Joslyn let go of her side and dashed to the cubicle in front of the lone man.

He noticed her. The man turned his head and looked directly at Joslyn. Her beauty drew attention frequently. She had unusual height causing her to appear 4 or 5 maybe, an age of playful innocent sexuality.

“Let’s sit here, Mama,” Joslyn said pointing to the booth ahead of the man.

Something recoiled in me. Maybe I didn’t want the man viewing my neck nor did I want to look at him.

“No, honey, that one’s too near the door,” I said. “How about here?” I strolled to the nook behind the young man. It had a window looking out at my dulled blue ‘68 Chevy Camaro. Joslyn scurried to the booth where I stood waiting and scooted her fleshy thighs over the red vinyl seat facing the same direction as the man. I sat beside her. I placed Kerry’s food across from us and helped situate Joslyn’s burger on its paper with a few fries.

The man turned to face us. He appeared to be somewhere in his 20s. With ease he leaned his arm on the top of the booth. His smooth gestures startled me. He smiled at Joslyn.

“I saw you looking at my table. Would you like to sit with me?”

Joslyn sank against me.

“Now, don’t be shy,” he said. “Come back over to my booth and we can tell some jokes.”

Joslyn giggled and looked to me.

Fortuitously, I now believe, I had met a woman prior to this incident who seemed remarkable in the way she spoke right up and said what she wanted or didn’t want. My gut said, “No,” but I usually questioned myself into backing down; this time, I had been so astounded to see directness work for this woman, I unconsciously attempted it for myself.

“I don’t let my children talk to strangers.”

“Call me Uncle Kenny,” he said. “Then we’re not strangers.”

“Well, we don’t really know you,” I said.

“I come here all the time,” the man retorted. “Just ask the people at the counter. I’m a really nice guy.”

About then my Kerry came skipping out of the bathroom, bringing her clean smell of soap and wet hands. She joined us at the table, but realized we were in conversation with the man in the booth behind her.

“Do you have any more of these coming out of the woodwork?” the man questioned, nodding toward Kerry.

Before I could answer, Kerry spoke up, “Nope, I’m the only one because my Daddy is out of town.”

Food caught in my throat. My security at being at McDonald’s, a family restaurant, a place where folks “deserved a break,” was displaced. Kerry’s eyes twinkled at me as she smiled, exposing her new front teeth and her pride at being part of grown-up talk. The man didn’t seem to notice my weariness.

He didn’t take his eyes from Joslyn and Kerry.

“Well, all the more reason you should come join Uncle Kenny for dinner. Better yet, I could join you. Then you wouldn’t miss your Daddy.” He turned around toward his food and began gathering it up like he intended to move to our booth.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so this time.”

The man’s avoidance of me aroused suspicion. It seemed strange and I immediately questioned whether I looked young and attractive. In my early 30s with blonde hair I’d been told I had a pretty face and figure. But the man seemed enamored with my two daughters.

“You girls like to have fun,” he said. “I think we could enjoy ourselves if your Mother would let us.”

“Maybe next time,” I said.

“When is that?” the man asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, and sort of laughed in that way I did when I tried to soften a harsh tone.

“OK,” the man said and he turned back to finish his food.

“Good,” I thought. The situation is over and I handled it in a firm way without having to get nasty. He could hear everything we said but I don’t remember being self-conscious about our girl talk. My comfort level with McDonald’s resurfaced and I relaxed.

It got dark while we were in the restaurant. Months before I had trained myself to allow plenty of time for any man checking out in the grocery line ahead of me at Alpha Beta to leave in his car before I exited the store. There had been a scare involving female bodies strewn in ivy and remote places both in our community and in Los Angeles at large. I had tended to personalize it since I had a big, jungle-like yard.

Out of habit I waited for the young man to leave before we did. When he didn’t we left by the back door and put our trash in the bin on our way out. The man didn’t say anything to us. We walked in the dim light to our car. I came to the passenger side first and unlocked that door for Kerry. The man from the booth came up behind me, quiet and deliberate. He leaned into my face and said, “How about I come with you?”

No one else was around. I froze. Cars whizzed by on the busy boulevard yet we remained unnoticed. Nothing appeared unusual, but my heart went haywire.

“I don’t think so,” I replied with an uncomfortable sort of stoicism. I continued to pretend there was nothing amiss.

“Come on,” he said. “How about we take a little spin in Uncle Kenny’s car, huh girls? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“No, we have to get going,” I said. Kerry pulled open her door and sat down.

“But ‘Daddy’ isn’t home so what’s the rush?” the man asked.

Taking Joslyn’s hand, I led her around to my side of the car and buckled her in the back seat as quickly as I could manage.

“Please … let me go with you,” the man demanded.

“No … er … we just need to get home,” I stammered. Then I thrust myself into our low vehicle and started the motor. The man started his car too.

When I turned out of the parking lot to go East down Foothill toward our house, the man pulled onto Foothill right behind me. He followed us in the same lane. His lights stared us down.

“Please just look straight ahead girls, like nothing is wrong. OK?”

“Is Uncle Kenny coming over, Mom?” asked Kerry.

“We don’t know this man at all, Kerry. He’s not your uncle.”

I read her fear and she read mine, but I informed Kerry that I planned to drive up Briggs Avenue instead of Rosemont, which was closer to our house. The man stayed behind us for what seemed like a long time. At Pennsylvania he pulled up next to me. From my periphery I saw him look our way. He waited for the light to turn green, then he turned down the hill toward the freeway on-ramps.

“I’m going to drive up Briggs and pull into the Crescenta Valley Sheriff station and honk non stop until someone comes out,” I said.

“Is the man gonna follow us, Mama?” Kerry asked. My arms began to tremble.

“No, he turned down on Pennsylvania,” I said.

I don’t recall anything else about the evening until we arrived home. I feared opening the door to a darkened house. We held our breath as I turned on the light. Kerry and I wondered if the man knew where we lived or if he’d managed to follow us in some unseen manner. Years later Kerry suffered nightmares and I dreamt of turning on a light switch to have a hand crawl over mine.

I didn’t go to the sheriff’s station that night. I didn’t get a license plate number or call anyone. I never told the police. Maybe if I didn’t tell it, it wouldn’t be true. It was the most bizarre encounter I had ever had, but now I understand it.

Months and months went by and one evening I stood fixing dinner in the kitchen. Kerry walked by the blaring television set as the news showed a photograph on the screen. “Mama come quick!” screamed Kerry.

I didn’t drop everything, but I did follow her urgency. Just as I walked into the TV room, Kerry blurted out, “It’s Uncle Kenny, Mama, on the TV set. Look, it’s Uncle Kenny, the man we saw at McDonald’s!”

It was 1979 now and Uncle Kenny, whose real name is Kenneth Bianchi, had been arrested as a serial killer, one of the Hillside Stranglers. Kerry identified him as the man who sat in front of us at the restaurant. Indeed it was.

I had to sit down.

Our community had been on alert for almost two years since the first nude female body of a 16-year-old had been found with ligature marks in the ivy high in La Crescenta. A yard not far from ours and a yard a lot like ours. I had been hyper-vigilant about the possibility of the Hillside Strangler lurking everywhere except at a kid’s happy place.

Their chilling five months of horror began in October of 1977 and continued to May of 1978, with 10 women and girls dead, 5 of whom Kenneth admitted killing. All the murders were committed at night. It was later reported that the two Hillside Stranglers, cousins, had talked about the possibility of raping and murdering little girls for their next victims before they were apprehended. I couldn’t feel my feelings for years because the realization with its implication paralyzed me. I never told the police, though the trial went on for years.

In 1979 I took a class in a nurse friend’s home. She told me that the Hillside Strangler had worked at Verdugo Hills Hospital as a security guard. She said she had asked Kenneth Bianchi to walk her to her car when she got off at night because she was afraid of the Hillside Strangler. When I opened up and told her what happened to me and my daughters she knew it was Kenneth having dinner before coming to work nights at the hospital.

“You had an angel watching out for you all,” my friend said.

I replied something like maybe the golden arches were wings, angel’s wings to protect us from chance encounters.

After raising three children, Conni Su Siminski graduated from UCLA with a BA in English Literature in 2001. She is a published poet and playwright, and is publishing a memoir in the fall of 2007. She lives in Southern California with her husband.

Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Wednesday, February 7th, 2007 | Email This Post

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