. . . He Never Said He was a Killer

I was invincible. I had spent the last two years majoring in outdoor recreation at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale and was mentally and physically at the top of my game. I had completed an internship at Touch of Nature Environmental Center assisting in leading hikes, canoe trips, rock climbing and rappelling, and educational programs all over southern Illinois, the Missouri Ozarks, and the Boundary Waters in Minnesota. My very naive, rural, small-town mind had been forever blown. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t do. My can of self-esteem had exploded and was overflowing.

I took weight-lifting 101, became an American Red Cross First Aid and CPR instructor, and was certified in ARC Lifeguarding and Lifesaving. Then I traveled to Minnesota to finish my bachelor’s degree with a final internship at the Environmental Learning Center. I was teaching and involved in the same amazing activities for which I had developed a passion, with new Northwoods lore added to it. Of course, very little money was involved, but lodging and meals were provided. I was living the dream. I realize it wasn’t everyone’s, but it was mine. I was fearless and strong. Well, as strong and fearless as one might be, at 5’2″ and 112 lbs.

I was fearless of everyone and everything. Until I registered in the sleaziest hotel in Prince Rupert, British Columbia. I had finished my Minnesotan internship and traveled across Canada by train with only my backpack. I was on my way to Petersburg, Alaska to meet up with my longtime boyfriend. After the train took me from Thunder Bay, Ontario (another adventure in its own right) through the incredible Canadian Rockies and Lake Louise, my last stop was Prince Rupert. I was careful to avoid dark alleys and sleazy bars, but I had a cab take me to the scariest hotel I’d ever seen. My boyfriend and his buddies had stayed there on their way to Alaska the last three years, and he recommended I stay there. It was $20 a night. Of course it was. And let me tell you, it was overpriced.

As I walked in the door of the dark, dank hotel, stale cigarettes and alcohol smacked me in the face. Before I finished paying for the room, a guy who looked like he hadn’t bathed very recently, had crawled away from the bar in an adjoining room and was leaning up against the wall next to me. I quickly took the room key, and as I turned to go up the stairs, the guy asked if he could buy me a drink. I was pretty sure this was the local routine every time the train or ferry arrived to town. Maybe he drew the short straw that day.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just go to my room now. If I decide to come back down and have a drink, I’ll let ya know,” I said almost too friendly-like, hoping to hide any disgust.

“Yeah, okay, you let me know. I’ll be here.”

I hurried to the room and couldn’t get the key in the lock fast enough. Unnerved, I opened the door to a mismatched room with cigarette burns on the furniture, bedspread, and carpet. I propped a wooden chair under the doorknob and didn’t leave the room to find the common bathroom out in the dark hallway, a few doors down. I checked the bed for bugs and didn’t find any, but sleep still wouldn’t come. I heard every footstep, every voice, every disembodied laugh. It was the longest night of my life, mostly spent cursing Jim and questioning how he could set me up in such a place.

The next morning, I found the bathroom and prepared myself to catch the ferry to Petersburg. When I went to call a cab from the front desk, an older couple asked if I was catching the ferry. They invited me to share their cab, and I was glad for the company and the chance to share the cost. These two were all smiles and looking forward to their next adventure. They must have had a better night’s sleep than I had. I grumpily considered griping about the hotel situation, but thought better of it because I didn’t want to insult their perfect choice of hotel.

I expected the Alaskan ferry to be the kind I was used to traveling on across the Ohio River from Cave-In-Rock, IL to Kentucky, but it wasn’t an open vessel that held a few cars; it was an amazing, small cruise ship. Since I was poor, out of work, and technically still a college student who couldn’t afford to book a room, I planned to sleep in my sleeping bag upon a chaise on the aft deck. First, I explored the ship and marveled at the beauty of the Alaskan wilderness that could be seen across the waters. I couldn’t believe my luck. Here I was, traveling through Southeast Alaska’s Inside Passage, and I was giddy.

That evening, I went into a bar and grill and sat at the bar. I ordered food and a beer and before long, I was having a conversation with the strikingly handsome guy sitting next to me. It was crazy that we were both SIU-C alums. We shared our majors: mine, outdoor recreation; his, international marketing; we had been students during the same time period and we talked about the southern Illinois region. I was tired and left the guy, to find a chaise and spot on the deck for the night. I set myself up mid-deck. Not too close to railings. I slept well. I wasn’t the only one sleeping on the deck. It was full of like-minded free spirits and I felt like I had come home. Sometime before dawn, I pulled a sordid story from my memory and wondered if the guy at the bar could be the murderer sought for killing an international marketing professor at SIU-C?

I woke to beautiful mountains and a breaching whale that made the Inside Passage its summer home on that breathtaking August morning. I would have three more months of life-altering experiences in this setting, traveling with Jim and working on a recreation crew for the U.S. Forest Service, before I left Alaska. There would be very little time to ponder killers.

*****

Jim and I left Alaska with two other friends. We watched the first snowfall of the season as we stood on the deck of a southbound ferry leaving Petersburg for Seattle, Washington. This trip wasn’t as smooth as the one going up the Passage. The winds became brutal and the waters churned. It was too cold to sleep on deck, so we found room on the carpeted floor in a TV lounge. I spent more time rolling in my sleeping bag across the floor as the ship tossed from side to side than I did sleeping. I found if I chocked myself up against the bottom of a chair, it would keep me from rolling in both directions. It was a long night.

While eating breakfast one morning, Jim’s newspaper was slanted in my direction just enough for me to see something that caught my attention. I grabbed it out of his hands and was eye to eye with the guy I’d had a drink with, on my initial ferry trip. Sure enough. He was caught in Vancouver, B.C. when his roommate ran naked, beaten, and bleeding down the street [as recalled from a Seattle newspaper]. My mind swirled and I felt weak. I tried to remember the name he gave me, but I was never good with names. Once he was arrested, the authorities found he was wanted in Carbondale, IL for the murder of a marketing professor in 1982. With no cell phone or the Internet to verify anything more, I eventually diverted my attention to our next adventure: traveling down the coast of California across the Southwest, back to Carbondale, IL.

It was years later before I again thought about my evening with a killer.