Stella and her three friends hadn't but settled into their seats for the night's round of bingo, when another one of their friends arrived.
"Did you hear about Lucille? It was awful!" Getting blank stares from her four friends at the bingo table she knew she had their attention; liking these moments. "She was attacked by a purse snatcher!" Cora, the person telling the story dropped her own hand-bag on the table. Not giving her friends more time than to register shock, she hit them with the rest. "And she's in the hospital!"
This was the first Stella and the other ladies had heard. The six friends had been playing bingo together for years. They were regulars, even had their own table. Some of them had missed a night or two over the years, but never for a reason like this.
Stella said, "God forbid!"
Minnie said, "What is this world coming to?"
Silvia said, "Who's next?"
Margaret, a lady who fancied herself as a leader of the group said, "Oh, Cora, aren't you over dramatizing it. You're scaring everyone!"
"She's in the hospital! She's hurt! He pulled her down and broke her hip and shoulder! If that's over dramatizing, then I should say it needs to be!" Cora answered and people in nearby tables were starting to listen in and comment.
"Of course its a shocking crime," Margaret rejoined not wanting to sound insensitive to their mutual friend's unfortunate circumstance, but also not wanting to let this friend win out over the exchange and allow her to get herself set up for queen of conversation for the evening. "We must keep our composure and then we can best help Lucille."
"Oh cool it you two," Stella said, who when needed stepped in and acted as mediator between these two friends. "Let us all hear more about dear Lucille." Turning to Cora she asked, "Which hospital is she in? Can she have visitors?"
"University and I think she could see people," Answered the quickly deflating Cora.
"How did it happen?" asked Minnie, at seventy-five the youngest of the group.
"I don't know all the facts. It was this afternoon outside the B-1, that new bingo hall near the air base," Cora said, starting to show signs of becoming rattled.
"I suppose he got her purse?" Margaret said, back to her tendency to direct the conversational flow to facts she felt pertinent.
"Yes I think so," Cora, said, nervously chasing a dropped dauber which threatened to roll off the table.
"They don't usually hurt you, do they?" asked a tremulous Silvia, the oldest in their group at ninety.
"Darn fool must have fought him!" Went on Margaret, sounding almost morose.
"Poor thing. I bet she was carrying her bag with the strap across her chest. I told you all what the police tell you about doing that," said Stella. "If they want it, they say its best to give it to them.
"I don't know about that. But she's not the first to get it around a bingo hall." Said Cora for one last attempt to regain the floor. "Yeah, my husband reminded me there have been at least three others. I think we all better be mindful of that."
"Oh, Cora! There you go again, scaring everybody," Margaret said.
"When will they ever stop these people?" Silvia worriedly contributed.
Margaret again took the floor, "Never! They can't catch them. This hit and run crime is impossible to stop. And even if they catch one of them, they just let them back out on the street in no time flat. Its disgusting."
"Yes, with no more than a slap on the wrist." Minnie added in support.
Making sure she had all of their eyes, Margaret took it up yet again, "You know what they do in places like Arabia when they catch a thief? They cut off their right hand. Just desserts I'd say."
Yes Margaret," said Stella, "but I think Cora has a point! If those people are targeting bingo players, then we'd better pay extra attention!"
"Oh my, yes!" Minnie gasped. "I suppose they know we come in here with money and some of us leave with more than we came with."
Looking first around at near by tables where others were no longer paying attention to them, Silvia said, "You girls know how the crowd has changed?" Getting knowing looks. "Do you think the snatchers are right in here, watching who wins?"
With the amplified greeting from the bingo caller, "Ready to play Monday night Bingo?" the five friends made their finishing touches to the arrangement of their books of paper bingo cards and removed caps from daubers. Stella at eighty-three was the only one to ready a battery lighted hand held magnifier. She had lost most of her central vision from an eye disease called macular degeneration. Now she could only handle six cards, no longer eighteen or more. There was one other tool she used which would cause her to stand out in a crowd, a telescoping long white cane; a useful tool she would use when the environment wasn't conducive to safe travel for her limited vision, otherwise it was kept in her purse. Like most people do, at first she had hidden her blindness, a reaction her counselor had told her was normal for most people, but once she had settled down and seen the common sense usefulness of the techniques, she had learned them willingly. So to keep playing she used her optical aid and because she didn't want to gamble with life and limb she used the cane.
Next morning Stella awoke with the idea to go and visit Lucille. Checking the time, her talking clock's synthesized voice announced, "Its 6:55 A.M.."
In the bathroom fixing her hair, putting on her makeup, all performed by touch, she thought she would bake cookies for her grandsons and take a few to the hospital. Maybe she could interest Lucille in them, help her get her mind off her troubles.
In the kitchen, breakfast finished, her few dishes washed, she began readying the kitchen for baking. Getting out the flour, brown sugar and other ingredients, she used a combination of low vision and non-visual alternatives to identify them; size, shape and a few homemade large print labels.
From under the counter she got out a white dish towel and place the utensils on it to better see them against the lighter colored background. She also readied a tape player to listen to a new recipe. She lined them all up on her largest counter where extra lighting had been installed.
Reaching out, her practiced fingers found the raised markings on the oven temperature dial. No longer having to think about this part of the process, she thought ahead to her trip to see Lucille. How was she? Would she be up to visiting?
Greasing the cookie sheet, she moved on to another tact. What about the man or was it a boy who had snatched Lucille's purse? Why did he take it? Why did he hurt her? Were people's attitudes changing or was it just the times that have gotten people wanting to do crime? She scraped out the last of the dough. What people needed was to keep themselves busy. Like the old saying, "Idle hands and empty mind are a road to the Devil's workshop." They needed to learn to respect what they did and then they would have the right attitudes, including respect for others. Yes, just keep them busy and they wouldn't bother others, wouldn't have time to. Even if its just taking time to bake cookies.
Opening the oven door, leaning back in order to not toast her face, she slid her first batch in. Using her timer with the raised markings, she set it.
Starting to tighty up, she began again to think about Lucille. How could someone catch that guy? He needed to pay for what he did to her. Yes, she'd have to think on this some more, but right now she needed to pay attention to her cookies.
Later at the bus stop she waited until she heard the bus coming before leaving the shelter. Cane out, she found the first step and boarded.
Fare paid, working her way back to find a seat, she told herself she needed to work more on using a cane while having her hands full. There again, she didn't think she'd ever get use to the feeling she had in only being able to see the body shapes of the other passengers; never know visually if she were passing a stranger or friend, unless that friend said "Hello."
In her friends room, Stella found Lucille's daughter seated at the head of her mother's bed. "I tried to call you before coming, Meg." Moving close to the woman lying quietly in the bed, she turned her head to the side in order to get the best chance to view her friend.
"She's asleep," said Meg. "She's not doing so well. She had surgery yesterday and just sleeps a lot."
"What do the doctors say?" Stella asked.
"She broke the same hip that was busted two years ago," said Meg, a tear tracing a path down her cheek. "It had healed so well and she was getting along so good." Sniff. "But now, we are not sure if she'll ever walk again. The doctors don't hold out much hope."
"Oh, that's terrible, Meg." Reaching out to touch the hand of the sleeping woman. "Cora said she had her shoulder hurt too."
"Yes, he dislocated her right shoulder too." Sniff. "It'll be okay in a while, but if she can't walk?" Sniff. "What ever will she do? She won't be able to go home to her house. She's always been so independent. It will just kill her to have to go into a home." More sniffling. "We won't be able to take care of her in our own place. I've got my bad back and Charles, he has to watch his heart. And we couldn't afford a nurse."
Her visit over, back on the bus heading for her son's, the bulk of her cookies safely resting on her lap, Stella had time to reflect. What an unnecessary tragedy. Damn those thieves! Stealing a few dollars from an old lady and fighting with her. Hurting her like that was just the same as murdering her. Her purse wasn't all he stole. Now she'd probably never walk. Her life's independence could now be over. Why, she could also be needing nursing help and there went her house, all her savings, all she and her now deceased husband had worked for all of their lifes. What kind of a life would be left for her? Something has got to be done with those people who do this to others. The rest of what she felt, she'd rather others not know.
Two days later it was Wednesday, another bingo night. "Yes, I went and saw her," Stella reported to her friends. "It certainly didn't look good for her. I've also talked to her by phone since and she doesn't sound any more encouraged now. She won't know about her walking for a while yet. I think she's afraid they will want to operate again."
"Have the police found the man that did it?" asked Minnie to the group in general.
"Hell no!" Margaret said, wanting to advance her dominance on the subject. "Like I said in the beginning, they'll never find him. In fact," sweeping the circle of friends with told-you-so-eyes, "there's been two more purse snatching since Lucille's!"
"Yes, and one of them happened last Monday right after the bingo game at Saint Joe's! Can you believe it? I heard it on the radio," chimed in Silvia.
"Yeah, until they can be there with everyone carrying a purse, they'll never be able to stop this type of crime," said Margaret.
Next morning finishing up a new batch of cookies, Stella prepared for what was most likely to be her second to last visit with her rehabilitation counselor, Samuel Patrick. They had been working together for nearly a year and he had been a large factor in her adjustment to blindness and ability to maintain independence as a homemaker. Today they would talk about a request she had made of him during his call to her yesterday to confirm today's meeting.
Promptly at one-thirty the bell rang and she let him in. Leading the way back to the kitchen where they liked to sit and have their lessons and treats, she no longer worried about trying to help him, she knew that with his long white cane, he would find his way.
"Stella, smells like baking to me and with a touch of my favorite spice. Did you make those tasty ginger snaps again?"
"Yes, set yourself down and I'll pour you some coffee and give you a plate of them." Starting to bustle about gathering all she would need to fill that order. "While I get these things, tell me about what you found in your research?"
"No. I think with this very unusual request, you first owe me an explanation of why you would need that kind of information? You said you'd tell me when you saw me," said Samuel, giving his answer while auditorally observing his students every move, noting her smooth and confident actions.
"That's right." Setting the cookies near to him, going back for the coffee things. "Have you been listening to the news broadcasts lately?" Realizing she had caught him with a mouth full of cookie. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll just tell you. But it doesn't have anything to do with blindness. Well, maybe one part will. Anyway have you heard about all the recent attacks on older people? All the purse snatchings?"
"Yes, I have."
"A lot of them have been happening around bingo halls. Oh, I just feel helpless. It happen to a good friend of mine. A snatcher viciously attacked her on the public sidewalk and stole her money. She was startled, panicked and must have clutched her purse. He knocked her down, hurt her badly. Now she'll probably never walk again. Her independence very well may be over, for life." Choking a little, then striking the table with her fist.
"I want to do something about it! I want to stop those people from hurting others. I want to get them off the streets."
"I am sorry to hear that. Is it someone I've met?" Samuel asked, referring to the fact that over the months they had been working together she had introduced him to many of her friends.
"Oh, I can hardly think, I'm so upset about this. But did you ever meet Lucille?"
"Let me see." Thinking and giving her a chance to recover her composure. "Is she one of your bingo friends?" Getting an affirmative vocalization. "Is she the little feisty one?" With Samual's use of the characterization Lucille had on many occasions used to describe herself, Stella gave a little laugh and said, "Yes, that's her. She has always been so full of life and now she won't be able to enjoy it any more." Her voice trailing off into thought. "Like I was telling you on the phone yesterday, I've been doing some thinking about all this. I tried to think of what my husband might have done. Maybe make a gadget to catch and hold them for the police."
"A gadget to hold them?" Samuel started questioning in what was a pattern he knew she would recognize as one they had used to help her think through many of those stopping points in her adjustment.
"Yes, like a big claw which would jump out and clamp down on their hand when it reaches where it wasn't supposed to be. But I don't think it would work; too big." Again lapsing into thought, playing with the cup and saucer. "My grandson had the best idea."
"What was that?"
"He says put a grenade in the purse and fix it so when they take it and run, the thing goes off." Delivering this option with a snicker, sounding justified with its results.
"Yes, if you are looking for a final solution. I personally would be afraid of hurting innocent by-standers. How about a way to effect them in a less violent manner? But nevertheless make the purse snatcher ready for capture and punishment?"
"Yes, I have been thinking along those lines, too. I thought about using super glue to make the bag's handle stick to their hand until the police could come and get him. But it would also stick to the owner too, if they didn't watch out."
"Yeah, a better idea. One that could become a bit comical if the two of them were caught together." They both laughed at this.
"However dangerous too, because the bad guy wouldn't want to be there. But how about a way to stick something else to the snatcher?"
"Yes, that is more along the lines of what my son and I were exploring. One idea I had was to use a can of spray paint instead of mace."
"WOW! You mean brand them in some way." "Yes, make them stand out for everyone to see they've done someone else wrong. Make it easy for the police to pick them out as the criminal and haul them off to jail." said Stella getting excited.
"So this is why you asked me to go to the library and look up that material for you. You really had me wondering why you wanted instructions on how to make a homemade bomb. You do know they already have a way to put paint on a bad guy? They do that sort of thing with bank robbers. They give them a bag or bundle of money which blows up and sprays them with a very bright colored dye.
"Yes, my son told me that too, also I know I can't just go out and buy one of those things or a grenade either!" Everything on the table top jumped with Stella's open palms smacking down on either side of her place setting. "I want them to pay and I want to build something that will get them! You've got to help me, Samuel!"
"Stella, I know you are upset by all this and rightfully so. I can't help you with chasing down criminals, but I can help you to learn the alternatives to using tools. I remember our first visit, you told me you use to be handy with tools, but because of your vision you hadn't touched them for a long time. Before now, you've hadn't shown any interest to get back into using them. What can I say, but a good teacher is always looking for a way to get a student back into an area they liked doing. You'll also be interested to know, with the design specifications I found at the library, you could go either way with this thing. With a soft containment capsule and air cartridge you could have the ink bomb or with a hardened container and powder cartridge you would have a crude shrapnel bomb. When do you want to get started?"
"Now!"
The next night, Friday, it was another bingo night. "Okay who's seen or talked to Lucille most recently?" ask Margaret.
Stella was the first to speak up. "I talked to her daughter just before coming." Waiting to get the silence she felt was needed before going on. "Meg said the news is not good. They gave Lucille another X-ray this afternoon. They told her she will never," an involuntary lump of emotion rising into her throat causing a momentary hitch in her flow of speech. "She'll never walk again."
the news brought a total absence of sound amongst her friends. Then there was a gasp from Minnie.
"My God!" Silvia said.
"I told you so," said Cora.
Striking her fist on the table, Margaret said, "Damn those people! Something has got to be done!"
"Someone will. You wait and see," said Stella.
A week later found Stella out on the street, walking through the very neighborhood where her friend Lucille had been attacked and lost her independence for life. The purse she carried was nondescript, average in size and she was careful to have the strap only over the shoulder on the side where she carried the bag. Her walk was purposefully slower than normal as she progressed down the street. She stopped from time to time to look into windows and to peer uncertainly at her surroundings. She had thought about using her long white cane for this part of the job, but hadn't felt it would be an advantage. Either it would keep them away because the snatcher would figure by robbing a blind lady would rile public opinion or she might be tempted to do something with it like try and clobber the guy and end up having it used on her.
It didn't happen on the first day, nor the second. But nearing an alley on the third, brought a blur of motion and sound. With her peripheral vision she caught sight of a man as he reached for her bag and drug it off her person. Back into the alley he raced.
Her first reaction was to be stunned. Then with both fists to her mouth, eyes narrowed in concentration, she listened with apprehension. Would he open it now in the alley? Would the spring mechanism hooked to the heavy frame of the clasp hold and be strong enough to trigger the detonator? Would he wait to open it when he got around others, like an accomplice? Surely not around innocent by-standers?
From down the length of the space between the buildings she heard a muffled report. Smiling, she turned and with a confident stride moved off to where she knew she would find the nearest phone and 911. She had better hurry and call the police. they would be interested in receiving a call about a purse snatcher covered in dripping blood red ink.