Today's very exciting episode..."Holdup at the Bake House"

There have been many stories told about the wild west. True tales about how it was in the old days. What life was like on the plains, and in the hill country that butted up against the distant mountain ranges. 

Those were the days when folks worked hard from sun-up till sun-down. When a man had to ride hard to get to where he was goin', and ride back agin' when he was through. He'd likely as not come home dog-tired, but he'd have done what he knew needed doin.' Providin' for his family wasn't easy. His reward though, besides the love of his wife and young-uns, would be the satisfaction of knowin' that he'd done his best. 

The west then was an untamed land. It held the prospect of a good livin' to those who were willin' to work for it. Multitudes heard the stories of opportunity and many came. They left the lives they had known in distant parts and travelled to this new place. With hard work they succeeded and prospered. 

But there are also those who looked for another kind of opportunity. They were the outlaws who would try to take what was not rightfully theirs. 

This is the story of a man who came to be known as a legend out west. (The western suburbs of Auckland, that is) Through towns like Henderson, and Swanson, he rode the Waitakere range and he watched, and where he saw injustice, he battled against it. No one knew his real name. No one needed to. It seemed that he would appear wherever help was needed. Wherever good people suffered at the hands of the few, the greedy, the lawless. 

This here is the true story of one such incident, told in his own words.  It's called, 

"Hold up at the Bake House"

My family was especially hungry that day. We had all worked hard, each in their own way. We pull together to live here, and we've done real well. I thought we all deserved a little celebration at dinner. My plan was to ride over to the fried-chicken place near Swanson, and pick us up a family-pack of extra-crispy. 

I walked on over to the 142 bus stop and caught it just as it was passin' by. About five minutes later, I got off at the mini-mall, made my way to 'Southern Fried Chicken', and asked for my order. They're fast there. I had my grub in no time at all. 'Course, ordering on-line speeds things up considerable. I realised as I left, that I had about 15 minutes before the 141 bus would arrive to take me home again. Since I had the time, I decided I'd walk the length of the mall and back. I was breakin' in my new boots.  

'Bout a minute later, just as I approached a bakery roughly half-way down the mall, two teenage boys came running out of it. They were moving very fast and each had his hands full of bulging paper sacks like the ones in which the bakery serves their baked-goods. They were laughing. They jumped into a sporty red car and began to back away from the curb. About this time, an older lady came hurrying out of the store as well, shouting and waving a fist in the air. English was not her first language. I couldn't understand her words but her message to those boys was pretty clear. I moved over to my right, past some nearby cars so that I could see them as they left. The setting sun was glaring but I was wearing my Ray-Bans. I could see them just fine. The horses under the car's hood thundered and they threw up a cloud of dust as they fled. 

The lady had gone back inside when I turned away from the lot. I entered the bakery and discovered that she and her husband were in fact customers who were seated at one of the tables near the door. He was a very big man. Chasing the boys was not something he could have done effectively. 

I walked up to the lady and asked, 
"Did they steal?" 
"Yes," she replied, "they take pies and ... " 
At that point I couldn't follow what else she said but it was clear that they had in fact stolen the food they were carrying.  When she was shouting at them earlier, I thought I had heard her say names, so I asked her,
"Do you know them?"
"No," she said, looking unhappy.
"Did you get their license plate number," I asked?
"No, I couldn't see," she said, looking even more upset. 
"It was & # & ! $ ! ", I said, grinning. 
Her husband pulled a pencil out of his shirt pocket, repeating aloud the plate number I had provided as he wrote it down on a napkin. He got up, happy to at last be doing his part, and carried the napkin to the wide-eyed, very young clerk who was still standing behind the counter. She smiled at us all and waved the napkin in triumph as she pulled out her phone and punched in three numbers, 1-1-1. 
The customer couple and I exchanged smiles and satisfied thumbs-ups.

I left the store, and walked away toward the distant bus stop and the setting sun. It now looked even larger, hanging just above the horizon. 

I wondered for a moment if the police would stop the young theives on the road somewhere or if they'd simply go to their homes and have a talk with their parents? What a homecoming for the boys That will be. 

My thoughts went back to the couple in the bakery and I wondered if they were asking themselves as they finished their sausage rolls, "Who was that masked man?" 

There was no one to tell them that it was 'The Lone Stranger.'                         

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcRWO-jvjDI

*******

The early days of the Lone Stranger are mostly unknown. He is not one to talk much about the experiences that began his quest for law and order.  Now and then however, a story will surface that gives insight into how he became the crusader he is today. We're lucky today to have located just such a narrative. 

Again, it's told in his own words...

I was working the afternoon watch out of 9-1-1 Dispatch for the city and county. It was a Friday. 

A call came in from the manager of a local supermarket. He reported that four teen-age girls had just entered his store and each had purchased 3 dozen eggs. He was working checkout at the time and as they paid, he caught the smell of beer. He said they were also loud and very excited. After leaving the till in the charge of an employee, he followed the girls out of the store and observed them getting into their car. One of the girls threw an egg out of her window as they left the parking lot. 

"Would you like the make of the car and the license plate number? " he asked. 

"Yes, thank you." I replied. 

I advised all cars of the information the manager had supplied. About ten minutes later, one of the city officers called in, reporting the stop of a vehicle with that same license plate number and requesting back-up to process four juveniles with open alcohol in their car.  

The driver of the car, still on her learners' permit, was in the serious trouble, but all four females showed substantial levels of blood alcohol. One of the girls was missing three eggs from her first carton and therefore also faced a possible charge of reckless conduct.

The car was towed, the girls were arrested and transported to the juvenile holding facility and the parents were notified....        -djf