What Happened to the Suicidal Girl and a Biker Gang

Unexpected encounters that could have ended life quickly

Shortly after the incident with the gunman from the last article, my roommate got married. I found a nice studio apartment for myself across the street from the beach. I didn’t have a waterside view; the scene from my kitchen window was a biker bar called the Rathskeller. Still, it was a quick walk to the ocean for regular body surfing.

I heard lots of stories about the Rathskeller bar, but until the night of this story, I was unaffected by it and stayed away. I was only 19 and underage for a bar. Besides, I was only a “one-beer-guy” anyway.

For whatever reason, the local biker gangs didn’t like Navy guys. To the locals, they called us, “Swabbies”. I never fully understood why some looked down on us. Maybe they had girlfriends stolen by local military guys. I suppose in a Navy town like San Diego, there were cases of some that got in trouble. Compare any large organization and it reflects a microcosm of society. In the 1970s, the hairstyle for guys was long hair. With my short-cropped Navy haircut, I stood out to the locals.

I was a helicopter rescue aircrewman and proud of what I did. It took a lot of work to earn my Aircrew wings, and I felt I was contributing to society. I guess not everyone saw it that way. I stayed out of trouble, played my guitar, and went to the beach a lot. I didn’t see any value in participating in the failed behaviors of stereotyping or comparing others. I kept a healthy distance from the biker gangs and unfriendly locals.

One of my favorite places was across the street on a long rock jetty that reached out about 100-yards from the shoreline. The jetty created a bulwark built with boulders piled atop each other. Its strength ensured the heaviest seas wouldn’t break it apart. It was part of my normal existence to climb out to the end at night. Sometimes powerful waves hit around me, and the impact resonated in the rocks below. Yet, the foundation remained strong.

Sunset was great. It brought a meditative peace watching the sun fade below the horizon amid the beautiful colors of the sky. Any time out there, night or day, the sounds of the ocean, the wind and the taste of salt spray brought welcome solitude. Climbing over the enormous stones in the dark was a slow trip. Unless moonlit, it was an exercise in careful selection for each step. Still, reaching the end always made it worth the trip.

An Unexpected Encounter

One night, I made my regular trek out to the end of the jetty. It was dark and in that environment, you can’t see ahead. You focus on where you are and then plan the next step. I worked my way out to the end before realizing there was someone sitting there.

I spoke up and said, “I wasn’t aware anyone was out here.” A startled woman said, “Who are you? What do you want?” I told her my name and not to be afraid. I said, “I come out here all the time… you’re okay. I wasn’t aware you were here.” I asked if she was alright. Her answer surprised me when she said, “It doesn’t matter. If I was brave enough, I’d throw myself in the ocean.”

I could tell she’d been crying. At 19, I had ZERO experience or training in suicide or counseling. I wish I knew then what I know now. I recall wondering if she was going to throw herself in. Someone would think I did it.

All I could offer her was a listening ear. In the dark, listening is about all a person can do. I asked her, “What’s going on? What got you here?” I opened a floodgate that would last a couple hours that night. She started with, “I’m a junkie.” I guess I didn’t know what she meant, and I asked, “A what?” She answered, “A junkie. I’m an addict and I can’t do this anymore.” I’m not sure what I perceived an addict to look like back then, but whatever it was, it didn’t look like her.

She told me her name was Lynn, and we sat on the rocks for at least an hour talking before I guided her back to shore. Actually, she did most of the talking, I just listened and asked some questions along the way. On shore, we walked up and down the coastline for at least another hour.

During that conversation, she told me her parents offered to bring her home and get her treatment. They were a few minutes away. As we walked along, she told me this was her first genuine conversation she’d had in a long time. Internally, I thought that was odd since I spent most of the evening quiet.

The Phone Call

As we approached the fishing pier, I told her there’s a pay phone there. She realized it was time to make the call. She dialed and moments later, the tears started flowing as she said, “Daddy… this is Lynn. I want to come home. Can you come get me… Now?” She and her father talked and he said he was coming. She told him where to pick her up and he said he’d be there in a few minutes.

The Rathskeller bar had a few single room apartments attached to the building. We began walking in that direction. I remember feeling relieved that she was getting help. I didn’t know what to do. I lived directly across the street and could see her apartment from my kitchen window.

We stood there a couple minutes talking and out of nowhere, a large group of bikers from a local gang rode in and surrounded us. How did I not hear a bunch of motorcycles? They just seemed to appear. Given their dislike for Navy guys, I felt trapped and concerned something bad might happen soon. Two Imperial Beach Police cars pulled in right behind them.

I stood there, frozen in place, trying to process all that was happening. Lynn seemed to understand my concerns. For the last two hours, I tried to calm her. She now calmed me and said, “Just walk right through. It will be fine.” I looked at her, “Are you sure?” She just said, “Thank you. Go on.”

I walked right through the circle of motorcycles, and no one stopped me. I crossed the street to my upstairs apartment and looked out the kitchen window. Incredibly, all the bikers and police cars left. It was a surreal moment. From my window, I wondered what just happened. A single car pulled into the parking lot and Lynn came out with a couple bags. Her Father got out, and they hugged. She was crying when they got in the car and drove off.

I’ve replayed this experience in my mind for decades. As a “thinker”, I can think myself into a stupor. I know that nothing happens by accident and there are lessons to learn from it.

I Assimilate it with a Spiritual Lesson

• A woman considered death in the ocean as a solution.
• Through an unexpected interaction, she received help by a family that loved her.
• The devil was upset with his loss and sent a gang to surround us.
• Through God’s goodness, help arrived instantly with the Police and family to care for her.

I lift up my eyes to the mountains — where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. Psalm 121:1–2.

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⭐️ About Anthony M. Davis

Anthony M. Davis is a Leadership, Success & Stress Coach, Board Certified Therapist, and Top-100 International Travel Photographer. His free book, “Keys to Your Success” is available. Get your copy now.