Pushkin.

How's it going, doctor Jackie Cohen?

Yeah, how about this Jacke co win, doctor Jackie co When So okay, So, now that I am officially in my late fifties, what do you think I could do to start improving my health?

You can build up that little little body of yours.

Get some meat balls on the spaghetti.

Yes, yes, Oh you're laughing?

Is that a medical term?

Why aren't you doing any weightlifting?

Because I don't live near a gym.

You don't have to.

Like where I just go around the house and I like lift a couch or try to pull a toilet out or something.

Yeah, not from Pushkin Industries.

I'm Jonathan Goldstein and this is Heavyweight today's episode the bank Robber.

Right after the break, Hello, Hello, how are you hi?

Good?

How are you doing really well?

Thank you good?

Are you comfortable?

I am.

Yes.

The story you're about to hear is from someone who's still figuring out how to tell it, or even if he should tell it.

It just seems very crazy and it's it's kind of hard for me to talk about it.

At this point, he's only shared the story with a couple of people, and he only agreed to share it with me after I promised not to use his real name, so we'll call him X.

My communication with X began with an email he sent me over three years ago.

It contained a lot of nervous preamble and throat clearing, but eventually he came to the point.

In nineteen ninety two, he said, I committed an armed bank robbery.

I was just one month past my fourteenth birthday.

X begins this story by telling me about his family.

He was raised on a dairy farm, the son of immigrant parents.

He was one of seven children, all brothers.

X was right in the middle, Right in.

The middle, Yeah, three, older, three, younger.

Yeah.

X's home life wasn't an easy one.

Well, you would call it abusive today.

You know.

The bell, tour, brunstick or whatever was handy was used as a corrective measure.

My mom was a little more creative in the implements she would use, but it didn't hurt as much as one my dad said it.

To illustrate, X tells me about the night he snuck out to the local junior high He noticed an open window and broke in.

The police caught him and brought him home where his parents were waiting.

They told me to remove all my clothing.

So I did, minus my underwear, and then I just got like the beating of my life with a belt.

But I just remember it hitting me all over my body.

I remember it hitting my penis like it was.

It was pretty brutal.

X says there were other nights like that.

I remember crying and lights are out and my younger brother trying to say something to comfort me, and me saying something like I hate them and I don't want to be here anymore.

School offered no respite.

X was small for his age and had a high voice.

The bullies took notice.

When they'd see me in the halls.

They'd ask me questions, you know, kind of vulgar, like I heard you like giving head or something like that, and I didn't even know what that meant.

Or I remember once they asked me, is it true you like to choke the chicken?

And again I was like what, but I said not really, and they really keyed in on that not really, because it was like, oh, so you kind of like it.

My strategy with him was just curl up at a ball and hope that they'd leave me alone, and that I think made them want to pick on me more.

Between school and his home life, it felt like there was no safe place to be, so X retreated into a fantasy world.

He'd come home from a day of being bullied and lye in bed, playing out scenes in which he was the powerful one, the one to be feared.

As an example, one of these guys makes fun of me in class, and I get up and I push them down and beat them up, like you know, le Stephen Sagal movie or something.

X found himself drawn to movies like that about tough guys and outlaws, young Guns, Point Break, a favorite was actually called Tough Guys.

At around this time, he discovered a book titled The Encyclopedia of Crime in the school library.

He'd spend lunchtime there hiding from trouble and reading about criminals like al Capone, Babyface Nelson, and Pretty Boy Floyd.

No one bullied them.

So I started to fantasize daydream about robbing a bank.

I had this image of going into a bank and getting a big bag of money, and the place that I dreamed about going to was New York.

I thought of New York as being synonymous with the mafia, and I thought, well, maybe if I could go there.

Somehow I could ingratiate myself to someone in that family, and that would become my new family as supposed to this family doesn't seem to want me, and who I can do nothing right for.

It was all just a child's fantasy until one day in class when ex witnessed something that made him realize it might be time to act.

A quiet, smaller kid said something to a bigger, tougher kid.

The bigger kid pounced.

He started kicking him and including kicking him in the face.

That really shook me.

On my way home on the bus that day, I remember thinking I got to get out of here.

Like you're gonna you.

Felt like there was more of an imperative, like you were next.

Yeah, because I saw myself as that powerless kid.

And I even this is like years and years and years ago, and it still get so emotional about it.

It's like, what a horrible way to, you know, go through a day.

And I just thought, I don't want that to be me.

And so he came up with a plan.

There was a bank down town where his mom was a customer.

In the movies, there was always a silent alarm, which meant he'd only have a few minutes to do what he needed to before the police arrived.

He'd have to move quickly.

He'd also need to hide out.

It was a hotel about a block away from the bank.

After the robbery, he could rent a room.

Once the coast was clear.

He called a taxi to take him to the airport, and then it was off to New York.

And this is the part of the story that feels hardest for X to tell.

Okay, I my dad owned a shotgun which he had used to hunt.

It was in a closet and the first thing I did when I got home was I took that gun.

I took it into my bedroom and with the hack saw, I saw the barrel off so it would be easy to carry.

I remember, once the barrel came off and I had removed it, I thought, Okay, I don't really know if I want to do this.

I'm kind of terrified.

But now I'm in like I can't on this track.

Now that I can't back up on, I have to go forward because I've now destroyed.

My Dad's gone, and eventually that will come to light.

I didn't sleep very well that night.

I got up in the morning you know, after staring at the ceiling for what seemed like ours.

I remember going out and my mom was putting breakfast on the table.

The television was on and they were talking about the nineteen ninety two presidential campaign and the governor Bill Clinton, and I just remember thinking, like, this is a world I'm no longer part of.

I don't none of that means anything to me.

Today, I'm going into a whole different world and I'm leaving this one behind.

It was October, the beginning of ninth grade.

Ex it just turned fourteen years old.

Xpact suitcase with some clothes and books and a few favorite CDs, iced tea.

They might be giants.

He stole a pair of his mother's pantyhose to pull over his face as a disguise.

He put on a trench coat and hid the sod Off shotgun inside.

As he got on the school bus, the driver asked about his outfit.

It's for drama class, he said.

When the bus arrived at school, he was the last to get off.

All around him, kids were streaming out of buses and parents' cars, filing into school, going about another normal day.

And there was a moment of standing there and if I turned left, I would be the crowd of kids and heading towards the entrance to the school.

And if I turned right, I'd be off school grounds and walking towards where the bank was.

Maybe it still wasn't too late to give up on his plan.

Like I could just go to school and life could just go back to what it was yesterday and the day before.

But I turned the other way, and I walked towards the bank.

When X arrived, the bank was still closed.

So at the back of the bank's parking lot, he waited behind some trees, and then at ten point fifteen he took a deep breath.

Okay, he thought, here we go.

And so I pulled stalking over my face and I ran through the parking lot and I entered the bank with the gun raised in the air, and I yelled something to the effect of everybody get on the floor, and this is a robbery.

It was like a dream, or like watching someone else go through these actions, like I was a passenger and they were doing the driving.

Yeah.

I remember there was a guy, the first person who was standing in line, and he turned toward me and started laughing.

I don't know if he thought it was a joke, or he just couldn't believe that this little pipsqueak voice kid was holding up a bank or something.

But that really made me mad.

I felt like I was being laughed at, and so I pointed the gun at him and said this isn't a joke, and he got down, and I remember feeling kind of a surge of like, Okay, this is power.

Had you ever used a gun before?

No, I was actually kind of scared of him, Like I didn't load this gun because I was scared that I would get hurt or somebody would get hurt.

I didn't want to hurt anybody.

X knew that most of the money would be in the vault.

He forced two bank tellers to bring him in there and told them the stuff stacks of bills into his bag.

When the bag grew full, he picked it up and walked past all the customers still lying on the floor.

Then he exited out the front door and made his way to a dumpster, where he threw away the shotgun.

And I entered the hotel just a teenager with a green and yellow sports bag of over forty thousand dollars.

Unbelievably, the plan had worked.

Now X just had to wait out the police who would be responding to the scene, and then he'd be off to New York.

He marched up to the hotel clerk and asked for a room.

And she kind of looked at me, like what, and she said, I'm sorry.

All of our rooms are rented by the month.

This isn't like that kind of hotel where you can come and just get a room for a night.

Daily versus monthly raids the one thing movies hadn't prepared him for.

Ex panicked, he couldn't just hang out in the lobby.

A kid playing hooky would draw attention, So he headed out the hotel door.

And right on the corner of the street as a police officer.

X had two options walk away from the officer, which might look suspicious, or walk towards him.

And so I decided to walk towards him and try to act as cool as I could.

Just after passing the officer and crossing the street, he heard the policeman cry out freeze.

When X turned around, the cops gun was pointed right at him.

X was arrested and from there things moved quickly.

At the police station, he confessed to the crime and a date was said in juvenile court.

X spent the next few nights in jail because his parents couldn't afford a lawyer, one was appointed to him.

After the court proceedings, he was allowed to see his parents.

It was his first time seeing them since breakfast on the morning of the robbery.

They were just destroyed, Like I've never seen them cry as much and be so like it was hard for me to look at they were so upset, and yeah, they just looked broken.

A few days later, X was sentenced to twelve years.

I remember hearing that big, long number and thinking, Okay, well, I guess they're not going to let me off because I was a kid.

And I remember going back to my cell and crying because it was like, Okay, this is really sinking in now, like I'm going to be here for a long time.

X was sent to a youth facility, where he was one of the youngest inmates.

He spent a lot of time reading, mostly the classics Dickens, Moby Dick, the Bible.

He underwent an intensive treatment program of daily therapies and took his rehabilitation seriously.

After three years, when his case came up for review, he was released at the age of seventeen.

From here.

Ex's story, and I mean this in a good way, is unremarkable.

He went to college, he got married, and has had good jobs.

I ended up at one point working in the bank, which wow, yeah, kind of funny.

It's been over thirty years since the day of the robbery, and in many ways xis turned his life completely around.

And yet when he thinks about that day.

I really feel so ashamed and so regretful.

So much so that it's almost like he's divided himself into there's the boy who is capable of committing that crime and the grown man to whom that boy is a stranger.

A part of the reason it's been so hard for X to tell the story is because, in a weird way, it's like he's telling someone else's story, and it's a story that all his life he's been told no one wants to hear.

My parents, in particular, just want to pretend like it never even happened.

And they were very embarrassed and kept a very secret.

It wasn't a matter of just don't tell anyone, it was if anybody asks.

He went to go live with one of your older brothers.

I spoke to several of X's six brothers to hear how the crime impacted the family.

My mom, I think, was really embarrassed by this.

The community would judge her.

For years, I didn't tell people about it, like well into my adulthood.

It wasn't until maybe my sophomore year of high school that I shared it with some very close friends.

Yeah, and how did that feel?

It was weird.

I remember being really nervous, like, oh my gosh, are they going to judge me?

Yeah?

You know, when you're told as a nine year old that this thing is really embarrassing and shameful, you almost absorb it as like your own.

You take it on, you know, to feel compelled to keep up a lie, to feel shame.

That's that's difficult for a nine year old.

And it can remain difficult.

I didn't feel comfortable breaking about silence.

This is another of X's brothers, now a middle aged man.

Even you know now my wife, I've been married to her for over twenty years.

I've never told her about it.

You've never you've never told your wife about your brother?

Yeah, that's right, until even now.

Yeah, Wow, did you feel compelled to share it with her at any point.

I could say, I don't know.

Over the last couple of decades, it's probably been one or two instances where I thought about mentioning it.

But after this interview I may tell her.

Probably probably will, but it hasn't come up yet.

Shame can be silencing, and so for thirty years X has kept quiet, but it hasn't prevented him from thinking about the people in the bank that day, which is why he's come to me.

The people that were there, I was hoping that I might be able to at least let them know in some fashion that I'm really sorry that I destroyed their peace and left them with a lot of trauma.

In all those movies X love to watch, after the crime is committed, the camera remains on the criminal, the star.

It never follows the customers, the employees.

They're just extras.

But X wants to know what became of them, how that day fits into their lives, and most of all, he wants to apologize.

I tried to imagine what the rest of their day was like.

I'm guessing they went home early and spouses were called, their children were called, and they had to tell that story, probably multiple times to police.

To family and relive it, and how do they sleep that night and for the nights to come.

It is just horrific to me.

And I talked earlier about the students at the school who I saw get beat up.

I empathized with the guy on the floor getting his face kicked.

It never would have occurred to me that I would have been the bully in that scenario, that I would be the one metaphorically anyway, doing the kicking.

After the break the day of the robbery.

From the perspective of the victims, when X thinks about apologizing, there are three people he wants to apologize too.

First, the bank tellers, the two women who led him into the vault that day.

That vault was a very small room, and they were in very close proximity.

To me, so close in fact, that at one point, while opening his gym bag, X unthinkingly leaned the shotgun against one of their thighs.

They didn't know it wasn't loaded, they didn't know how unstable I was.

They didn't know any and to feel the weight of that against their leg is just horrifying.

The other person X wants to apologize to is the officer who arrested him that day.

There's some stuff that's fuzzy, but I remember this very well.

After the policeman yelled for him to drop the money, X reached into his back pocket where he had kept a few bills, dashed for his cab to the airport.

Not thinking how a police officer might perceive someone reaching behind their back and pulling something out.

I found out later that he came very close to shooting me, and that the cop was very distraught thinking that he almost shot a teenage kid.

Team nabbed for bank theft, reads a local newspaper the day after the robbery.

The article names the arresting policeman as Officer Roy Tupin.

Our search for Officer Tupin is a few years too late, though.

In twenty nineteen, Tupin died in a diving accident.

My name is Nick Tupin.

I'm the son of the arresting officer.

On the day of the robbery.

Nick says his dad told him stories about that day.

It's mine all.

That was the closest that he'd ever gotten to shooting anyone.

It shook his world.

He took some time off of work, you know, he wasn't sure that that was his career path anymore.

I know that.

It messed with him, you know what I mean?

One thing Tupin never shared with his son was what kept him from shooting acts when he reached into his pocket.

But Nick has a theory.

Fourteen years old.

Yeah, I'm forty three now.

I was born in seventy eight, So you do the math.

Huh, Yeah, you would have been about the same age.

I'd imagine he looked at that kid like he was looking at me.

He kind of do.

When I tell Nick about X's undertaking, how he's been hoping to make amends for that day, he offers this.

I think Dad would have forgiven him a long time ago.

I really do.

What makes you think that.

As he got older, just some of the rhetorics that you know, people make mistakes and you just hope, like Hill, that they don't have life changing consequences.

For what it's worth, After speaking with Nick, I turned my attention to the bank tellers.

They aren't identified in any of the articles, and the police reports have redacted their names, And since the courthouse records have been sealed and the bank itself no longer exists, I decide that my best bet is to post a sort of missing person's notice the local paper.

I ask if there's anyone who might remember the bank robbery from over thirty years ago, or the bank employees from that time.

One person responds, she doesn't know the tellers, but she does know about the robbery.

Even though my ad didn't mention X by name, she knew who it was immediately.

I sat behind X in Spanish class, she says, and so the day after the robbery, when a photo of X lying face down was published in the newspaper, she recognized him because her desk was behind his.

She knew the back of his head well.

He had a small bald spot, and the bullies teased him about it relentlessly.

I emailed because I was thinking, if X wants to talk about why he did it, he probably would say he was bullied.

I want to back him up.

She says.

She can understand why X felt so desperate.

She was a target of the same bullies.

She too, spent her lunches in the library, in her case, reading science fiction and imagining a life in a different world.

It makes me sad, she says.

If he stuck around, maybe we would have been friends.

Because the missing person noticed yields no leads.

I start combing through old articles for names that might connect me to the tellers.

Hi, I'm William and I was a customer in the bank on the day.

Of the robbery.

Not only was William a customer, but in one of the articles I read, he's described as chasing X after he fled in hopes of apprehending him.

Anytime you're facing somebody in a combat situation, everything else around you disappears.

But it just went tunnel vision on this guy, who is the son of a bitch.

What inspired you?

Are you a risk taker kind of person?

Many years of martial art training, that's where that comes from.

No fear.

Before I can ask William about the bank tellers, we're interrupted.

But just one second.

We're going to order something from a drive in.

William is talking to me from his car.

He's with his wife.

The two of us hadn't eaten the.

Doctor's office all day.

So I'm going to interrupt you.

Here, gonna place his order.

Yeah, don't mind me.

Where's that button?

O?

Hi?

Yes, this is a small order of nuggets or six.

Just for quickly, I do the math.

Four divided by two is two two nuggets per spouse.

For those of you unfamiliar with nugget abortioning or nuganomics, eating two nuggets is like eating two grapes, two peanuts.

It's like eating two nuggets.

With my microphone muted to William, I process my feelings of judgmentalness to my producer Stevie, like you're starving, and you're like, oh my god, I haven't need all day.

We'll share.

We'll share four nuggets and like a nugget's that big?

Okay, thank you?

All right, so go right ahead.

I proceed with the most pressing question is that that's all you're getting.

Well, well, we have a nice dinner plan, so we don't want to wreck at the dinner, you know.

So I'm just going to get a little appetizer.

William has no fear, save the fear of ruining his appetite.

With that bit of housekeeping out of the way, I ask William if he remembers the names of the tellers.

He says no, but he does remember X.

He yelled at everybody to get on the effing floor or I'll blow your heads off.

Did he sound like a child.

No, he sounded very menacing, and he did not look like a child.

EXIT told me that he looked like a pipsqueak kid.

That people laughed, but William says he doesn't remember any laughter, only screaming.

I found out the next day that he was fourteen years old.

I couldn't believe it.

Unbelievable.

Yeah, that takes hood spot or is real desperate.

My name is Lujan.

I was a former manager of the hotel.

In the Hope.

There might be someone who can connect me to the tellers.

I spend my days speaking with anyone vaguely associated with the robbery.

My name's Merritt, and I represented in the juvenile court Michus George.

I wrote for THEE my name.

Is Jane and I used to be the librarian at high school.

My name is Bail and I was a police sergeant at the police department there.

But now no one can recall the tellers.

Did you bank at that bank across the street?

No?

I did not.

I wish I could help you, but I don't really remember.

Did you know any of the people that worked there?

No?

No, no, no, Sorry, I can't help you.

But then, after two months of phone calls, I call a restaurant across the street from where the bank used to be.

The owner of the restaurant is now eighty four years old.

When I ask if she remembers anyone who worked at the bank back then, anyone she was friendly with, she gives me the names of two people, two tellers, Darlene and Judy.

It takes me a few weeks, but eventually I find Darlene and Judy, and as it turns out, incredibly, they were the very same tellers working on the day of the robbery.

After months of searching, we found them.

Judy is now in her eighties and living in a retirement home, but when I speak with her daughter, she tells me her mother isn't interested in talking, that she wants to leave the past and the past.

As for Darlene, at first she seems open, but then her husband grows ill and she stops returning my calls.

I can't tell if it's because her husband is sick, or if she's changed her mind about revisiting that day.

Hey Jonathan, how are you?

Hey good?

How are you?

It's been over a year since I first spoke with X.

I tell him the bank tellers don't seem to want to speak with him.

X is disappointed, but says he understands.

He says it though, like he's starting to feel that maybe this whole undertaking was to them.

I'm just still that same guy that did that thing.

It's hard for me to blame them, I guess.

I suggest to X that maybe he should try writing a letter to Darlene, since she'd seemed open to talking this way, maybe he can at least offer her as words and she could decide what to do with them.

Darlene, X writes, I understand that words alone cannot undo the pain I caused you and the others in the bank that morning.

Still, X expresses his regret, tells Darlene how he's thought of her often.

He apologizes many times.

After the letter is mailed off, two years passed, during which X receives no response, and that's where I think our story ends.

Hey Jonathan, Hey, how are you?

A lot has happened since we lost full Yeah well yeah film.

But then in May five, X reaches out.

A year ago in November, I got a call from one of my brothers, and he doesn't usually call me on the phone, so I picked up and I found out that my dad had passed away.

Oh so jeez, I'm sorry.

Yeah, no, thank you, thank you.

X says it was while helping write his father's obituary and listening to his father be eulogized at the funeral, hearing the people who loved him speak about all he'd done in his life, that something happened.

It reminded me that this person was more than an unequipped parent, or he was more than just the worst experiences I had with him.

Taking a broader view of his father's life helped X to zoom out on his own.

There was the day of the robbery, but then there were all the days after too.

If his father's legacy didn't have to be defined by one bad thing, perhaps his own legacy didn't have to be either.

You know, when we initially started talking, my hope was that I would be able to speak to the people who were there, and that didn't work out, And it was hard for me, I think, because I almost felt like until they forgave me, I wasn't allowed to forgive myself, that that was like a luxury that I didn't deserve, or something like that.

Over the past three years, I've sought out the tellers, the customers, and even the policemen who almost shot X, all in service to ex finding forgiveness, but there was always one person's forgiveness that he discounted.

I was a kid, you know, my head wasn't on straight, and I was dealing with a lot of pain, and I felt like that's what I needed to do to get out of that pain.

And I think the closure I've come to realize that needs to happen here is my own.

That's the little mini journey I went on was like I don't have to keep lying or hiding or running from this or pretending like this was a different person.

When X first came to me, he was trying to figure out how to tell his story.

But in everything from witness accounts to confessions, from Great Expectations to Moby Dick stories begin by asserting who the person telling the story is.

How can you tell your story if you can't even say your name?

You know, I'm going through the trouble of like asking you not to call me by my name and worrying about people finding out.

But it's me.

It's my story, and I'm not proud of it.

But I'm also not trying to run away from it.

I've done it.

For long enough.

That's really wonderful to hear you say that.

And I don't think it's such a mini journey, you know.

Yeah, So do you think all that being said, you think you're you think you're okay with just coming out and saying it.

My name is John Paul, and when I was fourteen years old, I robbed a bank for forty thousand dollars.

How does that feel.

Like there's a lightness in it?

I don't know that I've ever said those exact words.

I almost hesitate to say it because it's like I said, I felt like I wasn't allowed to not wallow in shame, but I feel relieved.

I guess, yeah, it's really John Paul.

That's a very nice thing to hear.

Thank you.

Yeah.

It's kind of surprising to me how I've just been saying words right, Like I'm just talking, Like how could words make that much of a difference.

Words allow us to tell the story of who we are, and telling that story can feel like a burden, but it can also help lay that burden to rest.

It feels like a new chapter in my life or a new story.

And I'm kind of allowing myself to be excited about it.

Now that the furnitures returning.

To its goodwill home, now that the last month's rent is scheming with the damage to poss take this moment to dissolve.

If we message, if we.

Talk felt around from far to.

From things that accidentally talked.

This episode of Heavyweight was produced by supervising producer Stevie Lane and me Jonathan Goldstein, along with Phoebe Flanagan.

Our senior producer is Khalila Holt.

Editorial guidance from Emily Condon.

Special thanks to Sean Cole, Chris Neary, Ben nattf Haffrey, Lydia, Jane Kott, Connie Williams, Katherine Reinhardt, and especially Moheiney mcgaucher.

Em Amonger mixed the episode with original music by Christine Fellows, John K.

Samson, and Bobby Lord.

Additional scoring by Blue Dot Sessions.

Our theme song is by The Weaker Thans, courtesy of Epitaph Records.

Follow us on Instagram at Heavyweight Podcast or email us at Heavyweight at Pushkin dot Fm.

We'll be back with a brand new episode in two weeks.

Luetta Chantier, Luette Jack Owen, Johante Plumeri Jackie Cohen wil at Tete Jackie Cohen, while at Tete