THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, February 3, 1996 TAG: 9602030427
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Charlise Lyles
LENGTH: Medium: 70 lines
About two weeks ago, somebody ripped Charlene Hilton off real good:
The VCR, four televisions (including a 27-inch set), two CD players, 10 CDs, every ring, earring, necklace, $250 cash, most of the computer, her three boys' socks, jeans, toys, all the gifts that the electrician had worked overtime to buy them for Christmas.
Everything.
``They tore my house up - even took ham, pork chops, sausage out the refrigerator and left the door open,'' Hilton told me Friday.
The 38-year-old woman's round, honest face and husky voice were full of hurt and gutsiness as she recounted the ordeal.
``We live a Sega-Genesis-Nintendo-computer type life. Everything is fun and games with me and my boys because I'm all they've got,'' she said. ``Me and my boys live such a good life, we were almost blinded. I don't know where I've been thinking the rest of the world is OK.''
That Sunday night her boys shivered in the cold - thieves broke the glass patio door - and cried over their stolen toys. Fear-shocked, Hilton stood at the kitchen window all night.
``I was scared. But Monday morning I said, `I'll be doggone if I'm gonna let some low-life come in here and destroy us.' ''
She took a shower, put on some sweats, made a ``REWARD'' flyer, ran off 500 copies and stuffed one in every mailbox for five or six blocks.
Go, girl.
She waited.
By afternoon, the fear had totally receded. She was ready to pounce. She told a Norfolk police investigator who showed up at her door to back off.
Go, girl.
In her back yard, which is separated from Interstate 64 by a concrete wall, she followed a trail of muddy steps, leading to a fenced-in ditch, beneath a catwalk. She jumped the fence.
``I found my sons' games, my pocketbook, my sons' socks.
``My son's birth certificate was lying in the mud.''
Nightfall emboldened her.
``It was 11 o'clock. I put on some go-out-in-the-drug-world clothes - black boots, a black hood, a black skull cap. I don't know anything about that world - I don't even smoke cigarettes.''
Go, girl.
She went to drug houses, where addicts sat in a stupor like a mute, mummified choir, or giddy, high as an amusement park ride.
Alleyways. Street corners.
``For two days, I was in the drug world so deep, it'll make you cry. It was right here in my own back yard and I didn't know it.''
In that world, the only loyalty is to dope. People started talking because she offered cold cash. Twenty dollars here, $30 there.
`` `That dude named Dwight.' ''
``Dwight who?''
`` `Give me $20.' ''
``All right.''
`` `Dwight Norman.' ''
`` `I saw them dragging your 27-inch down the street on a blanket,' '' she said one woman told her. For $40, Hilton bought back two televisions and the VCR.
Four days after the break-in, based on the information Hilton purchased, police arrested Norman on charges of breaking and entering.
I know it's early in the year, but I'm going to go ahead and give Charlene Hilton the ``Go, Girl Award'' for 1996. by CNB