I think I was a passenger in Lent’s van about 40 years ago. It was somewhere between 1985 and 1988 when I was an undergraduate. I think maybe even a little bit earlier when I was in high school.
I had long hair, and I know a few people who picked me up while I was hitchhiking thought I was a girl. I hitchhiked a lot because in the Berkshires, the bus system took forever and I didn't have a car. Anyway, I remember one time this guy picked me up and he was driving a white van, and I had a lot of great experiences hitchhiking. I met people at the Ivy League university I would later teach at which is kind of hilarious. I met people who were super smart, rich, had great life stories, artists, all sorts of folks - it was a great, weird time. I really miss it in a way. It certainly was a lot better than social media, let me tell you that. And it was a way to get around and in the rural countryside.
Every now and then something bad would happen, and this day I got picked up by this guy in a white van and I think it was around Lenox, maybe near Pittsfield. I was heading back to my house in Stockbridge. It's about 10 miles or so, my memory's faded it's 40 years.
I remember he had round, somewhat Coke-bottle glasses, a mustache, and I think he had a goatee or beard. The van was empty, but there was a cage in the back that clearly could be locked. It could have been something a contractor had, but it all seemed off to me. I didn't get a good feeling, I got bad vibes (I've actually met Jeffrey Epstein long long before there were any accusations leveled against him, but I instinctively got bad vibes and I had no interest in talking to him even though he could have potentially offered me money to do research at the university I was at according to the bigwigs there. He just seemed off. So I guess I have a good sixth sense for this sort of thing).
Anyway, I really did not like the feeling. Even though I don't recall him saying anything bad, and hey, there were a couple of times when the people I was hitchhiking with said very questionable things. I just got a bad vibe. As we were heading into the town I lived in, there was a stop sign and there was a whole bunch of traffic backed up. I said, "Oh man, I remember my friend's grandma. I'm supposed to go and see her." So, I thanked him and bolted. I'm sure glad it was the era before electric door locks in most cars. I walked very, very fast across the field towards a copse (I've been looking for a reason to use that word since I read Watership Down when I was ten). Ran through it. Waited a little while until I thought the white van was gone. Then walked all the way home through another stretch of woods so he wouldn't see me.
Honestly, that's really the whole story. Maybe it wasn't him but I doubt my memory is playing tricks on me because I never really would have associated with it except for seeing the photos of him. Also, he lived in North Adams or Lanesboro which were not very far from Stockbridge. They were maybe like 20 miles, and he did most of his killing to the west quite a bit further away, this was before he did any of the killings he was arrested for later. And I got to say it just looked like him and he did drive a white van according to the news articles I read, so all that checks out. Maybe it wasn't him, just some dude who I didn't like.
As I'm thinking about this, I'm wondering why I wasn't afraid of seeing him again. And I'm guessing that it must have been right before my hitchhiking ended. So that would make it around the fall of 1988, which was the last time I lived with my parents for any reasonable length of time.
I really don't have anything else to say. You can ask me anything. I don't come here very often, but I thought I'd add it because this is a good community, and when I do come here I enjoy hearing what you all have to say. I don't come here often, but when I do, if anybody has any questions, I'll be glad to answer them.
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The season premiere of "48 Hours" on CBS Saturday night will take local residents back to 1993—a year forever etched in the memories of those in the Mohawk Valley.
