Sep. 12, 2022

BEING FOLLOWED--CAN BE A FRIGHTENING EXPERIENCE.

 TOO-CLOSE FOR COMFORT.

Regardless of where I lived, running was a major part of my every-day schedule. My daily workouts in Little Rock occurred early in the morning-- before work—and usally on the running trail near the Arkansas River. On the weekends, I ran later in the morning and most of the time, my daughters joined me.

At some point, a strange man began calling me, someone who wouldn’t identify himself but who, apparently, was following me. From the very first call, the mystery man could describe each outfit I wore on a particular day. I considered him too close for comfort.

Sometimes, his voice sounded demanding, especially when he described me standing on his chest, kicking him, urinating in his face. I found it troubling when he talked about wanting me to strangle his head between my powerful legs. I began taping his calls and, after playing the tapes for Little Rock’s Police Chief, I agreed to set-up a meeting with the strange caller. Based on the caller’s conversations, I perceived him to be an unattractive and seriously-unstable pervert.

The Chief of Police assured me I’d be safe at all times because officers would be following--- close-behind me--- in an unmarked car. The plan would be to arrest the caller.  It was time to end the caller's abusive and potentially-dangerous phone messages.

I arrived at the designated rendezvous spot-- early. Soon, a late model Mercedes Convertible pulled into the parking spot next to mine. Although my frantically-racing heart seemed ready to jump out of my chest, I kept my eyes focused--- straight ahead.

My pulse wildly- raced when I heard the driver slam his car door.  I knew he was walking to my car. Pausing, perhaps to look inside, the mystery man opened the passenger door and sat down on the seat next to me.

Within seconds, six policemen—guns drawn—surrounded my car and took control. As the police were handcuffing and removing the mystery man from my car, I turned to look at my caller for the first time. I could hardly believe who I saw staring back at me. I recognized him and—I knew his wife. The Stranger/Stalker was the husband of another Miss Arkansas.

Sally Miller

PS. In the photo that accompanies this story, it shows me modeling--in an elaborate Style Show during the seventies-- with two other Miss Arkansas. Both were married and lived in Little Rock.