The six-year-old girl who couldn’t talk raced straight into the arms of the large biker at Walmart, signing something quickly while tears spilled down her face.
I observed this big, tattooed man in a Demons MC vest suddenly start signing back to her fluently as other shoppers backed away in panic. His hands moved with an amazing amount of grace.
The little girl, who couldn’t have weighed more than forty pounds, was clutching on to this scary-looking biker like he was her only chance of survival. I couldn’t see what her little hands were doing.
Then the biker’s face went from worried to angry, and he stood up and looked around the store with eyes that promised violence. He still hugged the tiny child close to his chest to keep him safe.
“Who brought this kid here?” His voice rang out through the aisles when he roared. “WHERE ARE HER PARENTS?”
The girl pulled on his vest and signed again, this time with a lot more energy.
He looked down at her, signed something back, and his face went darker than I’d ever seen a human face get.
That’s when I realized that this small kid hadn’t merely run to him.
She had seen his vest and the patches on it, and she knew something about this biker that no one else in the store could have guessed.
This would explain why she was so desperate to get aid from the most frightening person she could locate.
I couldn’t do anything while I watched this happen. The rider was at least 6’5″ tall, weighed 280 pounds, and had arms like tree trunks. He was somehow able to converse to this young boy using sign language.
He told me to “Call 911” without asking me to do it.
“Now. Tell them that a kid was taken from the Walmart on Henderson.
“How do you know—”
“CALL!” He exclaimed, “He barked,” and then he swiftly changed his tone and signed something to the girl that made her nod fiercely.
The biker escorted the toddler to customer service, and four more leather-clad giants from the MC stood around them to protect them.
The girl kept signing, and her story flowed out of her hands.
The rider spoke for the customers who had come to the store and the manager.
“Lucy is her name.” She can’t hear. They yanked her out of school in Portland three days ago.
Even though he seemed calm, I could tell he was angry.
“The people who took her don’t know she can read lips.” She heard them in the parking lot discussing about selling her. $50,000. In an hour, they will meet someone.
My blood got cold. The manager’s face went pale.
“How does she know to come to you?” Someone asked.
The biker pulled his vest down a little, and below the Demons MC patch was a small purple hand symbol.
“I teach deaf individuals how to sign at a school in Salem. For a long time. Lucy understood what the sign meant. In the deaf community, it means “safe person.”
This scary-looking biker was a teacher.
Lucy pulled on his vest again and signed fast. His face changed.
He said, “They’re here.”
“The woman with the red hair and the man with the blue shirt.” “By the drug store.”
Everyone looked back.
A couple who seemed regular was coming toward us. Their looks changed from confused to horrified when they saw the crowd, the bikes, and Lucy in the giant’s arms.
“Lucy!” she yelled, and her voice sounded nice.
“Hi there, sweetheart! “Come to Mommy!”
Lucy shivered all over and put her face in the biker’s chest.
The biker’s brothers moved slowly but with a plan to block all the exits.
The couple tried to be normal and kept going.
The dad said, “That’s our daughter,” attempting to sound like he was in charge.
“Her behavior is a problem.” It sometimes runs away. Thanks for finding her.
“Really? The rider continued in a low voice, “Then you can tell me her last name.”
The two people stared at one other. “Mitchell. Lucy Mitchell.”
Lucy was signing like crazy. The biker nodded.
“Her name is Lucy Chen. Her parents are David and Marie Chen, who live in Portland. Her favorite color is purple.
Her cat’s name is Mr. Whiskers. He pointed at the two people and stated, “You two are going to stay very still until the police get here.”
There were loud noises all of a sudden when the man reached into his jacket.
Four bikers left at the same moment. The man fell to the floor with his face down before he could get what he wanted.
She tried to run, but another motorcycle just stood in front of her with his arms crossed.
“Please,” she started to cry. “We were simply hired to drive. We don’t know anything.
The biker growled, “You knew enough to take a child who couldn’t hear from school.”
Lucy was pointing at the woman’s luggage and signed again.
The rider replied, “She says that the woman has her medical bracelet in there.” The bracelet, which shows that she can’t hear, also has her parents’ phone number on it.
The cops came in full force, with six units and lights blazing. The officer in charge saw the motorcycles and grabbed his rifle.
“Don’t move!”
“Officer,” the store manager said quickly. “These guys saved this kid.” “They’re heroes.”
It took an hour to figure it out. The two people, whose names were made up, were part of a trafficking network that targeted poor youngsters because they thought they would be easier to manage.
They didn’t think Lucy would be smart, observant, and lucky enough to discover the one rider in a hundred miles who could understand her.
I observed the biker keep Lucy safe until her true parents came.
This big gentleman with tattoos and leather sat on the floor of the manager’s office and played patty-cake with her, making her laugh through her tears.
Three hours later, when Lucy’s parents burst in after driving like crazy people from Portland, the first thing they saw was their daughter asleep in the arms of what looked like their worst nightmare.
“Lucy!” her mother yelled.
When Lucy woke up and saw her mom and dad, everyone in the room was moved by her smile.
But before she raced to them, she turned to the biker and signed something long. He signed back and then gently pulled her toward her parents.
You knew exactly what the reunion would be like. Lucy was crying, hugging, and signing so fast that her parents could not keep up.
After then, David, her father, stepped up to the motorcyclist. “She says you’re her hero.” He said you were the only one who could save her.
The rider said, “Just lucky I was here,” and it was clear that he didn’t like being congratulated.
“Fortunate?” Marie, David’s mom, sobbed and laughed at the same moment.
“You’re a sign language teacher who just happens to be in a motorcycle club and was shopping when our daughter got away from her kidnappers?”
One of the other bikers said softly, “God works in strange ways.”
Lucy’s parents saw the purple hand patch that the biker had shown them before at that point.
Marie said, “You’re Tank Thompson!” “You wrote the ASL book ‘Signing with Strength.’ Your videos have helped Lucy learn!
I guess Tank is his name, and he really became red. This huge guy was ashamed because a mom knew he was a teacher right after he had just caught those who were trafficking people.
“That’s why she ran to you,” David said. “She knew you from the videos.” She talks a lot about the “funny signing man.”
Lucy started signing again and grabbed on Tank’s vest. He laughed, and it was a low, rumbling sound.
He said, “She wants to know if she can have a vest for her motorcycle like mine.” “But purple.”
Marie said, “Absolutely not,” but then she stopped. “You know what? Yes. She can have whatever she wants.
I couldn’t shop anywhere else for two weeks after what I saw.
A much was going on at the door. There were twenty of them in the Demons MC, and their engines were making noise.
They were in front of a tiny pink bike with training wheels. Lucy was wearing a special purple leather vest with the words “Honorary Demon” on the back and a purple hand insignia on the front.
Tank was jogging next to her and telling her where to go as she rode her bike into the parking area. Her parents were behind her, laughing and crying at the same moment.
The individuals who worked there came out to look. Customers stopped and looked.
This young deaf boy is being watched after by twenty of the scariest men in the state. In the two weeks after the event, they all acquired basic sign language.
Lucy stopped her bike in front of the business and wrote something down for Tank. He spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear:
“She says this is where she was brave.” Where she found her voice even while she wasn’t talking. Where she learned that not all heroes look like fairy tale princes.
Then she said something that made Tank’s eyes water.
“And she thanks the angel who taught her that demons can be protectors too.”
Three months later, the trafficking ring was shut down, and fourteen kids were found. This all happened because Lucy Chen was gutsy enough to go see a biker whose training videos she had seen.
Tank is still a teacher at the school for the deaf. But now he has a little girl in a purple vest to help him. She shows them how to use signs and reminds them that there are other ways to converse besides speech.
It’s about being listened to.
And sometimes, to be heard, you have to run into the arms of a man covered in skulls and leather.
You know that someone spent fifteen years learning how to talk without words so that youngsters like you may have a voice in the quiet.
The Demons MC is now the official sponsor of the school for deaf people. They ride their bikes every year to raise money for tools and translators.
A little girl informed twenty motorcyclists that strength isn’t just about having large muscles, so they all learnt sign language.
It’s all about getting it. It’s all about making connections.
It’s about being there for someone when they need to be heard, even if they can’t talk.
Lucy still wears her purple vest to school. Other kids have started to want them.
Bikers are presently running a program called “Little Demons” in which they teach deaf kids sign language and how to stay safe.
This project started when a six-year-old girl thought that the person at Walmart who seemed the scariest could be the safest person to run away with.
And she was right.
In the clubhouse, Tank has a framed note of thanks. In shaky purple crayon letters, it says:
“Thanks for listening when I couldn’t talk.”
She put some pictures of herself using sign language below it:
“Heroes wear leather too.”
Yes, Lucy, they do. Yes, they do.