I was taken hostage at gunpoint 40 years ago. That terrifying memory now strengthens me

This First Person article is the experience of Dave Cheke, who lives in Calgary. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

I was a hostage — taken by strangers on a high-speed chase in my Chevrolet Corvette and held for 11 hours at a truck stop at gunpoint.

I still vividly remember the moment it finally came to an end.

I stood up, I tucked in my shirt to make myself feel professional, and left the room just ahead of the police negotiator and the last gunman. I could feel the silence. Even the traffic was so quiet, I could hear the click of the firearm safeties being switched off as the tactical team moved in.

It's been 40 years since that crisis and yet it sticks with me — especially that final moment. It keeps coming back.

The hostage situation started at 8:30 a.m. on May 18, 1982. There was a knock at the front door of the Safeway in Saskatoon where I was a 24-year-old assistant manager. Two well-dressed men said this was a hold up.

I remember thinking, just do what they say so no one gets hurt.

But after the gunmen got the cash, one of them asked for keys to a vehicle.

I gave them the keys to my Corvette and was then forced into the front seat — perched on the centre console — and we took off down the main road.

Police were after us almost instantly, lights flashing. The sound of gunfire rang out from inside my car — shots coming from right beside me, spent shell cartridges hitting my face. The noise was so loud it seemed unreal.

The chase continued until the driver lost control and slammed the car into the sidewalk curb. I was pulled out of the car, guns aimed in my direction, voices loud and a tension like nothing I experienced before.

What followed next was a blur, but felt like a TV drama. The gunman commandeered a police car, the chase continued, and suddenly I could see a Husky House Service Station restaurant. We slammed into a wall, and I was pulled out again and forced toward the restaurant. Patrons were fleeing around us.

But in the midst of that chaos, two police officers followed us into the restaurant. They called the gunman by name and said we should sit down to talk things through.

The gunmen grabbed a second hostage — an American woman who had been using the washroom — and now we had tension of a different sort. Negotiations began between the gunman in charge and a detective. I was so impressed at how calm the detective was — almost like he was just having a conversation, nothing stressful or aggravating. They talked for hours and it turned out the leader, James, had escaped from a prison.

Eventually, the woman was released in exchange for James getting the sedatives he demanded. Half an hour after that, he set his gun on the table. Then, eight hours into the negotiations, the second gunman walked out and James' girlfriend came to see if she could help. 

Finally, an opportunity came up where the negotiator and I could have both just walked out on our own. But he looked at me and said, "The longer this goes, the better the results." By this time, I was OK with that.

Then James got up and handed the gun to the detective. And we walked out.

But an event like that changes you. For one, it opened my eyes to the powerful love of family and friends.

I was driven to my mother's housing, where my younger brother ran out to hug me and wouldn't let go. My mom was at the kitchen table, surrounded by friends who stuck by her all day, and I learned my other brother had spent the entire time watching the restaurant from a hotel across the street.

I took phone calls from friends across Canada — support that helped as I made sense of the experience in the days and weeks after.

It deepened my faith, too. I felt secure in the hands of someone larger than me, a God who saw me through that stressful day and everyday since.

And that moment — the memory of the quiet after the storm — that moment comes back to me even more now as I face new stresses in life. To be honest, the process of aging scares me — maybe even more than the gunmen that day.

I'm 64 now. I have never been this old. I look in the mirror and my hair has never been this grey. My body is changing and my career is coming to an end. That's causing stress like I never anticipated. But I'll get through this, too, because I got through that terrifying hostage situation and can appreciate the days ahead.

Telling your story

As part of our ongoing partnership with the Calgary Public Library, CBC Calgary is running in-person writing workshops to support community members telling their own stories.

This workshop was hosted by Unison at the Kerby Centre.

To join a workshop, suggest a topic or volunteer a community organization to help, email CBC producer Elise Stolte or visit cbc.ca/tellingyourstory.