A Widow’s Poignant Souvenirs

Deborah Belcher opened the refrigerator door the other day and was suddenly overcome with vivid memories of her husband, Robert, a Brinks armored van guard who was gunned down on Aug. 1 by would-be robbers.

Inside the refrigerator was a can of whipped cream. Robert loved strawberry shortcake. Deborah remembered how he’d slice some strawberries, load them on a piece of shortcake and smother his concoction with whipped cream.

“Everything I do, even opening a drawer, it’s a memory,” she said.

Robert Belcher, 47, the latest in a growing list of armored car guards to be shot in Los Angeles County, died about 4 a.m. on a routine pickup of receipts from a Venice bank. His killers are still being sought.

Deborah Belcher had fallen in love with Robert nearly 30 years ago as a teenager but only married him in 1992 after each other’s marriages fell apart. She swears she woke up inexplicably about 4 a.m. in their mid-Wilshire home the day of the murder, possessed with the need to pray.

“It was like I was spiritually pushed to do this,” she said.

The mother of four children, including 3-year-old twins and a 2-month-old foster child, she has been praying ever since.

Grief mixes with rage, making her want to throw objects around her house. She tries not to cry because every time she does, her babies cry with her.

In the weeks after her husband’s death, there has been an outpouring of love from friends and members of the church where he was an assistant pastor, and from Venice residents who never knew him but were touched by the tragedy. Some constructed a memorial of flowers, incense and photographs in front of the bank.

Deborah was especially moved by a handmade card given to her by the 7-year-old daughter of a friend. A big, blue heart drawn in crayon adorns the cover. Inside, the little girl wrote, “Love makes things better.”

Robert died while he and another guard, Barry Jones, were making a pickup before dawn from a Bank of America. Three men armed with automatic weapons opened fire on the Brinks van.

Belcher was shot through his bulletproof vest and died. Jones, 37, survived and is recovering from his injuries.

On the morning of the murder, the Belchers’ youngest child woke up a little after Deborah. About 5:30 a.m. the phone rang. Someone from the Brinks company called to say that Robert had been involved in a robbery attempt and had been taken to Daniel Freeman Marina Hospital. Deborah said she was told to call the hospital.

“They transferred me to all the different departments and I finally got his attending physician. I identified myself and he asked me where I was. I said I was at home. He asked me who was in the house. I said just me and the kids. He asked, any adults? I told him my grown son [from a previous marriage] was with me. I told him how old he was [24]. Then he told me that my husband died. That’s how I found out.”

She raced to the hospital because some family members had heard on the radio that her husband was still alive but in critical condition.

“I was holding on to that hope,” she said, but once she arrived at the hospital the doctors reconfirmed that he had died.

“It was like someone was tearing me apart. I was having an insane moment,” she said. This was the moment you dreaded when your husband does what Robert did.

Sure, Robert wore his bulletproof vest religiously and he was a stickler for following rules, but it seemed like every time Deborah turned on the evening news, she’d hear of yet another guard who was gunned down by robbers.

“It was always Brinks, Brinks, Brinks,” she said.

She remembered how last year Robert had chastised a fellow guard, Fernando Hererra, for not wearing a vest. The next day, Hererra, 24, was shot five times in the chest outside a Long Beach bank and died.

The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department does not break down armored car robbery attempts, but at least four guards in addition to Hererra were shot last year, and a second one died.

Armored car guards carry revolvers, and many wear protective vests, but they are not truly “bulletproof,” more like “bullet-resistant,” said Lt. Anthony Alba. The automatic weapons that were used to kill Belcher tore through the vest that he was wearing, Alba said.

What keeps Deborah Belcher going now is the search for the men who killed her husband. Brinks and Bank of America announced a $125,000 reward Aug. 8 for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the suspects.

On Sunday, Belcher’s family held a candlelight vigil to commemorate Robert’s life and to ask the public to help find the killers.

“I just want to put forth every effort I can to make sure people are aware that he did not deserve this. That it was cowardly. And that the money is out there,” she said.

Anyone with information is asked to call (800) 78-CRIME or robbery homicide detectives at (213) 485-0780.

A trust fund has also been set up for the Belcher family. Donations may be sent to: The Robert Belcher Memorial Fund, P.O. Box 35426, Los Angeles, CA 90035.

Deborah, 42, says she still talks to her husband, while walking around the house or driving. “I know he is still here with me. He promised me he would never, ever leave me. Every time I feel myself falling apart, I hear him say, ‘Uh-uh. You know better. You can’t go there. I’m here.’ ”

Lately, she has found herself reminiscing about her husband. She recalled a recent vacation to San Diego--just the two of them--where they dedicated Celine Dion’s song “Because You Loved Me” to each other.

Raised in Los Angeles, they were each other’s first loves. They met in 1968 at a party Robert’s family was throwing for him. He was 18, in the Army and preparing to go to Vietnam. Deborah was just 14, and about to graduate from junior high.

“I just looked at him talking to his friend and then he looked at me,” and they started walking toward each other and danced the night away. When Robert left for the war, the two lost touch. It was not until about 1990, after they had both gotten married to other people and those relationships failed, that they were reunited.

“We are soul mates,” the widow said earnestly. “It was our destiny to be together.”