The Norco Bank Robbery

It was about 10:45 p.m., in her front yard, when she got official word that her husband, Deputy James Evans, had been shot and killed — a casualty in one of the most daring and bloody bank holdups and subsequent chases in Southern California history.

But long before the “official” notice, Mary knew something was wrong. She had first heard about the holdup when she checked in after completing her nightshift driving an RTA bus. An office worker told her about a Norco bank holdup, where “someone was killed.” “Not my husband,” thought Mary Evans.

Then the office worker added: “Your baby-sitter called and your husband never showed up to pick up James” (their five-month-old baby). Mary knew he never missed picking James up at the baby-sitter’s and often stayed for dinner with the baby-sitter and her family who lived nearby and were family friends.

“Then I knew something was terribly wrong,” recalls Mary.

It was. Dep. Evans had been ambushed and killed in the foothills of San Bernardino at approximately 4:30 p.m. Mary Evans was officially notified about six hours later at her home by then Riverside County Sheriff Ben Clark.

Dep. Evans, 39, was one of hundreds of law enforcement officers, including many Riverside County Deputies, who was drawn into the Friday afternoon melee.

It all began around 3 p.m. in Norco when five masked men wearing fatigue jackets and wielding automatic weapons ran inside the Security Pacific Bank at Fourth Street and Hamner Avenue. After they forced bank tellers to hand over about $20,000, they fled in a van they had earlier carjacked near Brea in Orange County.

However, the theft began to go awry for the gang. A teller in a bank across the street had seen them enter Security Pacific and phoned authorities.

As the gang exited the bank, they were confronted by Riverside County Deputy Glyn Bolasky, who was first to arrive on the scene just seconds after the robbery began. He had been in his patrol car nearby and was headed toward the bank to cash his check when he got the crackling radio message: “Riverside to Norco units, have a 211 in progress at the Security Pacific Bank.”

Dep. Bolasky was on his own for the next few terrifying minutes. The light-bar on his patrol car was immediately shattered by gunfire.

He crawled under the dashboard, as the windows burst and shattered around him. His left shoulder was hit.

Meanwhile, Deputies Charles Hille and Andy Delgado were minutes away in the north part of Norco. They jumped into their separate cars, taking different routes to the bank, so as to converge on the bank from different angles.

This is how Dep. Hille recalls that fateful afternoon in Norco:

“Normally there were two officers assigned to Norco; that day, there was an overlap in the shifts, so there were three of us: Glyn Bolasky, who was just coming on duty, Andy Delgado and me, who were soon going off duty.”

“We heard that there was a 211 in progress at the bank. Glyn Bolasky was already pulling into the bank parking lot at that second to cash his check. We heard Bolasky radio, ‘I’m 97’ (meaning, ‘I’m here.’) He reported seeing five suspects at the bank, one outside sitting in the van as a lookout, four inside.

“The guy outside saw Bolasky pull in, jumped out of his vehicle and opened up on Bolasky’s vehicle. Bolasky saw him close, about 20 or 30 yards, he ducks. His windshield is blown out.”

Hille paused for a moment and continued: “I really admire Bolasky. He’s a rookie, 23 years old, and he had the presence of mind to throw the car in reverse and floored it. Since he was crouched down and couldn’t see, when the vehicle backed out into the street, it crashed into another car. This spun his car around, becoming a shield for him.” Then Bolasky got out, finding cover behind a front wheel.

Meanwhile, according to Hille, the four robbers still in the bank heard the “lookout” cranking off rounds and ran out of the bank and jumped in the green getaway van, which pulled out onto Fourth Street, all the while shooting at Bolasky’s car.

Again, Hille pauses in relating the incident and reaffirms his admiration for the rookie, stating, “I really admire him. He jumps up as they are shooting at him and fires his shotgun through the van as they are driving away from him. A shotgun pellet lodged in the head of the driver.” The van, now disabled, crashed into a tree. The driver, Belisaro Delgado, was dead, slumped over the steering wheel.

The four passengers bailed out of the van, opening fire on Bolasky. Hille recounts that Bolasky described them as “standing four abreast and pumping out rounds — all kinds of automatic weapons, clips taped to each other, 30-round clips.” Dep. Bolasky was hit again, this time in the arm. Forty-seven bullet holes riddled his patrol car.

While all of this went down, which took a little over a minute, Deputies Delgado and Hille heard the shooting and and were nearing the scene from different directions.

“We heard Bolasky over the radio screaming, ‘Help me, help me, 211 in progress; they’ve got automatic weapons. Get me some backup quick.’ I could hear the terror in his voice,” recalls Hille.

Hille, who by giving, once again, his account of May 9, was opening a painful door which had been shut for many years. He continued: “As I was heading in the direction of the bank I could see his [Bolasky’s] vehicle turned sideways in the street and realized he was down by the car with his gun.

“I heard two loud pops. My God, those are bullets hitting my car. I realized they were shooting at me,” remembers Hille, pausing as he resurrects details of May 9, 1980.

At this point Hille says he recalled some advice from a training film: if ever taking fire, take evasive action, pull away and secure yourself. He did. He pulled the “car behind a little building in a field to the side. “ He got out and immediately saw Bolasky who was back on the radio: “My God, My God, I’m shot. Please help me!”

“I can see his vehicle from the dirt field. I knew I’d better go get him. We always take care of each other. I left my vehicle and ran across the dirt field. Without my car, I was not as big a target. Take a chance, I told myself. You’re not thinking about your own life; we’re trained to get there, so that’s what you do,” said Hille.

As Dep. Hille ran across the field, the gunmen were shooting at him. “They were shooting from the hip, and lucky for me, they were lousy shots,” said Hille.

“When I got to Bolasky’s car, he was in shock — scared, cold, with his hand covering the elbow wound. He was so relieved to see me. I knelt down beside the vehicle. Bullets were going through the vehicle and out the other side; that’s how powerful they were. I felt safest behind the motor and the front wheel well.”

Dep. Bolasky told Dep. Hille that he had emptied his gun: “My gun’s not loaded.” “Give me your gun,” said Dep. Hille, who then reloaded Bolasky’s weapon and put it back in his hand, showing remarkable presence of mind while under fire.

“I remember saying to him, ‘Glyn, where are these people"’ as I hadn’t yet seen a suspect. He replied, ‘They’re moving around a lot. Chuck, they got automatic weapons and are in camouflage outfits.’

“‘We need to get out of here. They’re not going away,’ I told Bolasky,” said Hille. “There was a huge tree behind us. ‘Can you run"’ I asked him. He replied, ‘I think so.’” So they ran for cover. “I knew the bullets couldn’t get through the tree,” said Hille so he helped get Bolasky behind the tree. At this point, he knew “we were outgunned, but I figured, what the hell.”

By this time, Dep. Delgado had arrived and “was cranking off rounds at them. This drew the focus on himself and off of us. It sounded like Vietnam.”

This cover gave Dep. Hille a chance to run back to his car, which he then drove back “serpentine style” to the tree and Bolasky. “I swung the car around, the back door was open and he fell into the back seat, feet dangling from the car. I remember telling him, ‘I’m going to floor this, get you around the corner, then pull your feet in.” He did.