THE COUNTERFEIT LEGEND A Memoir: Respected Pony League Manager Lives Double Life Robbing Banks

By Victoria Summers

When a tall, charismatic fireman waltzed into Barbara's office, her first instinct was to run--instead, he swept her off her feet, pulling her into a lifetime of crime, addiction, and abuse. Thus, the Counterfeit Legend was born. Told from the perspective of his stepdaughter Vicki, The Counterfeit Legend details the personal and family life of notorious Los Angeles bank robber John Jennings. Jennings did whatever it took to satisfy his compulsive need for attention, notoriety, and fame. As stepfather to young children, Jennings was cruel and abusive. He hid his double life as an armed bank robber by masking himself as a community hero. In 1963, Jennings managed his son's Pony League baseball team, leading his players to the Pony League World Series. The life he built for himself crashed to a halt when he was arrested for the robberies of thirteen Los Angeles banks, stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars. The effect it left on his family members was lasting and fatal. Even still, Jennings continued to reinvent himself with lies and deception, destroying all that lay in his path in his search for the good life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888517703

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Acknowledgments

1: The Bombshell

2: Red Flags

3: The Abuse

4: Sober

5: The Baseball Legend

6: The Double Life

7: The Bank Robber

8: Aftermath

9: The Addiction

10: The Encounter

11: The New Life and Lies

12: Goodbye Lies

Epilogue

About the Author

cover.jpg

THE COUNTERFEIT LEGEND A Memoir

Respected Pony League Manager Lives Double Life Robbing Banks

Victoria Summers

ISBN 979-8-88851-769-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88851-770-3 (Digital)

Registration Number: TXu 2-366-644

Copyright © 2023 Victoria Summers

All rights reserved

First Edition

Book Cover by Amnet

Edited by Vanessa Souisa

Edited by Riley Souisa

Edited by Leah Shelp

https://www.thecounterfeitlegend.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my family for their support and encouragement in writing my story. My daughter, Leanne Souisa; my son, Darin Sioussat; and Annie, who I raised, gave me a reason to be strong and have meaning in my life. I daydreamed of having children and a loving family from a very young age. No matter what life threw at us, we always stayed close, protecting them at all costs and making sure they would never have to go through the abuse or insecurities that I endured.

I am grateful to my talented granddaughter, Vanessa Souisa, for her excellent editing skills. She is familiar with addiction herself and has been sober now for many years—working as a substance abuse counselor helping lost addicts find freedom through God and pursuing her master's degree in clinical counseling.

Thanks to my grandson Riley Souisa for his format editing and his supporting my vision by encouraging me to be the best I can be and not give up.

I am also grateful to Leah Shelp for her editing ability to pull the most out of me and write my story.

And above all, I give thanks to God, as he has always been with me, guiding and loving me. He took this little broken girl and gave me the strength and passion I needed to make a good life for my children and my six grandchildren, Vanessa Souisa, Christopher Sioussat, Riley Souisa, Dawson Souisa, Tyler Sioussat and Jordan Sioussat.

1

The Bombshell

In 1963, Los Angeles was declared the Bank Robbery Capital of the World. That same year, my father, John Jennings, was arrested and declared one of the biggest armed bank robbers of them all, unbeknownst to my family and me.

I can't tell you how many times my father made us watch the 1960s movie Oceans 11. It must have been his favorite, with his idol Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack dressed in sleek business suits, cooking up the ultimate Las Vegas heist. I used to call out to my dad, Hey, Danny Ocean, what are you planning now? Then I'd laugh as I gave him the military salute. He'd wink back at me, his lips spreading in a tightly sealed smile as if he had a secret to keep. I didn't know it at the time, but that movie meant more to him than I realized. He wasn't simply watching actors on a screen. It was more than that; it was aspirational.

Growing up, I lived with a man who led two vastly different lives engulfed in secrets and deception. My family endured the multiple facets of my father's personality, cruelty and dishonesty juxtaposed with fatherly love and affection. Sorting through it all with the buffer of time, I've come to the conclusion that those of us who have suffered abuse can choose to walk one of two paths in life. We can let it take us over, cripple us, haunt us, and spill onto others, ultimately remaining in the darkness. Or we can step into the light. This is the story of how I found the light.

November 4, 1963, was the day that changed my life forever. My seventeenth birthday was nine days away—only eighteen days before President John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22.

That evening, I drove home from my surf club meeting with my high school girlfriends. We'd named our club Nereids after the daughters of Nereus, the Old Man of the Sea. The navy-blue sky stretched over us like a canopy as dusk settled over the Topanga Canyon. It grew darker as I drove up the familiar winding road to Mulholland Drive in Woodland Hills, the Beach Boys' Little Surfer Girl playing on KFWB radio. As I sang along, I imagined they were singing a love song to me.

I couldn't stop smiling as I pulled up the hill in my 1960 VW Bug. The tinny radio sang out, and the night air whipped back my hair through the open window. I felt calm and happy at that moment. As the song ended, I rounded the corner to our tri-story home.

The first odd thing I noticed was the row of cars lined up in our three-car driveway, making it so that I had to park on the street. I walked up to the house with a sinking feeling, pausing to look through the frosted windowpane in the front doors. Light glowed inside the house, and bodies crowded around the foyer. I could make out the shape of my father's good friend, Clyde Hankins, whom my father called Hank. He stood with his back to the door, his large frame blocking the view into the kitchen. When he turned, an officer's badge glinted off his chest in the yellow lamplight.

It was the first time I'd ever seen Hank in uniform—he worked for the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) and was the father of Terry Hankins, a player on my brother Steven's baseball team. It gave me an odd feeling seeing him all dressed in his uniform.

He must have come from work, I thought, slipping through the door. This is so strange.

Hi, Mr. Hankins, I said. What's going on here? I moved into the expansive foyer, glancing down the hallway. Several men in business suits were clustered around the entrance to the kitchen. I flipped my long blonde hair back to get a better look at who these people were. No one seemed to notice me standing there—not even Mr. Hankins. A small ball of panic knotted up behind my ribcage. Where's my mom? I called out.

One gentleman placed a hand on my shoulder and ushered me into the kitchen past the men in suits. Before I could protest, he whirled me around to face my mother. Barbara, the man said. Your daughter came home.

My mother turned to look at me, tears flowing from her eyes and staining her perfect olive skin. Her auburn hair fell flat against her head, soaked through with sweat. She looked like a worn-out version of herself, fraying at the edges as if she were slowly coming unraveled.