Imagine being a young couple, just starting your life together with a newborn son, full of dreams for the future. That was Angelina and Kevin Verville Sr. in June 1980. Stationed at Camp Pendleton, they lived in the Sterling Homes apartment complex, a tight-knit community for military families in Oceanside, California. Their son, Kevin Jr., born on June 14, was their first child, a tiny bundle of joy who’d just come home from the hospital after a mild case of jaundice. Life felt promising, despite the challenges of being young parents on a military budget.
Then, on June 30, a woman calling herself “Sheila” knocked on their door. She spoke to Angelina in Tagalog, her native language, which instantly built trust. Sheila presented herself as a social worker from an organization called “HELP,” claiming it supported low-income military families with essentials like diapers, formula, and even financial aid. She flashed a laminated ID card, which seemed legitimate, and promised to return the next day to take Angelina and Kevin Jr. to the organization’s office to enroll. For the Vervilles, it sounded like a lifeline.
On July 1, Sheila came back, driving a gray or silver four-door sedan. Kevin Sr. was busy unpacking groceries, so Angelina and baby Kevin went with her. Sheila said they needed to stop in a rural area of North San Diego County to pick up another mother for the program. When they pulled over near a house, Sheila asked Angelina to knock on the door, claiming she wasn’t feeling well. Holding her son, Angelina hesitated but handed Kevin Jr. to Sheila, who was smiling and tickling him. As Angelina stepped out and approached the house, Sheila sped off, leaving her stranded in an orange grove, watching helplessly as her baby disappeared. That moment shattered their world.
The Mysterious “Sheila” and a Meticulous Plan
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The woman who called herself Sheila wasn’t a random opportunist. Investigators later learned she’d spent days canvassing the Sterling Homes complex, knocking on doors and talking to dozens of families. She was specific, asking about newborns under six months old, particularly those of part-Filipino descent. It’s chilling to think about – she was essentially “baby shopping,” zeroing in on Kevin Jr. because he fit her criteria. Authorities believe she may have been motivated by a personal loss, possibly a miscarriage, and wanted to raise a child as her own.
Descriptions of Sheila paint a vivid picture. In 1980, she was in her early 20s, about 5’2”, 120-130 pounds, with red or blond frizzy hair and glasses. A distinctive tattoo – a circle with an “X” or cross in the webbing between her thumb and index finger on her left hand – stood out. Some suspect the pregnancy she appeared to have was part of a disguise, along with her hair and glasses, to throw off suspicion. She knew enough about military life to target families with lower ranks (E-5 and below), who might be more likely to need assistance. She even claimed her organization was called “Project Hope” or “HELP,” though no such group existed with anyone matching her description.
Despite extensive searches by the Oceanside police, San Diego sheriff’s deputies, and the FBI, neither Sheila nor Kevin Jr. was ever found. Witnesses helped create composite sketches, and the FBI offered a $10,000 reward for information leading to her arrest or Kevin’s recovery. But the trail went cold, leaving the Vervilles in a state of endless grief.
A Family’s Enduring Pain
The abduction didn’t just take Kevin Jr.; it fractured his family. Angelina and Kevin Sr., only 22 and 21 at the time, were devastated. Angelina, a recent immigrant from the Philippines, was left standing alone in that rural field, her screams unheard. Kevin Sr., a Marine corporal, spoke of the anguish in a 1980 interview, saying, “I just want my baby.” The couple later divorced, the weight of their loss too much to bear together. Angelina, now in her 60s, has suffered two strokes and is no longer verbal, her health declining under the strain of decades without answers. Kevin Sr., living in Montana, still holds onto hope but carries the pain of a father who lost his firstborn.
Their daughter, Angelica Ramsey, born five years after the abduction, has become a driving force in keeping the case alive. Now 40 and living in Colorado, she never knew her brother but feels his absence deeply. “I got to miss out on being a little sister,” she said at a recent news conference, her voice heavy with emotion. Angelica’s efforts a few years ago sparked renewed interest in the case, pushing investigators to take another look. She and her father have submitted their DNA to commercial databases like Ancestry and 23andMe, hoping for a match that could lead to Kevin. “There are people who love him, who’ve never met him,” she said. “We just want to meet him.”
A New Push for Answers
The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children hasn’t given up. In June 2025, they released an age-progressed image of what Kevin Jr. might look like at 45, created by a forensic artist using family photos. It’s not a definitive portrait but a tool to spark recognition. “We believe Kevin is still out there, likely living under another name, unaware he was kidnapped,” said Angeline Hartmann, NCMEC’s Director of Communications. The image shows a man who could be anywhere, living a life he thinks is his own, possibly raised by Sheila or someone else.
To amplify the search, NCMEC partnered with GSTV, a network that displays videos at thousands of gas stations across 49 states. Throughout July 2025, a 15-second clip featuring Kevin’s age-progressed image played on 29,000 screens, reaching millions of people. “He could be in New York, Florida, anywhere,” Hartmann said. “This is a story that deserves national attention.” The FBI’s San Diego office is also still involved, urging anyone with information to call 1-800-THE-LOST or 1-800-225-5324. The $10,000 reward remains active, a small beacon of hope in a case that’s been cold for too long.
The Power of Hope and Modern Tools
What makes this case so compelling is the belief that Kevin is alive, possibly unaware of his past. Infant abductions by strangers are rare – only about a dozen such cases remain active nationwide – but many experts think Sheila raised Kevin as her own. He could be a 45-year-old man with a family, a job, a life, never suspecting his birth story isn’t what he was told. Advances in DNA technology offer a glimmer of possibility. If Kevin ever takes a consumer DNA test, a match with his family’s profiles could crack the case wide open.
For now, the Vervilles wait, their hope tempered by decades of uncertainty. Angelica’s plea sums it up: “We want everybody talking about this case, because cases from decades ago can be solved today.” It’s a reminder that even the coldest cases can find resolution with persistence, technology, and a bit of luck. If Kevin is out there, maybe this renewed effort – the sketches, the photos, the gas station screens – will reach someone who knows something. Until then, a family holds onto the dream of a reunion, 45 years in the making.
