In the summer of 1966, the United States was a land of opportunity for many, including a generation of highly skilled nurses from the Philippines. Under an exchange program designed to fill workforce shortages, bright and ambitious individuals crossed the Pacific to gain experience and build new lives.

Among them was Corazon Amurao, a 23-year-old from a small town in Batangas. Standing at just 4 feet 10 inches, she was described as fearless, a trait that would soon be tested in the most horrifying way imaginable. On May 9, 1966, she arrived in Chicago, ready to begin her post at the South Chicago Community Hospital.

She and eight other student nurses—six Americans and two fellow Filipinas, Valentina Pasion and Merlita Gargullo—shared a two-story townhouse in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood. For two months, Corazon settled into a routine: working her shift, doing laundry, and writing letters home to her family to stave off the pangs of homesickness.

The evening of July 13, 1966, began like any other. After her shift, Corazon returned home, wrote a letter, and was asleep by 10:30 p.m. Just minutes later, a man armed with a gun and a hunting knife slipped through a window, and a night of unimaginable terror began.

Corazon was awakened by a knock on her bedroom door. When she opened it, she was face-to-face with a tall man dressed in black, a gun pointed directly at her and her roommate, Merlita. He herded them into a room, robbing them of their valuables before tearing a bedsheet into strips to bind their hands.

One by one, he rounded up all nine women in the house, tying them up and assuring them he only wanted money for a trip to New Orleans and wouldn’t harm them. Corazon noted he smelled strongly of alcohol. He took his time, moving through the house, collecting what little cash they had.

At one point, he took one of the women into another room. Soon after, the others heard screams. He returned and took another, then another. The horrific pattern continued for what felt like an eternity. Corazon, along with Valentina and Merlita, managed to loosen their bindings and hide.

But their escape was brief. Convinced by the man’s false promises, one of the other nurses persuaded them to come out, believing he wouldn’t hurt them. Once they were all gathered again, the man began his final, brutal assault, taking each woman to a different part of the house to end their lives.

As the chaos unfolded, Corazon seized a desperate opportunity. While the attacker was occupied in another room, she scrambled under a bunk bed, pulling herself deep into the darkness. She held her breath, listening to the final, terrifying moments of her friends’ lives. She remained frozen, praying he wouldn’t find her.

After several hours, the man, having lost count of his victims in his drunken and frenzied state, simply walked out of the house and disappeared into the night. Terrified that he might return, Corazon stayed hidden under the bed until the first light of dawn broke around 6 a.m.

She crawled from her hiding place, stepped over the bodies of her friends, and made her way to a window ledge. For five agonizing minutes, she screamed for help into the empty street. Finally, a man walking his dog heard her cries and called the police.

The man who had shattered so many lives was Richard Benjamin Speck. His capture two days later was almost anticlimactic. After the horrific crime, Speck attempted to take his own life. Wounded, he sought help at a hospital where a doctor, who had heard news reports describing the suspect, recognized a distinctive tattoo on his arm: “Born to Raise Hell.”

The doctor alerted the authorities, and Speck was arrested. In the hospital, Corazon Amurao faced her tormentor again. Without hesitation, she positively identified him as the man who had invaded her home. Her testimony would be the cornerstone of the prosecution’s case.

At the trial in April 1967, Corazon’s courage was on full display. She walked from the witness stand, stood directly in front of Richard Speck, and, pointing her finger inches from his face, declared, “This is the man.” Her powerful testimony, combined with his fingerprints found at the scene, left no doubt of his guilt.

Speck was found guilty and received a sentence of de@th in the electric chair. However, a 1972 Supreme Court ruling on the jury selection process led to his sentence being commuted to 400 to 1,200 years in prison. He was denied parole seven times.

On December 5, 1991, he passed away from a heart attack in prison, a day before his 50th birthday. Corazon Amurao refused to speak publicly about her ordeal while Speck was alive.

After he was gone, she returned to a quiet life, marrying, raising two children, and eventually moving back to the United States, a quiet hero who survived the unthinkable.