Trailer Park Vignettes – “Campaign”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-24)

 

 

On the last Tuesday evening remaining in January, the maintenance garage at Evergreen Estates was full of residents. This unusual situation seemed decidedly odd, because the repair bays had been cleared to set up folding chairs, instead of accommodating work being done on park equipment. Yet their property manager had given her blessing to this public event. With a boisterous political season already underway, a representative from Columbus had been scheduled to speak. His appearance was sponsored by the Geauga County Patriot Federation, a group that promoted familiar themes always popular with local citizens. Less regulation, lower taxes, parental rights and school choice, along with respect for veterans and members of law enforcement.

 

Pastor Jed Nardell, from the Methodist church on their township square, provided a benediction and introduced the speaker. He had dressed casually for the event, but wore a silver cross pendant around the neck of his polo shirt. His dark hair was slicked back with Vitalis oil.

 

“Let us pray! Heavenly Father, we dedicate this meeting to you. It is in your name that we gather to make difficult decisions about the future of our community in the pines. We trust in your word, and in your love for us as children of Almighty God. We give you the glory for every ray of sunshine that brightens our days, for every drop of rain that blesses the soil, and for every seed that grows to feed our people. Without you, there would be no life and no hope for tomorrow. In your name we harvest the bounty of this land, and we remember the gospel truth that made our prosperity possible. Your grace is our protection. Your commandments secure the victory of believers, everywhere! We kneel before your throne, with humility and awe. All of this we return to you with our thanks. In the beloved name of Jesus Christ we petition you, Amen!”

 

Despite their differences and doubts, the mismatched bunch came together as one. They were somewhat bored and disinterested, but present in body if not fully in mind.

 

“AMEN! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!”

 

A tall, unfamiliar figure stepped to the lectern as they were buzzing with whispered conversation. He looked the part of a state official, in a tidy blue suit, and red necktie. His head had been shaved, and it glistened in the glow of florescent lights, hanging from the bare ceiling.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Nugent T. Brooke III. I am your elected steward in the Ohio General Assembly. District 99 of our venerable House of Representatives. Normally, I would be coming to you seeking support in the next cycle of balloting. But today, I have a different task at hand. Members of our state legislature have introduced a bill that would confer new rights and liberties to those of you living in mobile homes. It has long been true that those who occupy fixed dwellings in municipal entities of whatever sort possess the authority to govern themselves in some manner. This democratic principle is deeply American and undisputed by any political party. But for folks like you, there has always been a disconnect in place. You reside on land held by private or corporate owners. You are treated much like guests at a motel or hotel. Forced to pay for a room that you will never own, legally. Your trailers are considered to be little more than temporary shelters, parked on a rented space. Living out of a car would, in truth, offer about the same amount of standing in the eyes of our authorities. This is I believe, untenable. It is exploitation of an underclass. One never addressed by Republicans or Democrats in their partisan liturgies. You good people who vote and hold assets, and serve the grand state in which we live, are treated with only a modicum of civility. Your work propels the economy of Ohio. Your raising of families, and your labor to keep the faith in tenets of America learned from our founders, helps to move this nation forward. Yet the yield in real terms is slight. I say that the time has come to free every park like Evergreen Estates! To unshackle those who live in manufactured homes. To instigate a revolution that will bring justice to the halls in our capital!”

 

Loud cheers and celebratory whoops echoed throughout the steel building. Suddenly, every resident seemed to be fully attentive.

 

“MAKE LIVING IN TRAILERS GREAT AGAIN! MAKE THEM GREAT! MAKE THEM GREAT!”

 

The political wonk smiled broadly while continuing. He had struck a nerve with this unexpected proposal.

 

“What I ask is that each one of you, according to your own abilities, make contact with our governor and other elected officials. Call by telephone, send e-mail messages, or write postal letters. If you can, interact with these people directly. Let them see your faces and hear your voices. Make them know the truth of this unfair kink in the system. To quote former Cleveland Browns quarterback Bernie Kosar, ‘You Matter!’ All of you, every one of you, really does matter! Don’t allow yourselves to be shortchanged! Speak truth to power, as they say in the modern vernacular! Lift up your voices, and be heard!”

 

The entire gathering had gone wild. Everyone was on their feet, and shouting with unrestrained ebullience.

 

“MAKE LIVING IN TRAILERS GREAT AGAIN! MAKE TRAILERS GREAT! MAKE TRAILERS GREAT!”

 

Pastor Nardell retook his place of prominence. He had begun to sweat despite the cool interior temperature of their spartan venue. The citizen mob had become so noisy that he could barely be heard above a prevailing din of enthusiasm.

 

“Friends and neighbors, settle down please! Let me thank our guest for speaking here, as I do believe he’s tapped a vein of gold. His perspective is frankly, unique and right on target! I’ve never thought about things in the way that he has described. I’ll bet none of you have, either! On behalf of our rural oasis, I give my gratitude to him and offer prayers of support. Godspeed to you, Mr. Brooke! Godspeed! We are all behind you in this righteous effort!”

 

In the back of their maintenance garage, a skinny kid stood up and gestured for attention. He was wearing Beats headphones, and a knit beanie with a tassel colored in hues that conflicted with each other. Only by straining for a better view did anyone realize that the garish headgear was an item boasting loyalty for the Los Angeles Lakers. The basketball franchise that inherited LeBron James, after he had exited Cleveland for the second time.

 

“Preacher, could I interject something while we’re all together? My name is Donny Rubega. Some of you might remember my dad’s ice cream stand, just up the road. He made a good living off of racers who came to the drag strip, over by Sanker Farm. But times are harder now, and he’s in a nursing home. So, I’m doing my best to hold it all together. I just graduated from high school three years ago, so it hasn’t been easy. Anyway, I get looked at sideways sometimes. Most people figure that because I am so young, I must not know anything. Think about that for a minute, and realize that it’s the same for those of us that live in a shack brought in on wheels. A shipping container, not really fit to house living beings. How does that fit in a world run by insiders? They don’t think much about us, trust me! They hardly know we exist! So, when you go marching down to Columbus, what makes that add up differently than it does right here in Geauga County?”

 

A stunned silence fell upon the crowd. Their revered pastor began to chew his lip while pondering the wisdom of this youthful contrarian. With some trepidation, the political representative looked at his watch, and groaned to himself. He had no answer for the vexing query. His desire was to get out quickly, without a confrontation.

 

“Thank you everybody! Thank you! Thank you! I’ll see you all in November! Don’t forget to show up at the polls, and choose me for another term as your agent in the state government!”