c.2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-24)
Gretel Ronk had acquired an interest in trailers at Evergreen Estates, through an investment opportunity at her bank. One of the other tellers mentioned during a lunch break, that a depositor owned bunches of mobile residences around her home base in Geauga County, Ohio. This factual tidbit was little more than a curiosity, at first. But then, the young college intern revealed that their patron was liquidating some of these assets, while moving toward retirement. A few of the employees had decided to pool their cash, and use it to leap into the world of property ownership. This made the taste of her taco salad turn oddly bland. Her appetite for adventure had been awakened! Yet she held conservative views on anything relating to money. This kept her pondering the scheme, throughout the rest of that afternoon.
At first, this bold step into being a landlord seemed risky and bound to fail. But after attending a seminar by one of the financial institution’s seasoned advisers, she decided to join in the effort. It was something she had yearned to do, for a long time. Only a lack of courage to enter the market had kept her sidelined. With this venture, she would have company to share in the rewards, or comfort for any downfall, if the plan fell apart.
Gretel took $10,000 out of her savings, and plunked it down like a stack of chips at a casino.
A month later, she and three of the other ladies were invited to take a tour of the park where they had bought these singlewide trailers. The trip was planned as an excursion to inspect and assess their longboxes first hand, and choose whether to renovate them before new renters moved in, or to forego that extra expense altogether.
They rode in a Chrysler minivan owned by their team leader. The drive deep into a rural part of the Ohio district was pleasant enough while in motion. Everything was green and pastoral, and subdued along the way. When they arrived at the development site, a sign appeared that read ‘Welcome to Evergreen Estates. A nice place to get started, or to retire!’ This friendly greeting made her feel warm inside.
Donna DiCenza was at the wheel. She had worked for Federal Falcon Bank for twenty years or more. Her maternal demeanor came from having endured an extended period of homemaking, that preceded a return to workplace duties. Now, with her kids in college, she had the experience of a den mother. She always looked after her clerks with care and affection.
The tall, chubby, big-haired woman gestured toward streets that lay ahead, while explaining what they were about to encounter.
“This is a community of mobile homes, everyone! Not a housing development, per se... I would characterize it as a blue-collar cluster. You’ll see lots of things here that traditional neighborhoods frown upon. Lots of day drinking, loud music parties, banners and flags representing controversial groups, firearms being carried openly, and lots of pickup trucks. Many, many, many pickup trucks! Some of them have wooden beds and loud exhausts, and lights stuck everywhere! Others sit high in the air, and may expel clouds of black smoke, on demand! Don’t be alarmed. It’s a way of life out here! These people work with their hands, and live by their wits! You won’t find any PhD graduates, or millionaires in these prefabricated shipping containers!”
Gasps could be heard throughout the vehicle. Then, Gretel cleared her throat and blurted out a real-time observation.
“Some of these trailers look really bad! I hope we got the better ones in our portfolio. Otherwise, we’ll be spending every penny of profit on repairs!”
Donna was dressed in a silk blouse and mid-length skirt. She had a glossy scarf tied around her neck.
“The units we purchased are mostly newer. They’ve been bringing in trailers with capital sent from the former land owners in California. We have a hard time keeping up with who actually holds the deed to this space. There have been a handful of investors who kept the titles to individual homes, and offered them as rentals or on a rent-to-own basis. The previous stewards discouraged that kind of operation, so people like the man who sold us this package are slowly exiting the business. I’m not sure what course the future will take here, but our possession of assets has been approved. We will work with whatever group wins out, in the end.”
Becky Truant was sitting in the back row of seats. She glowed with pride over their achievement. Her bank polo shirt was purple and green. Her straight hair was long and shimmering blonde.
“WERE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER, SISTERS! I SAY HOORAY! HOORAY, HOORAY!”
Gretel started to giggle, but then covered her mouth with one hand.
“I suppose you can’t expect much sophistication in a place like this, right? It isn’t exactly a high-dollar part of Cleveland, or a lakefront villa!”
Donna nodded in agreement, while steering the minivan toward Lot 12, which was their first destination.
“It is what it is, ladies! It is what you make of it. These people need places to live just like anyone else. They have families to raise, they pay taxes, and they vote! Their lives matter!”
Gadsden flags and Confederate banners were ubiquitous, along the street. A few Trump signs were still in place, from the 2016 and 2020 elections. Oil spots dotted most of the driveways. There were junk vehicles abandoned in the overflow parking areas. Though each had a current license plate attached, as if some mechanical wizard still intended to make them roadworthy, again.
Their introduction to ownership came at a Schult singlewide from 1984. An obvious exception to the claim that they somehow acquired newer residences. It had been repainted so many times that the actual hue was hard to determine. It had a translucent sheen of hooker makeup, applied too heavily. The front porch had been constructed out of discarded, wooden pallets. A series of forgotten satellite dishes and television antennas lined the roof.
As the feminine four exited for a closer look, they quickly noted an odor of stale must oozing through the open windows. A real estate lock had been fastened over the doorknob. While their supervisor fumbled through keys in her leather purse, a noise echoed from next door. One that made the quartet grimace with embarrassment.
Townshend Carr Lincoln was on his bench, across the yard. Despite the early hour, he was already sloshed on beer and Tennessee whiskey. He belched so furiously that window panes began to rattle. Liquor dribbled from his beard. He farted to provide an exclamation point to this display of rude, redneck behavior.
“Good afternoon, everybody? Are you the new owners of this shithole? If so, then by goodness, you’ve got my sympathy!”
Donna shuddered and smoothed her white blouse.
“Not property owners, sir. We’ve just purchased some individual homes here, like this one. Through a deal with Federal Falcon Bank...”
The old hermit exploded with laughter. He swigged beer until it spilled down his Harley-Davidson T-shirt. Foam formed a ring around his mouth.
“FEDERAL FALCON? WHAT THE HELL KIND OF NAME IS THAT? NOT THAT IT MATTERS, ‘CAUSE THEY KEEP CHANGING THE FIRMS AND ADDRESSES FOR LOT RENT TO GET PAID, ANYWAY. ACTUALLY, I DON’T GIVE A DAMN WHERE IT GOES! JUST SO THEY LET ME SIT HERE AND DRINK IN PEACE!”
Gretel clutched her satchel of paperwork like a child’s security blanket. She had to wipe the fog off of her oversized glasses.
“Sit here and drink? That’s all you do all day, sir? Get drunk and pass out?”
Lincoln slapped his knees and bellowed with the intensity of a foghorn by the lakeshore.
“YES I DO! BUT DON’T LET THAT PUT YOU OFF OF CHECKING OUT YOUR NEW DIGS! I FIGURE YOU ALL MADE A WISE PICK WITH BUYING INTO THIS PARK. IT’S THE LAST STOP ON A RAILROAD TO NOWHERE! NOBODY CAN AFFORD TO LEAVE! WE’RE ALL BROKE, BUSTED, AND BEATEN! SO, THERE YOU HAVE IT! WELCOME, MA’AM AND COMPANY! WELCOME TO THE END OF THE ROAD! WELCOME, TO EVERGREEN ESTATES!”
No comments:
Post a Comment