c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(11-25)
With the takeover of Evergreen Estates by Proletariat Property Co-op having been completed, I guessed that conditions at our park might actually change for the better. After living in the community for over 20 years, I could barely remember any serious efforts to maintain or improve the general landscape. Streets, common buildings, and shared spaces were all long past the point of being repaired, without significant investments. Too often, maintenance projects had to be undertaken by the residents themselves. Even when outside orders were issued by the Ohio EPA, or other government institutions in the district, their pleas for action were ignored. Because distant owners changed so frequently, it had never been easy to keep track of their identities. Leveling fines was nearly impossible. Moreover, because it had been such a nuisance, officials in the county preferred not to acknowledge that the property existed, at all.
I didn’t know or care much about the new company. But figured that their stewardship could not be significantly worse than what we had already endured.
Linn Speck took this changeover as a blow against prevailing social mores, however. His nerves were still raw from having failed to create an association of residents, with himself as the reigning authority. He tagged the new group as an Empire State menace. Steeped in leftist, counterculture ideas, with a decidedly activist attitude. His conclusions were strident and aggressive. They resonated well with those who lived in our village of mobile homes, despite having little basis in fact. Yet upon filing an official Petition in Action of Rent Escrow, he was quickly rebuffed. This caused him to sweat and swear, and swing his fists, before leaving the courthouse. He had been neutered in a public forum, something that left him feeling censured by the justice system. His flabby jowls were tight with emotion, when hearing the judicial decision read out loud. He refused to accept his defeat. His appearance before the bench was sloppy and slouched, but unrepentant.
Judge H. Nolan Bartanski was visibly offended by this show of defiance.
“Sir, it is a common practice to set up these accounts when disputes arise. I have personally endorsed several against past owners of your neighborhood. But in this instance, the transition to another holder of the deed has only just occurred. Your rationale for diverting rent income is flimsy, and unconvincing. To use the supposed political slant of a financial cooperative as justification for withholding money, in protest, is patently ridiculous. I cannot justify it as being wise or legal. Therefore, it is my ruling that this petition for redress is denied! We are adjourned!”
His gavel dropped like a sledgehammer on an anvil. Reporters and spectators began to leave almost immediately. I was far in the back, leaning against the wall and on my disability canes. A snort of amusement betrayed my opinion on the effort. I had guessed that the plan would fail.
“That’s a tough loss, dude. You did better, collecting beer cans for scrap money. Stay with what you know. It ain’t smart to get in over your head...”
I concluded the day with multiple rounds of Tennessee booze, on my front porch. It did not take long for the brown liquor to eclipse my stamina. I faded out while still sitting at the top of my access ramp. Sunset turned the air colder, and crisp. I shivered and snored until around midnight. Then, coughed myself awake.
In my living room, the couch was a more friendly spot to crash. I slept there until late, on Tuesday morning. The furnace seemed to run all night long.
I had expected my boisterous, portly opponent to seethe about his humiliation for days or weeks, afterward. With some half-baked notion of saving face being the yield. But when the next weekend arrived, there was another sheet of printed matter rolled up and stuck in the handle of my storm door. I had to find a pair of reading glasses before deciphering its rambling, lines of prose. Then, I gasped with comprehension.
His latest proposal was stunningly bold, and ill-considered. An obnoxious and reckless combination.
“CITIZENS OF EVERGREEN ESTATES – You all know how hard I have worked on your behalf, as a legal liaison and leader of this park. I thank you for your gratitude, and support. But now, we are facing a bigger threat than anything that ever happened to this property. It is a literal takeover by outsiders who don’t think or believe as we do, and will not hesitate to use the income generated here to buy more properties! That strategy has to be stopped, and we can make it happen. That is, if you join me in a rent strike. At the first of this month, don’t take your checks up to our manager’s office. Let her rot in that little hole by the maintenance garage! She will have to explain to the PPC why there are no funds for payment. And we will have the power to make real change happen. Right here, and right now!”
Linn must have envisioned himself as a reincarnation of ancient royals. Though our junkyard environment was a poor kingdom in which to rule. I reckoned that it would not take long for sheriff’s deputies to begin enforcing eviction notices, once the lot rent was overdue. Though I wondered how many of my fellow inhabitants would support his call of duty, in the end.
Once a copy of his leaflet appeared on the desk of Dana Alvarez, it seemed certain that there would be plenty of evidence for expelling him from the development. Strangely though, I experienced a hint of sadness when pondering that eventual result. His presence was irritating and provocative, to be sure, but it kept me energized. His rants gave me a reason to drink and dabble in creative arts, that were a forgotten part of my personal story. His spit-spewing histrionics kept me centered as a contrarian thinker. I needed that guidepost to remember the importance of dissent. His stink of obtuse insincerity reminded me of what I never wanted to become.
Without that ugly, philosophical stench in my nostrils, I might relax too much. And perhaps, give up my whiskey bottle.
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