Trailer Park Takeover, Chapter 7: Astonishment

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-25)

 

 

With the weather changing drastically on Thanksgiving Day, and many residents of Evergreen Estates huddled inside of their manufactured homes, the holiday mood was severe. Instead of trading family stories over the dinner table, most people openly fretted about the takeover of their isolated community by the Proletariat Property Co-op. Fear of the unknown made them drift into wild speculation about their future. They worried that common themes of everyday living, which they had long taken for granted, would be erased in a new wave of progressive realignment. With individual ownership rights disappearing, altogether.

 

These demons were invisible, yet powerful. Social modification in all of its forms was something thought to be a distant force. Banished to lands where the population had different skin tones, facial features, and languages. But seeing the sweeping election victory of Zohran Mamdani, in New York City, had stripped away that veneer of safety. Now, with a new owner in control of their park, everything seemed likely to evolve.

 

And change of any kind was never welcomed at the rural village of mobile homes.

 

Because of my thirst for beverage alcohol, I was basically oblivious to these developments. I stayed drunk and delirious, by choice. That cocoon of negated perceptions kept me able to cope. I was more than simply an outlier at the isolated oasis, my residency challenged local habits and mores in every way. I presented as an alien. Wholly unfit to be among those who held sway in the blue-collar community. Gossip hounded my every move. Neighbors guessed that I had been relocated by some government protection program. Or perhaps I was on the run from persistent adversaries with killing skills honed in foreign nations. Maybe even sanctioned by a court order, after multiple divorces and bankruptcies.

 

The truth was far less glamorous, or interesting to behold, however. I was broken financially, hobbled with physical disabilities, and damned by a lack of social skills. But sharing that truth had proven to be a task I could not accomplish easily. So instead, I simply let those around me draw their own conclusions. Nothing mattered enough to make me pay attention, if my liquor cabinet stayed full.

 

While this emotional train-wreck was occurring, in northeastern Ohio, the process of adding another parcel of land to the PPC holdings was underway. At the cooperative’s offices in Ithaca, New York, accountants and agents were revising their list of acquisitions.

 

Nakano Volca had been a Cornell University student, only a matter of months before. But upon graduation, he was able to rise through the ranks with his new employer, quickly. A philosophical aversion to traditional banking institutions helped to fuel this rapid pace. He did not wear a suit and tie, or drink Starbucks coffees. He preferred T-shirts, jeans, and Birkenstock sandals. There was no gasoline motorcar in his driveway. His style was in keeping with the unpretentious approach of modern investors. Every gain for the group was returned to its point of origin. No one at the co-op lusted after attaining financial wealth only for themselves. Instead, participants had the well-being of every member as their goal. For this budding entrepreneur, that matched his own philosophy perfectly.

 

He was disgusted with billionaires who hoarded resources, while so many languished in poverty.

 

This progressive mindset served him well at the contrarian collective. But it also yielded befuddlement and confusion, when receiving word that their most recent buyout in Ohio, Evergreen Estates, was in an uproar about being purchased. As he sipped Chai tea, and sorted through the morning mail, a notification popped up on his iMac desktop.

 

“From: Deedra Kahlo, Lake Erie Credit Combine

Re: Thompson MHP

 

Hey Friend, in response to your query about the community of mobile homes we got from Wells Fargo Holdings, as a bankruptcy asset, we’re on the verge of an insurrection here. Residents discovered our roots as a student project, based on alternative ideals. That should’ve resonated well, because no one living on this property is rich. They all work with their hands and survive with their wits. But I have to say that Ohio is different. It isn’t like being in a metropolitan population center, or on the Cornell campus, or anywhere outside of the heartland. These people think differently. They behave differently. They trust in very little except for the Holy Bible, Donald Trump, and a good rifle or shotgun...”

 

Volca had to rub the grogginess out of his eyes. It was too early for this kind of report to hit his desk. Yet he persevered with reading through the entire message.

 

“There is a self-appointed militia goon on-site, with plenty of armed supporters. I will attach a news story about his group, it was formed by a woman who has become something of a folk hero in the county and beyond, after her suicide a few years ago. She has relatives that continued the work to oppose local authorities, and judges. So eventually, they attracted attention from the Cleveland FBI Field Office, and the press. At one point, National Guard troops were even stationed here as a peacekeeping force...”

 

The asset manager nearly spilled his hot beverage.

 

“WHAT THE HELL? THEIR GOVERNOR HAD TO CALL OUT THE GUARD?”

 

He scrolled through lines of text, until reaching an unexpected conclusion.

 

“There is talk of a lot-rent strike, circulating now. No one has paid their bill so far. We are three days past the due date, already. I just don’t get it! These poor bastards were being robbed by previous owners, and by the traditional banking community. Some of the trailers here originally sold for $5000.00, with enough interest tacked on that the total note was triple that amount! Can’t anyone see how badly they’ve been treated? Those traditional lenders should be in jail! And the maintenance schedule is nil. That piece of junkyard acreage is a mess! But they don’t trust us, because someone, at some time, uttered a nasty word that made them come completely unhinged. This is absolutely astonishing...”

 

The young, financial wizard sighed heavily, when reading a common descriptor that had caused inhabitants of the isolated park to lose their minds.

 

“Worries of being controlled by a group of socialists sent everyone over the edge...”

 

Volca quietly folded his hands, and leaned back in the office chair. He began to breathe rhythmically, as monks had taught him to do in a Buddhist temple secluded in the woods of a Finger Lakes township. Then, he mentally composed a reply to the electronic plea for assistance.

 

“Deedra, we created this situation, unintentionally. Now, we have to fix it. There is only one way to confront a problem, and that is by meeting it, head first! If it comes down to me, I’ll go to that trailer enclave, myself. It has to be done! One of us has to give those residents a rational explanation of who we really are!”