Trailer Park Efficiency, Chapter 13: Overruled

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-25)

 

 

Fortrell Koch had made a career of being an expert on the law, and providing advice to others for a reasonable fee. He did not care to be in the spotlight, himself. Or, to become wealthy at the expense of others. Yet now, as he stood before the adjudicator who had demanded his appearance, a hint of regret underpinned his feigned veneer of professional conduct.

 

“Your Honor, I am here once again, on behalf of the PAM group of investors...”

 

Judge Alten Sleeman was courteous, but irritated. Before speaking, he reviewed documents that related to a number of evictions that were being carried out by the county sheriff and his deputies. The large stack of paperwork seemed to make him furious.

 

“Sir, you are still employed by the Pemmican group from California? And are their only representative in Ohio?”

 

The attorney nodded with a slight mood of embarrassment being obvious.

 

“Yes indeed. You have had me in this chamber before...”

 

The seasoned justice snorted, and put aside the considerable pile of legal notices.

 

“I have been informed that Evergreen Estates has no on-site management, and no regional office for their owners? Is that correct?”

 

Koch unbuttoned his suit jacket. The room seemed unduly hot.

 

“Your Honor, my employers have implemented a new plan to increase efficiency within their ranks. Something based on strategies being used by Elon Musk and President Trump, to cut waste, fraud, and abuse. Our lone office closed, recently...”

 

The judge nearly threw his gavel while signaling displeasure.

 

“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT POLITICS, MR. KOCH! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

 

The legal representative felt his stomach gurgle from a surge of digestive acid.

 

“I apologize if my statement was in any way inappropriate...”

 

Sleeman pointed with the intensity of a soldier carrying a sword into battle.

 

“I HAVE A DOZEN EVICTIONS HERE, SOMEHOW ARRANGED BY THE PEMMICAN GROUP WITH ANOTHER OFFICER OF THE COURT. BUT WE HAVE NO CONTACT AT THE PARK TO PROVIDE BACKGROUND EVIDENCE REGARDING THESE ACTIONS! NO DOCUMENTATION OF PROCEDURES THAT WERE FOLLOWED, PRIOR TO THE ORDERS BEING DRAFTED! NOT A SINGLE CONVERSATION WITH ANYONE FROM CALIFORNIA!”

 

Attorney Koch bowed his head, and groaned audibly.

 

“If you read through all of the papers, they are complete, and legally sound...”

 

The veteran arbiter slammed his bench with a violent swing of the gavel.

 

“Mr. Koch, you were directed to bring me a report stating your efforts to address the numerous complaints against that village of mobile homes in Thompson Township. Do you recall my instruction being given? And yet I have received nothing in response!”

 

The lawyer tapped his wingtip shoes with nervous energy. He was humbled and unprepared.

 

“Your Honor, I am merely a spokesperson for the PAM organization. I do their bidding, and follow their directions. They have given me nothing regarding any action plan that might be used in the future...”

 

Judge Sleeman shook with the outrage of someone who could not believe what he was hearing.

 

“NOTHING? I GAVE YOU 30 DAYS TO PROVIDE A REPORT, AND THEY GAVE YOU NOTHING? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT THIS REPRESENTS CONTEMPT OF MY COURT, SIR?”

 

The professional legal steward loosened his necktie. He had broken in out in a sweat.

 

“I certainly have no intention of engaging in that kind of disreputable conduct, let me assure you. The owners who retain me as their representative have gone on an efficiency drive not only here at the trailer community, but also at home on the west coast. I have not been able to contact anyone directly for the past week...”

 

The seasoned adjudicator hammered his gavel until it nearly split in half.

 

“THEN IT IS SO ORDERED ON THIS DAY, THAT ALL EVICTIONS FROM EVERGREEN ESTATES WILL CEASE IMMEDIATELY, UNTIL I HAVE SATISDACTION FROM THE PEMMICAN GROUP, REGARDING THEIR LOCAL OPERATION! AND I WANT AN EXPLANATION OF WHY THEY HAVE SHOWN CONTEMPT FOR THE AUTHORITY OF THIS COURT TO CONDUCT BUSINESS IN GEAUGA COUNTY! I DEMAND THAT THEY SEND SOMEONE FROM THEIR CALIFORNIA OFFICES HERE, IMMEDIATELY!”

 

The lawyer clutched at his belly. He wanted to vomit.

 

“Your Honor, with respect, I can convey your message but cannot effect changes on my own...”

 

More pounding of the wooden bench filled their ears. The judge had reached a point of emotional distress.

 

“I WILL NOT HAVE THIS COURT TREATED IN SUCH A CAVALIER FASHION, MR. KOCH! THIS IS A BODY OF LAW AND MUST BE RESPECTED BY EVERYONE! TO ALLOW THIS BEHAVIOR WOULD BE AN INVITATION FOR ANARCHY TO REIGN! I WILL NOT HAVE IT! THE PEOPLE OF THE GREAT STATE OF OHIO WILL NOT HAVE IT! LET YOUR EMPLOYERS KNOW THAT THEY HAVE MET A BRICK WALL OF OPPOSITION HERE! THERE WILL BE NO EVICTIONS, NO LAWSUITS OVER UNPAID RENT, OR OTHER ACTIONS OF ANY KIND, UNTIL WE GET SATISFACTION! ANY FURTHER DELAY IS UNACCEPTABLE! YOU WILL ABIDE BY MY JUDGMENT! IT IS SO ORDERED, AT THIS HOUR, ON THIS DAY!”

 

The bailiff, who had been out of sight and silent throughout the proceeding, suddenly appeared and gestured toward the exit door. He did not attempt to be polite.

 

On the sidewalk outside, Attorney Koch lit a cigarette. His first in many weeks. Both hands were trembling. He dialed a number in his cellphone contacts list, and listened as the call went immediately to voicemail.

 

“You have reached the headquarters of Pemmican Asset Management. We take pride in representing business clients, and notable citizens of all kinds. At the tone, please leave your name, number, and reason for making contact. Thank you and have a great day!”

 

The legal scholar sighed heavily, and fumbled with his smoke.

 

“Look, this is it, I think. You’ve stalled these Buckeye rubes for long enough with the efficiency drive. Something has to give one way or another. I’ve never seen a judge get so out of sorts! I am guessing that the next step will be to freeze our holdings in this county. That’ll mean no revenue from the park. On its own, not so consequential maybe, but that mindset could find its way to the capital, in Columbus. They might put a lock on all of our properties, from Cleveland to Cincinnati. Are you listening? We’ve got to do something. And we need to do it right now!”

 

 

Trailer Park Efficiency, Chapter 12: Pizza

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-25)

 

 

The official service of Elon Musk, as head of Donald Trump’s DOGE project, ended with a whimper. Causing chaos at the federal level, and saving far less money than intended. With a trail of rubble left behind in the form of court battles and political skirmishes. Yet a point had been made, namely, that spending cuts could reshape the role of government with drastic force. The lesson reverberated across America, and ultimately, settled into the swampy soil of properties such as the Evergreen Estates mobile community, east of Cleveland, Ohio. In places where prefab trailers were parked on concrete slabs, rented to occupants for a monthly fee, this idea grew on its own, idiopathically. Much like weeds multiplying in the unoccupied fields. Soon, owners from coast to coast were eagerly reducing their own costs, by hacking away at traditional services and safety measures. For the residents who were involved, this meant living under minimalist conditions. For their company masters, it provided a dividend of increased revenue, and fewer logistical headaches.

 

But in Thompson Township, a rural district of Geauga County, life continued much as it ever had, before. Hardship and sacrifice were staples of the trailer lifestyle. So, those who inhabited this isolated development were not genuinely surprised by being neglected. Their social status was already one beneath every other level of modern civilization. They were almost literally invisible. Except for those moments when law enforcement, regulatory agencies, or banking institutions needed to become involved. For Townshend Carr Lincoln, a fallen member of a bloodline notable for its courage and eloquence, leading a united republic, the need to reduce wasteful spending was more immediate. And, more basic.

 

He simply had to find ways not to spend recklessly, when blitzed on his porch.

 

Ordering edible goodies from a local pizzeria had become too convenient in recent times. He discovered that a website had been set up, online, with an option to pay much like any retail purveyor. It mimicked the design used by Walmart, Target, or Amazon. Even when tipsy enough that hobbling to his desk with disability canes presented a challenge, he could access this portal easily. Despite generally being busted and in need of gastronomic discipline, this allowed temptation to overwhelm his sense of reason on a regular basis.

 

Every month, he watched fearfully as his credit card statement yielded larger amounts of debt to be paid. It caused him to feel nauseous, when attempting to balance his checkbook, having run out of money.  But after rounds of brew and liquor on his porch outside, a rebellious mood always prevailed. One of hunger, and frivolity.

 

Drivers for the pizza emporium became very familiar with his address.

 

On a Sunday evening, he wrestled with himself while on his favored perch, a bench fashioned from scrap wood that had once been a useful construction in another park. He dozed slightly as was his habit, then caught a second burst of energy that made him feel revived. Hunger pangs stabbed at his belly. And finally, he stood up, staggered a bit, and then sat down again, abruptly.

 

Hidden, hillbilly roots were exposed by a basic need to fill his gut.

 

“Naw! Don’t do it, dammit! There is a heap of snacks inside! I don’t need to waste any more dinero this week! Quit jonesing fer grub! Quit it!”

 

He was strong enough for a moment. But then the tingle of peckishness returned. His appetite had not been sated by cheese curls, baby dills, shelled peanuts, or beef smokies. He wanted something more substantial, more carb-intensive. More intestinally sound and satisfying.

 

Again, he struggled to rise, then chided himself for bring weak.

 

“NO DAMMIT, NO! I’M ALREADY CARRYING A BIG-ASS BALANCE ON MY PLASTIC! SCREW THIS SHIT! I’VE GOT TO GET IT TOGETHER! NO MORE DRUNK SPENDING! NO MORE!”

 

As he swigged bourbon, a scraping of loose metal on the pavement became louder. From the top of his street, he saw a ratty, Chevrolet Suburban dragging its muffler. At the wheel was a young woman he had never seen before. Her dyed mane streamed out of the open window. Country music played loudly enough that she remained seemingly unaware of her vintage vehicle shedding parts, while dodging potholes. Her evasive twists of the steering wheel made the rig bounce and sway as if part of a video game. By the time she reached the front corner, there was little left of her exhaust system.

 

Lincoln stared straight ahead, with disbelief. Piles of rubbish had become more prevalent in recent days, from similar incidents along their broken boulevard. In earlier times, a maintenance crew might have sought to clear such junk items, fearing that it provided evidence of neglect. Yet now, efficiency had turned the development into a dry pool of indifference. No one cared about anything, or anyone. Only the monthly tribute paid to occupy a specific lot mattered. All else had been relegated to a listless realm of apathy, governed by a desire to slim costs and grow overall profitability. Valued goals for any capitalist institution.

 

The South African billionaire from Pretoria had made it all possible.

 

Suddenly, the shaggy boozer felt very detached from consciousness. Almost to the point of entering a dream state, through inebriation. He floated virtually, free of physical impairments for the moment. Around him, walls and windows passed with the lazy, loping cadence of woodland scenery during a trail hike. Then, he found himself at the computer screen, in his home office. What had been a large bedroom, in better days. When so obliterated by beverage alcohol, he could not attain the focus needed to work a cellular app, for making purchases. But the large display allowed him to sin freely, in financial terms.

 

He squinted through a pair of dollar-store, reading spectacles, to see the menu. From the extensive selection of Italian pies, a few stood out for his inspection.

 

“Veggie Pizza – Onions, mushrooms, green peppers, black olives, tomatoes, mild peppers, mozzarella and provolone cheeses, on either a red or garlic white sauce.

 

Meat Craver Pizza – Ham, sausage, pepperoni, bacon, with mozzarella and provolone cheese.

 

Pretzel Pizza – Homemade dough smothered with delicious jalapeno nacho cheese, topped with pepperoni, mozzarella and provolone cheeses, and featuring an outer crust made into a pretzel, topped with salt.

 

Dill Pickle Pizza – Garlic white sauce, chopped pickles with mozzarella and cheddar cheese, drizzled with homemade ranch dressing.

 

Breakfast Pizza – Scrambled eggs topped with ham, bacon, green peppers, onions, sausage, cheddar, mozzarella, and provolone cheeses.”  

 

His cheeks were ruddy red, and burning. For no reason in particular, he added banana peppers to the Meat Craver variety. Then hit the send icon after entering his saved information.

 

“That’ll do it dammit! I’m famished! It’s time to eat!”

 

 

Trailer Park Efficiency, Chapter 11: Eruption

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-25)

 

 

As the month of May drew to a close at Evergreen Estates, a pattern of cool weather had everyone in a funk. Despite being eager for the arrival of summer, and outdoor activities, residents of the trailer village were confronted with lower-than-normal temperatures, and rainy days. Combined with arbitrary cuts in services and a massive increase in lot rent, this potpourri of woes had the level of angst pegging an imaginary meter.

 

Catty, verbal altercations could be heard up and down every street. No one was in a good mood.

 

For Townshend Lincoln, this spike in discontent was undetectable. He stayed drunk and aloof as a matter of course. So, the cresting waves of anger did not reach his longbox hovel. He never visited anyone in the neighborhood, or attempted to socialize with those who sought his friendship. Disability only increased the sharpness of this habitual routine. He took pleasure in days when there was zero interaction with anyone. Though in an odd gesture toward comity, he would wave in response, when well-meaning citizens passed his ramshackle abode, and offered some form of greeting. Perhaps it was a leftover vibe from earlier days, when he had felt more like a genuine, human entity. Somewhere deep in his psychology was that kernel of awareness, lingering in defiance of what he and his life had become.

 

For most inhabitants of the rural park, it was obvious that staying distant from this outlier with shaggy hair and dirty clothes made good sense. Thus, they acted accordingly.

 

Yet Darby Stronelli and Linn Speck were two residents that operated outside of this logical bubble. The former was hyperactive, outgoing, and constantly on the prowl for scrap wood, flea-market tools, or discarded furnishings. The latter had styled himself as a savior appointed to lead those who lacked moral clarity, and sought guidance. His residential association provided an organized stewardship of the property. Both individuals were important components in the daily life of their community. Unlike the impaired, uncooperative bum with Kentucky spirits as his main source of refreshment.

 

Predictably, Lincoln had no interest in entertaining either person at his Lot 13 venue.

 

With the pace of outdoor work lagging, and hours of bright sunshine nearly non-existent, Darby took it upon herself to be an agent for peacemaking. She knew that her religious, cousin-at-the-corner had a longstanding beef with the reclusive alcoholic next door. So, on a mid-week afternoon, the spiky-haired, former urbanite marched across a vacant space that separated her own dwelling from the one of her neighbor, and mounted the long access ramp.

 

Her gritty voice echoed along with shoe leather slapping the wooden planks.

 

“HEY BUDDY! I GOT SOMETHING TO SAY! AND I DO! YOU NEED TO GET ALONG BETTER IN THIS PLACE, FOR A CHANGE. QUIT ACTING LIKE YOU GOT A STICK UP YOUR ASS! SIT DOWN AND HAVE A DRINK WITH LINN AND HIS WIFE, SOMETIME!”

 

The boozing loner was stunned by her appearance. At first, he wondered if it could be an illusion sired by the bourbon in his bottle. His hillbilly twang resounded forcefully.

 

“You ain’t welcome here. Turn yer tail around, and get lost! Alright?”

 

Darby grimaced and clenched her teeth.

 

“LOOK, I’M JUST TRYING TO SAY THAT YOU NEED TO PARTY WITH THE REST OF US, INSTEAD OF SITTING HERE BY YOURSELF! OKAY? IT’S KINDA WEIRD!”

 

Her fellow member of the junkyard oasis did not acquiesce to this petition, willingly.

 

“No, not okay! Yer not welcome here, did I say that loud enough? Get out with your dignity. Get off of my lot! I’m not inclined to argue the point!”

 

For most other residents, that caveat would have been enough. A warning to heed before the atmosphere became supercharged with acrimony and anger. But instead, the unwelcome visitor took two steps forward, and began to howl like a frenzied, feral cat.

 

“I’M TRYING TO TALK TO YOU, LINK! AND I AM! LISTEN TO ME FOR A DAMN MINUTE! JUST LISTEN, WILL YOU? GET SOME SENSE INTO THAT THICK HEAD!”

 

The contrarian iconoclast had used up his minimal reserve of civility. He pointed one of his mismatched canes with the immediacy of a spear.

 

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! YOU AIN’T WELCOME, GAWDAMM IT! GET THE FUCK OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT! GETTTTT OUUUUUUT!”

 

Lincoln had a booming voice which carried well when speaking. Therefore, the entire street was soon aware that some sort of disagreement had erupted between him and the woman on his eastern flank. Front doors and windows opened impulsively. Cars stopped moving. Random individuals and young children who were outside, began to seek cover.

 

Darby was visibly shaken. She had become accustomed to being emotionally accommodated by nearly everyone in the park. Even those who were not fond of her grating demeanor and hustling skills, normally surrendered to maintain a level of decorum.

 

She took another forward step, coming even closer to a moment of Armageddon.

 

“I’M TRYING TO TALK SENSE, YOU OLD ASSHOLE! WILL YOU LISTEN FOR FIVE SECONDS? LISTEN TO ME DAMMIT! YOU’RE HARD-HEADED AS FUCK!”

 

The swooning hermit had already lost his composure, completely. A fact that was apparent to every observer, at trailer homes along their crumbling boulevard. Heads were bowed with regret, and a desire to turn deaf and blind. No one wanted to witness this spectacle, or ponder what it meant, in broader terms.

 

He stood up reflexively after a pause, and gestured with his walking implement.

 

“GET THE FUCK OUT! DO YA HEAR ME? GET THE FUCK OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!”

 

At last, the uninvited guest turned on her heel. She was almost in tears. Yet too offended for a public breakdown. Her shouts and oaths echoed long into the distance.

 

“CRUSTY OLD ASSHOLE! DUMB MOTHERFUCKER! YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!”

 

Once the pair of combatants had separated, an uneasy calm settled over the landscape. Suddenly it was oddly quiet.

 

Teetering on the edge of a high-proof stupor, Townshend Lincoln realized that he had just drawn attention to himself in an extremely unflattering way. A sin that he would never have wished to commit, for any reason. His anonymity among the pines was everything. Living in silent shadows made him safe, and secure. Only the intrusion of others brought a possibility of chaos and harm. He cherished being unseen, unheard, and unknown.

 

His mouth fell open while pondering this reckless twist of fate.

 

“Danggg... what did I just do?”

 

 

Trailer Park Efficiency, Chapter 10: Outage

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-25)

 

 

Living at Evergreen Estates was something that provided residents with daily lessons in enduring hardships and challenges. The on-site conditions were poorly maintained and managed. The location was distant from any population center in the tri-county area, so it did not offer convenience in any form. Water quality was a thorny issue, one that regularly involved receiving an intermittent supply of contaminated, undrinkable hydration. But perhaps most vexing from a modern standpoint was the difficulty in getting connected to cyberspace. There were only two providers for the park, one that used a cable conduit, and the other plugged-in via a telephone line. Neither were cheap or reliable. Though both used a strategy of low introductory prices, to lure naïve customers into choosing their service.

 

After years of complaints and grousing about dropped connections, the phone company decided to rewire their network in the oasis of mobile homes, with a series of poles positioned around the remote property. These lengthy, wooden spikes seemed to follow a random pattern, which then were joined in a fiber-optic pathway. The noise and chaos of digging lasted for days and weeks, with any visible progress coming at a snail’s pace. Meanwhile, bills continued to rise for subscribers already in the fold.

 

Vance Jefka had been living at the rural development since losing his job with a firm in Painesville. A career that lasted for decades, and paid him well. Crash-landing at the junkyard village was a drastic change in lifestyle that he did not appreciate, at first. But being close to his mother, who was matron of their community, proved to be a positive step. He made friends easily. And his tall stature, generous girth, and blue-collar skills were assets that matched the requirements for thriving in this new environment. Particularly because it was a place where cigarettes, junk food, and beer were the currency of daily existence. Any repairs had to be done by the residents, themselves.

 

He had just returned from a trip up Sidley’s Hill, to the local Dollar General store, when something struck him between the eyes, like a vertical arrow plunked into the earth. A new pole had been erected in the swampy yard behind his longbox hovel. It leaned a bit to one side, owing to the damp soil which never seemed to shed a bounty of moisture. But stood high enough to support the taut stretch of a hi-tech cable, from its own pinnacle, to the next.

 

Upon entering his trailer, he noted that an uneasy silence had settled in the kitchen. There was no mechanical song from his refrigerator. No hood-light burning over the stove. No whirring of a fan left on to circulate air. This made him drop both fistfuls of yellow bags, and curse.

 

“WHAT THE HELL, OUR POWER IS OUT AGAIN? MA NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT THAT!”

 

He left the sacks of canned goods sitting on his living-room floor. Then, jumped behind the wheel of his ratty, Dodge sedan. And spun its tires in a circle, until pointed in the opposite direction. When he rolled back down the rustic boulevard, everyone seemed to have disappeared. But one, lone neighbor was visible outside.

 

Townshend Carr Lincoln was drunk and drooling on his inset porch. The automotive cacophony shook him from a pleasant embrace of inebriation. Something for which he was unprepared.

 

“Hey, what’s the matter, friend? I’ve never seen you getting so agitated about anything...”

 

This younger member of the Jefka clan was overheated, sweaty and disheveled. He leaned out of the open window, with one hand still on his steering wheel.

 

“HEY LINK, YOU GOT POWER IN THERE? IT’S DARK AS HELL AT MY PLACE!”

 

The old hermit shrugged and spit a mouthful of bourbon. His shaggy, tangled beard was soaked.

 

“Umm... I don’t know, really? I mean, it was on before I think! Actually, I wasn’t paying attention...”

 

Vance snorted and hit the brake pedal forcefully enough to cause a slide on loose gravel.

 

“COULD YOU CHECK, MAYBE? I GOT NO JUICE AT HOME!”

 

Lincoln struggled to find both disability canes. He rocked forward until on his feet, but was bent in half, facing the storm door. Then slowly straightened his back, until it was possible to look through a window in the side wall.

 

“Yeah, there’s a light on in the kitchen. I got electricity right now...”

 

His neighbor cursed again, and thumped the wheel with aggravation.

 

“IT’S THEM GAWDAMM PEOPLE FROM THE PHONE COMPANY, THEY’VE BEEN DIGGING AROUND THIS PLACE FOR TWO SOLID WEEKS! I BET THEY HIT SOMETHING IN THE GROUND! THE DUMB BASTARDS! NOW I GOTTA CALL SOMEBODY ABOUT GETTING RECONNECTED!”

 

More rough language echoed as he parked in his mother’s driveway. About an hour later, a ladder truck from the Illuminating Company appeared, to offer relief. But only a short while later, it made a U-turn, and exited quickly.

 

The alcoholic loner was perplexed and confused. He shouted across the street when his afflicted counterpart appeared once again, in his mater’s yard.

 

“Any luck around the corner? Did they get you hooked up?”

 

Vance sputtered with the desperation of a drowning sailor.

 

“THEY SAID THAT THEIR PART OF THE CONNECTION IS GOOD! WHATEVER GOT CUT IS THE PARK’S RESPONSIBILITY! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET IN TOUCH WITH THOSE SHITHEADS? WE GOT NO PROPERTY MANAGER, ANYMORE!”

 

Lincoln wiped a drizzle of brown liquor from his mouth. His hillbilly accent hardened with regret.

 

“Dude, I don’t have a damn clue. Darby next door says when ya call the line fer help, it just goes to voicemail. Screw that, I don’t know if they ever call anyone back...”

 

The middle-aged retiree slammed his weathered Dodge into its drive gear. Then steered toward the maintenance garage, which was at the front end of their isolated avenue.

 

“THIS IS IT, I’M GOING FOR BROKE! NO MORE CRAP FROM CALIFORNIA! WE’LL SEE HOW THEY LIKE GETTING KICKED RIGHT IN THE TEETH! HOOOOOOO BOY!”

 

The sound of his vintage MOPAR, furiously accelerating, could be heard as it faded into the distance. Then, an awful explosion of metal impacting structural timbers shattered the calm. A curious stillness followed. Rage had met the day, and won.

 

When the Jefka offspring returned, it was on foot. His forehead was bleeding. Yet he grinned with satisfaction.

 

“There’s some efficiency for you! I rammed that rig right into the manager’s office! It’s a fair trade for letting them mess up my power!”

 

 

Trailer Park Efficiency, Chapter 9: Laughter

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-25)

 

 

Linn Speck had lived at Evergreen Estates for long enough that he knew most of the other inhabitants, at least on his side of the trailer enclave. He was popular among those who went to services up the hill, at Thompson’s Church of the Lord Jesus in Heaven. But despite being a veteran of the National Guard, and someone known for having summer parties at his lot, acceptance of the residential association he founded remained spotty. This dichotomy kept him feeling puzzled. He wanted to bolster his position as a leader in the community of mobile homes. Yet that goal always seemed elusive. Particularly whenever he was confronted by the combative, drunken hermit who lived further up his street.

 

Townshend Carr Lincoln presented a roadblock to his ascension that could not be removed.

 

With the mimicking of DOGE minimalism in full effect at their development, the balding, conservative organizer was a willing cheerleader for any effort to streamline the day-to-day operation of their property. But he also fretted over growing pains that affected everyone. There were necessary difficulties with reshaping how the park was managed. Yet for the moment, they were isolated from the very owners that controlled so much of their lives. He was hesitant to criticize anything about this metamorphosis, because of his fealty to the current president. He wanted to project an air of totality in supporting everything being done to erase the legacy of woke ideology, and its supporters. Still, accepting temporary hardships for the hope of an eventual gain was not easy.

 

Having these dual targets kept him aiming in different directions at the same time. To achieve efficiency while also being better served as a resident. Something that put him off balance. He did not appreciate feeling abandoned, but wanted to stay firmly on the side of his hero in the White House.

 

At Lot 13, there was no such disparity of goals in effect, however.

 

Lincoln had a basic routine for survival which kept him on track and able to cope. He stayed drunk and distant. Anyone or anything that entered his bubble was likely to feel the wrath of a cane swing, or a flying whiskey bottle. He did not embrace social habits, or welcome visitors. The parade of poor souls past his gravel driveway did offer a sort of entertainment, however. He would sit outside, sipping bourbon, and watch as if attending a theatrical premiere. The sight of unemployed neighbors treading on foot, stray animals wandering freely, broken vehicles shedding parts as they passed, or contract workers cutting weeds and filling crevices in the tarmac with loose stones, kept him grinning. There was a marked futility to life in the rural development. Yet in defiance of this predicament, each day brought a new attempt to endure and thrive.

 

Linn had scheduled a gathering of participants in his own space, to discuss the ongoing battle with bad conditions on their streets. Something that had worsened noticeably after the efficiency drive began. But it did not take long for the portly, red-faced fellow to realize that his initiative was an idea doomed to fail.

 

Darby Stronelli, his most active defender at the park, yowled in between swallows of Bud Light, while sitting on a pilfered crate from Dean’s Dairy. She did not make any attempt to sound diplomatic in her demand for change.

 

“THE POTHOLES ARE FUCKING HUGE, BUDDY! AND THEY ARE! I SAW A JEEP LOSE ITS MUFFLER LAST WEEK! AND SOMEBODY FELL OFF THEIR HARLEY! HOW LONG ARE WE GONNA PUT UP WITH THIS SHIT? WE OUGHTTA DO SOMETHING! LIKE MAYBE ANOTHER EX-CROW! GO WITH THE CROW! GO WITH THE CROW!”

 

Her distant cousin by proxy nodded, mimicking a bobblehead figurine. With his flabby jowls quivering.

 

“You mean, umm... escrow? I have to agree, it’s time for rent money to go into those accounts! Screw these California people! They’ve got to learn a lesson!”

 

Rottie, who once faced an eviction from his own longbox hovel, laughed and sneered, while smoking a twisted-up doobie. He had returned to participate, while being stealthy as a visitor.

 

“Good luck with that, they don’t give a shit about us in court! I got completely jobbed by the judge! He thought I was nothing but trash!”

 

Linn shook violently, with disagreement.

 

“That’s not true, friend! I heard an order was just issued, to make the company cough up details about their scheme. We’re really close to winning a victory here! They’ll have to fix things, it’s just a matter of time!”

 

Haki, his chubby spouse, was dressed in a pink sweatsuit. She cheered her husband’s determination.

 

“That’s it! They will have to make everything right! Right, right, right!”

 

Lincoln could hear the loud conversation echoing from yard to yard. He dribbled liquor down his Gildan T-shirt, while grumbling to himself. His hillbilly brogue was in full effect.

 

“Hah! Good luck with that shit, dude! You’ll have to wait fer months or years. They love to fight over turf, one judge overrules another! It’s like a shell game!”

 

Becoming bored with the meeting, Darby scratched her spiky head of hair, and coughed nervously. She wanted to go home for more light beer.

 

“DON’T THEY GOTTA OBEY WHATEVER THE COURT SAYS? HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE? C’MON NOW! THIS SHIT IS REALLY GETTING OLD!”

 

Linn patted his overfed belly, which protruded with a naked strip of skin showing.

 

“Well, I don’t know really. I was told there is one lawyer here in Ohio for the asset managers. We aren’t completely certain who represents the owners now, or even who they are...”

 

Rottie flicked the butt of his joint on the ground.

 

“Not sure? I thought you were doing all the leg work, man! What the eff? Are you slacking?”

 

Their association leader mopped his face with an old towel.

 

“I’m busy, okay? Collecting beverage cans for charity, getting signatures, contacting our local representatives, it’s a big job being in charge! I doubt any of you could handle so much responsibility!”

 

Haki agreed, enthusiastically.

 

“That’s right honey! Preach it! Preach it!”

 

Safely removed from the citizen interaction, Lincoln slouched on his wooden bench. He felt glad to be out of the communications loop.

 

“None of ya know a damn thing, and don’t really want to know! That’s how it works here in this dump. We take it high and hard, like a rookie playing baseball. But the damn game keeps going on! On and on and on!”

Trailer Park Efficiency, Chapter 8: Blackout

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-25)

 

 

Regular meetings of the Geauga County Commissioners often involved business that was routine in character and straightforward to consider. Things of a mundane sort, details about prospective projects, and concerns raised by residents of the district. But as Gretel Hahn brought their official interaction to order, she struggled to maintain the quiet confidence that had made her a distinguished leader, respected by those of all political stripes. She shuffled through a folder of paperwork, looking for a document with contact information for Evergreen Estates, the rural community of mobile homes. Staying in touch with out-of-state owners had been a priority for years. But with the efficiency drive instituted by Pemmican Asset Management, suddenly, that line of communication was no longer available.

 

“Regarding our trailer community, south of Sidley’s Hill, I have to confess being unable to reach anyone in California. Or at any of the satellite offices that supposedly exist. None of the telephone numbers we’ve used in the past seem to be working now. There has been a complete cutoff of information. A literal blackout! This is perplexing, to say the least...”

 

Portnoy Fleck unbuttoned his shirt collar, after loosening a necktie patterned with logos of various Cleveland sports franchises. He was younger and less patient than his commissioner matron. But no less skilled at being an administrator for county affairs.

 

“Gretty, with respect, I just don’t get how that could happen. Who’s collecting the lot rent? And paying park utilities? Somebody has to be in charge of that dump! You can’t run a business without someone in control!”

 

Dan Dulnikowski groaned, and tapped his pale fingers on the conference table. He had the look of a young accountant who was bored with crunching numbers, professionally.

 

“I agree with that statement! C’mon, Mrs. Hahn, you’ve been around the block more than a time or two. Can’t you figure this out?”

 

The lead commissioner felt her pulse rising. She flipped through pages, with each entry crossed out, in pencil.

 

“I’ve had staffers try every line we ever used. There is no answer at any of these numbers. Tenants are paying rent through an online portal, except for a few that are not computer savvy. They send old-fashioned checks to a post office box somewhere on the west coast. Evictions have been ordered through a judge here, there appears to be one lawyer retained by the owners to represent their company, in Ohio...”

 

Danny D. was blunt in his reaction. He had run out of patience. His tone shocked the other commissioners.

 

“SO, GET IN TOUCH WITH THAT LAWYER, AND MAKE THE BASTARD DO HIS JOB!”

 

Mrs. Hahn had to catch her breath before reacting. Her cheeks had turned ruddy, and tingled slightly.

 

“Yes... you are right of course. If he is our only contact here with Pemmican Asset Management, then so be it, we’ve got to make a connection somehow!”

 

Once a summons had been issued, the county stewards were eager to see if an arrest warrant would be necessary to flush out this legal representative. But one week later, the unusual sight of a black, Mercedes sedan broke their mood of speculation. After circling the courthouse, it parked nearby, and a tall, anonymous figure exited, carrying a briefcase stuffed with documents.

 

Fortrell Koch had the appearance of someone who made a living lingering in the shadows. An expert on the law, and an adviser who took care to never be in the spotlight, himself. As he stood before the adjudicator who had ordered him to appear, a hint of disinterest betrayed honest emotions that were buried under layers of professional conduct.

 

“Your Honor, I think this call to your bench is highly unusual, to say the least. Nevertheless, here I am, on behalf of the PAM group of investors...”

 

Judge Alten Sleeman was curt and quick in his demeanor. He had little time to coddle anyone, specifically a contact that had been reluctant to appear, until an official instruction was issued. After smoothing his robe, he peered over the top of his half-frame, reading glasses.

 

“Sir, you are employed by the Pemmican group from California?”

 

The attorney nodded and gestured as if signaling obedience.

 

“Yes indeed. I have been contracted to oversee their business here in our state...”

 

The seasoned justice sorted through documents that were on his bench.

 

“You are the only person directly involved in day-to-day operations at the trailer park on Pine Trail Road? There is no property manager, no maintenance crew, no office staff? No chain of communication for keeping in touch with the residents?”

 

Koch unbuttoned his blazer, with the room temperature seeming to rise.

 

“The PAM group has found some novel ways to increase efficiency within their operation. I would point out that they are based on the ingenious strategies being used by Elon Musk, right now. Ohio voted overwhelmingly to endorse President Trump, and the DOGE initiative. I think that gives the owners cover for what they are doing to cut waste, fraud, and abuse...”

 

The judge nearly spit over his gavel while flailing, wildly.

 

“NONSENSE! YOU CAN’T JUSTIFY BAD BUSINESS PRACTICES WITH A DEMOCRATIC ELECTION, MISTER KOCH! THIS IS AN OUTRAGE! BILLS HAVE GONE UNPAID, ISSUES REMAIN UNADDRESSED, AND RESIDENTS ARE BEING IGNORED!”

 

The legal representative averted his eyes, to avoid appearing cocky or indifferent.

 

“Your Honor, I would humbly submit that things haven’t changed greatly at Evergreen Estates. A sober assessment of the situation would reveal that conditions at the development are much as they ever were...”

 

Sleeman pounded his gavel on the ceremonial desktop.

 

“ARE YOU TRYING TO MOCK THIS COURT? WE’VE HAD DOZENS AND DOZENS OF COMPLAINTS HERE, ABOUT EPA WATER VIOLATIONS, CRUMBLING STREETS, UNREPAIRED LIGHTS, UNSAFE PLAYGROUND EQUIPMENT, ABSENTEE SUPERVISION... A WHOLE HOST OF PROBLEMS! THERE HAVE BEEN ESCROW ACCOUNTS SET UP, LAWSUITS FILED, AND A RESIDENTIAL ASSOCIATION CREATED! DOES THAT MAKE YOU WANT TO CELEBRATE KNOWING THAT THINGS HAVEN’T CHANGED?”

 

Attorney Koch bowed his head, and grimaced. But did not withdraw his argument.

 

“Sir, this county and state voted enthusiastically to endorse the MAGA movement, and DOGE. It is a matter of public record now. If my employers in California want to emulate those procedures, which are being used as we speak, in Washington, then I would think that is logical and undertaken with sound reasoning...”

 

The circuit arbiter clenched his teeth and shook visibly, before answering. He hissed with the breathiness of a deflated balloon. He swung his gavel angrily enough that the benchtop split down its middle seam.

 

“Mr. Koch, you are hereby directed to bring me a report stating your efforts to address the numerous complaints against the village of mobile homes in Thompson Township. I will allow 30 days before taking formal action. My decree will also be shared with the Ohio Attorney General, in Columbus!”

 

The lawyer swooned on his wingtip shoes. He was stunned and stymied.

 

Judge Sleeman barked with finality, to end the proceeding.

 

“On this day, by my hand, let it be so ordered! I’ll wait 30 days for you, and not a minute more!”

 

 

Trailer Park Efficiency, Chapter 7: Debate

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-25)

 

 

After an entire bottle of Evan Williams bourbon, Townshend Carr Lincoln dozed off in front of his wide-screen television. Somehow, he had tuned to the local public station, instead of ESPN. As he drifted toward unconsciousness, a live program began on the channel...

 

The Location: WVIZ studios, Cleveland, Ohio

 

The Players: Nolte Khandarian, program moderator; Freda Fronk, freelance commentator and activist; Dort Munder, columnist from the Plain Dealer newspaper; Shale Seagrave, lone conservative analyst

 

NOLTE KHANDARIAN: “Welcome to the weekly broadcast of ‘PBS Rising Up Roundtable!’ Once again, we’ve got quite a bit of ground to cover, so let’s begin immediately...”

 

FREDA FRONK: “I can’t think of anything more important than President Trump trying to force companies like Apple to manufacture their products in America. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

 

DORT MUNDER: “I agree, we live in a global economy. I am perfectly happy buying products from China, Vietnam, India, Pakistan, or wherever! Walmart has all the best deals!”

 

SHALE SEAGRAVE: “Okay, I’m the oddball here, apparently. Wasn’t the value of American manufacturing once a philosophical cornerstone for those who claim to be progressive thinkers?”

 

(Gasps resound across the panel)

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (Straightening the lapel of her blazer) “I think we all want lower prices for what we buy, isn’t that correct? Who wants to spend more at the supermarket or department store? Not me! Not me! Our president is tone deaf on that subject!”

 

F. FRONK: (Looking sick at her stomach) “I am literally shaking! The Orange Man is living in a time warp! Nobody makes electronics or clothing, or much of anything in this nation, anymore!”

 

D. MUNDER: “I’d rather have a stout, European brew than talk about any of this nonsense. But there you have it, I think we all know the history of that particular moron! He’s a convicted felon and a bully! He ought to be in prison instead of the White House!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: (Wrinkling her pointed nose) “Congratulations, you’ve just insulted a whole group of voters who support the guy, doesn’t that matter at all?”

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (Peering through thick, oversized glasses) “I think that reasonable people are concerned with the trade war being instigated. I know it truly matters to me!”

 

F. FRONK: (Thumping her chair, lightly) “The Donald is a Nazi! He’s a Nazi! A Nazi! A Nazi!”

 

D. MUNDER: (Nodding in agreement) “A Nazi, indeed! Nazi, Nazi, Nazi!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: (Sitting with her eyes closed) “See, members of the intelligentsia and mainstream press often like to toss that word around, like playing volleyball. But when real Nazis speak out, to harass Jewish students, deny the Holocaust, and urge us to eradicate their people from the earth, you often have little or nothing to say. For example, in the current news cycle, when staffers at the Israeli Embassy in Washington were gunned down. The assailant chanted ‘Free Free Palestine’ while being taken into custody. I did not hear a single report that labeled him as a Nazi...”

 

(More gasps echo around the room)

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (Clearly incredulous) “I can’t let that comment go, Shale! You’ve run off the rails here!”

 

F. FRONK: (Raising her fist in the air) “Completely off the rails! As an independent woman, I am offended!”

 

D. MUNDER: (Shouting defiantly) “I am very, very offended!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: (Holding her breath) “Is there really a point in having me on this show? Your minds are already made up, I think...”

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (Shaking her head) “It is important to consider a variety of viewpoints. With that in mind, let’s move on to our next subject...”

 

F. FRONK: (Interrupting her program host) “No, actually, I think we ought to dig deeper, Nolte! I think we all have been very strong in opposing Nazis wherever they appear! Nazis like Elon Musk! Nazis like Donald J. Trump! Nazi groups like the Republican Party!”

 

D. MUNDER: (Brightening at this suggestion) “I agree! Agree, agree, agree!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: (Finally hitting her groove) “While the rest of you have been out canvassing supporters of Bernie Sanders, AOC, and Elizabeth Warren, I looked into some statistics. Despite the habit of protesters on college campuses and elsewhere to adopt rhetoric used by Hamas and other violent groups, not once has any mainstream, domestic news outlet identified such people as being Nazis...”

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (Manifesting disbelief) “Please! Your argument has no basis in fact!”

 

F. FRONK: “It sounds like poppycock to me!”

 

D. MUNDER: (Sneering) “A stupid claim for stupid people!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: “You have to understand the mindset of those who live in fear, every day. They are well aware of the history involved, of the Holocaust and such evil deeds perpetrated upon their people. They may vary in political views, and opinions on the government of Israel. But none of them deserve to be targeted for who they are...”

 

D. MUNDER: (Condescendingly) “That just isn’t happening!”

 

F. FRONK: (With indignation) “Look, I’m no bigot. As a proud warrior for justice, I’ve earned everything I have! And I stand with those who share my beliefs! End of story!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: (Sighing loudly) “You’re missing the point, friends. People here on our own soil have become radicalized in a way never seen before. They chant slogans that are dangerous and incendiary. The end result is what we have seen with this tragic incident...”

 

F. FRONK: “Elon Musk is a disgusting piece of filth! A Nazi! That’s where you find a real disciple of Hitler! I refuse to retract what I know is true!”

 

D. MUNDER: “A Nazi!”

 

N. KHANDARIAN: “I agree! A Nazi!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: (Speaking with frustration) “See, you’re all doing it again. Going back to playing word games with your terminology. When the Governor of Pennsylvania was attacked, at his official residence, did you call the perpetrator by that name?”

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (Looking confused) “Umm... I haven’t read anything that says he was a Nazi like Elon Musk, or Herr Trump!!”

 

F. FRONK: (Stiffening slightly) “No, not a Nazi that I know of!”

 

D. MUNDER: (Tapping his fingers on the conference table) “No one has called him a Nazi!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: “In both cases, Jewish individuals were targeted because of who and what they are, and you have no comments to offer?”

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (Looking confused) “I haven’t seen anything that says either offender was a Nazi like Elon!”

 

F. FRONK: “No, not a Nazi that I know of, honestly! Not Nazis like the Fox News gang!”

 

D. MUNDER: “No one has called him a Nazi!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: I can’t believe that this is hard to understand...”

 

N. KHANDARIAN: “What is your point, Shale? You’ve lost me completely!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: (Folding her hands) “When you hear certain people say things that are anti-Semitic, and extreme, hesitation keeps you from clapping back. You want to parse words and use care in passing judgment. But then you are clumsy with the terminology involved, when it comes to addressing your opponents. Bold when calling out those with whom you have a partisan disagreement...”

 

F. FRONK: (Reddening) “Not at all! I speak truth to power!”

 

D. MUNDER: (Beginning to sweat) “I am proud to traffic in the truth!’

 

N. KHANDARIAN: “The truth, and nothing but the truth!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: “The real story here is about how protests in the United States are being fueled by outside activists and agitators. Haven’t you wondered about any of the details?”

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (With a blank expression) “Honestly, no!”

 

F. FRONK: “Umm... no!”

 

D. MUNDER: (Frowning) “Of course not! No!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: “The use of extreme language here in our own country is only making it more difficult to bring about peaceful change. This is how the Holocaust sprouted from seeds planted by the genuine Nazis, in Germany during the 1930’s. Did you know anything about that?”

 

Jaws dropped around the table.

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (Turning pale) “Honestly, no!”

 

F. FRONK: “Umm... no, no, no!”

 

D. MUNDER: (Frowning) “Well, honestly, no! I think you’re making things up!”

 

S. SEAGRAVE: (Taking a deep breath) “I would suggest that instead of throwing stones at the opposition, you need to start looking for clues about how to solve this awful conundrum!!”

 

N. KHANDARIAN: (Waving to the camera for a quick exit) “Annnnnnnd, that’s all the time we have! Thank you everyone! Tune in next week for another episode of the PBS Rising Up Roundtable! Thank you very much! Stay vigilant! Stay strong against fascism! And stay informed!”