by Rita Durrett
the group. So he thinks all four went to some big city whose residents, not being good conservative Americans, allow (if not encourage) immoral sexual behaviors. There, he believes, the four got a big house with a building in back that is half greenhouse and half mechanics' garage. In this house they all now live and work together. And every night at bedtime they flip a coin to see which wife sleeps with which husband. It's a scandalous speculation, but I have to admit, there's plenty of data which can be used to support it.
You may agree with this permanent cross-coupling guess. But if you do, I have to give you the same legal advice I gave the town father who suggested it. You can think what you want, but you'd better not go around expressing such thoughts to others or you'll be putting yourself at risk for having your pants sued off.
VIII
The Hatfields and McCoys left an indelible mark on Hometown. Everyone still calls those two half-acre lots the Hatfield and the McCoy places, with snickers and giggles when they do. And the high school bus still has to make a detour around them. I did my best to correct these kinds of things, and though I think what I did is having a beneficial effect, it's going to take some time before everyone forgets what went on out there. Nevertheless, I'm rather proud of what I did, because it really is a case of creative real estate brokering.
When each of the husbands called me to put his place up for sale I had to tell him a sad truth. Like every other town in America too small to be a city, real estate in Hometown seldom sells quickly. In fact, that's why I am the only real estate broker in town. There just isn't enough business to support more than one. The problem is that our towns are stagnating. Our young people keep moving to the big cities. The town fathers and I all agree that they leave us because they are being enticed by the immoral sexual standards in the big cities. They are being seduced away from both their geographic and moral foundations. Of course, I didn't mention this to either Hatfield or McCoy. That would have been indelicate since I knew it was a renewal of cross-coupling that was driving them to sell.
What I did tell each husband is that real estate sales in Hometown are sluggish, and it might take some time to move their properties. Neither man was happy to hear this. But each said he had to get his asking price. So, though both were anxious to sell as quickly as possible, neither could afford to lower his price. Hatfield, in particular, insisted that he couldn't sell for less. He had invested a considerable sum in building his greenhouse, and he had to recover that capital so he could set up his wholesale florist business elsewhere.
That gave me my idea, a brilliant idea, if I say so myself. So brilliant, in fact, that I'm proud to say so myself. For several years our church had been accumulating a capital fund for the purpose of building a parsonage. Why not instead get the church to buy the Hatfield place? What made the idea particularly good and suitable is our minister's wife. She, a beautiful flower of a woman herself, is a gardener who tries to have at least one fresh bouquet on the alter every Sunday. She has always said that if only she had a greenhouse she would have the alter flower-decked for every service. Indeed, she has said that if she had both a greenhouse and a helper she could provide flowers at cost for every service of every church in town. The Hatfield greenhouse would be more than ample to allow this lovely lady to fulfill this generous goal.
Since I was the legal trustee of our church's parsonage fund I knew we didn't have enough in it to swing a deal for the Hatfield place, but this is where the truly brilliant part of my idea came in. The town fathers, no matter what church they belong to, were deeply concerned about the stigma attached to the Hatfield place because of the sexual immorality that had gone on out there. I had had many discussions with various of them trying to figure out what could be done to erase the prurient reputation which was causing the high school bus to make its detours. What better way than to make the Hatfield place into a staid and chaste parsonage? Nobody could snicker about it then.
So I went to every one of the town fathers with this suggestion. They were all so anxious to erase the scandalous reputation attached to the place and quash the rumors going around about it that every one was willing to contribute to a kitty to increase the parsonage fund enough so our church could buy the Hatfield half-acre lot and greenhouse. I was so impressed by their good conservative American generosity I kicked in my sales commission too. The Hatfield place was sold in a week.
Selling the McCoy place, however, looked like it was going to be a long term proposition. But it's sale turned out to be just as expeditious. When I was trying to imagine possible buyers I got to thinking about something. Probably what got me thinking about this topic was when I explained to McCoy how young people were leaving towns for big cities. The kids think it is the fashionable thing to do. However, fashions change. After the Second World War, suburbs were all the fashion. Everybody moved out of the cities, and their cores became slums. But now the fashion has flipped. Now inner cities are all the mode. Old warehouses are being remodeled into chic condos, and the suburbs are degrading. Why shouldn't that kind of thing happen with the towns vs. big cities fashion? And if it does, then people who own property in towns will be sitting pretty. I have always felt that if Hometown starts growing again it will grow in the direction of the McCoy place. Then that half-acre lot can be subdivided a couple times with a net doubling or tripling of its value each time.
Thinking like that showed me exactly what to do: I bought the McCoy place myself and moved into it. Now all I have to do is wait for fashions to change and I'll make a fortune. Some townsfolk teased me about this purchase, saying I was only interested in the half-acre lot's well water. But that's ridiculous. There isn't anything in that water. I have no interest in such things, of course, but just to show these people how foolish their idea is I got an assay of that water, and it's ordinary, no trace of anything that could be an aphrodisiac.
Living out here has turned out to be quite convenient. My wife is our church's organist, so she must frequently meet with our pastor to plan services. With us living right next to the parsonage he can just pop over whenever the two need to get together. Of course, I have nothing to contribute to these sessions, but there is a good conservative American charitable act I've found to do instead. Now that the minister's wife has a greenhouse she only needed a helper in order to provide flowers for every church in town. So I've become her helper. Whenever the minister comes over to our place to work with my wife I go over and help his lovely wife. As a matter of fact, I'm going to have to leave this chatroom session soon because any minute now the minister is due here. When he arrives I'll go over to the greenhouse and move some bags of peat moss for his wife.
Oh I know what you're thinking!! You depraved, dirty-minded big city people are all alike. You can only imagine filthy, smutty, immoral sexual goings on. Well Hometown is a good conservative American community. And now that the Hatfields and McCoys have left town everyone remaining here is a good conservative American. Our kind of people just don't do the kinds of wicked things you're thinking. So you'd better not go poking around trying to learn the real name of Hometown. Because if you ever do learn its name, and then say anything to anybody about the kind of things you think are going on out here, I'll sue the pants right off of you!
END
