by Matthew Nuth
“I can remember how Virginia and I would walk up to the glass counter in the rear of the shop to lay down our couple of pennies for candy. Old-Man Arnold would dig out a couple candies from a jar he kept behind the counter. He told us he had kept these candies especially for Virginia and me, they were a special treat for us. Even today I can remember popping a hard caramel or a fruity jaw breaker in my mouth. Those treats would keep us slurping all the way home.
“You know, Virginia and I had a special relationship. We knew from our earliest time together our friendship would blossom to love. Of course, back then we argued and fought a lot; all kids do, but we were inseparable. By the time we were ten, I could not imagine a day without seeing my Virginia; and I think she thought the same way about me. Old-Man Arnold, I think, sensed it too. When we would walk up to the counter to buy our candy, he would address us a mister and missus. We laughed then, but we knew it would only be a matter of time until we grew up and could make the salutations real.
“Time passed quickly enough. Virginia and I got married right out of high school. Lattimore was my best man, my best friend, and I considered him my brother. I still do.” Lyle paused as he nodded to Paul and William. “Most people don’t know it, but both my family and Virginia’s family were pretty poor. My dad passed away when I was still in elementary school and Virginia never knew her father. Paul, old-man Arnold never knew it, but your dad was the one that always gave us the pennies to buy our candy. Virginia and I didn’t have any money. Your dad had shared with us his entire life. He was a lifelong friend and I was never able to thank him enough.
“When Black Tuesday came, what little money Virginia and I had been able to earn dried up. We lost our jobs. Mister Arnold was still running his shop back then, but he was certainly getting pressure from a bigger and newer grocery store just a block away on College Boulevard. He made sure Virginia and I had food to eat. He would wave us in and give us a bag with a loaf of bread and some canned food. He knew we could not pay; he would just shrug and say that we could pay him later. Then the next day he would see us walking and he would repeat the process; saying, we could pay him tomorrow. You see, for Mister Arnold, tomorrow would never come and he knew it. He knew that Virginia and I had no money.
“Lattimore saved us and so did Mister Arnold. When your dad opened the awning shop, he gave us a job, even though there was hardly enough business to take care of his own family. Lattimore was godsend.
Mister Arnold’s shop went out of business long before the economy rebounded. I heard he died shortly after he closed up shop. I am not sure if the death of his business led to his own death, but I suspect so. He was a kind person that took pleasure in taking care of his brothers and sisters in the community even though he didn’t have much to give. That’s the way it was back then. You know, in some small way, I think his death was the start of Linden Street’s prolonged death march; and it is still dying.
“Virginia and I never got to pay Mister Arnold back for his generosity and God knows I will be forever in debt to the Simmons family. Now I think I have the opportunity to finally make good on some of that debt by helping that part of town. My Virginia is gone now and I don’t think I have too much longer before I join her. I certainly will not have the time to spend the wealth this business has given me. I would like to make a go at fixing up this street even if we need to do it slower and without the help of the city. Whatever savings I have I am going to give back to this business to get this started. I think that is what Virginia would want me to do.” The room fell silent. Each captivated by our imagination as to what life had been like in that little section of Linden street based on Lyle’s recollections.
Lanny finally broke the silence. He breathed a big sigh, pushed himself back in his chair and said, “Well, shit, Lyle, if you are willing to give up your own money to get this going, I guess I can support it, too.” He looked at everyone around the table, picked up his glass of water, held it up as if in a toast, “To Arnold’s,” then as almost a second thought, “and fuck that Barton prick!”
Chapter 30
Mom held up her glass of wine for the first toast of what was going to be many over the dinner tonight. She made a brief thanks to Lyle for getting Linden Street started again. For me, it was nice to hear about Lyles contribution to this project. Sure, for my entire life he had been important to me, but I had never developed a true appreciation for the man. He seemed to me to be a surrogate grandfather, but I never realized what had made him tick. Sometimes you are just too close to see who people really are. Lyle must have died shortly after the meeting kicking off Linden Street. I don’t think he even got to see the first of the renovations even started, but I guess his hand and muscle turned every shovel of dirt.
Tim and Mark had been noticeably touched by the conversation. They had never met either of the senior members of the PW Simmons family, but they had always held them in reverence. Now they understood why.
Uncle Bill jumped in to continue the conversation. I was surprised that for this evening he had barely touched his glass of wine; only taking a sip during Mom’s toast. Instead he had limited himself to drinking mineral water. I suspect it was not for a lack of desire, but because he wanted to stay engaged with the entire evening. I was proud of him.
“Randall, Lyle gave us some of the means and all the motivation to get the project started, but what a pain in the ass the Bartons were. If I recall, you were friends with Barton’s kid, right?”
“Hardly.” I answered
* * *
Pride makes us lie to our friends, our family, and to ourselves. I lied to you, Sam. Linden Street was never about the city. At first it was about me. I wanted to be remembered for doing something good. It was hard on us. You and Randall bore most of the brunt while I just plowed on. I know now, I was selfish. I am sorry.
By the time Dad’s company began in earnest to create the Linden Street Mall, I had started High School. Yes, I was a third generation of proud Lambkins for the Simmons family. It was a proud, sad, and exciting feeling to walk into the school my first day as an actual student.
Proud in that the first thing I saw upon entering the main hall was a large glass trophy case in which the Simmons family was well represented. A picture of Dad in his old basketball uniform hung in the case at the far right, closest to the school’s entry. It was hard to imagine my father as a high school basketball star. True, he was tall and still cut a formidable athletic physique, but he was old and had always been old to me. I could not imagine what school must have been like way back in the 40’s. Dad’s name was one of the first names emblazoned on the “Most Valuable Athlete” trophy that held a position of honor at the case’s center. He was listed twice; once for 1942 and again in 1943.
Sad in that the second name I looked for was that of my brother, Cal. Cal also had a picture hanging in the case, but his picture was followed by the brief note “Taken too early from us.” Cal’s name also had been inscribed on the trophy; three times for 1968, 1969, and 1970.
Yes, the Simmons family was well represented already. It was a good thing because it was highly unlikely I was going to keep up the tradition. Sports were not going to be my thing. Yes, I still loved sports and I guess I was an okay athlete, but star potential? Hell, no. I must have been staring at Cal’s picture for a several minutes, because I was startled back to reality by the gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder and quiet, “You had better get on to your class before your teacher marks you tardy. The bell rang a couple minutes ago.” That was how my time at Fort Collins High started.
My first class was algebra, and I was, unfortunately, the last to walk into class. As I entered I could feel the eyes of my already seated classmates baring in on me. The teacher, an old man wearing a plaid, short-sleeve shirt that badly needed to see an iron, caught me by the arm and accusingly stated I was late and not to let it happen again. He then pointed me to one of the last two available desks in t
he room, both of them sitting right in front of his desk. Great! Not only was I late, I was now going to have to sit in the front of the room for the remainder of the term. I made a mental note to hurry to my next class in hope that I might find a more agreeable seat smack dab in the middle of the sea of desks. I did not like being visible.
I felt a flick on my shoulder. I turned to see a large, freckled, auburn haired boy smiling back at me. Not a kind or even funny smile, but one that said, ‘you’re a fuck and I am going to fuck with you from now on.’ That was my first encounter with Billy Barton.
Billy was a mean-spirited cut-up; someone that thought he was smart, important, and funny and wanted everyone to know it. Unfortunately, for him, he was neither as witty or bright as he thought he was. His importance was gotten vicariously through his equally dull and mean spirited father. He was from one of those families that you hated to admit existed, one that got their jollies out of bullying anyone they thought inferior. If I had been Cal, I probably would have stood up, popped him on his freckled nose and ended his mean games right then and there; but I wasn’t Cal and never would be. I turned back around, faced the teacher and resigned myself to being pushed around by this jerk until he found someone even easier to pick on.
I don’t know why I was so timid as a teenager. I was pretty good sized and well built in my own right, but I just didn’t have that killer instinct necessary to throw the fear of God into anybody. I guess that is why I never was going to make it as a sports hero.
The first day in algebra was terrible. Although the subject matter was not going to be tough, I could not get focused on anything the teacher was saying. The teacher was trying to lay down the law for the term; I got it. I heard something about there being tests every Monday morning and something about all homework needing to be handed in as we walked into class, no exceptions, but outside of that, my mind wandered. By the time the bell rang for the next class, I was left not having a clue as to what our assignment was for the next day. I was lost and had to suffer through the embarrassment of staying after the class had emptied to ask the teacher for the assignment.
“So, Simmons, are you going to be trouble for me the whole term. I will not put up with it. Take a look at the syllabus I handed out at the start of class and you better get on to your next class or you will be late again.”
My second class, English, was almost as embarrassing. Once again, I was the last to enter the room and was relegated to sitting in the only remaining seat at the front of the room; and once again, right in front of Billy Barton. Billy took the opportunity to jab me with his pencil and whispered to his friend seated beside him, “This is the same fuck that was late to Algebra. What a moron.”
The only saving grace in English was that the teacher actually seemed to care about her students. She called out Billy, “Mister Barton, I would appreciate you not using profanities in this class. If you continue I am sure we can have you spend some time in the principal’s office for the remainder of the period.”
Billy, being the rude individual he was, responded, “So you want me to shut the fuck up? I may as well go to the principal now, then.” He gathered his books and headed out of the classroom. As he walked by me, he made sure to bump me with his books. “Uh, sorry, Simmons,” then he was gone out the door.
That was my first couple of hours at Fort Collins High School. Billy and I would have more than that one occasion to get to know each other better over the next several years. He was a prick. I cannot understand how someone like Cal could be taken and someone like Billy got to live on to terrorize.
* * *
Paul and William decided to tackle the planning commission on their own, taking a crack at presenting a revised proposal involving what they hoped would be the Linden Street redevelopment. They were seated on one side of a large conference table facing the five planning commissioners. They had taken their seats on other side of the table opposite of Paul and William, with Barton taking the center position. It was set up to be confrontational, a tactic that had been orchestrated by Barton and had been fully expected by Paul.
Barton started the discussion. “Well, let’s hope now you have a good response to our recommendation from last month, Mister Simmons.” Barton ignored William, focusing his comments squarely at Paul.
“Actually, I think we do, Phil, and please call me Paul. Mister Simmons was reserved for our Dad.” Paul again laid out copies of the plans for the Linden Street redevelopment for the entire commission, but in this case, PW Simmons had made some significant changes to reflect a much more modest endeavor.
“Before you start, Simmons, where is your proposal on the property I asked you to consider from our last meeting?”
Paul put on his most professional demeanor. “Well, Phil, we considered it and decided it was not going to work for us; so, we decline. Please note we have a deep commitment to the Linden Street area and still want to proceed, but we fully understand your desire to not use eminent domain to help us acquire the real estate, so we have adjusted our plans accordingly. It just means we will have to move significantly slower. At this time, we have no way to guarantee that existing owners will be willing to sell their property; at least at a price that would support our investment to retrofit the buildings and resell them to make a modest return. Once word gets out on the redevelopment, I would expect we will see at least a couple owners refuse to sell in an effort to extract top dollar for their properties. As such, some properties will likely be excluded from our investment so we are resigned to embark on the redevelopment one building at a time; that is, as long as you can support shutting off the car traffic and turning the street into a walking avenue.”
Paul continued, “It is a shame; however, the property and sales tax bump the city would have gotten from our original proposal would have been substantial. If you take a look at the financial projections we prepared, you can see the delta.” Paul handed out separate financial summaries to each member of the planning commission. He then sat down to provide them time to go over the tax revenue calculations.
All of the members of the planning commission, with the exception of Phil Barton, began looking at the financial projections, Paul had laid out before them. Phil merely stared, alternating his gaze between Paul and William. After only a brief few minutes of review, what appeared to be the eldest member of the commission, broke the silence. He had been quiet prior to this point, but it was clear he was speaking with some degree of authority and deference from the rest of the members.
“I think we may have been rash in our previous direction. Paul, William, would you mind excusing us for thirty minutes or so, so that we might discuss your proposal in private? I think it should not take too long, and we can send for you to come back in once we are done.
Chapter 31
Tim and Mark had chosen a large selection of hors d’oeuvres as starters to be delivered to the table. I had to laugh when I realized how much food we were going to be eating tonight. “Mark, Tim, you guys are going to have to roll us out of here even before we get to the main course.”
Tim smiled and responded humbly, “Randall, I wouldn’t say that yet. Mark is doing a little recipe experimentation on us with the hors d’oeuvres. Who knows? I’m not convinced we’ll make it to the entrees. He winked at Mark, knowing full well the food would be delicious. The broad selection of starters was their way of making the evening special and showing off, just a little.
“So, the old guy from the planning commission; I take it he swayed the rest of them to accept your proposal?” I asked as I stood up to snag a bottle of wine and refill my glass. I filled Mom’s glass, too, then passed it around the table. Likewise, we started passing around the various foods that had just been delivered: escargot, calamari, goat cheese with an assortment of breads, fresh buffalo mozzarella on sliced melon and prosciutto, and, well, we were not going to go hungry tonight.
Uncle Bill had leaned back in his chair,
stretched out his arms, and then linked his hands behind his head. “Well, not exactly all of it, but it was pretty humorous when we came back into the conference room; and it took a heck of a lot longer than thirty minutes. Daylight had turned to dusk, then to night by the time the old guy came to get us. He was smiling, so your Dad and I thought we were home free. By the time we entered the conference room the committee had shrunk by one. Barton was gone.’
* * *
The approvals for the development had taken the better part of a year to weave their way through the various city departments, but ultimately, PW Simmons had gained approval to move ahead with a significant portion of the proposal.
The request to extend the mall for a total of two uninterrupted blocks, was nixed due to concerns over car traffic. As a compromise, the north south traffic would effectively be limited to pedestrians only for the two blocks, but cross car traffic would bisect the walking mall; not perfect, but the team thought it workable. The most important aspect of the project was a breakthrough in the use of eminent domain for the project. Although limited to only the furthest southern block, the city council had agreed to acquire the buildings on this block and resell them to PW Simmons for redevelopment under the expectation and obligation that certain aspects of the development would be fulfilled. The approval also came with significant penalties, to effectively make up for lost tax revenues, if the overall project was delayed. The additional penalty provisions added huge financial risk for PW Simmons; however, it eliminated the need to negotiate the acquisition of each building of the project, a process that could take years.
