A Place in the Sun

by Michael Phillips

  More people turned out than we had imagined possible! Not only were there dogs and horses and every woman for miles around and all their children, but a lot of men turned out too. Almeda was noticeably excited. By the time she was ready to stand up, the whole street was filled in front of the freight company office, all the way across to the stores on the other side, and stretching down the street almost to the Royce Miners’ Bank. There must have been four or five hundred people, maybe more! The one person I didn’t see was Franklin Royce, although I was certain he knew of the event.

  At about twenty minutes before two, Pa jumped up on the platform and held up both of his hands. Gradually the crowd quieted down.

  “I know it ain’t necessary for me to make introductions,” he said in a loud voice. “If any of you don’t know who this is standing here with me by now, then I don’t figure you got any business here anyway!”

  Laughter rippled through the crowd.

  “But this being our first campaign, well I figured we ought to do things proper. So here I am making the speech to introduce our candidate who’s gonna speak to you all today. And that’s just about all I reckon I’m gonna say! So here she is, Miracle Springs’ next mayor, and a mighty fine-looking woman if I do say so myself, Mrs. Almeda Parrish Hollister!”

  All the women clapped as loud as they could, and most of the men joined in. Pa gave Almeda his hand and helped her up the steps to the platform. Then he jumped down onto the ground. Almeda turned to face the crowd.

  “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve all come here today,” she began. “As my husband said, campaigning for public office is not something we are experienced at, and to tell the truth, I’m more than a little nervous standing up here facing so many of you. I don’t really know what a political speech is suppose to be like, so I am simply going to tell you what I think of this town, why I love Miracle Springs, and why I want to be its new mayor.”

  She paused, looked out over the faces, and took a deep breath before continuing. As she did, some of the people sat down on the ground.

  “When I came here, as a few of you know who were here at the time, the town of Miracle Springs was a far different place. My late husband and I had just arrived from Boston, and I have to tell you, all of California seemed pretty wild and rambunctious to me—Miracle Springs included. There were more saloons than stores, more gold than bread, more mules than women, and it was every man for himself. They said California was a state back then in 1850, but it wasn’t like any state I’d ever seen!”

  The listeners laughed and some joking comments could be heard from long-time residents who knew first-hand what she was talking about.

  “That’s right, Mr. Jones,” Almeda called out with a smile. “I heard that. And you are absolutely correct—it was a fun place to be back then! But it was a hard life too, for those who didn’t make a strike. And I don’t know about the rest of you, but for myself, I will take the Miracle Springs of today to the Miracle Springs of 1850. Yes, times have changed—here as well as in the rest of the state—and throughout the country. It’s a new era. Our fellow Californian John Fremont is campaigning through this great land for the abolition of slavery. And we’ve all been hearing recently about some of this state’s leading men, like Leland Stanford and Mark Hopkins, who are earnestly pursuing the railroad linkage of east and west across this great country. California is becoming a state with a future.

  “My point, ladies and gentlemen, is that as the country is changing and growing, we citizens of Miracle Springs must change and grow with it. Gold brought many of us here, and it first put California and Miracle Springs on the map, but gold will not insure our future. When the nuggets turn to dust, and when even the dust begins to dry up, gold will no longer sustain businesses. Gold will not feed hungry stomachs. Gold will not educate. Gold will not keep the bonds of friendship and love deep. Gold will not raise a church. Gold will not attract the kind of families a community needs to put down roots and sustain itself and grow strong that it might endure.

  “You are all familiar with towns, once booming and alive with activity, which have now become silent and empty because the gold is gone. Ghost towns—dead today because they failed to look to the future, they failed to establish a community fabric where roots went down deeper than the gold they feverishly sought.”

  Almeda stopped, thought for a moment or two, then took in a deep breath and started up again.

  “Now, in a few weeks you men have to decide how to vote in Miracle Springs’ first election for mayor. And I suppose I’m telling you why I think you ought to vote for me—even though I’m a woman!”

  A little laughter went around, but mostly some cheers and clapping could be heard from the women present.

  “So I’m going to tell you why you should vote for me,” Almeda continued. “I love this town. After my first husband died, I was miserable for a time. I seriously considered returning to the east, but in the end decided to stay here. And I cannot say it was an easy time. Some of you men made it very difficult for a woman, alone as I was, to keep a business going.”

  The smile she threw out as she said it showed that her words were meant in fun, not bitterness.

  “Yet, on the other hand, most of you were good to me. You were considerate, you brought me your business. You treated me with courtesy and respect. And we managed to forge a pretty good partnership, you miners and Parrish Mine and Freight. This town became my home. And as the town grew, I loved it more and more. The church and school were built. A minister and schoolteacher joined our community—”

  She smiled and pointed to where Rev. Rutledge and Miss Stansberry were seated together in the minister’s carriage.

  “Families came in growing numbers. Wives joined the miners—some from as far away as Virginia!”

  She turned and threw Katie a smile behind her where she stood with Uncle Nick.

  “And now I feel it is time for me to give this community back a little of what I feel it has given to me. I love Miracle Springs, and with everything that is in my heart, I desire to see it grow into a community whose strength lies in its people, and in their bonds with one another. I love it too much to see it become a ghost town, abandoned because the gold is gone from its hills and streams. My friends, even if the gold were to disappear tomorrow, you and I are what make this community vital! And that is the future to which I want to dedicate myself, as your next mayor.

  “Now . . . why do I think you men ought to vote for Almeda Hollister? The chief reason is this: a Hollister vote is a vote for the future of Miracle Springs. It is a vote for the whole fabric of this community, not just one aspect of it. Money and gold may make men rich. But when they are gone, money and gold also make ghost towns.

  “I am committed to the whole of Miracle Springs’ future, not just its financial future.” She paused, thought for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice had grown softer and more serious.

  “What I say next is not easy for me,” she went on. “But I suppose perhaps it is necessary in light of the purpose for which we are gathered. From the beginning, I have been instrumental in helping Miracle Springs become a real town, not just a gold camp. I helped organize the church and the school, and brought Reverend Rutledge and Miss Stansberry here. I truly believe I am qualified, both by experience and by commitment, to be your mayor. I suppose my greatest drawback as a candidate is that I am a woman, and that may be the reason many of you feel you should not vote for me. But on the other hand, perhaps that is the greatest asset I have to offer Miracle Springs, too. The fact that I am a woman makes me, I feel, sensitive to some of the deeper and longer-lasting interests of this community, important things that I fear a one-dimensional focus on gold and mining profits cannot adequately see.”

  I don’t know whether she saw him at first, because she kept right on with the conclusion of her speech. But as I looked up I detected some movement at the back of the crowd, and then realized that a figure had emerged from somewhere nea
r the bank and was now walking slowly forward.

  “In closing then, my friends of Miracle Springs and surrounding communities,” Almeda was saying, “I simply want to ask for your votes on election day. In return, I pledge to you my commitment to do all that lies in my power to insure a happy and prosperous future for all of us. Thank you very much for your attention and support.”

  She turned to step down off the platform, amid a lot of clapping—mostly from the women and children and our family, and a few enthusiastic men, like Pa and Uncle Nick and Rev. Rutledge. But suddenly the noise died down abruptly. Almeda turned around to see the cause, just as the crowd split down the middle to make way for Franklin Royce, who was striding purposefully toward the platform.

  Chapter 7

  Royce’s Rebuttal

  Silence fell over the street as everyone waited to see what would happen. Almeda remained where she was, watching him approach.

  “Well, Mrs. Hollister,” said Royce in a loud but friendly voice, “that was a very moving speech. You wouldn’t deny your opponent equal time in front of the voters, would you?”

  “Certainly not,” replied Almeda, obviously cooled by his appearance, but trying not to show it.

  The banker climbed the steps to the small platform, where he joined Almeda. He flashed her a broad grin, and then, as if he was just going on with the conversation said, “But surely you do not mean to suggest that gold and the financial interests which accompany it are of lesser importance to this community than these other things you mention?”

  “I did not use such a term, Mr. Royce,” said Almeda. “But now that you put it like that, I suppose I do believe that money is less important than people, than friendship, than churches and schools and families.”

  “Come now, Mrs. Hollister,” said Royce with a patronizing smile. “You know as well as everyone here that gold drives this community. Without the gold Miracle Springs would not exist.”

  “Perhaps not. But I believe it will exist in the years to come, with or without gold.”

  “You are a businesswoman, Mrs. Hollister. You know that money is what makes everything work. Without money, you are out of business. Without money none of these people would have homes or clothes or wagons or horses. I’m all for friendship and schools and children and churches. But a community needs a solid financial base or all the rest will wither away. Money is what makes it go, money is what it is all based on.”

  “Money . . . such as that represented by the Royce Miners’ Bank?”

  Royce smiled, although he did not answer her question directly. “And all that is why I’m not sure I can agree with your statement that a Hollister vote is a vote for the best future of Miracle Springs. In my opinion, the future must rest upon a solid financial base.”

  “In other words, with a vote for Royce,” she said.

  The banker smiled broadly. “You said it, Almeda . . . not I.” Some of the men chuckled to see him getting the better of her. “Let’s be practical, Almeda,” he went on. “Everyone here may have done business with you at some time in the past. But I am the one who has financed their homes, their land, their businesses. Why, Almeda, I have even lent money to you to help your business through some difficult times! None of these people would even be here today if it weren’t for my bank and what I have done for them. And the future will be no different. If Miracle Springs is to have a future, even the kind of future you so glowingly speak of, it will be because of what I am able to give it, both as its banker and its mayor.”

  Everyone was quiet, waiting to see what Almeda would do. Clearly, Mr. Royce meant his words as a direct challenge to everything she had said and hoped to accomplish with her speech.

  When she spoke again, her voice contained a challenging tone of its own.

  “Is the kind of future you have in mind for Miracle Springs the same kind as you’re imposing on Patrick Shaw and his family?” she asked in a cool tone. “That is hardly the kind of future I would judge to be in the best interest of this community, no matter how much your bank may have done for it in the past.”

  A low murmur of agreement spread through the crowd. Her words had touched off the anger at Royce that had been circulating all week. A couple of men shouted out at him.

  “The lady’s right, Royce,” cried one voice.

  “Shaw’s a good man,” called out another. “You got no call to do what you done!”

  Mr. Royce did not seem angered by her question. It almost seemed as though he had been expecting it, and was ready with a reply.

  “Surely you must realize, Almeda,” he said, “that politics and business don’t necessarily mix.”

  “Well maybe they should!” she shot back. “Perhaps the incident with the Shaws tells us what kind of mayor you would be. Is this how you envision looking out for the best interests of the people of Miracle Springs—making them leave the homes they have worked so hard for?”

  By now Almeda had the support of the crowd. Although not a single one of the men present would have dared go to Mr. Royce in person and tell him what he thought, in a group, and stirred by Almeda’s words, all the anger that had been brewing in the community through the week spilled over into mumblings and shouts of complaint against what Royce had done.

  “Listen to them, Franklin,” she said. “Every man and woman here is upset by what you have done. They want to know why. They want to know if this is what you mean when you say you have helped the community grow! Is this the future you offer Miracle Springs—a future whose road is strewn with failed loans and eviction notices? If so, I do not think it is the kind of future the people of Miracle Springs have in mind!”

  By now everyone was getting into the argument, calling out questions and comments to the banker. From the look and sound of it, it didn’t seem that Royce could have any possible chance in the election! But as Pa had said earlier, Mr. Royce wasn’t the kind of man who should be underestimated.

  He held up his hands to restore quiet. When he could be heard again, he turned to Almeda. “What I said, Mrs. Hollister,” he replied, still in a calm tone, “was that the future of Miracle Springs must rest upon a solid financial base. Without a financial base, there can be no future.”

  He paused, looked into her face for a moment, then continued. “Let me ask you a question,” he said. “As a businesswoman, have you ever extended credit to a bad account?”

  He waited, but she did not answer.

  “I’m sure you have,” he said. “And what did you do when a customer did not pay you? Did you continue to let him take merchandise from you, knowing in all probability he would never pay you?”

  “There are plenty of people here today who know well enough that I have given them credit during some pretty tough times,” she answered at last. “When I trust someone, I do what I can to help them.”

  “As do I,” countered Royce. “I have made loans and extended credit and helped nearly every man here. But in the face of consistent non-payment, I doubt very much if you would blithely let a man go on running up a bill at your expense. If you operated that way, you would not have survived in business so long. Well, in the case of the Shaws, I have been extremely lenient. I have done all that is in my power to keep it from coming to what has transpired this past week. You ask Patrick Shaw himself—he’s standing right back there.”

  Royce pointed to the back of the crowd, and heads turned in that direction. “Ask him. What did I do when he missed his first payment . . . his second . . . his third? I did nothing. I continued to be patient, hoping somehow that he would be able to pull himself together and catch up and fulfill his obligations.”

  Royce paused a moment, seemingly to allow Mr. Shaw to say something if he wanted. But Shaw only kept looking at the ground, kicking the dirt around with his boot.

  “I would say that I have been extremely patient,” Mr. Royce went on. “I have done nothing that any honest businessman wouldn’t have done. If you were in my position, Almeda, you would have been forced into the same ac
tion.”

  By now the crowd had begun to quiet down. They may not have liked it, but most knew Royce’s words were true. They didn’t know he was only telling them half the truth—that he had refused to rescind the note-call even if Mr. Shaw made up the four months.

  Royce turned and squarely faced the crowd. He spoke as if Almeda were not even present beside him, and gave her no opportunity to get in another word.

  “Let me tell you, my friends, a little about how banking works. Banking is like any other business. When my esteemed opponent here—” he indicated Almeda with a wave of his hand, without turning to look at her, “—offers you a gold pan or a saddle for sale, she has had to buy that pan or saddle from someone else. Now as a banker, the only commodity I have to offer is money. She sells mining equipment. I sell money. Now, I have to get that money from somewhere in order to have it to lend. And do you know where I get it?” He paused, but only for a second.

  “I get it from the rest of you,” he went on. “The money I loaned Patrick Shaw for his house and land came from money that others of you put in my bank. I lend out your money to Mr. Shaw, he pays me interest, and then I pay you interest, keeping out a small portion as the bank’s share. Mr. Shaw didn’t borrow money from me. In a manner of speaking, he borrowed money from the rest of you! All of you who have borrowed money from the Royce Miners’ Bank have really borrowed it from one another. You who receive interest from the bank are in actuality getting that interest from your friends and neighbors.”

  Everyone was quiet again and was listening carefully.

  “If someone doesn’t pay the bank what he has agreed to pay, then how can the bank pay the rest of you the interest due you? What I have done is the most painful thing a banker ever has to face. The agonizing inner turmoil it causes a man like me to have to find himself in the odious position of calling a note due, it is so painful as to be beyond words. And yet I have a responsibility to the rest of you. How can I be faithful to the whole community and its needs if I ignore such problems? My bank would soon be out of business, and then where would this community be?”