“Come with me.”
Vicki and Virginia marched to a private study. A doctor appeared and motioned them to sit on the sofa.
“I’m very sorry to report, Mrs. Landry, that your son died an hour ago from his injuries.”
Virginia was stunned. And angry. “That’s incomprehensible. I don’t believe it. He just called me.” Virginia was beside herself, her voice rising. She stood up. “I need to see the body.” She was still holding the shopping bag of Dr. Pepper.
Vicki couldn’t believe it either. “I was just with him last night after his surgery. He was talking. He seemed in pain, but he was dealing with it.”
The doctor repeated, “We are very sorry.”
Vicki was not convinced. There had to be more to this story.
* * *
The coroner’s report showed that the hospital killed Richard Daniel Landry. He had an unfortunate amount of methadone in his body when morphine was administered for pain early on the morning after his surgery. The doctor never ordered a blood test to check for opioids in his body before giving him pain medication in his IV. He flatlined soon after the dosage was injected into the IV.
The last words he heard were “This should help.”
* * *
Richard’s funeral was minimal, yet touching. Virginia was too distraught to make arrangements, so Vicki took over and met with the director at Harrell’s Funeral Home in south Austin. She decided on a stainless steel coffin, a spray of white lilies, and found photos of him as a child in his cowboy outfit to enlarge, frame, and set on easels. Visitation was the night before the service, but no rosary.
Virginia’s one ultimatum about the arrangements was that Richard would be buried beside VF. “After all, it seems appropriate given Daddy’s dislike of Richard.” She enjoyed being contrarian. She was unaware of their bonding during VF’s final days. Vicki did not argue. She knew they would be comfortable next to each other because she heard some of their last conversations.
Richard’s brief obituary appeared in the Austin American Statesman with his high school graduation photo. The family was surprised to see how many people from his past showed up, especially all the pretty women. After all, who were a drug and gunrunner’s best friends? Richard’s girlfriend, Angélica, was noticeably absent. She was afraid of coming from Mexico to Texas. She mourned in her own way, offering a Sunday mass in his memory at her church in Cabo.
The person most upset with his sudden death was Virginia. She appeared traumatized at the funeral home, barely reacting to friends’ wishes as she stood in the receiving line. His brothers and sisters were sad, but they had always suspected he would die of an overdose or be killed by a Mexican drug lord.
Father Joseph officiated a modest service.
Hap strummed Amazing Grace on his guitar as people filed in.
Vicki gave the sweetest remembrance.
“Richard and I were a two-person team caring for Dad during his last days. It was a process of changing him, the sheets, giving him medication, carrying him—sometimes physically in our arms—from a chair to see the sunset and then to his bed, and coaxing him to swallow soft food and drink. It was a difficult process. Richard never complained.
“One day Dad saw Richard and said, ‘Here is my favorite person.’ Then when Richard was giving him a shave he said, ‘Why are you so good to me? I don’t deserve such good treatment.’
“Richard replied, ‘Dad, it’s an honor for me to take care of you.’
“Dad whispered, ‘It’s an honor to me that you are taking care of me.’
“Richard had tears in his eyes when he told me this. He had finally come home, he said. His life had begun to take on feeling and real meaning. He had plans to embrace the land, Silvercreek Ranch, and to build a house and raise a family.
“I think Richard would have been thrilled today to see the Harleys escorting him to his final resting place—the ranch where he hoped to start life anew before he had a tragic accident….”
Vicki paused and gathered strength, looked down at the coffin and said,
“May you start your new life in the arms of unconditional love, Richard.”
Hap rose, took his guitar, and said, “I loved my little brother, Richard. He was a cowboy whose horse was a Harley. I’ve written this just for him.” Then he gently played the guitar and sang:
He said the Lord is coming
So get ready for the day
Make your place with the Maker
Chase that ole devil away
Brother Richard, the silent preacher
Laid the Lord on me
Faded Levis and Sunday boots
Took the place of three-piece suits
For Brother Richard
Laid the Lord on me
As people filed from the funeral home Hap strummed Amazing Grace again.
Harleys escorted the coffin to the family cemetery at the ranch. Richard’s friend Pardo, a former cellmate, asked if he could say a few words.
Pardo stood beside the grave looking uncomfortable in a black suit with no tie. He straightened his back and put his arms behind him, as if being hand-cuffed.
“Years ago, when Richard and I met as bunkmates, we shared an interest in reading. You may not think that homies read, but believe me the magazines and books sent to us made for all kinds of conversations besides sex and drugs.“
The small gathering gently laughed.
“His favorite quote was by Ralph Chaplin: Mourn not your captive comrades who must dwell—too strong to strive—within each steel-bound coffin of a cell, buried alive; but rather mourn the apathetic throng—the cowed and the meek—who see the world’s great anguish and its wrong…and dare not speak!”
There was a long silence.
“Rest in peace, my homie. Rest in peace.” Pardo kissed two fingers, placed them close to his heart and then tapped the casket.
After everyone filed out, Hap turned to Mary. “Well, well, well. There’s a surprise! Did you know about Pardo?”
Mary lowered her voice. “Vicki knew. Said he had done time for POC while Richard was doing time for T&T about ten years ago.”
“Whas that supposed to mean?”
“Possession of cocaine and Richard was convicted of trafficking and trading.”
“The dude’s not too dumb,” Hap noted.
“Dumb enough to get caught.”
“Who is Ralph Chaplin?”
“Dunno. I’ll have to look him up. Never heard of him.”
Vicki had the tombstone engraved
Richard Daniel Landry
1956-1996
Ride on, Dear Brother
* * *
Vicki visited Richard’s apartment soon after the funeral. Not surprisingly, it had been ransacked. The safe, with its Clinton/Gore ‘96 bumper sticker had been forced open and was empty. Drawers and closets were open. Clothes and papers were strewn about. The back screen door was cut. But the paperwork for the deed to his property sat on his Chubbie Checker kitchen table untouched except for a ring from a Dr. Pepper can.
Who knows how much money he had in that safe, or where the guns and weed were stowed. There was nothing left now. Nothing but the land.
She gave his landlord a copy of his death certificate, boxed up the personal belongings she thought his on-and-off Mexican girlfriend Angélica might want, took the deed and closed the door.
Chapter Seven:
Divide and Conquer
1996
As family members received the paperwork from John Trudell and realized upon carefully reading it that they were being coerced into signing a document that would take one-half of their promised land from them, a firestorm of protest began from Vicki, Hap, and Mary.
Virginia quickly doused the flames by making individual concessions. “What the hell, Mom?” Hap asked Virgini
a when he came to the ranch one afternoon to help her out. “Why would you only give us half our inheritance?”
“Oh, Hap, that’s just lawyer-ese. Since Richard will not have his acreage and had no family except us, I’ll be sure you get what’s coming to you. Anyway, when you give me an outright ownership for half of that parcel, I can sell now to maintain my lifestyle and you can sell yours if you want. It’s about immediacy. Do you get it?” There was an edge to her voice.
Childhood psychic trauma is nearly impossible to cure. When that edge in her voice began cutting into his being, Hap backed off.
After that encounter, Virginia needed to cover her bases. She quickly talked with Vicki, Bits, and Joe about Richard’s land, promising portions to each, but delivering only to Bits.
Bits explained in her obsequious request to Virginia, “Think about deeding me 25 acres of that property, Mom. It gives me a stake to sell so that I can leave Toronto and built a home to be close to you.”
“Would you really move, honey?”
“Of course I would. I’ve told you that before. It would be my dream to be one with the land again and build my hacienda out there to be close to you. And I’ll create my vineyard. I’d be close enough that we can see each other every day if we want, and far enough away that we don’t have to if we don’t want to.”
On the other hand, Mary decided to never sign the deed. Her land was her land; she had no need to take half as much or to sell half as much land as she should have. She could wait until her mother died for her full one hundred acres. When any of the siblings signed their deed, one-half of their former land immediately went to Virginia to do whatever she wanted. Mary was convinced that Bits was covertly grabbing acreage when anyone sold.
She had no appetite to give Bits the satisfaction of taking anything from her. It was clear to Mary that Bits had alternative plans for this property. So Mary stood strong to wait for her mother’s demise to receive her entitled land.
Hap, although he had protested, was the first to sign and sell. He thought long and hard about it. “My retirement plans do not include being a rancher or a farmer,” he told Vicki. “I’ve never had a hard on for that land the way Dad did. I’d rather invest in something that brings joy and amusement to my life. Think I’ll buy a little juke joint where me and my friends can play some music, have some fun.”
John Trudell was more than happy to take the listing and handle the closing for 15% of two and a half million dollars.
Virginia took the other half of Hap’s land for herself. She gave 40 of the 50 acres to Bits as a “welcome home” gift. The remaining ten acres was sold so that Virginia had some spending money for her personal travel, gifts to friends, private piano lessons, and the new interior decorating.
Vicki bargained with Virginia to keep her spa and take the land around her, ceding one-half of her property to Virginia, and swapping her land for one-half of Joe’s. This way, she would have the responsibility of the family cemetery, which she felt was an honor.
Father Joe never enjoyed the land and found all the animals disagreeable. “They stink,” he told Mary. “And besides, I’m allergic to animals.” From the time he was old enough to help out at the ranch, he always found a way to beg off from the hard work everyone else endured. After being thrown from one of the horses at the age of six, he decided there were other means of transportation.
He told his father that he was not cut out to be a cowboy, knowing this would disappoint. After this declaration, he stuttered more profoundly. He told anyone in the family who was patient enough to listen that the cows, sheep and horses gave him hives, and that he did not want to hunt deer. He explained he was a pacifist and never wanted to pick up a gun.
It was not surprising when he agreed to the deed, sold his portion, and deposited the windfall in a charitable remainder trust with Catholic Charities. He felt this positioned him for a nice retirement fund and a special place in heaven. The charity had explained to Father Joe that he could create a gift trust with Catholic Charities and receive an income for life, at a 5.5% fixed rate. After his death the remainder would go to name his favorite program—The Joseph F. Landry Veteran’s Welcome Home program for the homeless.
He explained the transaction to Vicki. “I moved my land into a charitable trust designated to Catholic Charities. Then they sold my fifty acres for two million dollars. That way, I received a tax deduction for the gift. The trust pays me at least $110,000 every year, while it grows year-by-year, for the rest of my life.”
Vicki was stupefied. “You mean, you gave them the land in exchange for a trust that pays you an income for the rest of your life? And you got a tax deduction?”
Joe was amused that she actually understood the transaction. “Yes, and then when I die, the remainder of the trust, which will probably be more than two million dollars since I plan to live for at least twenty more years, will benefit my homeless veteran’s program at Catholic Charities.”
“The beauty of smart investment,” Joe said when he explained it to Mary. “Catholic Charities makes around 10% on a 5-year average. I get 5.5%. So they seed the trust with the remainder, minus their fees. It turns out about 3-4% gain on the principal goes back into the trust. So the trust grows and grows. And the charity gets a nice gift when I’m gone.”
Although Mary understood the legalities of trusts and estates, she did not know the ins and outs of charitable trusts. “Sounds amazing, Joe! How smart of you.” She really was impressed with his investment.
“So, does the Catholic church allow you to have an income?”
“If it’s a trust, the Church has no say.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I’ve always wanted to pursue more education. So, I’ll do that and perhaps get a little vacation cottage on a lake somewhere.”
“Can you have property?”
“Oh, I’ve found a way to do that, too.”
“How so?”
“I’ll give it to the Church through what’s called a retained life estate. I continue to stay in the property, pay taxes on it, and maintain it, but it flows directly to the Church when I die.”
“So you’ve essentially deeded it to the Church, contingent upon your demise?”
“Well said,” Joe agreed.
“You know, Joe, something occurred to me about Dad wanting us all to marry Catholics. I think you’ve fulfilled that for all of us. With your marrying the Catholic Church, I don’t think we need to have Catholic spouses.”
“It’s not the same thing, Mary.”
“Oh, I think it counts, nevertheless! Many times over.”
Soon after her sisters and brothers made their fateful decisions with their deeds, Bits gave the go-ahead to her architect and builder and started construction on her sprawling 10,000 square foot hacienda on her part of Silvercreek Ranch. She was ready to dig in and convince Virginia that at least another 100 acres should be hers, for her winery and to develop a division of ranchettes.
She was on a mission for the next several months. While her bankrupt fragrance business was dissolved, she moved on to another adventure. She visited old, ravaged haciendas in her favorite town, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico and shipped doors, windows, fountains, carved fireplaces and beautiful mosaics for her new home to the ranch.
Bits loved San Miguel de Allende, a beautiful city in eastern Mexico. After her third divorce, she took her settlement and bought a lovely little bungalow in that city. “I’ve found my winter home,” she told her mother.
“Why in the world would you live in a Mexican town?” Virginia asked her, disapprovingly. Virginia thought Mexicans were “half breeds” as she called them. She refused to step foot in Mexico.
“Well, have you ever been to San Miguel de Allende?” Bits asked.
“Never have. Never will. That’s your Daddy’s stomping grounds.”
Bits would
never have considered living part-time in Mexico if it hadn’t been for VF’s devotion to Mexico. He respected Mexicans. He traveled to various Mexican cities when he worked environmental cases for Texas. He would talk about how hard working, romantic, hard fighting they were. He had a sense of their history.
“If you ever get to San Miguel de Allende you must look up the memorials to fighters in the Chichimeca War against the Spanish empire. They defeated the Spanish, much like they defeated the Texans. You’ve got to respect their devotion to country. And to their land,” he told Bits after she had moved to Toronto. She had called the ranch to talk with Virginia that day, but her mother was out with her friends, and VF answered.
The conversation had begun with Bits comparing Toronto’s freezing weather with Texas’ steaming springtime.
“Do you think that would make a good winter’s nest for me? I could manage my business at a distance in the winter.”
“See for yourself,” he said. “See for yourself.”
So she did—she saw what he saw. A beautiful, comfortable, affordable town where she could escape the biting winters in Toronto and enjoy the ambience of a different culture. And have several maids for the cost of one Toronto maid.
Bits was a whirlwind of energy as she supervised the creation of her five bedroom, six bath home with its fountains, mosaics, designer kitchen and wine cellar.
By 1998 her hacienda was complete and she moved to the ranch. Her income came from selling parcels of Richard’s land that her mother had deeded to her.
Her plan for creating ranchettes and thus destroying the topography of Silvercreek Ranch was taking shape.
She now shifted her resources to building her winery.
“Mom,” she gushed one day as she visited Virginia at the fortress, “I’ve found my partner.”
“What partner? A partner as in a husband?”
“Who knows?” Bits replied.
“I thought you were done with men in your life.”
“Oh, who is ever done with men in our lives? I saw you playing coy with Mr. Martin at the town meeting yesterday.”
Rich White Trash Page 11
