by Bobby Akart
Chapter 26
Cedar Glade
Corydon, Indiana
If one has never lived in or traveled to small-town America, oftentimes referred to as Main Street, U.S.A., you’ve not experienced the nation’s true heritage. As Walt Disney put it when he described the grand entrance to Disneyland, “Main Street, U.S.A., is America at the turn of the twentieth century, the crossroads of an era, the gas lamps and the electric lamp, the horse-drawn carriage and the auto car. Main Street is everyone’s hometown … the heart line of America.”
Small-town America was Norman Rockwell paintings. Towns that were built by community churches, and local businesses owned by your neighbors. Towns with history, where everyone knew everyone else’s business. A forgotten landscape thanks to the growth of the urban metropolis and a media complex that marginalizes the importance of so-called flyover country.
The residents of small towns in America like Corydon, Indiana, appreciated their relative anonymity on the national stage. Once an important part of the state’s history, time and politics left Corydon stuck in the early 1900s while Indianapolis, Evansville, and Fort Wayne grew by leaps and bounds.
Like many small towns, Corydon had its share of good people and some not so good. Oftentimes, it was hard to differentiate, as they all shook your hand with the same sincerity, and one person’s smile seemed just as genuine as another’s. It wasn’t until you took a peek behind the curtain that you learned the dark side of humanity existed in Main Street, U.S.A., just like it did in the megalopolises.
William Tecumseh Clark, more widely known in public as Billy, or behind his back as Bully Billy, lived his life just as his namesake. Billy was named after the famed Union Army General William Tecumseh Sherman from the days of the first American Civil War, who led his Union forces on a two-hundred-eighty-five-mile march through Georgia from Atlanta to Savannah.
His brutal assault upon the heart of the South, known as Sherman’s March to the Sea, was intended to frighten the people of Georgia, as well as break their will and pride. General Sherman succeeded in his goals of instilling fear and breaking the Southerner will to fight. However, he could never break their pride.
Billy Clark admired William Tecumseh Sherman and sought to emulate him as he grew up. Like his namesake, Bully Billy believed in a scorched earth policy when it came to achieving his goals—deliberate, widespread destruction of his adversaries to win at any cost.
You see, small-town America was simply a miniature version of a New York City or Chicago or Washington. There was local politics and division. There was competition among small businesses and real estate developers. And there was a bank.
Many small rural towns didn’t have a sufficiently large population to warrant a national bank’s presence. Within the town square, you would typically find a city hall in the center, surrounded by a landscaped lawn dotted with planting beds. Small stores and law offices were nearby, as were a variety of churches.
Then you’d find the local bank. Generally, it was the largest building in town. Magnificent in its stature and architectural details. Built with large white columns and marble quoin. You could count on both the American flag and the state’s flag flying proudly outside. You could also have comfort in knowing the marble floors and mahogany wood appointments on the inside were impeccably maintained.
What many of the residents never stopped to ask was, “Who paid for this magnificent structure?”
The same was true of major cities. The tallest buildings generally had the name of a financial institution associated with it—Citibank, Wells Fargo, Chase, and brokerage firms like Goldman Sachs.
Billy Clark knew why—profit. There was a huge profit to be made in banking, and he was an expert at it, milking every red dime, as he called it, from the bank’s customers.
He was not destined to be mediocre. With his family’s money behind him, he could’ve pursued a finance degree from any university of his choosing and then sought a position at Fifth Third or Huntington Bank in Indianapolis.
However, he preferred to be a big fish in a small pond. When neither his older brother, Sheriff Randall Clark, nor his sometimes do-gooder little sister, the Indiana state’s attorney Joella Clark Kincaid, showed an interest in running the bank upon their father’s death, Billy jumped at the opportunity.
They divided the estate somewhat equally. Randy took the Clark homestead, which was located upstream of the Boone property on Indian Creek. Joella had her sights set on running for statewide office, so she shied away from the Clark family’s business dealings. She settled on a generous trust fund, which allowed her to focus on her career and a possible future in Indiana politics.
The family dynamic established after their parents’ deaths worked for the three Clark siblings. Each of them had a bit of their family’s genetics in them—power, money, and ruthlessness. They were thick as thieves with Bully Billy, the middle child, clearly the leader of the pack.
There was another given in small-town America that was often the case. If a visitor toured the streets of town and came upon the largest, most impressively striking, and oftentimes most historic home, it usually belonged to the president of the local bank.
Billy Clark made sure of that as well.
An antebellum home located in Corydon known as the Kintner-McGrain House, or Cedar Glade due to the enormous red cedar trees that dotted the property, had been a source of pride for the Corydon community since its construction in 1808.
Its storied history included being a place of refuge for the locals when Confederate General John Hunt Morgan led raids into Indiana and Ohio during the summer of 1863. John Morgan’s Raid, as it came to be known, was legendary. It had been carried out against the orders of General Robert E. Lee, gained no tactical advantage for the Confederacy, and resulted in Morgan’s regiment being captured in Ohio.
Morgan’s Raid served as a lesson to Billy Clark—always have a worthy objective before undertaking any battle. This had served him well, although it came at a price to the Clark family’s already dubious reputation.
The owners of Cedar Glade had been customers of the Clarks’ bank since the early 1900s. Through the years, improvements were made and additional property along Indian Creek was acquired. The McGrain family naturally looked to the bank to finance these improvements and acquisitions, oftentimes borrowing money on a handshake for a short period of time.
This loose relationship continued even after the 1929 banking collapse all the way until the passing of the Clark patriarch. Then along came Billy and his ambition. He was not destined to be mediocre.
Billy Clark needed a grand new home to suit his equally grand new bride, Wanda. In 2008 when America nearly suffered a total collapse of the banking system, the note on Cedar Glade came due. The Kintner family could pay their bills, but they didn’t have the financial ability to pay off their entire mortgage in full. They’d taken a tremendous hit in the stock market when it crashed in early 2009.
Billy promised to work with the family as they looked for a way to restructure their finances and make the mortgage payment. When asked to renew the note and continue their monthly payments, Billy refused, falsely citing state banking regulations. By the time the family was in a position to make the monthly payments again, Billy had already instructed his attorneys to foreclose on Cedar Glade. Forty-five days later, he had the family forcibly evicted with the help of the sheriff and the state’s attorney, and he moved in with a family of his own.
Word spread around Harrison County of Bully Billy’s antics. Everyone was now put on notice of how he intended to conduct the operation of his bank. Yet everyone continued with business as usual—including Squire Boone.
Chapter 27
Cedar Glade
Corydon, Indiana
“Hello, Jo,” greeted Wanda Clark coldly as Billy’s younger sister and her husband arrived at Cedar Glade. There was no love lost between Wanda and her sister-in-law. Wanda was very much the bully, as was her husband. There were n
o cutesy rhymes to describe Wanda’s demeanor like the way her husband had been labeled—Bully Billy. In private, Joella had several choice words for Wanda, but none of them were remotely PG-13.
That evening, the antebellum home was flooded with light courtesy of two Generac whole-house diesel generators installed by Billy the year after he’d acquired the property from his bank. The local utility company had been offering fifty percent discounts on the units. The special only allowed one unit per household, but a wink and a nod to the utility’s general manager together with a car loan for the man’s daughter enabled Billy to double up on the promotion.
That was the way business was done in Corydon, and Billy was a master at the game. His brother, Sheriff Randy, was less subtle about accomplishing his goals. If a local resident or business crossed him or the family, he had a thousand and one gray areas in the law to cause someone mental and financial anguish. Make no mistake, anyone facing a criminal prosecution, whether warranted or not, best be prepared to mortgage the farm to hire a good attorney. Then, of course, Billy would be there to help.
The brothers created a vicious circle in the town that couldn’t be broken. Many decades ago, Squire’s father, and his father before him, had tried to challenge the Clarks. They were unsuccessful, and the bad blood between the two families only got worse with time.
Squire succumbed to the feud, in a way, by going along to get along. He kept his business dealings and his family’s activity in the southern part of Harrison County while the Clarks did what they do in Corydon. Their paths hadn’t crossed ways, at least in a hostile manner, since Squire’s father died.
That would soon change.
Joella greeted her brother and immediately drew his ire. “Don’t you think you could turn a few of these lights off?”
“Why should I?” he shot back. “I prepared for something like this. Besides, I’ve got enough diesel fuel stored in tanks back there to start a long-haul trucking company.”
“It’s the optics, Billy,” continued Joella. “People in town are scared and suffering. They don’t have power. Their air-conditioning and water don’t work. And here you are lit up like a doggone Roman candle on the Fourth of July.”
“Don’t care,” mumbled Billy as he strolled back to his hand-carved oak bar to pour another whisky. To prove his point to his sister, he dramatically plunked ice cubes into the tall glass one at a time. He was certain nobody else had ice cubes in town besides his family.
“Yeah, let’s get started,” encouraged Randy. “I’ve got plans for this evening.”
Joella tolerated her oldest brother only slightly more than Billy. She was still upset over his attempt to railroad Squire and Sarah the other night. Squire’s change in attitude toward the Clark family hadn’t gone unnoticed by Joella, and she hoped her brothers would lay off. She knew, however, that foreclosing on Riverfront Farms was a high priority for Billy, and he’d use the force behind Randy’s badge to make it happen.
“What are you doin’ tonight?” she asked.
“I’ve got to make a decision on the inmates,” he replied. “The state boys sent a van around for their share yesterday and hauled them off to Madison. I’m stuck with ten or twelve county boys and a couple of females. The guys are mainly serving out DUI sentences and child support detentions. The two females are in for petty stuff.”
“Are you gonna just let ’em go?” asked Billy.
“Well, I don’t know,” replied Randy. “I need to consult with my esteemed legal counsel. Jo, do we still recognize the rule of law in this county?”
Joella sipped her glass of wine and peered at Randy over the rim of the glass. Her hesitation meant she was processing his question, sensing subterfuge on his part.
“Why wouldn’t we?” she asked. “The power outage is temporary. The president will probably declare martial law at some point. Y’all are watching the same satellite feeds on Dish Network that I am.”
“When they’re not all gravelly,” interjected Wanda.
Joella continued. “Anyway, the pundits think that’s his next step. We are still a nation of laws, and therefore people need to abide by them. And, Randy, so do you.”
Randy’s face turned red, his reaction confirming what Joella suspected. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She didn’t back down, choosing instead to finish her glass of wine to bolster her nerves as she prepared to do battle with her brothers. “It means, Sheriff, that you and your deputies need to obey the law. That includes taking care of your prisoners.”
“What?” demanded Randy.
“You know what I’m talkin’ about. Jimmy Thompson? Remember him? Juvie being held for shoplifting?”
“He’s eighteen now!”
“Well, he was seventeen the other day when you arrested him on the day the power was cut off. He needs to be released.”
“How do you know I haven’t?” Randy asked a dumb question. Never ask a prosecutor a question when it’s obvious she knows the answer already.
“Because his mother rode her bicycle all the way across town to talk to me about it this morning. Now, you need to let him out immediately.”
“What about bail?”
“Dammit, Randy! He’s being prosecuted as a juvenile. Let him out!”
“Fine. What about the others?” he asked.
“You can hold them, but you’ve gotta feed them. Mrs. Thompson told me they’re only getting one peanut butter and jelly sandwich a day plus a pack of those airline-sized peanuts.”
Randy huffed and rolled his eyes. “Are you our prosecutor or the damn ACLU?”
“Right now, I’m the one whose gonna keep you out of trouble when all of this is over.”
Randy turned away from his sister and made eye contact with Billy. A sly smile came across his face as the two brothers locked eyes. “Okay, I’ll feed them, but I need them to take over the work-crew assignments that the state inmates were performing. Is that okay with you, Joella?” He used her full name to voice his displeasure with her challenging him.
“No problem, Randy. Just follow your normal procedures.”
He smiled and nodded, with no intention of doing so.
“Wow,” began Billy. “So much for a fun gathering of the Clark family. I was hoping we could all have some friendly conversation and talk about how to deal with this crisis.”
Joella scowled as Billy spoke. She was suspect of his attitude. He was too congenial.
“Shall we sit for dinner?” asked Wanda. “I have everything warmed and ready. Casseroles are the easiest thing to cook right now, and I have some warmed apple fritters just for you, Jo.”
Joella poured another glass of white wine and allowed her husband to lead her into the dining room by the arm. He knew to stay out of the fray, choosing instead to be his wife’s sounding board and occasional punching bag once they were in private.
“Say, Jo. Um, since we’re on the subject of obeying the law and all of that, I assume that the same holds true for civil matters,” Billy said inquisitively.
She responded quickly without thinking. As an attorney, and especially one who grew up in the presence of her father and two brothers, she’d learned to look beyond the question. Oftentimes, she could discern what the questioner was really driving at by analyzing what they asked.
“Are you referring to a bank matter?” Like a pageant princess, she asked a question to clarify in order to buy time to think.
“Yes, of course. Now, I am certainly aware that the banks will be closed for a considerable period of time, and therefore conducting certain transactions might be burdensome or problematic.”
Joella knew Billy was trying to set her up. “Spit it out, Billy.”
“Well, the bank has loans that are due. We have to be in a position to collect the money that’s owed to us.”
“How are you gonna process checks? Can you automatically debit people’s checking accounts as you do monthly? Likewise, are you in a position to allow people to make withdra
wals and close their accounts if they choose? Billy, your cash reserves in the vault are only a small percentage of the deposits on the books.”
“We’re more liquid than you know,” he proudly replied.
“Well, I don’t know, but that’s beside the point. How much are you holding? Fifty thousand? A hundred? I’ve got a hundred thousand in the bank myself. If I wanted it right now, could we trot right down there and pull it out of the vault?”
Wanda moved in to defend her husband. “Jo, I don’t see why you’re being so hostile to my husband. He’s simply asked a question.”
“No, Wanda, it wasn’t just a question. I know Billy all too well.”
Billy took over. “Jo, all I want to know is whether there is any law or rule that says I can’t collect on the notes owed to the bank. That’s all.”
Joella sighed. What was happening in America was unprecedented, at least since the days before there was electricity, computers, and electronic banking. Back in those days, everything was done in cash and recorded on a ledger. When commercial banking grew in earnest during the 1920s, the concept of holding cash reserves as a percentage of bank obligations became prevalent.
“Billy, none of that has been addressed, obviously. This whole crisis came about so quickly that I seriously doubt anyone in Washington, or Indianapolis for that matter, considered the legal ramifications of a nation without power.”
Billy managed a smile. “A contract is still a contract, right?”
“Yes, of course. Just know two things. First, contracts may need courts to enforce them, and that’s not gonna happen anytime soon. Second, it works both ways. If you attempt to enforce the terms of a loan agreement, you may find that someone else might demand their moneys be released to them.”
Billy took a big bite of chicken dumpling casserole and spoke with his mouth full. Pointing his fork at his sister, he said, “I respect that, Jo. Here’s a scenario for you. If someone like yourself, for example, came down to the bank in the morning and demanded that I open the doors and the vault, could they make me?”
