by Jerry Apps
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The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County
A Novel
Jerry Apps
Terrace Books
A trade imprint of the University of Wisconsin Press
Terrace Books
A trade imprint of the University of Wisconsin Press
1930 Monroe Street, 3rd Floor
Madison, Wisconsin 53711-2059
uwpress.wisc.edu
3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden
London WC2E 8LU, United Kingdom
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Copyright © 2014 by Jerry Apps
All rights reserved. Except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any format or by any means—digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—or conveyed via the Internet or a website without written permission of the University of Wisconsin Press. Rights inquiries should be directed to [email protected].
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Apps, Jerold W., 1934–, author.
The great sand fracas of Ames County: a novel / Jerry Apps.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-299-30070-8 (cloth: alk. paper)
ISBN 978-0-299-30073-9 (e-book)
1. Sand and gravel mines and mining—Wisconsin—Fiction.
2. Conservation of natural resources—Wisconsin—Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3601.P67G74 2014
813′.6—dc23
2014012643
To
Steve, Sue, Ruth, and Kate—
all had a hand in creating this book.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
1. Ambrose Adler
2. Marilyn Jones
3. Emily Higgins
4. Fred and Oscar
5. Ambrose Adler
6. Marilyn and Stony Field
7. Link Lake Historical Society
8. Cemetery Walk
9. Ambrose, Ranger, and Buster
10. Marilyn Jones
11. Economic Development Council
12. Ambrose and Gloria
13. Historical Society Meeting
14. When Ambrose’s Life Changed
15. Ambrose and Stony Field
16. Bank Robbery Reenactment
17. Village Board Vote
18. Fred and Oscar
19. Ambrose’s Reaction
20. Editor’s Response
21. Ambrose and Ranger
22. Karl Adams
23. Karl at the Eat Well
24. Karl and Marilyn
25. Vegetable Stand
26. Karl and Emily
27. Fourth of July
28. First Protestors
29. Free Wi-Fi
30. Supper Club Remodeling
31. Trail Marker Oak Days
32. Lake Coffee Bar
33. Busy Summer
34. Thresheree
35. Problem Solved
36. Arrest the Protestors
37. Oscar, Fred, and the Protestors
38. Don’t Give Up
39. Explosion
40. Reaction
41. Perpetrators
42. Emergency Meeting
43. Cooling Off
44. Quiet Time
45. Karl Adams
46. Dry Weather
47. Storm
48. Aftermath
49. Storm Stories
50. Another Drilling Machine
51. Eat Well Café
52. Meeting
53. Stony and Ambrose
54. Revelation
55. Eagle Party
56. Phone Calls
57. Los Angeles Journal
58. Reaction
59. Billy Baxter Responds
60. Overrun with Attention
61. Karl and Gloria
62. Barn Fire
63. Reacquainted
64. Memorial Service
65. Trail Marker Oak
Acknowledgments
The idea for this novel came from a discussion my son, Steve, and I had when we were canoeing and fishing the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness of northern Minnesota three years ago. The fish weren’t biting and Steve put up with (and had some great responses) to my “what if ” questions as the foundation for this novel emerged.
Along the way, my wife, Ruth, offered her usual excellent comments. She reads all of my writing, both fiction and nonfiction. If my writing doesn’t get past her, it goes nowhere. Once again, my talented daughter, Susan Apps-Bodilly, who also is an author, read and critiqued several drafts of this novel and offered many useful suggestions. Kate Thompson, editor extraordinaire, has an uncanny ability to spot weaknesses that I don’t see and a structure that is less than satisfactory. She gave me several pages of suggestions of what to leave out, what to add, and how to arrange things so they made sense. Much thanks to all of those who read, reread, and helped this project through its many revisions and rewrites.
I especially want to thank Sheila Leary, press director; Raphael Kadushin, executive editor; and Andrea Christofferson, marketing and sales manager, all with the University of Wisconsin Press, for their continued support of my work. It is very much appreciated.
The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County
Prologue
The whine of a chain saw assaulted the quiet of the new day as the mists rising from the waters of Link Lake slowly drifted west and the sun’s first rays broke the horizon, illuminating the brilliant autumn colors of the maples and the aspens, the oaks and the birches that clustered on the hillsides around the lake. Three men walked from their truck. One carried a chain saw; the other two carried axes. The chain saw operator, a burly man in his fifties, his face hidden under an orange safety helmet, revved the machine a couple of times like a teenager with a new driver’s license and permission to drive his father’s car alone for the first time. The men, all professional loggers, walked the short distance from their truck. The chain saw operator held the saw well in front of him, the saw sending off little spurts of chain oil. As the trio approached the old bur oak tree that they were ordered to cut this October day, they saw something emerging from the mist—something that surprised them. The chain saw operator shut off his machine and fished a cell phone out of his pocket to call his supervisor. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.”
1
Ambrose Adler
The Previous April
Driving his team of horses on his way home from one of his infrequent visits to his doctor, Ambrose Adler was thinking that old Doc Stevens was right. The doctor had told him, “Ambrose, you keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll have a heart attack. And that will be it.” He said it without the hint of a smile, so he obviously meant it.
Ambrose Adler was born in 1933 on a hilly, sandy farm located a mile west of the Village of Link Lake. For his entire life, he refused to be caught up in the wave of technology that began to sweep through Ames County in the 1950s and continued to this day. He raised a big garden and sold fresh produce during
the summer months at a little stand he operated alongside the country road that trailed by his farm on the way to Link Lake. He had no electricity and no telephone, but he did have a battery-operated radio. He heated his ramshackle house with a wood stove, had no indoor plumbing, and continued to plow his hilly fields with a sturdy team of draft horses. He did not own a car and drove his team to town or most often walked there. Ambrose’s long scraggly hair was white, his knees were bad, and he had arthritis that flared up especially on cool damp days, but his gray eyes were clear—and so was his mind.
When Ambrose arrived home from the doctor, Ranger was at the door to greet him. Ever since he was a young boy, Ambrose had kept a pet raccoon. The one he had now he had named Ranger because, with his little mask, the animal reminded him of the Lone Ranger, one of Ambrose’s heroes when he was a young lad.
“Hi, Ranger,” said Ambrose. “Miss me?” The little animal rubbed up against Ambrose’s leg. Ambrose had stuttered since he was a boy and still stuttered today, but when he was alone with his dog or with his pet raccoon, he could speak clearly. He never understood why that was the case, but he enjoyed talking to animals, and they seemed to understand him and enjoyed “talking” with him as well.
Ambrose started the fire in the wood-burning cookstove and soon he could hear the snapping and crackling of the pine sticks that he used for kindling. Ranger sat at his feet, looking up at him, his head cocked to the side.
“You wanna hear what I learned from the doctor, Ranger?”
The little raccoon made a purring sound.
“Doc Stevens said I’m not so young anymore, and I guess he’s right because I’ll be eighty-two next year. He said I should slow down a little, but you know, Ranger, if I stop doing what I’ve been doing, I might as well die.” He poked at the fire and thought for a minute. “There’s something else that’s been bothering me. You wanna hear about that, Ranger? You interested in hearing about what I’ve been thinking?”
Ambrose reached down and petted the little animal on the head.
“I’ve got a secret that I’ve told only one other person. I’ve been thinking that I really don’t want to go to my grave with it—but how do I let people know about it, and even more important, I suspect, is when should I let them know? When should I let the cat out of the bag?”
Ambrose reached down and petted the raccoon again, then sat back in his chair. Oh, how he enjoyed sitting by his woodstove on a cool spring day, listening to the snapping and crackling of wood burning, smelling the wood smoke that escaped from the stove, hearing the subtle sound of steam rising from the teakettle. As he sat there, soaking up the warmth, his thoughts went back to the many years when he felt worthless because of his inability to speak properly. He remembered when he began doing this one thing, and how it had given him the self-confidence he had never otherwise known. Only his beloved Gloria, whom he had not seen in years, knew his secret. She had vowed to tell no one, and she hadn’t.
Over these many years, he had kept people in the dark—people who thought they knew who he was but really didn’t. People who thought they knew what he was doing but didn’t know at all. He wondered what would happen when people discovered that there was a lot more to Ambrose Adler than a stuttering old man who grew vegetables and had ignored taken-for-granted technology such as telephones, automobiles, indoor plumbing, tractors, and central heating—and who talked to a raccoon.
2
Marilyn Jones
Marilyn Jones sat in her cramped little office located in the back of the Link Lake Supper Club. A small window to her left allowed her to see the waters of Link Lake, sparkling in the early morning sun. A mirror hung on the opposite wall, where she checked her appearance every time she left the office and entered the spacious dining room. She always wanted to make a good impression, no matter how she really felt at a given time.
This morning when she glanced in the mirror, she saw a woman with graying hair and puffy eyes from not enough sleep. But she still had a face and figure that caused men to turn their heads. The desk in front of her was piled with invoices and assorted pieces of paper that were part of running a business, especially one as successful as the Link Lake Supper Club. She was tired. Things had gone late last night as the Link Lake Wild Turkey Club—the Struttin’ Gobblers—held its annual dinner meeting at the supper club. Several of the members intent on making the most of the celebration had stayed until the bar closed at 2:00 a.m. It was good for business, but Marilyn, now sixty-one, was bone tired when she came to work at 8:00 a.m., as she had done every day since she became owner and manager way back in 1973.
On Mondays the place was closed; otherwise, running a supper club was an everyday job. The place didn’t open until 11:00 a.m., but she and her longtime employee, Joe Jensen, showed up each working day at 8:00 a.m. Joe cleaned up the place and she did the bookwork and handled all the details necessary to keep the Link Lake Supper Club afloat during these tough economic times.
An hour after Jensen arrived, Jonathon Frederick, Marilyn’s chef of twenty years, arrived. Always right on time. Jonathon was responsible for the food orders, supervised all the cooking and baking, and was the never-challenged supervisor of the menu and the kitchen. No one questioned his decisions. No one, not even Marilyn. Over the years Jonathon had become ever crustier, but he was a good chef, one of the best, if not topping the list of all the restaurant chefs in Ames County. Marilyn knew that, but so did Jonathon—and he was quick to remind her of it when she questioned him about something involving the menu and the kitchen.
Marilyn enjoyed these early hours at the club, when the place was closed and quiet, except for the occasional squeaking of moving chairs and tables as Joe mopped the floor, and the subtle sounds and smells that came from the kitchen after Jonathon arrived. The last couple years, during these quiet moments, Marilyn often thought about how she wanted the community to remember her. She knew that one of these days she would retire—and she didn’t want to be forgotten. She wanted to be remembered for more than merely being a successful businesswoman. She wanted people to remember her as a woman who cared about the community and worked hard to improve it. That’s one of the reasons she had decided to help form the Link Lake Economic Development Council five years earlier and agreed to head it up when the mayor asked her to do it. She wanted people to remember that she, as president of the council, had sparked outside investors’ interest in coming to Link Lake and providing much-needed jobs. If the economic council’s negotiations with a mining company out of La Crosse panned out—well, it would surely add to her legacy. She smiled when she thought about that prospect.
She was also pleased that she, the Reverend Ridley Ralston, and Lucas Drake, a large commercial farmer, had been able to organize the Eagle Party, a political group with members throughout Wisconsin and beyond that was committed to bringing forgotten values back to government, including supporting business development with few rules and regulations.
The Link Lake Supper Club had demanded a lot of Marilyn Jones, but it had made her a wealthy woman. She never flaunted her wealth. She lived in a modest home on the lake only a few blocks from the supper club. These days she often thought about how her life might have been different if she had a partner to share it with. She had several opportunities for marriage but turned them all down. She could never determine if her various suitors had the passion she had for running a business, and running a supper club surely required passion as well as untold hours of time, including every weekend. So she remained single, and even though there were always people around her, employees as well as customers, she had almost no close friends. Being a business owner and operator can be a lonely job.
3
Emily Higgins
Emily Higgins had presided over the Link Lake Historical Society, the oldest organization in the Village of Link Lake, for so many years that people couldn’t remember when she was first elected. Higgins was a short, thin, white-haired woman in her mid-eighties, with a voice that carried to
the far corners of any room where she spoke, no matter how large the room. One thing people liked or disliked about Emily Higgins was that she was a supporter of local history and the preservation of Link Lake’s historic structures. She never wavered, no matter how much pressure she received from those who opposed her position and accused her of standing in the way of Link Lake’s economic progress. Emily Higgins knew what she believed, and she wasn’t at all shy about sharing those beliefs with others—especially when the discussion turned to local history.
Most people in Link Lake remembered when Emily Higgins took on the then newly formed Link Lake Economic Development Council five years earlier. The council, with Marilyn Jones at the helm, had convinced the Big R fast food chain to open one of its restaurants in Link Lake. Prior to that time, the only eating establishments in the village were the Eat Well Café and the Link Lake Supper Club. A fast food restaurant seemed a good fit, especially since the village was trying to attract more summer visitors to the area. Both the Economic Development Council and the Big R siting representative had agreed that an excellent place for a Big R establishment would be the abandoned Chicago and Northwestern depot site. The trains had stopped running in the 1980s; the tracks had been torn up and a bike trail had been established—quite a popular one, too. The Big R people and the Economic Development Council both agreed that the old depot, badly in need of repair, should be torn down to make way for a new Big R restaurant. Of course, no one had bothered to let Emily Higgins and the Link Lake Historical Society know about what the Economic Development Council and Big R were cooking up, and Emily didn’t know a thing about it until an article appeared in the Ames County Argus announcing the potential arrival of Big R to Link Lake and the razing of the old depot.
When she saw the article, Emily immediately called an emergency meeting of the historical society, and soon Marilyn Jones discovered that the Link Lake Historical Society was not near as irrelevant as she thought it was. At the Economic Development Council’s next meeting, which was supposed to be a celebration of the decision to bring a new business and new jobs to the community, everything hit the fan. The entire historical society membership, all forty of them, were in the audience, plus another twenty-five people who sometimes attended historical society meetings but never took the time or had the inclination to become members of the organization.
