The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County

by Jerry Apps

“Something blew up in the park. Made one helluva noise. Shook the whole town. Woke up a bunch of people.”

  “I was one of them. Think it had something to do with the new sand mine?”

  “Might be. Some folks ain’t too happy about having a mine in the park. They ain’t happy at all. All these outside protestors in town. That didn’t help either.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” said Karl. “I’m with the Alstage Sand Mining Company and was curious if any of our equipment was involved.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll give Henry a call—he’s chief of our volunteer fire department. He’s right there with his crew. He’d know.”

  The young police officer talked into his radio. “Say Henry, guy here with me says he’s with the mining company, wants to know if any of the mining equipment was involved in the explosion.”

  The police officer listened to the response, then turned to Karl.

  “Henry says there was some kind of a machine here—and it was blown all to hell. Those were Henry’s very words. He said some of it’s still burning and there’s a big hole in the ground caused by the explosion. He doesn’t have any idea what caused the machine to blow up. Appears nobody was hurt. Appears just the machine blew up and burned. Henry said something else that’s not good. The eagle nest was destroyed. The one with the eagle cam. Henry said he found a pair of dead eagles and a dead eaglet. He said the other little eagle was alive but hurt. Terrible what happened.”

  Karl turned his car around and drove toward Link Lake until he found a place to park. He took out his cell phone and called Emerson Evans.

  “Big problems here in Link Lake. Somebody just blew up the drilling machine that you delivered a few days ago,” said Karl when he reached Evans.

  “What’d you just say?” Evans asked, not believing what he was hearing. The ringing of his cell phone had awakened him.

  “Somebody blew up the drilling machine. To quote the fire chief, ‘it was all blown to hell.’”

  “I thought you had everything under control, everything cool?” Evans shouted into the phone.

  “So did I,” said Karl. “But when people saw that big drilling machine move in, everything went south. A bunch of protestors showed up, marching back and forth in front of the park. Mostly older people carrying signs. I wasn’t too worried about them. Then something else happened.”

  “And that was?” asked Evans, not at all pleased with what he was hearing from the man who was supposed to be smoothing the way for the mine opening.

  “Somebody spray painted the map I put up at the village hall.”

  “Didn’t you realize that things have turned? I thought that’s why we hired you, to keep an eye on things.”

  “Well, I . . . I,” Karl stammered. “I didn’t see it coming. Things seemed to have calmed down.”

  “Didn’t see it coming? A defaced sign and bunch of protestors seem to suggest a turning point!”

  “I’ve seen protestors before, lots of them. Defaced posters and maps too,” said Karl.

  “But how many times have you seen a million-dollar machine blown up? Tell me that!” Evans was yelling and Karl held the phone away from his ear.

  “I’d think you’d better come over here,” said Karl quietly.

  “You damn betcha I’m coming over there—I’ll be there this afternoon. Don’t say anything to the press; don’t say anything to anybody. Sounds like we’ll have to play hardball from here on out.”

  “One more thing,” said Karl.

  “Yes,” said Evans.

  “The blast that blew up the drilling machine also blew down a bald eagle nest and killed three eagles and hurt a fourth one.”

  “Good God, Karl. You know what that means, don’t you? Those dead eagles will bring the federal Fish and Wildlife Service people into Link Lake faster than I can get there. That’s the last thing we need, a bunch of feds prowling around our mine site. Anything else you haven’t told me?”

  “No,” said Karl.

  “Well, I should hope to hell not. We got ourselves a real mess in Link Lake. I’ll meet you at the mine site this afternoon. I’ll give you a call when I’m a few minutes out of town.”

  Karl drove back to his cabin feeling totally defeated. Just when he thought everything was working out better than he had hoped for, it all fell apart. He also couldn’t remember when he’d gotten such a tongue-lashing.

  Karl shaved, showered, and headed to the Eat Well Café for breakfast. At 6:30 a.m. the place was nearly filled with people, all talking loud, and all talking about the explosion that rocked the town. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon frying woke up Karl’s taste buds, but his ears were tuned in to the variety of conversations he was hearing.

  “Heard it was a terrorist bombing—you know them terrorists are just about everywhere, looking for things to blow up. Surprise that nobody got killed. That damn explosion shook my house so bad it about busted the windows. Never heard nothin’ like that, ’cept when I was in the army. Heard them kind of noises then.” It was an older gentleman at the counter who was talking, waving his coffee cup in the air as he spoke.

  At a table in the corner, just beyond where Karl was enjoying his platter of eggs, bacon, and coffee, Karl overheard Oscar Anderson and Fred Russo deep in conversation.

  “Oscar, did you hear that bomb go off this morning, the one everybody is talkin’ about?”

  “Geez, Fred, who said it was a bomb? I heard it was an explosion of some kind—heard one of the volunteer firefighters say he thought the Alstage Mining drill had just blown up—that it may have had a gas leak of some kind. I did hear it go off, way out at my farm. Woke me up. Time to get up anyway.”

  “Sure as hell sounded like some kind of bomb. I heard it go off too,” said Fred.

  “Fred, just because it sounded like a bomb doesn’t mean it was a bomb.”

  “Sounded like a bomb to me,” Fred said as he took a long sip of coffee.

  “Let’s say it was a bomb. Who’d wanna blow up a drilling machine?”

  Fred paused a minute before answering. “Maybe one of them Arab terrorists? They like blowin’ up stuff.”

  “Good God, Fred. Do you think some Arab terrorist is gonna come all the way to Link Lake to blow up some damn mining machine?”

  “You just never know, Oscar. This old world is changin’ so fast I can’t keep up with it. Wouldn’t surprise me if some terrorist did it.”

  Karl Adams finished his coffee, walked up to the counter, and paid his bill. Henrietta recognized him and smiled.

  “Pretty exciting around here this morning,” said Karl.

  “That explosion was really something. Shook my house. Rattled the windows,” said Henrietta.

  “Who do you suppose did it?” asked Karl.

  “One of them protestors. It’s got to be one of them protestors. Police should round them all up and arrest them,” said Henrietta as she handed Karl his change.

  40

  Reaction

  The explosion roused Marilyn Jones from a deep sleep. Not only had the sound startled her awake, but her entire house shook from the shock of the blast. Within a few minutes she heard sirens. She reached for her phone and called the Link Lake Police Department—she knew that Louise Konkel was working the overnight shift as dispatcher. Louise had once worked for Marilyn as a waitress at the Link Lake Supper Club.

  “Link Lake Police Department,” a perky, wide-awake voice said.

  “Louise, this is Marilyn Jones. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t really know. Lots of folks heard an explosion a few minutes ago and immediately the 911 calls began coming in.”

  “I heard it,” said Marilyn. “The blast shook my house. Where’d it happen?”

  “At the park. Jimmy, our night patrol officer, is over there right now. Fire department is also on the scene.”

  “Did Jimmy say what blew up?”

  “He guessed it was the big drilling machine that the mining company brought in a while ago.”

  “
Oh,” said Marilyn. “Thank you.”

  Marilyn, now wide awake, walked to her kitchen and started a pot of coffee. She glanced across the waters of Link Lake and saw a bright sun slowly creeping above the horizon. Everything was peaceful and quiet. Except on the other side of town there was pandemonium. A fire was raging and people were awake and wondering what the explosion was all about. What had blown up and what caused it?

  Marilyn was thinking, I’d guess some radical kook blew up Alstage’s drilling machine. One of those protestors who march in front of the park every day. I suspect the bomber was encouraged by that damn Stony Field. He just can’t quit sticking his nose into our town’s business. You’d think he’d have enough to write about in other parts of the world.

  What is happening to this country? Here we’re trying to improve Link Lake and people get all worked up when they see some changes coming their way. There’s a bunch of folks around here that want things to stay just the same. Members of the historical society, that bunch with old Emily Higgins goading them on, are so stuck in the past that they wouldn’t recognize progress if they stepped in it. Don’t touch anything. Don’t cut down an old tree. That damned Trail Marker Oak has evoked so much sympathy. You’d think it was a famous person. It’s just a damned old oak tree that’ll probably die by itself in a few years. And Stony Field—why does he think he should stick his nose into Link Lake’s business?

  The more Marilyn thought about the situation, the more agitated she became. But Marilyn wasn’t one to just sit around and let things happen; it was her style to make things happen. She pulled on her clothes, jumped in her black Cadillac Escalade, and headed to the park. She had to know what had happened and once she did, she’d decide what steps to take.

  Ambrose Adler had gotten up early that morning and was looking out his kitchen window when he saw a flash of light in the east and then heard a loud explosion followed by its echo. He’d never heard anything like it before. He snapped on his battery-operated radio and tuned it to WWRI, the station in Willow River.

  Earl Wade, the early morning announcer, broke into one of Willie Nelson’s tunes with a special announcement. “I just learned that there’s been a loud explosion and a fire in Link Lake. The explosion apparently took place in the Increase Joseph Community Park on the edge of town. A part of the park was recently leased to the Alstage Sand Mining Company of La Crosse. So far there are few details, but apparently no one was injured in the blast. When we learn more, we’ll share it.” Willie Nelson came back on singing “On the Road Again,” one of Earl’s favorite early morning tunes.

  Wonder what happened, thought Ambrose as he fired up his wood-burning cookstove, pulled the cast iron skillet from the oven where he stored it, and dropped in a hunk of butter, which began to sizzle as the fire warmed the stove top. He cracked a couple of eggs into the skillet and dropped in a few slices of smoked bacon. As he sat at his kitchen table, looking out over the fields where cattle once grazed, he continued listening to Earl and the early morning radio show. He wasn’t a great fan of country music, but he tuned in the local station for the news and the weather. And Earl was good about keeping up with the news.

  “I’ve got a little more information for you folks wondering about the explosion and fire over at Link Lake,” Earl interrupted the music again. “Apparently a drilling machine belonging to the Alstage Sand Mining Company exploded and caused a fire that the Link Lake Volunteer Fire Department quickly extinguished. The cause of the explosion is not known. Fire Chief Henry Watkins has a couple of theories. He said there could have been a gas leak in the machine, which could have caused the blast. Or someone could have placed an explosive device on the machine. Henry said to remind our listeners that since the Link Lake Village Board approved the development of a sand mine in the park, lots of folks have been upset, none more than members of the Link Lake Historical Society. When I have more information, I will share it.”

  Ambrose sat back in his chair, running his fingers through his white hair. He was beginning to have second thoughts about his recent Stony Field column applauding the activities of those protesting the opening of the mine. He sincerely hoped that this had not been the trigger, but he also knew that there was always somebody out there willing to go too far, to take violent action in a misguided belief that what they were doing was the right thing to do. He made no mention in his column of taking any violent action or doing anything illegal. His motto was stand up for what you believe, but do it within the law.

  He wondered what was really the cause of the blast that destroyed the Alstage drilling machine. Surely it couldn’t be a member of the Link Lake Historical Society or one of the neighboring historical societies who had done it. Or could it? Ambrose thought he’d stop by the museum and talk with Emily Higgins when he went to Link Lake for supplies later in the day. If anyone had an idea of what happened in the park this early morning, she would.

  Later that morning, when Ambrose was working in his garden, digging potatoes for his vegetable stand, he saw the Link Lake police cruiser pull into his yard. His mind immediately went into panic mode—someone had discovered that he was Stony Field and he was about to be interrogated about the blast at the park, maybe even arrested.

  The young police officer got out of his car and walked toward the garden where Ambrose was working.

  “You’re Ambrose Adler?” the officer asked.

  “Y . . . yes I am,” stuttered Ambrose.

  “Somebody told me that you understand wild animals. Is that so?” The young officer was very serious. Ambrose immediately wondered if he had broken some law concerning his pet raccoon.

  “I . . . I’ve been told that,” stammered Ambrose, taking his red handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “We’ve got a problem that I’m told you can help us with.”

  “W . . . hat kind of problem?”

  “You hear about the explosion in the park early this morning?”

  “I did,” said Ambrose.

  “Besides blowing up a mining machine, the blast blew apart the big bald eagle nest. Killed the big eagles, killed one of the little eagles, and injured the other little one. Blew up the eagle cam too.”

  “T . . . terrible,” said Ambrose.

  “I was hoping you could take care of the little eagle until the Fish and Wildlife Service gets here and they can decide what to do with it.”

  “Sure,” said Ambrose, relieved that he now knew the real reason for the officer’s visit.

  Together they walked to the squad car and the officer removed a box from the backseat, where Ambrose saw a mostly grown bald eagle with one wing that appeared broken. He handed the box to Ambrose.

  “Thank you for helping us out. We’ll be in touch once I hear from the federal folks, who should be here in a few days. There’s a big fine for killing an eagle, you know. They’ll want to find out who the culprit is.”

  Ambrose took the little eagle into his house and gently removed it from the box, talking to it all the time. At first the eagle struggled to get away, but as Ambrose talked to it, it calmed down and he was able to examine it. It indeed had a broken wing. Ambrose fashioned a splint for the wing and bandaged it. Then he put it back in the box and went into his office, where he spent an hour reading about eagles and especially what baby eagles ate.

  He decided not to open his vegetable stand that afternoon. He needed to find out more about what was going on, what caused the explosion at the park, and who or what might have been responsible.

  He stopped at the museum to talk with Emily Higgins. She said, “I’m certain no one from the Link Lake Historical Society had anything to do with the blast.” Then she went on at length to lament the loss of three eagles and the camera. “People really liked watching that eagle cam,” she said.

  Ambrose told her that he was taking care of the injured eagle and asked her if she had any idea what caused the blast.

  “Deputy from the sheriff ’s office said it was definitely
a bomb and a good-sized one too. Pieces of the drilling machine were found a hundred yards from the site of the explosion. It’s not going to help our cause one bit,” said Emily. “What it will do is turn more people toward favoring the mining company. I heard that the machine that was blown up cost more than a million dollars.”

  “That much?” said Ambrose.

  “Funny thing about it, the machine was far enough away from the Trail Marker Oak that the tree wasn’t even scratched. Maybe that’s a good sign of things to come.”

  The two old friends talked for a time about what they should do. Emily said that she hoped that Stony Field would write about something else for a while—to take some of the spotlight away from Link Lake. Ambrose agreed that it would be a good idea.

  “But how can we get in touch with Mr. Field? Nobody seems to know where he lives.”

  Ambrose didn’t comment, but to himself he was smiling and thinking, If I ever get around to sharing that I’m Stony Field, Emily Higgins will be one of those most surprised.

  41

  Perpetrators

  Emerson Evans made record time driving from La Crosse to Link Lake. He was furious about what had happened at the mining site. How could anyone explain why a million-dollar drilling machine had been destroyed by some overzealous opponent of sand mining? And why had Karl Adams failed so miserably in placating the community, in bringing them around to supporting the upcoming mining operation? He needed answers and he needed them right away. His superiors in La Crosse were not happy, especially after receiving reports of how well everything was going in Link Lake and after pouring several thousand dollars into the community.

  When Evans pulled up to the mining site, he spotted several police cars and yellow tape closing off the entrance to the park. Karl Adams got out of his car when he saw Evans arrive.

  “What in hell is going on here?” asked Evans, a tall, thin, very intense man. There was no “good morning” or “how are you, Karl?”

  “I don’t know. Everything was cool until the drilling machine arrived— then all hell broke loose.”