With this, he abruptly turned his focus to Gina. “Ms. Richards, you’re up. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
Logan liked the way this guy started a meeting.
Gina rose and walked toward the front of the room. She took her place at the podium, which had been spirited into place while the mayor was speaking. She faced the audience and waited for them to finish shifting and achieve some level of comfort in their folding chairs.
Logan looked at Ben. She wasn’t sure if going first was a good thing or not.
Gina adjusted the microphone and tapped it once to make sure it was working.
“Thank you to the mayor and all the members on the council. I appreciate this chance to speak with you today.”
Gina’s notes lay on the podium, but she didn’t need them.
“I am not here to argue about who owns this land. I am here to speak about why this land, this very unique and rare piece of land, is critical to supporting the southern sea otter’s return to this area, and why supporting the southern sea otter’s return is critical to us—to each and every person here.
“Why do we need to save the sea otter? What does it matter if this furry mammal, cute as it is, which once numbered in the millions, is now down to a few thousand individual animals, clustered mostly in the Bay Area? Why do we need this Southern Sea Otter Sanctuary and Education Center? And why here?
“Simply put, we need the sea otter. We need healthy oceans, and rebuilding the southern sea otter population is vital. Until recently, the ocean—the ecosystem right outside our door—was assumed to be immune to human activity, immense enough to absorb anything we dumped into it and so full of resources, it could never be depleted. We know better now.
“Oceans are the lifeblood of our species—of all life on Earth. To heal this essential ecosystem, we need to clean up our messes and help bring it back into balance. Even though seventy-five percent of ocean species have already gone extinct due to overharvesting, pollution, and a myriad of other human factors, it is not hopeless or beyond fixing. There is a lot we can do to restore biodiversity to this important ecosystem.”
Gina nodded to Dennis, who waved and held up a handout from a stack in a roller cart at his feet.
“I won’t take your time now, but after the meeting, please take one of the handouts, which provides specific environmental success stories, where people have worked together to solve these problems where they live: coral reefs recovered, wildlife returned, and, right here at home, thanks to Nancy Caruso’s Get Inspired! and many of you, vital kelp beds restored right off our shores.”
Here she nodded at Tava’e’s relatives, who applauded loudly.
“Damage can be reversed. But we need to start right here, right now. Since we’re all dependent on the oceans, we all need to do our part.
“OK, so much for the background. If you’re interested in the science behind all this, I’ll be happy to recommend websites and books that will explain it in more detail. That brings us back to why we need the center. To help a habitat or ecosystem rebound, we focus on the keystone species. The southern sea otter, a predator, is a keystone species. Protect and bring the otters back, and the whole ecosystem rebounds. All species in an ecosystem, or habitat, rely on each other.
“When we got rid of otters, it wiped out the kelp beds. Sea otters feed on sea urchins, controlling their population. When sea otters disappeared from overhunting off our coasts, uncontrolled sea-urchin populations ate the habitat’s kelp. Kelp, or giant seaweed, is a major source of food and shelter for the ecosystem. Some species of crabs, snails, and even migrating geese depend on kelp for food. Many types of fish use the huge kelp forests to hide from predators. Without sea otters to control the urchin population, the entire ecosystem collapsed.
“I know my time is almost gone, so I’ll wrap this up. In order for humans to thrive, we need to heal the damage we have done, particularly in our fragile coastal waters, and help restore the natural balance. And that requires biodiversity. That requires the return of the southern sea otter.
“Efforts at transplanting sea otters and plunking them down in new environments, trying to establish new colonies artificially, such as the attempt off San Nicolas, have not worked. For those interested, a more detailed list of reasons for this can be found in the materials available to you as you leave.
“Just know that even with the best care and nutrient-rich environment, it’s tough for a baby sea otter to survive long enough to have and nurture offspring. Only twenty-five percent of sea otters make it to adulthood. It takes another three or four years before they are capable of breeding. If we’re lucky enough to raise a wild sea otter from newborn to successful, independent, breeding adult in a marine rescue facility, its chances of survival upon release into the wild are even slimmer. They can be chewed up by boats, poisoned by cat litter pollution or fertilizer waste that flows to the sea through storm drains, or, more and more frequently, mistaken for a seal, chomped on, and spit out by a shark, like Otter 1’s mom was. She didn’t survive. It’s a miracle her pup did.
“And what about the three thousand otters clustered in the Bay Area? Surely they will keep the species going. The raw truth is, the entire colony could be wiped out in one oil spill. We need more otter colonies in more coastal areas in order to up the chances that this keystone species will survive. Which brings me to the whole point of my standing up here talking your ears off: the Sea Otter Sanctuary and Education Center.”
More cheers from the supporters.
Gina opened her laptop and signaled to someone in the back of the room to turn down the lights. She put up a slideshow that took her audience on a tour of the facilities, explaining the role of each room and how it would provide aid for marine-mammal rescue, injured otters, and oil-spill recovery and showing a fully equipped research lab, in addition to tanks and trainers for rehabilitating rescued, orphaned otter pups. She ended with an animation of otters frolicking in the aquarium on the main floor, in front of a throng of enthralled school children.
Nice touch.
“Finally,” she said as Dennis turned the lights back on, “everyone in this room knows that available coastal property is not just rare in Southern California—it’s almost nonexistent. The piece of land Solange Sauvage generously donated is not only uniquely situated for this center, but we are located in a prime habitat for an otter colony to establish itself. It’s the only land available for it anywhere near here. That said, I have an announcement to make.
“Thanks to so many individuals and environmental groups working together, the Southern Sea Otter Sanctuary and Education Center has not only been built, but, as of a few hours ago, has cleared the last certification hurdle and been successfully approved . . .”
Thunderous applause broke out among the center’s supporters in the audience, and several of the board members smiled broadly.
When they quieted down, Gina continued, “. . . has been successfully approved by the Fish and Wildlife Service to provide sea mammal rescue and medical services, orphaned pup rehabilitation, and educational programs. We will open as scheduled August 28!”
Gina waited for the enthusiastic applause to die down before closing her remarks.
“The otters are trying to return. We can’t force this process, but as otters migrate down in ones and twos, we can support them. We need to be there for them. Let’s start with this little girl,” Gina said, taping an eight-by-ten color photo of Otter 1 on the front of the podium, facing the audience. “Let’s save her.”
A final burst of applause rang out, and several people rose to their feet.
Gina gathered her papers, which she had barely referred to, and returned to her seat. Carl banged his gavel to quiet the crowd.
“Scott Dekker, you have the floor. Your allotted time is the same.”
24
Monday, July 13, 2015
Everyone quieted do
wn.
Logan wondered what Dekker could possibly say that would change anyone’s mind after Gina’s thorough, intelligent presentation. She’d covered all the bases, answered all the questions. Who could argue with anything she’d said?
Hesitant at first, and not without a few boos from Tava’e’s group, which were quickly silenced by one look from the mayor, Scott quietly removed the picture of Otter 1 Gina had taped to the front of the podium and placed it upside down on the table next to the podium.
He cleared his throat, straightened his papers, and looked up at the crowd.
“Good evening. My name is Scott Dekker, and I appreciate the opportunity to share the facts with you—all the facts. I don’t have a fancy slide show. I don’t have a wealthy benefactor. All I have is my land. Yes, my land.”
He unfolded a thin blue piece of paper and held it up. Everyone could see the even, angular handwriting of a personal letter, signed at the bottom.
“This letter, recently authenticated by handwriting expert Ms. Granley Bishop, was written by Robert Sauvage, my biological father. It clearly states in no uncertain terms that he gives me, without encumbrance, this specific piece of land, lot 429.”
He looked out at his audience.
“The letter is to my mother, so I will not read it in full here, but even Ms. Sauvage’s attorney agrees it is authentic.”
Everyone looked at Solange, whose face betrayed nothing. She remained ramrod straight, collected, hands in her lap.
Logan was stunned.
Is this new information? Does that mean the center is lost? What about Solange’s deed? She had been given the property by the probate court when her father died. She built the center in good faith. How could this ever be straightened out fairly?
“While, as the mayor said, this title dispute will be resolved officially by the court, I have every confidence my rights will be upheld. But that still leaves the question for the planning commission, some of whom I see here tonight, and for the members of this community, about the best way to use that land. Tonight, I am here to set the record straight.
“First. The otters are never coming back. This area will not support them. Whether we like it or not, the world has changed. Any injured sea otters can be patched up at the aquarium in Long Beach and sent up north to Monterey for rehabilitation. People came, people hunted. People are here. Otters aren’t. So instead of trying to turn back the clock to some mythical, pristine time, we need to deal with reality.”
Scott braced for another round of boos, but although anger emanated from much of the audience, they kept quiet, allowing him to continue.
“But I’m not here to talk about sea otters. I’m also not here to build a mini mall, halfway house, or low-rent apartment complex. I’m not even here to build another cookie-cutter subdivision. Jasper is unique and beautiful. I remember coming here as a child—my mom brought me down here—the natural beauty, the ocean, the hills. There isn’t another community like it anywhere. Far from being the big, bad land developer out to destroy the unique character of this place, I’m the guy whose project will enhance it and help it continue. I believe responsible growth is possible, without changing what’s great about Jasper.”
At this point, some faces in the crowd began to look interested.
“And Jasper needs help. I’ve done a little research, and this community is hurting. For years, the liberal elite have kept this community from growing its economic base. God forbid you should build a decent-size grocery store, let alone a gas station. During the recession, while the rest of us were losing our shirts, wealthy citizens in Jasper, and all across this country, blocked every possible income-producing business or development they could. ‘No growth,’ they call it here. Just so some of these guys”—here he gestured vaguely to the left of the room, which contained Gina and Solange—“could stroll along their private beaches undisturbed. They didn’t care about us, the little guys. They had theirs. It was OK for them to own the big house or the hotel or restaurant in town, but God forbid anyone else try to lift themselves up through hard work and build something for themselves. Those efforts were blocked, every time.”
Several heads in the audience nodded in agreement, and there was an uncomfortable shuffling of feet.
“My proposed community, Pacific Shores, will not only be spectacularly beautiful, designed to blend into its natural surroundings, but will bring in much-needed tax revenue. And for those genuinely concerned about the environment, the entire project utilizes passive solar design. Recycled water will be used exclusively for all external property needs.
“And notice I said genuine environmentalists. With all due respect to her scientific credentials, the former speaker is employed by Solange Sauvage, whose only basis for building this aquarium is her emotional attachment to some animals from her childhood that no longer naturally exist here.
“This project will also provide jobs. As far as I can tell, Ms. Sauvage has never worked for a living like you and I. Supported by our father and his wealthy friends. Not exactly in touch with the middle class.”
Scott’s face hardened somewhat, and he spoke the next few words carefully. “I, on the other hand, like most of you here tonight, do work for a living. Have always worked. During the years that Ms. Sauvage was off in Paris, sipping wine in cafés, I was working my way through college, hammering nails and laying pipe.”
Logan looked over at Solange. Her head moved back slightly at these last comments, as if she’d been physically hit with his words.
“Even when I was losing everything during the recession, I honored my contracts. I paid my bills. Now all I want is what’s rightfully mine. I deserve my fair shot. I’ve earned it,” he said, looking directly at Solange.
Straightening the papers, Scott concluded his remarks. “Jasper will benefit a whole lot more from Pacific Shores than it will by being turned into a dilettante’s project: a million-dollar first-aid station for the one or two otters who wander down the coast every couple of years.
“I ask each of you to go to PacificShoresJasper.com to take a look at the development for yourselves. See how it will benefit this community and how it will help you if you are a small-business owner in town. There is also a contact page. Feel free to e-mail me with any questions or concerns.” He smiled apologetically out at his audience. “It may take a while, because I don’t have a secretary, but I promise to answer each e-mail myself.
“And one more thing for everyone who lives in Jasper to consider. Due to misplaced sympathies, Jasper has seen an increase in the homeless population and in halfway houses, resulting in more incidents of crime and vandalism.
“Pacific Shores, which includes world-class security, would reduce crime while increasing property values. Rising tides lift all boats. I’ll bet every homeowner in this room would welcome seeing some appreciation. Home values have been flat in this area for years.
“Go to the website. You’ll see that approving Pacific Shores is not only the right thing to do, it’s right for Jasper. Thank you.”
Scott’s speech was met mostly with silence as he took his seat, but there was a scattering of applause and quite a few thoughtful faces, including several on the council.
Although she was still strongly in Solange’s camp, Logan felt Scott made some good points. His arguments would not be easy to ignore.
25
1963
The faded, green Volkswagen, packed and running, driver’s door open, sat waiting. Gangly eighteen-year-old Gary Schofield was off to college. Father and son stood awkwardly together in the driveway.
Giving him a clumsy pat on the shoulder, Dad stood back so Gary could fold himself into the car.
“You’ll do great, Son,” he said.
Gary got in.
“Just finish school. A four-year degree will put bread on the table,” he said.
Gary nodded and drove away.
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For a while, his father watched him go.
Odd duck, that boy.
If he hadn’t driven his wife to the hospital himself, he’d have sworn the child wasn’t a Schofield. Shaking off the millisecond of reflection, he turned to walk back inside. It was Wednesday, meatloaf night.
When Gary got to Berkeley, most courses were already closed. He wound up filling his schedule with odd selections, just to fulfill his undergrad requirements: Greek and Roman Mythology and a course entitled Language, Truth, and Logic.
In the logic class, he quickly learned he had a gift for absorbing large amounts of information, spitting them back for the test, but also forming from that vast amount of knowledge cohesive, cogent arguments.
It was stimulating. Formal or informal, he always won the debates. Business school was impacted anyway, so he landed in classics, receiving his baccalaureate in rhetoric four years later.
When it became clear that all the McDonald’s jobs were taken by former classics graduates, Gary enrolled in law school. Not only was he going to put bread on the table, but next to the bread would be some very fine wine. He didn’t care about putting a roof over anyone’s head. He had no intention of ever marrying and definitely didn’t want any children.
During law school, and the subsequent punishing workload at his first and only law firm, Gary thrived. He had no trouble with long hours. He’d never needed more than four hours of sleep per night, and he had no personal life.
But after three years, he’d had enough. He was a good lawyer, but not the best. In college, he’d been a big fish in a little pond. Here, all the fish were big. When it was obvious he’d never make partner, he struck out on his own. Hired an answering service and a virtual office. Brought on adjunct help as needed. He focused on corporate law and contracts. Family or criminal law did not appeal to him. People were idiots. He wanted to deal with people as little as possible.
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