“Formalism, adherence to a document that was written by people who are no longer here to judge our situation, all is repugnant to me. I didn’t join this Commission to read our trustees’ reports with an accountant’s eye. We have an accountant for that. We don’t have much cash on hand and retailers are looking at buying land along Route 2, and this anti-snob zoning bill is pending. It’s my mission to deal with those realities. Now I would like to present a short movie that depicts how we got here.”
The lights went down, she stepped away from the podium and the screen filled with beautiful aerial images of Lincoln on a sunny day: the library surrounded by rolling meadows of conservation land and well-dressed people coming out of the Unitarian church, Flint’s Pond with a single sailboat and fishing rod, bicyclists, hikers and horses on the paths. Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 played in the background.
“This is only twelve miles from Boston,” Miranda narrated. “This town is the product of long-term planning in response to sprawl.” There were images of a Conservation Commission meeting, of town meeting, of the headquarters of the Ford Foundation, which had underwritten part of their budget, of academics going in and out of ivy-covered buildings in Harvard Yard.
“And our world is so fragile that reducing our minimum lot size or setback requirements will have a noticeable effect within a year.”
Suddenly the music changed to a cacophony of foreboding sounds inspired by the seventh movement of Ravel’s Ma Mère l’Oye ballet, a piece that had always fascinated and depressed her. A tract house with an aboveground swimming pool popped up on the shore of the pond, a Target store was erected by dark-skinned construction workers on Route 2, a traffic tie-up came into view at the intersection adjacent to the library as her voice came on, saying, “We are alone now. It is Lincoln versus the developers.”
The next scene was a reenactment of the crucial meeting of the Commission where the vote was taken to consider selling the Pierce Estate. It was filmed in the meeting room with Miranda and Julia in their usual seats. In Karl’s place was an actor made up to look like him, accentuated with an oversized rep bow tie and bifocals. Miranda made a motion to sell the Pierce House.
“Are you off your rocker?” the Karl character responded in a sibilant tone.
The audience laughed.
She answered that she knew what she was doing.
“Well if the Commission votes to sell the Pierce land, then I want the money invested in municipal bonds. No risk whatsoever. We were sent here to conserve, not to spend.” With every word Karl’s bow tie was enlarged, finally reaching his chin, and his voice became ridiculously effeminate.
“This is outrageous, bordering on defamation,” thundered the real Karl from his seat.
The movie continued with the Commissioners opening their laptops. Miranda referred to a document. Karl fumbled with his computer, turning it from side to side, removing his half glasses, putting it to his ear and finally putting it down dejectedly at the table as his colleagues repressed laughter.
“Mr. Chairman, do you need some help with your laptop?” asked Julia.
“Well you know I’m from the old school, longhand, pens and paper. There’s not enough emphasis on penmanship today. Can’t we throw these wretched machines away and pull out our legal pads?”
And on it went for another six minutes, Karl depicted as a Luddite, a split-screen image of the Commission debating while he examined fabric swatches for the sitting room of the Pierce House, him requesting more time to consider an issue that had been voted on six months before, as he is informed by an embarrassed clerk.
The audience giggled.
When the first aboveground swimming pool was built in town, Karl was seen being questioned by an angry resident and telling her, “I’m sorry, madam, my ties are tied.”
“Your ties are tied?” she asked.
“I mean my hands are tied. I’m just a humble civil servant. I can’t help you.”
More pools popped up in the vicinity, then a monstrously oversized Target store along Route 2 overshadowing the rest of the town. Moving vans were shown carrying away the residents of the older stately houses, identified by their despondent manner and Range Rovers, as newcomers, characterized by their darker skin and smaller vehicles, were moving in. The screen faded to black and the lights came back on.
The auditorium was filled with laughter and conversation. Everyone had an opinion to express to those around them. But there was no applause, which scared her.
“What do you think?” she whispered into Julia’s ear.
“I’m not sure. I’ve got a few friends out there laughing. They were supposed give me a thumbs-up.”
The moderator returned to the podium. “I sense we have a lot of questions,” he said, as the scattered applause subsided. People formed lines on both aisles.
“Why is it necessary to get rid of Mrs. Dalton?” asked the first person.
Karl took the podium and there was dead silence despite the heat, the tension in the air. Everyone needed to hear his answer and see his demeanor.
“I asked her to wait with this proposal until next spring so we could take it up at the next town meeting. She refused. She says it’s an emergency,” he said with a mix of exasperation and sarcasm.
“Well is it?” asked the man, his voice also tinged with exasperation.
“Not in my view.”
“Then I want to hear from Commissioner Dalton,” the man persisted. “Stand up here and tell me why we can’t wait until next year.”
“Alright, this seems to be the crux of the dispute,” the moderator said, “so I’m going to allow this gentleman to continue holding the floor. Mrs. Dalton, answer him from the podium.”
She took her place at the podium and felt the gaze of the entire town. It was different from just a minute before when she was seated. They were judging her, deciding if she was a nut or a seer.
“We need the cash now,” she said. “I’ve explained what the challenges are. The bottom line is the Pierce Estate is going to cost us a lot of money before next March. And New England Properties is interested in buying it now, not in six months. Markets change daily. We all know that.”
“I don’t like what you did,” said the man, “but it seems like we’ve reached some sort of tipping point. We have to choose a direction.”
The next questioner asked Karl to “stand up here and tell us we aren’t at some crisis, a tipping point, as the previous gentleman stated rather aptly.”
“Are we at a fork in the road? I don’t see it,” Karl said. “We can pay to repair the estate. And as for this ominous-sounding anti-snob zoning bill, I’ve talked to people up in the legislature. There are no hearings scheduled. If there were, then I’d admit to a crisis.”
“Then it’s too late,” Miranda cut in, without being recognized by the moderator.
“Stop!” he ordered her. “You speak when I say.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Perhaps we could have a second podium brought out so that we can both speak as necessary.”
The moderator looked out over the audience for some reaction. They seemed to like it. A second podium was brought onto the stage. Miranda stood behind it, and the format evolved quickly into a freewheeling give-and-take.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she said, taking the lead. “The Commission voted 3-2 to consider selling the estate if, and only if, we get the right offer. The right offer preserves the property, has lots of conditions on future use, but allows the buyer to market it and earn a modest profit. I should be impeached for that? This is the most expensive episode of sour grapes in Lincoln history.”
“You are unfit to serve this town,” Karl finally blurted out. “That movie was the final degradation. How a public official can spend time producing propaganda, and then stand up here and accuse me of showing poor judgment is worthy of Alice in Wonderland.”
“To me its Gulliver’s Travels,” Miranda retorted, “and we’re being held hostage by the Lilliputians. Is this Lincoln? We
’re supposed to have the power and the money and yet we lie here supine, waiting for our world to erode. It’s insanity.”
“Who paid for that movie, Mrs. Dalton?”
“I did.”
“I wish Mr. Dalton were here to tell us what he thinks.”
There was a terrible silence. No Mr. Dalton appeared.
“We can all draw our own conclusions,” Karl said.
“And three members of your Commission voted to consider selling the museum over your objections. That didn’t just happen by itself. We can all draw our own conclusions about why you called this meeting.”
“Alright, I think we’ve reached the time for decision,” said the moderator. “It’s nearly 10:00 and the dialogue has become recriminating and the questions redundant.”
People lined up at the touch-screen computer voting booths, which had been set up at the back of the auditorium. As Miranda waited in line, people gave her positive signals. She nodded and uttered, “Thank you.” When it was her turn, she stepped up to the screen, inserted her voting card and the two resolutions appeared. She quickly touched the No box after each, and the screen then reverted to its “Welcome to Lincoln’s Emergency Town Meeting” image with Flint’s Pond in the background.
“I feel a bit better,” she told Julia as they returned to their seats. “I can’t give you real evidence, but I get the vibe. Karl overreached.”
Another half hour passed as they fiddled with their mobile devices, and she talked to Garrett Tristan and some of her friends who walked up to offer comforting words.
And then at 10:48 the moderator gaveled for order. He flipped open his legal pad and looked uneasily over at the Selectmen.
“I must say the vagaries of democracy often surprise me. The people of Lincoln have spoken and spoken loudly. On resolution one, that the Pierce Estate cannot be sold without authorization by town meeting, the vote is 104 yes and 778 no.”
There was a huge wave of applause and Miranda exhaled with a sigh of relief.
“And on resolution two, that Commissioner Dalton has exceeded her authority and is hereby removed from the Commission, the vote is 148 yes and 739 no.”
There was another wave of applause and Julia grabbed Miranda’s left hand and held it up in triumph. Then Julia turned and hugged Miranda long enough for everyone to notice.
“You are something else, Miranda Dalton. I’ve never been so relieved in my life.”
Karl took to his podium and waited for order. He motioned for people to sit down.
“I’ve been around this town a long time, he began, his voice shaking. “I’ve lived here since 1968 and raised my family here. My wife has served on commissions, I’ve been a Selectman and Chairman of the Conservation Commission for the last nine years.”
He choked up and had to pause.
“And I thought I knew Lincoln. I thought you and I knew each other. But this proves I don’t know this town anymore.”
He stopped again, and Bayard Cahill publicly asked him to stop, to sit down, to think things over.
“You have spoken very loudly,” Karl persisted. “You want to do something I just won’t do. So I resign from the Conservation Commission.”
Miranda strained to withhold any outward emotion. But it was the most joyous moment since they had moved to Lincoln. She looked for Garrett Tristan’s cameras, to make sure they had captured it live. They had. She would likely be the new Chairman.
The moderator ended it. People came up to congratulate her, to wish her well, to thank her for her efforts, sentiments she had never heard before. Nate Griswold said he hoped she would be the new Chairman because “we need you right now and nobody else will do it with your panache.”
She slowly made her way off the stage and answered questions from Garrett and a reporter. People were holding up their cell phones and snapping photos. Could she pose for selfies? What were her plans after the Pierce Estate was sold?
“It’s not even sold yet. All we voted for was to allow us to negotiate a deal.”
She just enjoyed the thrill but kept everything else under wraps. For a moment, she was Lincoln’s humble civil servant with her constituents.
Stephen Rokeby pushed through to get near her.
“You were great.”
“How’d you like the movie?”
“I want a thirty-second spot just like it.”
Eventually, it was time to go home. And when she came into the dimly lit kitchen at 11:45, she hoped to go directly to her study for a few minutes of emailing friends without encountering Archer. But the light in his study was still on. She knocked on the door frame.
“Still up, love?”
“I decided to wait until you returned.”
“I won—in a landslide. I’m sure you heard.”
“I was listening online. Congratulations are in order.”
He didn’t move from his chair and his face was pinched, as if Microsoft had dropped twenty points.
“Now can you enjoy this moment with me?”
“Shall we pop some Champagne and drink to your being Lincoln’s new hired gun?”
“That’s how you see this?”
“That’s what you are, Hutch. You convinced the town they need a warrior, and they’ve chosen you over Karl. It’s a wise choice. I’d have voted for you too if I were voting for a General. But I know we don’t need one. So they’re just using you to do our dirty business. That’s what a General does, right? I mean, we go to war when diplomacy fails. But you see this as some kind of endorsement of you as a citizen, of your social worth.”
“You’re despicable, and your absence was noted tonight—on the record.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next morning Stephen had an email and voicemail from the Governor’s office. His request for an appointment was accepted. Governor Samuelson would see him tomorrow at 10:00. He and Miranda spent that afternoon with his media team producing a commercial using some of the footage from Miranda’s town meeting movie. There were the aerial shots of Lincoln, the stately homes. Then the anti-snob zoning bill was explained by an announcer in five seconds, tiny houses popped up, the schools were overcrowded, property taxes rose, the towns blended into sprawl. By noon the piece was in the hands of his media buyer and would begin airing tomorrow, five days before the primary.
The Governor’s assistant in the outer office asked Stephen to sign the register, which he did, noting his occupation as “Congressional candidate” to avoid any potential misrepresentation. He was then led into a waiting area. At 10:02 another assistant introduced himself and led him to the double doors of the Governor’s office, knocked and then opened them without receiving a response. The Governor, on the phone at his desk, motioned for Stephen to sit down. He took a seat on a long couch and waited.
“I meant here, so we can chat like friends,” said the Governor, briefly interrupting the call and pointing to one of the chairs right by his desk.
Stephen complied, sat down again and stared directly into the Governor’s eyes, which were distorted by thick professorial glasses. Samuelson was completely bald, except for a band of gray around the back. Hearing him speak, in his accentless educated tone, Stephen, like most of the public, felt reassured, as if the man were talking sense, and devoid of political jargon.
The Governor ended his call and turned toward Stephen.
“So how goes things on the trail?”
“Not so well, as you probably know. I haven’t found my niche issue—so far.”
“And now this Miranda Dalton has given you food for thought?”
“She has.”
“Look at John Adams,” he said, pointing to a huge portrait across the office over the mantel. “Did you know he wrote the Massachusetts Constitution?”
“No, I have to admit …”
“And it said only Protestants could serve as Governor. And I’m not even a Christian. I suppose I should have it taken down.”
“And your point is?”
“The m
ore things change, the more they stay the same. In his time we had revolution. And now I’ve got this little group of would-be revolutionaries from the same town.”
“They’re from Lincoln, next door.”
“Lincoln was part of Concord. You should know that.”
“Can you help stop this anti-snob zoning bill?”
“It was going nowhere, and I had no intention of supporting it,” the Governor said. “Now that she’s been talking about it, some people are interested in scheduling hearings. Her town meeting speech, the bit about Gulliver and the Lilliputians, that’s gone viral.”
“I know. I Googled ‘Lincoln’ and ‘snob zoning.’”
“We’ve done business with you. You’ve made a nice profit on state bond business. I expect you will contain this.”
“Governor, I’m here to get you to meet us halfway. Come out against the bill now, then I can.”
“Wouldn’t that just up the stakes?”
“I think it would cool things off.”
“Why don’t you cool things off for a few days and then we’ll talk some more.”
“Actually, I’m planning on running a commercial about the zoning bill. Would you like to see it?”
He lifted his briefcase.
The Governor reached over to his phone and pushed a button. An aide opened a side door Stephen had not even noticed.
“Mr. Rokeby, would you follow me please?”
“I’m not done,” he said.
“Your meeting is over, sir. Now follow me.”
Stephen looked imploringly to the Governor for additional time but got no response. The aide stepped over.
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