by Dave Balcom
Liske caught my eye as I limped down the aisle, and winked at me. Not something I ever expected from that quarter.
Jan met me out in the hall and mother-henned me all the way back to my house in the mountains.
“You know,” I said as I struggled out of my truck and headed to the front door, “I’m not so lame that you need to treat me like an invalid. I just stiffen up so fast that when I first start moving, I hobble a bit.”
“Are you telling me you don’t need my nursing attention any longer?”
“I’ll never tell you I don’t need you in any form; you know that.”
She beamed a smile at me as she grabbed my left elbow for the three steps onto the porch, “And I never get tired of hearing that.”
I pulled her over to the two chairs that rarely get used on that front porch, and sat down carefully. “I do need to have a serious talk with you, Jan.”
She pulled the other chair over squarely in front of my knees and sat, then scooched up until our knees were touching. “I hear the serious tone, Mr. Stanton. What’s on your mind?”
“You, your newspaper, your life, my life, and us; just stuff that needs discussing.”
Her eyes were dancing and a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth before she quelled it and put the dead serious look back in place. “Let’s take them one at a time, okay?” She didn’t wait for an answer but continued on, “First, me. I’m fine, thank you. Fulfilled and self-gratified by my ability to juggle all those other things while making sure you get well and back to normal. I could use some romance, yes, even sex, in my life at times, but otherwise, I’m really, really good.
“Second, my newspaper: For the past four years, I have been working with the National Center for Employee Ownership to create an ESOP at my newspaper. All five of my full-time employees are now vested in their shares of ownership – they’ve been taking stock options in lieu of annual bonuses, and they now own about forty percent of our little company...”
“You’re selling out to the staff?”
“Don’t interrupt. Yes, the ESOP idea came from two directions the year after I met you. One, I didn’t want to live two thousand miles from these mountains, and, two, I started getting pressure from an old friend to buy his publications up by Grayling...”
“That could make some logistic sense as your areas abut each...”
“I ask again, kind sir, not to interrupt. Okay?”
I held up my hands, palms out and nodded.
“The girls all wanted to expand, but I hesitated because of point number one. But, I started the due diligence part by asking for an audit and talking with people I know who have done this kind of thing.
“The numbers worked, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to work as hard as everyone was telling me I was going to have to work to make an acquisition succeed. Then I went to a friend of mine in Traverse City who explained a concept he calls the professional management team process for independent publishers. It made sense knowing the people I was working with, so I took it back to them and we discussed it.
“It took most of that first year, but I started the ESOP plan anyway, and Julie, Ellen, Patty, and Lisa Schmidt became vested owners of their shares last summer. Our new advertising sales person, Connie Trudeau – you haven’t met her, I don’t think – will become vested this year.
“They’re really good people; solid, hard-working, imaginative, and great communicators. They’re excited to turn the Record Publishing Company into a small group of like-minded publications. The ‘AuSable Recorder’ is a perfect first step in that plan.
“So, that’s a long short-version of the status of the newspaper – I expect to be the Chairperson of the owners’ committee and holding about thirty percent of the stock for the next ten years, but I’m being replaced as publisher by Julie Rathers at the end of December.”
I was stunned. All this had been going on without a word from her. She caught my look, and put her hand on top of mine. “Honey, over the past six years I’ve been with you a total of six weeks; I’ve talked to you on the phone ’most every week, but the little time I’ve spent with you has been too precious to me to spend it talking about my business life.”
I looked at her for another minute, wondering at my good fortune while at the same time in awe at her ability to organize and manage her life as a long-term investment.
She picked up her monologue. “Third, your life. Other than a creaky back and a general loss of flexibility and muscle tone from living the invalid’s life for the past three weeks, there’s nothing about your life that you should be worried about. You’ll have to get your sagging butt back on the walking trail pretty soon, if not tomorrow, and that’s where the question of us comes in...” She paused, and took a deep breath before continuing.
“I want us. I want us formally, intently, passionately, amusingly and forever. I know I can’t make that decision unilaterally, but that’s what I want. I want it starting right now. What do you want?”
I slid my chair back a few inches, hoisted myself out of my seat and gently lifted her arms until she was standing in front of me. I had both of her hands in mine, and still hadn’t said anything. I was watching her and thought about my dream as I was waking up from the coma. She squeezed my hands, and I saw the first sign of confusion in her eyes.
“I want that too. I’m recalling a dream I was having when I woke up in the hospital. I was remembering my life with Sandy, and arguing that I should be able to stay with her, and she was telling me that I had to go on, that I had someone here who loved me, and nothing was more important than going back to be with you.”
The confusion left her eyes as tears were forming, but I couldn’t stop. “I never thought I’d feel what I’m feeling for you ever again in my life, and I didn’t even dare to dream that you would want to be with me forever... I love you, and I would be proud if you’d marry me.”
“Yes!” she said and sobbed at the same time. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll help a cripple up the stairs to our bed, let’s find out if I can consummate...”
She put her finger to my lips, “Shush.” And then, still holding my hand, she stepped around me to the door. “Come on. Let’s see how healed up you really are.”
7
The jury got the case at 3:45 p.m. on Friday, and the verdict was read twenty-five minutes later. Four men from Portland were convicted on seventeen violations of the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act (RICO). They faced twenty years to life each.
Lt. Stan Liske was elated when he showed up on my porch with a six-pack of ice-cold beer in a dripping paper bag.
“Stanton, you did it! You nailed those suckers and kept my undefeated record intact.”
Jan came into view, and Liske turned his smile on her. “And look at this. I thought you would’ve been back east by now. Do you drink beer?”
Jan took the bag from his hand and gave him a peck on his cheek. “If it’s my favorite beer, I do.”
He looked at me with a question. I answered, “Any beer that someone else pays for is Jan’s favorite. I’m sure if you brought your usual she’ll be pleased.”
Jan piped up, “Want it in a glass or straight from the bottle, gentlemen?”
“Bottle!” We chimed as we headed for the deck on the western side of the house. The sun was starting to set, sending purple and salmon-colored streaks of long light across the Columbia Basin.
Jan brought two bottles and a glass to the deck.
Liske settled into a chair, accepted his bottle and raised it in a gesture of a toast. “To taking a bite outta crime!”
“Hear, hear,” we chorused as we clinked drinks and took large swallows.
Silence followed as we savored the beer and the moment. “What sentence do you think they’ll get?” Jan finally asked.
“The max,” Liske answered. “The fact they ordered the murder of Ron and Liz Pelt and then ordered Jim’s death like it was pizza take-out, the c
ourt won’t have any sympathy for those men. The RICO criminal penalties don’t include the death penalty, but those men won’t ever see freedom again.
“And while they were the leaders of that operation, there’s a strong feeling that they weren’t all the leaders, but nothing the Feds could do could get one of those four to roll on the others. One prosecutor told me that one of those guys actually lost bladder control at the thought of talking. All he’d say was that he had family to think about.
“They were kingpins, but they weren’t the only ones. We’ll keep watching.”
Jan gave a shudder and took another pull on her glass. “So do we have anything to worry about?”
Liske shook his head. “I don’t know of any threat, but I do think you guys should be on your guard all the time. If one of the leaders feared for his family, based on the attack here last April, I think caution is the wisest course.”
“Maybe we’ll move,” I said softly.
Jan snorted. “Maybe I’ll start packing a weapon in my purse.”
Liske joined in, “They make some really attractive ankle holsters for lady-sized weapons.”
I decided that line of thinking had been exhausted. “You celebrating at home tonight?”
Liske thought for a second, “Whatcha got in mind?”
“Dinner at the Foley Station? Get Betty on the phone and we can eat about eight?”
“I’ll make the call on the road,” and with that he rose and headed for the door. Just as he pulled it open, he turned to us. “Maybe at dinner you can tell us what’s going on with you two?”
“We’re going on,” Jan answered. “Details at eight, okay?”
8
At daylight the next morning, Judy and I were a thousand feet up the mountain on a two-track trail that started at the end of our little road and climaxed two mountain ridges west at the spine of the mountains behind La Grande if a guy had the stamina for such a hike.
And, as well as I was recovering from my injuries, I figured at my age that kind of stamina was going to be a part of my past, not my future. All the same, I was doing 16-minute miles going steadily uphill interspersed by fifteen minutes of tai chi forms, focusing on my core strength, balance and flexibility.
I had been seeing improvement daily of late, and was pretty proud of my rehabilitation. I expected my Friday visit with Raymond the “Squat Nazi” would be my last formal session with him.
Judy kept in touch with me as we started down hill, about an hour from home. I was letting myself cool down and continuing to stretch, but the more leisurely pace gave me time to think.
I had spoken to my son in Upstate New York yesterday and he was doing fine, catching more salmon than he could eat and staying busy with family and work. I had told him that I might be making a marital status change, and his excitement had rocked me a bit. “That’s terrific! I love Jan Coldwell and I think she’s perfect for you. It’s about time!”
“Jeremy,” I’d said with some caution. “I had hoped you’d be okay with it, and your enthusiasm is a relief, believe me.”
“That’s typical. Aren’t you happy when I’m happy? Why wouldn’t the reverse be true?”
I had laughed, got caught up on his life a bit then asked, “Heard from Sara?”
“Sis and I had a long talk just yesterday. She’s back in Minneapolis for a while, but she’s going on tour in Southeast Asia for three months. She’s doing well, Dad. You need to call her. She’s going to scream and be ecstatic, you’ll see.”
And she had. We were father-daughter close and had always been so. When her mother died, I had leaned on both of them for support, and they’d leaned right back. I had always been careful to let my children know I was interested in their lives, while I was just as careful to let them live their lives without intrusion. Because of that, I think, they had come to respect our relationships.
“Have you set a date?” Sara asked.
“No, but we’re thinking a small civil ceremony, probably at the house.”
“You’ve got twenty-seven days to let me be there. We fly out to Beijing on August first.”
“I’ll let you know. If not that soon we’ll wait until you’re back, okay?”
“Don’t wait, please. If it’s a great thing, and I’m sure it is, then why not start enjoying it as soon as possible?”
That reasoning resonated with Jan. She immediately called the Umatilla County Courthouse and fifteen minutes later she had a date and time: Two p.m. Saturday, July twentieth.
I sent text messages to both kids with the date and time, and got confirmation texts back within minutes. Jan was upstairs and came down beaming. “Kids okay?” I nodded. “Mine, too. The staff of the Mineral Valley Record will be here on time to give the bride away.”
We spent the rest of the day informing Jack and Shirlee down the road, Liske, Skip Petersen, my insurance agent who had become a close friend and hunting crony; and Randall Albright, perhaps my closest friend in Oregon.
Randall was born here as were his father and grandfather. He is a gentleman wheat rancher who also runs a real estate firm specializing in large and wild areas. He flies his own plane as part of his realty business, and has made it available to Jan and me on many occasions. He and his wife, Lisa, are the kind of friends everybody should have: The kind that doesn’t understand people with the ability to make things happen who can’t make things happen when they need to make things happen.
“We’re going to keep it simple and close,” I told Randall. “All I want you to do is charcoal grill a prime rib roast for fifteen to twenty people using that indirect heat method you taught me.”
“Done, and I’ll also have Lisa organize all the sides and dinner arrangements with Shirlee Nelson. It’ll be a heck of a party.”
“Let’s keep it a close circle, okay?”
“It’s your wedding.”
9
And what a wedding it was. Judge Fulmer was a dignified, stuffy looking character who wore a huge Stetson hat and hand-tooled boots around a black, long-tailed suit. He looked as if he might be a “cowboy poet” with his white beard, handlebar mustache, and long sideburns, but when he called the gathering together, he was obviously no stranger to solemn occasions.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said without preamble, “we’re gathered together today to marry this couple and get them on the right side of civil law. This is a serious contractual ceremony that needs to be entered into with sobriety and thoughtful concerns. No whooping, no gunfire and, of course, the bar will remained closed until the completion of this rite.”
Ten minutes later we had exchanged rings, kissed and tossed a bouquet. The bar and our future were wide open.
Skip had taken me aside about an hour after the ceremony. He pulled a paper out and pointed to a “sign here” sticker. “What’s this?” I asked.
“Changes your beneficiary to one Jan Coldwell Stanton. Sign it and let me get back to the party.” I signed and thanked him.
Stan and Betty Liske had brought their two sons, and Stan along with Matt and Brian cornered me next.
“Got a wedding gift idea for you, Jim,” Stan began. I looked from Matt to Brian and wondered.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t know if you know that I spend about three weeks every August on my boat in Prince Rupert, British Columbia.”
“No, I don’t think your having a boat ever came up.”
Matt, the older of the two boys, laughed out loud. “It’s not just a boat, Jim; it’s a yacht.”
“Now wait a minute,” Liske sputtered. “You can’t just say it that way. You’ll have somebody wondering how an honest cop could afford such a thing.”
“So, Liske, is this your way of letting me know you might not be as honest as I thought you were?” I deadpanned the comment and both boys tried their best to hold back their laughs. Brian’s face turned red with the effort.
“Bullshit,” Liske blurted, staring daggers at his sons. “I should have known bet
ter than try to do something from the heart with you two troublemakers along.” He playfully shoved Matt into Brian, and both boys nearly fell over, laughing out of control.
He turned to me. “I thought it might be something special if I took you and Jan up there this August and showed you a great honeymoon. The boat is pretty nice, but it’s really not just my boat.
“It’s like a time-share deal. I went partners with this charter skipper. We paid for the down payment on the boat with our money, and he paid it off out of his charters. Every summer I get the boat for three weeks and he takes three weeks off. It has turned out to be a great deal all the way around. So, whattya say?”
I was stunned and stood silent for a minute. “Don’t your boys usually go on this trip?”
“They do,” Liske answered. “But with Brian headed to Oregon State to play football, he can’t make the trip. Matt needs to be at Eastern Oregon early for a wrestling camp. Betty and I thought you might really like Prince Rupert.
“There’s whale watching, and of course the fishing and crabbing are spectacular – the best salmon run will be pretty much over, but there’ll still be plenty of fish and the halibut and rock fish are really fun as well as eating Dungeness crab every morning for breakfast... well, it’s tough to beat.”
“How big is this boat?”
“It’s a twenty-seven-foot Skagit Orca with the extended cabin. It sleeps four, and the main bunk happens to be six-feet, five-inches long. None of us are really into extended trips on the boat. We bought a cottage there that my partner rents out for the winter, and in summer, we make it available for our charter sports. It has paid for itself.
“For this trip, you can have the cottage or the boat at night, which ever you choose.”
“I’ve never considered such a trip. Let me talk with Jan, okay?”
