by Jan Smolders
“Safe travels.”
“See you soon. Love you!”
Chapter 35
“And now…?” Mary stretched her arms and yawned as she woke up on Wednesday morning, wondering what she had actually accomplished yesterday with Frank at the Greenbrier—really accomplished. She turned toward Joe, her eyes questioning him.
“You’re asking me? Doyle’s toast,” he replied, lying next to her, hands under head. He whistled. “From what you and Frank told me I gather things didn’t go too well yesterday for that chap from Viola either. All the same, those big shots. Crooks and actors. I guess that’s how those shysters elbow their way to the top.”
“I’m so glad Doyle didn’t hurt you.” She caressed his face.
He shrugged. “The creep didn’t have a chance. The police were awfully quick, but I would’ve gotten a hold of his knife anyway.”
Mary lay on her side and beamed at her man.
He turned to Mary and put his hand on her hip.
“The loser looked like he was going to faint,” Joe went on. “He begged, almost whispering, not to be handcuffed. Whining like an old lady.”
“You mean like me?” Mary teased.
Joe smiled. “No way! You’re a spring chicken. You don’t whine. Not ever. Not that I remember!” He caressed her forehead and moved her brown hair backwards, freeing her cheek for a kiss.
“But now….” Mary sighed. “Nothing’s changed. Alpha and Beta are still in full swing, Beta spewing its poison. I must contact Dan about the petition first thing. We have to stop that damn fracking. I’d better get going.”
Joe chuckled.
She knew he was admiring his Mary, who had managed to get her way partially—so far, anyway.
When she reached Dan Clark on the line at ten-thirty he sounded exuberant. “Congratulations for yesterday, girl!”
“Oh? Thanks, Dan.”
“I heard from Frank. Caught them, eh? One in the Greenbrier and one here. I wonder where Doyle slept last night. Not with any of his mistresses, I bet.” He burst out in a fit of laughter.
Mary didn’t react. “What a day it was. Whew! But we’re not done. We do need the petition for the next step. Urgently.”
“Yeah. Strike the iron while it’s hot. We were basically ready with it a couple of days ago. But the precise science isn’t easy, you know. One little goof and we lose credibility. So, we’re checking and checking. You guys have been speeding up matters for sure,” he joked.
“Kind of. My apologies to Rudy and…?”
“Nick. And a few others.”
“Those crazy young guys, Nick and Rudy. I think we should ask them to add to the text the scheme Doyle used to ruin Supren’s reputation, mess up their operations. It’s called ‘friendly competition,’ I guess. Or ‘sabotage.’ Viola must have been furious about the dirty tactics Supren used in the takeover fight of Doornaert.”
“Right.” Dan chuckled. “And that Duncan. In the slammer too—another lonely mistress somewhere last night, I bet!”
Mary pictured him rubbing his beard. “It’s no joke, Dan. He ruined lives and companies and careers.”
“Sure. But Supren in Houston doesn’t have clean hands either. They’ve been incredibly negligent. They gave Mike Doyle free rein to do whatever he pleased and let him ride roughshod over those who dared to object. Supren and Viola, they’ve ruined the entire fracking industry’s image in Ohio. Screwed themselves!”
“Huh? Well, yes. Right on. And with our petition we’ll give them a hand to fully complete that act,” she echoed him jokingly.
“Yes! Our petition. Our contribution. Our kind of Vaseline! Free of charge!” Dan roared.
She chuckled. “You’re getting carried away, my friend. Anyway, I don’t think Nick and Rudy will mind too much that we’re messing up their labor of love once more with that new input.”
“To the contrary. They’ll get a kick out of it. Don’t worry. I know them.” He paused and intoned, “They’ll send you their bill.”
She liked that humor better. “I get that, Dan. Four hundred dollars an hour as usual. Anyway, if you want real detail on those cementing shenanigans, you should call Frank.”
“We’ll get it all fixed. Don’t worry. How’s Joe?”
“Thanks. Joe’s great. You heard all about the knife, right?”
“Everybody knows, Mary.” He laughed. “Thank God he didn’t get hurt, again. By the same creep. Take care. I’ll get back to you.”
***
At six o’clock on Monday they had gathered on the deck of Dan’s place in Hartville: Mary, Joe, Frank, Joanna, Rudy, Nick and grill master Dan with his wife Lydia.
“This isn’t exactly an occasion for a party, but one has to eat,” Dan commented jovially as he proceeded slowly and with care along the circumference of the circle his guests had formed with their chairs. He dropped hot hamburgers onto the buns lying on their paper plates, whether they had asked for one or not. “From a charcoal grill. We don’t have any of that methane gas in the Clark household.”
Lydia stood up, pushed her hair back and said, smiling, “Over there, guys. Help yourselves.” She pointed at the window ledge, where napkins, pickles, fruit and condiments were waiting to become part of the event. “And there.” Canned drinks sat on a table, a few steps away from the circle. She and Dan waved off the rave reviews for their production. “It must be that you guys are really hungry,” she quipped.
Silence reigned for a few minutes.
Mary and Joe had arrived a little late. She kept eyeing Rudy. He had a folder lying on the deck, under his metal chair. “So that’s it, Rudy? Our not-so-secret weapon?” she asked.
“All of it. Warts and all, but we think it’s presentable now.” The young man bent down. “Come on, guys,” he said, talking to his documents, a slight groan reflecting his physical effort. “You’ve been patient enough. Show us what you’ve got.” He got up and handed three-page copies to all attendees.
“Do we call this a Sierra document?” Frank asked, racing through the text.
“No. No mention of Sierra, but we got the imprimatur of my boss,” Nick responded. “It’s a ‘People’s’ message.”
“You sound like the Pope, or a Bolshevik, Nick. At least like a Howard Zinn, ‘People’s message.’” Mary quipped. She didn’t wait for a comeback but started reading right away.
To the attention of Mayor Sanders:
We, the people of Noredge, say “NO” to fracking!
We demand the immediate cessation of all hydraulic fracturing activities on our territory; the plugging of all wells; the revocation of all outstanding permits; and the permanent prohibition of all future permits!
Our petition is based on the grievous suffering of children and adults alike because of the well-documented drinking water fiasco in Noredge and the great damage done to the town of Carrollton, where a disastrous spill of poisonous dirty water from fracking occurred. Both tragic events were caused by the Supren Company.
The aquifer that has provided drinking water to Noredge since the day of its incorporation has been polluted by Supren’s Beta well on Maple Road, as our documentation below demonstrates. The Supren spill in Carrollton took place under questionable circumstances, but recent events have demonstrated that the company bears the full responsibility for it.
We are confident that the assertions expressed in the preceding paragraph would readily be confirmed if contested in a court of law.
We call on you, the Noredge authority, to accept the measures proposed in this document!
All in Noredge want clean soil, water and air, and long-term prosperity!
Submitted respectfully: Name:
Address:
Signature:
Date:
Frank looked up and gave Rudy a thumbs-up. “We can go to war with that, buddy.”
; “How about the notes on the next pages?” Joanna asked, sounding concerned. She pointed at the first lines on her second sheet under the title “Scientific and Economic Justification.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. It seems hard to understand for many people, but we need it,” Frank said, smiling at his lover.
“It’s like the fine print on a sales contract. But the text on the first page is in pretty big font and shows some not too academic-looking exclamation marks. We have both scientific and economics activist language.” Dan chuckled.
Mary ran through the two additional pages diagonally: Cornell Impact Study; Impact of Methane on Public Health; Composition of Dirty Water and Secrecy Surrounding it; Ten-year Economic Projections for Noredge; Fracking Legislation; Oklahoma and Pennsylvania Case Studies. Detailed Analysis of the Causes of the Carrollton Incident and the Cementing Issues in Noredge. A plethora of topics and arguments and calculations that would deter, she figured, all but the well-versed lawyer or scientist.
“You don’t really have to read all of that,” Nick said, sounding defensive. “We put it in to show we’re not—you’re not—a bunch of boneheaded screamers and troublemakers.”
“Yeah. The first page would do for this bonehead,” Lydia commented, raising her hand and winking at Nick.
Mary kept silent.
“Now we have to roll up our sleeves!” Dan exhorted his friends. “I’m ready and I’m even not from Noredge. Knocking on doors, cajoling, arguing! Winks or threats, jokes or tears, whatever it takes!”
“Noredge has fourteen thousand people. Say, twelve thousand adults. How are we going to reach them all?” Frank asked, his eyes running the circle on the deck.
“We can,” Mary said. “Let’s assume we have four thousand front doors to knock on. We all work our butts off for ten days. Each of us and some more friends, say about ten in total, make thirty house calls per day. In ten days we talk to six-to-eight thousand people. I bet we get four thousand signatures. That should be enough for Mayor Sanders and his city council to—”
“Check his Pamper,” Nick said, snickering. He was nibbling at an apple.
“Thanks, Nick,” she replied with a smirk. “But we need copies to stuff in mailboxes and to carry with us.”
“I’ll get us five thousand copies, my treat,” Frank volunteered. “I know a guy in Cleveland. We might ask five or six youngsters to stuff a couple of thousand mailboxes at night.”
“We can ask the Sentinel,” Joanna suggested timidly.
“They’re in the pockets of the fracker bunch,” Joe said, shrugging. “Sorry, Joanna.”
“How about WKSU? They’ve been bugging me for an interview since Saturday morning,” Mary said. “I stalled them so I could have the petition with me. I’ll sneak in a plug.”
“Or two or three, go for it!” Dan shouted, his fist up again.
“How about this young chap, Jeff Simmons of the Jack Jones show on NBC?” Frank wondered. “That lad has his head screwed on right.”
Joanna got involved again, looking keen and excited. “Let’s add a couple of lines at the bottom of the first page,” she said, her eyes checking with Frank, “to tell the people they can of course run copies or scans and send in their signatures.”
Nick dug up his iPhone.
“Of course, Joanna! To our address,” Joe said.
Mary dropped her copy. Was this real? Her Joe volunteered that? She stared at him, proud and shaking her head in disbelief. “Of course,” she repeated. “Of course! You guys have my phone number too. It’s also my fax.”
“Got your e-mail address too,” Nick said. “How about this little blurb at the bottom of page one? ‘Feel free to print your own copy or scan and send it with your signature to Mary Jenkins, by mail, fax or email.’” He showed it to Mary on his iPhone.
“Perfect! Thanks.”
The others nodded but Dan looked pensive. “Back to Mary’s math of a minute ago,” he said. “We have six volunteers here, right? But Joe shouldn’t—”
“Should!” Joe shouted. “Count me in. Me and my cane!”
“Right. It will speak volumes, Joe,” Lydia jubilated.
“So, we need another six volunteers or more, and a bunch of youngsters to roam Noredge streets at night and stuff mailboxes.” Dan looked ready. “My heart goes out to the few boxes that might get skipped, feeling left out.”
“Yeah, Dan.” Lydia rolled her eyes.
Frank stood up and stretched his legs. He gestured at Joanna they should go. “I’ll have the copies at your place by tomorrow night, Mary.”
She was already writing a list in her head, of additional volunteers—and their kids, for the mailbox stuffing.
Chapter 36
On Tuesday, Mary was a guest on NBC for about eight minutes, including her introduction by Jack Jones. She immediately felt young Jeff Simmons had her back when he asked her compassionately whether she was okay when she was about to enter the make-up room.
Both Jones and Simmons skated over Joe’s pain and the suffering of the general population. They concentrated on the failed Doyle knifing attempt at her residence and the incident at the Greenbrier. Ratings, Mary scoffed inwardly.
Six minutes into her time slot, Jeff kindly threw her a softball. “Where will all of this lead us, Miss Jenkins?”
She suppressed her smile and recited Nick’s lines at the bottom of page one of the petition, complete with address, phone number and email address, all hers. She added, “If we want to go with this where we should go for the good of all citizens, you’ve all got to sign our petition! And get your signatures to me today!” Her eyes drilled into the camera. “Sign!”
At that moment, Jack Jones reminded Jeff that they had to go to commercial.
***
“No, Andy. Not this big house.”
“But Mommy, my friend Bobby lives here. He told me his father will sign.”
“No. Mr. Jackson won’t. Bobby doesn’t know.” Mary didn’t want to waste her time. It was around seven p.m. Jay Jackson was a vocal advocate for the fracking wave.
She had to cover at least twenty more houses tonight. This was the second day of the canvassing operation. By now, at least a quarter of the Noredge mailboxes had been honored with a copy of the anti-fracking petition.
Andy had insisted on joining his mother. She had told him that this knocking on doors and pleading, begging for signatures would get boring after twenty minutes and three conversations about dirty water and air. Her warnings were no match for his excitement. So Mary and Andy were one of the nine volunteer teams covering all of Noredge, each in the section that Frank, the master organizer, had allotted to them.
The eastern section of McKinley, Mary’s section, was a tough nut to crack. The residences were upscale and the mostly well-to-do residents hadn’t really suffered that much from the fracking. The wells and drill sites spewed their gas, dust and noise far west of them, at least for now. Many houses here had private water wells. Of the nine residents she had addressed so far, five had turned her down.
Mary and Andy skipped the Jackson residence.
“Come on, Andy. With the next house we’ll do very well.” She needed a quick success for the boy to compensate for his disappointment. Mrs. Chambers, three houses down, was a sure bet.
“You’re skipping two more houses, Mommy.”
“We’ll do them later. The next lady’s really nice, but she may be leaving soon for a party. I know her well.”
Mrs. Chambers was all Mary had expected and more. “I’ll go and visit neighbors who might not be at home tonight. And I commend you, Mary, for your courage and commitment.”
Andy listened in but Mary wasn’t sure he understood all those beautiful words.
As they walked back to the second skipped house, the first past the Jacksons, her mind wandered. She pictured Joe getting out of the car and mak
ing his way up the steps to knock on various doors. She was sure he’d speak convincingly. But he’ll do five to ten houses, and his weak ankle will catch up with him. He might persevere a little longer physically though; she knew him. He would, however, have a hard time with the disappointment of cold refusals like “we don’t do politics” or footsteps inside after he rang a bell and the door stayed closed. Or a slight lifting of a curtain as he approached a house. Trying more productive back entrances was a step too far for him in his condition, as it was as for Mary, who feared dogs.
Her heart melted as she thought of Joe volunteering their personal email, snail mail, and phone for the very visible, public responsibility of receiving and counting signatures. And checking for potentially embarrassing duplicates. Her eyes had to have told him she wanted it that way. She knew that was the reason why he had answered for her at Dan’s, exposing himself to vitriol and worse from Supren and many of the city elders. He had decided to be with her on this, all the way.
She felt grateful to Frank. She said thanks within to the many who also, at this very moment, were fighting for the petition: three young people from the Sierra Club, Dan and Lydia, Joanna, Jill Smith from Canton and three of her colleagues at the hospital, one from Medina and two from Hartville.
When the Andy-Mary team arrived home at nine, past the kids’ bedtime, Joe wasn’t back yet. Jimmy was watching cartoons with the sitter and Jake.
Mary called Joe.
“Hold on…just a second, Mary…. Okay, back. Just got number forty to sign up. Didn’t want to go home with less. I’ll be there soon.”
“Forty? How’s your foot?”
“My foot? My cane’s getting tired! See you in ten minutes.”
Sunday was a day off for the canvassers. “We’d rub a lot of people the wrong way knocking on doors,” Frank had suggested. It had to be a day for church, family and rest.
Mary and Joe didn’t keep just a running tally of the signatures. During morning hours Joe copied on the Jenkins laptop each and every name and address connected with arriving signatures and at noon he backed up the list on a flash drive. Faxes and emails kept pouring in. “We may have to raise money for ink and paper and who knows what? Our printer may call it quits. Will we need a TV ad?” he had asked Mary. She had sighed, thinking of her dreadful checkbook situation.