The next week we had a nearly unbelievable story about an infestation of bats forcing another family out of their home. The couple who rented the house from Major Wilson's property company called the fire department about their problem. A parish inspector found a filthy mess, including forty-five decomposing bat carcasses, dead birds, and a large number of hibernating bats. The parish declared the house unlivable. The couple was frantic, not knowing where they were going to find an affordable place to stay.
Kevin and I had discussed this neighborhood off and on for months, and her concern had escalated during our girls' night out dinners.
"Let's talk to your parents about it," I said. "They'll help us figure it out. Why don't you all come over to my house for supper tomorrow?" The Taylors had been the first people to have me over for dinner, and I had a feeling of peace again as we visited over one of the casseroles from my freezer.
After eating, Kevin and I cleaned up while Pearl and Marcus chatted. We returned to my kitchen table to come up with a list of possible tactics.
"We somehow have to weave this neighborhood into the overall life of Green," Kevin said. "It stays separate now. There's such a high crime rate over there, compared to the rest of Green. Young thugs hang out on the corners and harass good people. Many of the residents are poor and uneducated. They do not even begin to know how to take care of their property." Passion and pain were apparent in Kevin's voice as she spoke of the very neighborhood where she lived.
"And some of the folks are elderly," Kevin's mother said. "They don't have anyone to help them with their housework, much less their yards. And half of them are afraid to leave their houses because the neighborhood is so dangerous."
I pulled out a notebook and listed possible resources. At the top of the list was The News-Item. "We can do news coverage and write editorials about the efforts. And we can contribute to a smoke-detector fund to get it going."
We knew the fire department would help install the smoke detectors and educate residents about their importance. We hoped the police department might beef up patrols in the area to cut down on loitering and crime.
"Add the Lakeside Neighborhood Association. We're ready to jump on this effort at a moment's notice," Mr. Taylor said. "List the Green Forward group, too. For downtown to reach its fullest potential, nearby neighborhoods need to flourish."
"And I'll get the South Green Merchants Group involved. I don't want to hear complaints again that we shut them out," I said. "It's high time we pulled more areas together. We should be one community, not a bunch of factions."
"You are absolutely correct, Miss Lois," Marcus said. They stood to leave.
"Thank you for that delicious supper," Pearl said. "I especially enjoy a meal I don't have to cook."
Just after the Taylors pulled out of the driveway, Chris pulled in to say hello. He stopped by regularly, even on evenings we did not go for a walk, staying for a few minutes after he finished up at his catfish ponds.
Dishing up leftovers for his late supper, I told him what we had been discussing. I enjoyed bouncing ideas off him and increasingly found myself wanting to pick up the phone to tell him something funny that had happened in town.
"This could be something good for Green, don't you think?" I asked.
"This community needs more efforts like this," he said. His quick agreement reassured me the idea was not off-base. "I can get the football team and other students to help with a spruce-up day in the neighborhood."
The idea seemed to grow instantly in both our minds.
"Maybe Grace Community can paint a house for someone who is disabled. Maybe even challenge other churches to do likewise."
Representatives of all the groups gathered downtown at the paper one evening with an enthusiastic buzz in the room.
"This can make an awesome Christmas present to the community," Katy said.
Her friend Molly quickly jumped in. "Katy and I can organize the party for the children at the country club. Tammy will help us, won't you?"
"I'd love to," Tammy said. "We'll give those kids a party like they've never seen-not to mention what the country club has seen."
With all of this going on for the Lakeside Annex, we received notice that the state and federal highway departments were close to finalizing the much-awaited route for the new North-South Interstate Highway-a path that went squarely through my yard and through the land of several of my Route 2 neighbors.
"The preliminary drawings show the highway cuts right between the church and my house," Pastor jean said, when I called to ask if she had seen the letter. "Folks are already in an uproar out here. And not only out on Route 2, but also in town. I've had two dozen calls already."
For a few days, I set the notice aside, thinking it would be years before the road could be built. However, it ate at me, thinking about what it might do to the area and wondering if the bureaucrats who put it together knew the havoc they wrought on the lives of ordinary, tax-paying citizens.
"People are panicking," Iris Jo said during a newspaper planning meeting. "They think the government can come in, bulldoze their homes, and leave them with nothing."
"Sounds like the same thing the tenants in Lakeside are worried about," Molly said. I glanced at her, impressed with the observation.
"Let's write some editorials and pull together a community forum," Tom said, quite serious about his commentary duties. "Why don't you check with that woman preacher and see if we can have it out there?"
Pastor Jean agreed immediately when I called. "You can definitely have the meeting at the church. This is a neighborhood issue, and the church needs to take part. I would appreciate it if you moderated the discussion."
I invited a representative from the Louisiana Department of Transportation and Development, our congressman, candidates for mayor, and the head of the Green Chamber of Commerce. We publicized the event in the paper, and Tom wrote nearly poetic editorials.
"People must make their opinions known and fight for the best route for our area," he said. "It's high time that the highway department listened to real people, the tax-paying, billpaying public."
The night of the meeting the little church was packed, from choir loft to people squeezed into every pew to an overflow crowd in the foyer and out onto the front lawn. There was almost a carnival atmosphere, and I realized the energy that could be generated when people rallied together behind a cause. The audience was extremely diverse, made up of longtime farmers in the area, elderly widows who were scared to death, young couples who had built homes out in the country or who had remodeled family houses, people who sold produce out of the back of their pickups, and a few wealthy landowners who had lots of acreage with timber or some sort of cash crop.
"Good evening," I said, leaning over the pulpit. The microphone squealed, and several people shouted, "We can't hear you"
I adjusted the mike and tried again. "Good evening. I'm your neighbor, Lois Barker, and we're here tonight to talk about the proposed path of Interstate 69. As you know, the Green area is part of two choices for this interstate's corridor through North Louisiana. As a businesswoman and resident of Green, I do not want to block this project. It has the potential to help our area-our entire region-greatly."
As I said that, several people grumbled, and one man yelled out, "I do. I want to block it. We don't need that kind of progress."
A handful of people clapped, while a few others said, "Shhh! Let her talk."
"However," I plowed on, wondering what I was doing up here, "I do not want to see the highway ruin my neighborhood, hurt my neighbors, and take away the charm of our community. So, we must let our voices be heard and suggest the government choose an alternate, less disruptive route, which will require flexibility in Green. I sincerely hope this does not sound like I'm trying to push the interstate off on others, make it their burden."
"Why not?" someone in the audience yelled, and a few people laughed.
Many people applauded, and there was a hum in the room as
people talked to those around them. Trying to keep people quiet, I introduced the guest speakers and moderated the question-and-answer period. I was impressed at how many people I could call by name as they raised their hands.
When I had arrived in Green eleven months ago, I had thought it a fairly dull place without much going on. Now it seemed that every time I turned around I had something else to deal with. As I looked out at the crowd that night, I realized how even in small communities there was always some sort of drama playing out, the daily exchanges between friends and neighbors and the efforts of trying to change what might need changing and keep what was worth keeping.
I took advantage of the gathering to invite people to participate in our Lakeside Annex cleanup and party day. "As most of you know, we've scheduled an event for the first Saturday in December-'Green's Gift to Green.' I hope you will come and help us make this a better place to live."
In the next week, groups kept calling, offering to do all sorts of useful things. I also had an unexpected visit from Kevin, who was so busy at her clinic that she seldom stopped by my office during the week. "I had some business I needed to take care of downtown and wondered if you might want to get some lunch," she said.
A weird deja vu feeling hit me, as I remembered a similar conversation with Ed just over a year ago. "Sure," I said, "What's up?"
Just as Ed had done, Kevin put me off until we were seated at the catfish restaurant on the south side of town, a sure sign she wanted to talk more privately. "I've decided to buy some of the houses in the Lakeside Annex, and I need your help," she said. "I've talked to your banker friend Duke, and he's good to go, but I need you to vouch for me with the bank's loan committee."
"No problem," I said, thinking there was something wrong when the committee needed me, a newcomer, to vouch for someone who had grown up here, whose parents were community leaders and who probably made five times more money than I did.
I looked up from the menu and smiled. "That's great. How many houses are you buying?"
"Twenty-five."
I had expected her to say two or three. "Twenty-five? Excuse me, but did you say twenty-five?"
"Yes, I said twenty-five, and, good Lord willing, that's only going to be the starting place."
I shook my head again. "Kevin, did you just tell me you're buying twenty-five houses in the Lakeside Annex?"
"Yes, Lois, I did. Now listen! I don't have all day here. God has blessed me with a great upbringing and a wonderful medical practice. I make a good living, and I want to use it to help others. They're not very expensive in the shape they're in, and I've been in touch with one of the out-of-town owners. He's happy to unload them. I can get all of those for the price of one big fancy house on the lake."
"That's fantastic," I said. "What an idea!"
"This is an investment for me, too, and Daddy says he can help me manage them. These houses are bound to go up in value as the highway comes through and the lake continues to develop and as we fix up that area."
"Can I buy one?"
"Sure, you can buy a half dozen if you want. I figure there are sixty houses in that neighborhood, and I intend for all of them to be owned by the current tenants or by me within the next ten years. Except for the ones you buy, of course."
`And I thought I was a goal-setter," I said, picking at a hush puppY.
"There's more. I'm working out a plan at the bank to help some of the tenants buy their houses on the lake, the ones by my folks' house. Duke thinks we might be able to work this out as part of the mediation with Major Wilson's case. He says it's a certainty the Cypress Point development is dead and that Major needs to look for a way to buy some goodwill with the Feds and with some of his constituents. To top it off, apparently I'm not the only person of color who tried to buy a house in Mossy Bend and was turned down for no apparent reason. His whole real estate business could crumble if he can't work this out."
"Not to mention he can still be prosecuted for violating the Civil Rights Act," I said. Several times I had tried to talk Kevin into telling her story for the newspaper, but she had declined, getting firmer with each mention of it. I had even wanted her to look at houses in white neighborhoods and report on the reactions when she asked about buying something.
"Not interested," she had said. "I need to put my time and energy into something more productive."
Apparently she had.
I walked around the table and gave her a hug, something I seemed to be doing everywhere these days. "You are one amazing woman," I said, "and I am proud to have you as my friend."
"Right back at you," she said, and we walked out grinning.
God smiled on us on "Gift" day, and by now I was willing to admit it was God's doing.
The weather was clear and cool, but not too cold to paint. The sky was as blue as I had ever seen it. Nearly a thousand people picked up litter, cleaned out yards for disabled and elderly people, and painted houses. About two hundred smoke detectors were installed and tested, with Tom keeping a careful list so we could follow up. The South Green Merchants Group happily agreed to participate, cooking hamburgers and hot dogs for volunteers and residents. During the middle of the afternoon, church buses and the nursing home van pulled up and took eighty-five children to the country club for their party.
Kevin and I ran to Kevin's house, changed clothes and met them there.
Katy, Molly, and Tammy dressed as elves. They had completely outdone themselves. There were two Santas, one black and one white, and the children climbed onto their laps, one right after the other. I wasn't sure who the white Santa was, but I thought the other Santa looked like the pastor from the First Methodist Church. Our photographer volunteered to take pictures of the children to give to their parents, and Alex was his assistant, keeping track of names and addresses.
High school girls painted dozens of faces with candy canes and Christmas trees and stars. The club had donated sugar cookies to decorate and had set up tables with icing and sprinkles for the project. They also had hooked up the sound system, and representatives from youth groups around town led karaoke-style singing of Christmas carols that was as tender and funny as anything I had ever seen.
Just before it was time to load the kids up and take them home, I caught Kevin's eye and both of us started crying. If I live to be as old as Aunt Helen and with as full a life, I may never have a moment more abundant than with that group of excited children scrambling around the Oak Crest Country Club.
The next morning I headed into Grace Community Chapel for my second worship service in a year. I would not have skipped church that day no matter how tired I was.
During the time for prayers and praise, I slowly stood up, nervous but certain of what I needed to do. "I want to say thank you to God for bringing so many loving people together yesterday to help make Green a better place to live and for blessing me so richly with so many wonderful friends in my life."
"Amen," several people said, and we bowed our heads to pray. When I looked up, Chris, sitting over on the side, caught my eye and winked.
Right after church I threw a thank-you party at my house, inviting the people who helped get Green's Gift to Green going, my growing group of friends who were always ready to help. For so many years I had wanted my home to be open and available and the kind of place where people liked to gather. I had wasted enough time.
Chris volunteered to fry a turkey for the occasion, a local tradition that I had not yet experienced. He also grilled chicken and sausage for what turned into a regular feast. I had insisted, apparently for naught, that everyone had worked hard enough already and did not need to bring anything. Homemade food, from Iris Jo's famous seven-layer dip to Tammy's coveted cream corn, poured in. Tom, who I didn't even know could cook, brought something called a tur- ducken, an odd combination of a turkey, duck, and chicken. Even Katy and Molly came in with a sack, giggling as they pulled out a large bag of Skittles, several packs of bubble gum, and a frozen pizza.
I asked Pastor jean
to bless our meal and felt my heart swell again as I looked at the bowed heads around the room.
Right as she was wrapping up her lovely prayer, the phone rang, but I ignored it. The room was totally quiet, and I was annoyed by the interruption.
"Miss Barker," a man's voice said on the answering machine, "this is Jim Mills, up in Shreveport. Get back to me as soon as you can. I have a good offer on your newspaper."
20
The ladies auxiliary of Green United Methodist Church will hold a bake sale to raise funds for its mission project this year: a trip to south Louisiana to restock church pantries damaged by the recent storm. All canned goods and Cajun seasoning are needed.
-The Green News-Item
The possibility of making a lot of money on the paper excited me. I couldn't pretend otherwise. But it was hard to enjoy the thought of wealth when most people in town were either peeved at me or terribly hurt.
The day after the call I walked through the front door of the paper to be greeted by one of the looks Tammy was famous for. "Well, good morning to you, too," I said, refusing to be bullied, and spoiling for a fight.
"How could you?" she asked, following me into my office. "How could you plan to sell the paper and not tell us? We're your friends, for heaven's sake."
That afternoon Katy came in with the same question and her old surly voice. I had forgotten how snide she could be.
"How could you, Lois? How could you do this to the people who love you so much? I thought you cared about Green and about this paper and, and, and about me!"
I finally quit trying to explain and simply apologized.
"I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt your feelings. I do care about you, but I'm not from Louisiana. I got this paper as a responsibility from my friend who died, and I had to come down here and take care of it. It's time for me to go."
That sounded hollow even to my ears, as though it had been a big drag. Nothing could be further from the truth. This year in Green had been a great experience. But I was not a small-town woman, nor a southerner.
Gone to Green Page 17