by Ken Dickson
I never imagined that I’d spend so much time working with her in Primera. I discovered, as Merry had hinted, that bringing Primera alive through living things was my principle passion, and one by one, my former responsibilities fell into other’s hands. She and I became so closely knit that we knew instinctively when to hand each other a particular tool or what the other was about to say. We often spent entire days together into the late evening. By then, we were both filthy pigs covered with sweat and grime and sporting terrible farmer tans. I’d laugh when she’d lift her shirt sleeve and brag that her “farmer” was better than mine. I couldn’t compete. Hers was like coffee against milk. One day, she asked me a question that I knew was inevitable: “What’s the story behind that crusty EWU baseball cap you’re always wearing?”
“I wondered when you’d ask. When my daughter Kaitlin was eleven, she went to Europe for several weeks with ‘People to People.’ They explained that if she gave a presentation to three sponsors regarding her trip when she returned, she’d earn one college credit from EWU. She assembled a superb PowerPoint presentation and wowed those sponsors. Besides the credit, EWU gave her this cap, which she promptly handed to me. ‘You deserve this more than me,” she said. “You made it all possible—besides, you’re bald!’ There’s nothing quite like hearing the naked truth from an eleven-year-old.” Emma laughed. “It’s been my favorite cap ever since.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to retire it? It’s all sweat-stained, the material is fraying, and what’s that? A blood stain?”
“It still keeps the sun off my head, and it’s my most comfortable cap—just like an old t-shirt that’s softened with age. Maybe someday I’ll call EWU for a replacement.” She shook her head.
“Better make that call soon before it disintegrates.”
At the end of each day, we’d reach a mutual stopping point and then lean into each other and admire what we’d created. I can honestly say that sharing a passion with someone is one of the most fulfilling experiences I’d ever had. It wasn’t a romance, it was something beyond that, which I craved every day and missed dearly when duty pulled me in another direction. People grew accustomed to seeing the two of us and thought of us as a team. When we worked together, no one called me Chief.
We weren’t alone in our many endeavors. Crews from Facilities and Engineering frequently assisted, and sometimes we’d contract outside labor if the scope of a project was too overwhelming or beyond our expertise. I particularly enjoyed it when backhoes or front loaders assisted. They brought our visions to life effortlessly. Something else I enjoyed was that with Emma and I, nothing was sacred. We might work for days on a project and then simultaneously both say “Nah!” break out jackhammers and transform it into rubble. Whenever we did, something better always took its place.
It seemed like the list of remaining tasks was endless, but it shortened every day. Interior trim and paint: check. Sinks, cabinets, doors and mirrors: done. Tile and flooring: finished. Appliances, plumbing, fixtures and lighting: installed. Then came the exterior final touches: grading, sprinkler and drip systems, landscaping, lawn and rock. Finally, only one task remained.
Emma and I impatiently wrestled with a cardboard box whose arrival we’d awaited for hours. In minutes, we’d unwrapped the contents: a bench identical to the one under her olive tree that said, “Welcome.” In short order, we’d installed it on the sidewalk in front of the pool, facing toward Shaughnessey Road. We sat on the bench, grinning in satisfaction. From it, we could see all of Primera, even my trailer on the hill and the rock beyond it. The date was December 12, 2013. Primera was complete.
Chapter 32
A LIFE OF ITS OWN
Eighty people would live in Primera, four to six in each of the sixteen homes, selected by a random drawing with families represented by one member. At the drawing on December 14, 2013, a party atmosphere prevailed as names were chosen. Almost everyone associated with BRI was there, and they all went wild with the announcement of each pick. Afterward, Merry worked closely with the eighty to determine the mix for every home and then had the residents of each choose a supervisor to represent them.
After the home inspections passed, we shelved and all but forgot the original construction plans. From then on, there was no plan. In a brief informal meeting with the supervisors, I summed it up with two words: “anything goes” and gave them free rein, within reason, to do anything they chose. This appalled the supervisor of home five. He’d poured his heart and soul into the homes. That man was none other than Carlos.
“Why are we changing them? They’re beautiful just as they are.”
“I’m sorry. You came on board late, and I should have explained it to you. We built them according to plans to ensure that they would pass inspection. After that, we intended to do anything we wished, to a point, of course. It’s part of a grand experiment to investigate how people like us will live together. They’re merely shells. Someday, we’ll dust off the plans and change them back to sell them, but for now, anything goes.”
“If that’s the case,” he said reluctantly, “I know someone who owns a remodeling business. I worked for him before my illness. He taught me everything I know. Perhaps he could help.”
“So, that’s where you learned your fantastic skills. Give me his information, and I’ll get him involved. We can build, but we’re no experts on remodeling.” He provided the name, and I relayed the information to Conner.
***
Jose Rodriguez’s family remodeling business, Casa Classico, spanned generations. He and his father before him were deeply traditional, avoiding contemporary work, but times had changed and demand for tradition was at an all-time low. In fact, Casa Classico was near bankruptcy when Conner called. “Thank God!” Jose shouted, upon ending the conversation, and making the sign of the cross. “Casa Classico’s doors will not close today!”
***
Before remodeling commenced, the supervisors approached Merry with a fresh proposal.
“We’d like to free up four homes,” announced Diane Jackson, a cheerful young woman originating from the Midwest, and supervisor of home three.
“Why do you want to do that?”
“This is an experiment, right? So, let’s really experiment. Change this place into a micro-city, a modern-day equivalent to a Midwestern pioneer town. Be as self-sufficient as possible. Make one home a general store with groceries, hardware and shipping; another, a school and daycare for the children; a third a recreation center with a theater, exercise equipment and games; and the last, a community workshop for building and repairing furnishings and performing minor vehicle maintenance.”
“What about the residents?”
“We’ll move them. All we have to do is fit roughly seven people into each of the twelve remaining homes.”
“How do you plan to do that? It’s already a stretch fitting six into some, and that’s only possible because of married couples and children sharing rooms.”
“Engineering designed a soundproof privacy module—like a bedroom only more high tech. Two modules will fit in a master suite and two in a living room. In a four-bedroom home, that gets us to seven. We’ll reclaim kitchen nooks to expand kitchens, use dining rooms for meals, and sacrifice a bit of bedroom space to grow or increase the number of bathrooms.”
“I see. What exactly is a privacy module?”
“It’s a self-contained room with a double bed that folds against a wall to reveal a collapsible desk and storage. It’s multimedia with HDTV, surround sound with active noise suppression, and high speed cable. The lighting is LED, and each unit is equipped with its own climate control.”
“What about zoning for the four buildings?”
“Everything will be run cooperatively by the community. They won’t technically be businesses, and they will retain their present exteriors.”
“It’s an interesting concept, and you seem to have your bases covered. Why not?” Cheers erupted from the gro
up.
As remodeling commenced, many non-bearing walls disappeared in favor of more openness. Engineered wood or tile replaced most carpet with stone and wood accents complementing the natural feel of the transforming homes. Most spectacular of all, each received a major facelift: covered porches or patios, which ultimately became the focal point of the neighborhood.
Engineering left a big footprint with their clever ideas. One in particular brought openness to the somewhat claustrophobic privacy modules: a solar powered video transmitter situated in the desert. Its two wireless video cameras streamed live audio and video twenty-four hours a day. One camera faced east and the other west. You could wake to the sunrise by linking to the east facing camera, watch the sunset by connecting to the west-facing one, or fall asleep to audio alone of desert breezes, howling coyotes or hooting owls. It provided a virtual open window to the outside world. There was even talk of upgrading to 3D and installing other cameras in exotic locations.
Everything progressed smoothly during the remodel with the exception of Casa Classico, the contractor referred by Carlos, who began work at Primera on January 13, 2014. From the start, the proposed changes flabbergasted Jose and his crew. They butted heads with everyone on a frequent basis. Contracting a company bent on tradition to perform such radical alterations was clearly lunacy. No matter what the task, Jose’s crew tried to talk everyone out of it. Carlos sometimes took sides with his former employer, out of loyalty, but eventually, even he became disheartened with his obstinate ex-boss. Much to everyone’s relief, BRI terminated their contract on March 5, 2014. BRI employees, who by then were more than capable of doing the job themselves, took over.
Furnishings likewise benefited from innovation. Modular pieces, some designed and built by BRI, replaced standard sofas and love seats, which occupants deemed too inflexible. Due to the popularity of the multimedia privacy modules, bedrooms also received upgrades. Because of the superb technology in each bedroom and module, many homes lacked the traditional family or living room television and sound system, aside from those of sports fans, which boasted massive TVs, beastly audio systems and a plethora of modular seating in one room, and sometimes, both.
There were as many different styles of living in the homes as there were homes. In some, multiple families with children resided, with those homes geared toward raising children. In others, people with similar hobbies cohabitated and the homes reflected their interests. In still others, professionals banded together to create the first satellite workplaces.
By April 18, 2014, the new Primera was complete: a masterpiece in the desert—a beautiful splash of color at the center of an otherwise drab painting. No fences penned people in. All the yards merged into an enormous park flowing naturally up to the hill and out to the desert. Spacious, lit, meandering walkways lined with plants, trees and the occasional garden welcomed children on bikes or adults walking pets. The single large neighborhood pool sported four lap lanes, a kiddy pool, a separate play area with a waterfall and slide, and a large hot tub. A volleyball court, tennis courts, covered playground and picnic tables surrounded the fenced pool, and it seemed they were always in use.
Overall, the flavor of Primera was the opposite of many typical residential areas where neighbors isolate themselves behind locked doors and fences, rarely, if ever, interacting with each other. Instead, the residents knew all of their neighbors. It was common to lend a wheelbarrow, borrow a cup of sugar or stand in the street discussing the latest news. In the morning, people sipped coffee and read the paper on patios or porches. In the evening, they returned to those retreats, inviting neighbors for cookouts. When the walls of our minds tumbled down, so did the walls of our lives. Primera enjoyed a sense of community like no place else.
Because of the success of Primera, we raised the bar for Amistad even higher. Gone was the idea of living underground. Instead, Amistad would be an above ground community blended with nature, expanding upon the theme of Primera.
Chapter 33
HONOR THY FATHER
With Primera exceeding all expectations, everyone was eager to capitalize upon that success with Amistad. Among the first tasks on a growing list of priorities was searching for a location to build it. From the very start, I could think of only one man to lead that search. He was an avid outdoorsman, life-long photographer and world-class engineer. With his keen eye and technical prowess, he was a perfect fit. It didn’t hurt that I’d known him my entire life: my father.
When I mentioned the idea to the staff, it caused a minor uproar. Matt reminded me that it was against corporate policy to hire relatives. I quickly eased concerns by bringing up Dad’s Smugmug website and filling a projector screen with the breathtaking scenery he’d photographed over the years. After that, I sold them on his credentials. Finally, I made it clear that he’d merely be a temporary contractor.
There was another problem, though. Mom and Dad weren’t changed, and they didn’t know what to make of the new me. Whenever I was around them, uneasiness filled the air so thickly you could choke on it. To make matters worse, they knew nothing about Primera or Amistad. They lived out of state and because of the association of those projects with my former mental illness, I’d kept them out of the loop.
Expecting that I’d get nowhere over the phone, my plan nonetheless began with a phone call. Dad picked up after a few rings when he noticed that the call was from me. “Hold on while I connect my cochlear implant.” His hearing had failed years earlier, but in true engineer spirit, he reclaimed it with technology. I waited while he plugged a thin audio cable from the headphone jack of his cell phone to the sound processor for his implant so that he could hear me. “Okay. Hello?”
“Hi Dad, how are you?”
“I’m...doing okay,” he replied hesitantly.
“What’s new with you and Mom?”
“We just finished the new fishpond and put our old koi in it, plus a few new ones. It has remote control for the waterfall and a motion sensing automatic sprinkler to scare the herons away so they don’t eat the koi. I put a comfortable chair beside it so that I can read and watch the fish. In fact, that’s what I was doing when you called.”
“That sounds like heaven. I can’t wait to see it.”
“We are having one problem. Buddy drinks out of it and gets sick. Mom bought a big mesh screen to keep him out, but I saw him drinking out of it again today—he walked onto that screen and drank right through it.”
“That’s cats for you. Dad, the reason I’m calling is to ask you and Mom for a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“I’ve got something important to share with you, but I need to do it in person. Can you and Mom fly out here for a day? I’ll cover the tickets.”
Dad scoffed. “That’s a big trip for one day. What’s this all about?”
“Nothing crazy, I promise.”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to make it,” he said with a note of suspicion in his voice. “Wasatch Optomics is taking off. I’m expecting some contract work any day, and you know how Mom is about leaving the cats.”
I knew why Dad was hedging. It wasn’t that long ago that I was mentally ill, and he couldn’t get that image out of his head. “Come on, Dad, it’s only a day. I’ll arrange a limo for the ride to the Vegas airport and back.”
“That’ll cost you a pretty penny. You’d be wise to save that money.”
“If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t go to such trouble.”
“I’ll talk to your mom and see what she says.”
The line went dead for a minute until he returned. “Mom doesn’t want to come, but I will. When do you want me there?”
“Sometime in the next few days. If that’s okay, I’ll book your flights and email you an itinerary.”
“That sounds good. I’ll keep an eye out for it.”
“Say hi to Mom for me.”
***
Dad arrived at Phoenix International at 9:00 a.m. on Ap
ril 29, 2014. “How was your flight?”
“Smooth. Nice time of day to fly. I had to get up early to get to Las Vegas on time, but the limo was comfortable, and I slept a little on the way. Now that I’m here, what’s this all about? You didn’t get remarried to some young hussy and get her pregnant at your age, did you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I had a vasectomy, so she can’t have a baby anyway.” I grinned and Dad raised his eyebrows at me, giving me a look that I’d seen often in my life.
“Mom tells me all about your shenanigans. You sure messed up with Beth. She’s a fine woman, and she went through hell for you. What on earth were you thinking?”
“Yeah, I screwed up, but I’d rather not talk about that now. Instead, I’d like to show you something that I’m more proud of than anything in my life, and it’s only the beginning. I’d like you to help with the next phase if you’re willing. That’s why I’ve invited you here.”
“I have to admit that you’ve got my curiosity piqued, but let’s take it one step at a time.”
Twenty minutes later, we crested the top of the hill near Primera. I pulled aside and parked the car. “Follow me to that big rock,” I said, pointing. Once there, I convinced him to climb onto it and then joined him.
“Do you recall visiting me at Gracewood?”
“I’d rather forget. It broke my heart to see you like that, your mother’s, too.”
“I’m sorry about that, but it was out of my hands. Do you remember me discussing Utopia?”
“That’s all you talked about. How could I forget?”
“There were two phases to Utopia. Back then, I called them Utopia 1, a small experimental community, and Utopia 2, the ultimate project.” Then I looked at him with pride. “Dad, this is Utopia 1. Only we call it Primera.” He scrutinized me for a few seconds, wondering if I’d lost my mind again, and then looked in the direction I pointed.