Читать книгу Public Trust - J. M. Mitchell - Страница 11

The plaza was the heart of Las Piedras, where fiestas, speeches and other community events took place. Old men gathered daily under the cottonwoods to play dominos and cards in the heat of the afternoon. It seemed quaint and timeless, but much had changed over three hundred years.

Most of the buildings around the plaza—including the largest, the church—were adobe. Wooden buildings had been added around the turn of the last century.

Jack parked on a backstreet. The businesses he walked past—the dry goods store, the pharmacy, Indian arts and curio shops, the bookstore, and Elena’s Café and Cantina—all seemed busy for Las Piedras at this time of year. Children ran noisily about the church courtyard, behind its low earthen walls. A woman watched them from the shadow of the bell tower, out of the growing heat.

People were gathering for Joe Morgan’s meeting in the shade of an old monarch cottonwood. From across the way, Jack could pick out Joe by the profile of his hat. Some of the people he’d assembled were sitting on park benches, others milled around behind them, talking in groups. As Jack approached, he studied them. There looked to be about a dozen ranchers, young and old, Hispano and Anglo. There looked to be about as many from the environmental community. Karen Hatcher, the regional director for Trust for the Southwest, stood at the edge of a group of likely environmentalists while Harold Grimmsley, who called himself Director of the Friends of Canyon de Fuego, stood at its core. Grimmsley’s one-person show appeared to be adding followers.

A few business people were there, as well as a county supervisor named Tom Herrera. Angie Manriquez, the BLM District Manager, stood behind Joe, waiting.

Jack chose a spot off to the side and watched as the others threw around glances and whispered words.

Joe stepped forward. “Folks, thanks for coming. I’m Joe Morgan, Superintendent of Piedras Coloradas National Park. This is Angie Manriquez, District Manager for the Bureau of Land Management.”

Angie nodded to the attendees.

“Okay, I want this to be informal,” Joe said. “And I want each of you to feel like you can talk and ask questions. But first, there are some rumors going around about the new national monument. Rumors that are just flat out incorrect, and likely to worry some of you.” He laughed. “In fact, there seems to be a rumor to worry about everybody.”

A few nervous laughs came out of the crowd.

He continued. “Because of those rumors, I wanted to get you together to talk…and…I hope…to give you some comfort through the facts. First, we need to prepare a management plan. The proclamation for the national monument directs us to do so, jointly. We’ll be working with Angie and her BLM district staff.” Joe glanced her way. “No plans have yet been initiated, and if you want to know what will guide the development of the plan, that’s easy, just read the proclamation. It does not say to do away with grazing on the national monument, but it directs us to consider the use of appropriate restrictions if needed to preserve the values of the monument. The proclamation does not say there will be no roads, but it does restrict roads and directs us to consider closures when needed to protect natural and cultural resource values. There is no authority—and by that I mean legislation—that would allow the monument to be pulled into the national park. It is to be managed differently, for different purposes, including allowing most of the traditional activities that occur there today. But let me make clear the fact that there are specific natural and cultural values that we are directed to preserve. That will be our objective. And, one last point…an environmental impact statement will be prepared with the management plan. No decisions can be made until that EIS is finished. We’ll start with a public meeting, what we call a scoping meeting, which will give you an opportunity to tell us what issues are important to you. That meeting will be in three weeks. That’s really all I wanted to say, but I hope that clears up some rumors. I’m sure some of you have questions, and Angie and I want to answer them.” Joe looked around the group.

A woman stepped forward, jaw quivering. She raised a hand and pointed at Joe. “Shame on you! Shame on you!” she said, loudly. Her eyes glared. “First you open the park to commercial logging, and now you want to let developers build roads all over the monument. Why can’t you just do your job? Why can’t you do what you’re supposed to do? Shame on you!”

Joe cocked his head, keeping an eye on the woman. It was a subtle sign of anger that only his staff knew how to read.

Jack looked around the crowd. The ranchers in the back shifted nervously, watching the woman, and watching Joe.

Morgan took in a deep breath, and the words came blurting out. “Ma’am, do you really think we’re just sitting around, thinking about the kinds of evil we can do on any given day?” His eyes rolled. “I don’t know who you’re talking to, but they’re feeding you a line of bull. First of all, there is no commercial logging going on in the park, only a project to thin an overgrown forest and reduce the chance of a catastrophic fire. Second, there have been no decisions made regarding the monument, especially about roads. Someone’s feeding you a line, and I would advise you to listen to someone who’s a little better informed.” Joe glared back at her.

She lowered her shoulders and melted into the crowd.

Joe looked around. “Other comments?”

No one responded. No one dared.

“Questions? Please.”

Finally, a woman stood up from a park bench. “I hope you’ll base your decisions on science, not politics or pressure. I am concerned about new roads.”

Morgan smiled, trying to reestablish his rapport with the group. “Yes, ma’am, I understand. To build a new road, we would need to have a specific public purpose, or a special piece of legislation to allow it. And information to support a decision, one way or the other.”

A young Anglo wearing jeans, boots and a baseball cap, stepped forward and said, “I was told you’d deny wanting to get rid of grazing in the monument. And, I was told you’ve already made up your mind to do it. What do you say to that?”

Morgan gave him a tired, sympathetic look. “Son, I hear those things myself. There’s not much I can do to disprove the myth, other than to prove to you, as we write this plan, that you and the other members of the public will influence the direction for managing this monument. I wish I could say, ‘just trust us’, and have it magically be so, but it doesn’t work that way. We’ll have to earn your trust. I’m confident we will.”

“I am appalled at the arrogance of the Park Service and the BLM, and all the federal government,” said a man standing behind the bench. He frowned and shifted his weight. “You come in here saying a few nice words. Words you don’t mean. But the fact that you’re even here is an insult. We don’t want your national monument. We don’t want no change. Things were fine the way they were.”

Talk started.

“You’re wrong, we do want the national monument,” said an older, mustachioed man.

“No, we don’t,” said the other. “We don’t need the feds coming in here and telling us what to do. And we don’t need you environmentalists doing it either.”

Joe raised his hands. “Folks…folks…the monument was created. What more can I say?”

The thought settled them.

“Well, just un-create it!”

“Not a chance!”

Joe crossed his arms. “Folks! I didn’t invite you here to argue. I invited you here to dispel some rumors and answer your questions.”

“Why should we believe you?” said a Hispanic fellow along the side. He looked like a rancher. “You’re part of the government. You want to make your bosses in Washington happy, not us. You’ve got your mind made up, and I was told that getting rid of cattle and sheep is the first thing you want to do.”

“That would be great! Do it,” came a low, soft-spoken voice from somewhere along the other side.

“Who said that?” the old rancher hollered.

Several environmentalists turned. Harold Grimmsley held his gaze on Joe Morgan. The line of his jaw—visible because his hair was pulled back in a pony tail—suggested he was ready to throw more gas on the fire.

A rancher in a brown hat raised his hand. Joe nodded for him to speak.

“I’ve got to admit, I’m concerned, too,” he said. “I’ve heard the same thing these other fellers are talkin about…from reliable sources. They tell me…that you…and I was told it was you, the Superintendent of Piedras Coloradas…that you were working with those people over there.” He turned his eye in the direction of the environmentalists. “If that’s the case,” he said, his anger growing, “we’re gonna fight you every step of the way, and on everything you try to do.”

Joe looked over at Jack.

Jack felt a thump in his chest. He cleared his throat. “Should I speak to this?”

“Please,” Joe said. “This is Jack Chastain. One of my staff.”

A voice called out, “He’s just another lyin’ fed.”

“Hey,” Joe shouted back, angrily. “If you want to abuse someone, direct your comments at me. Jack’s not paid to take that kind of treatment.”

“If he’s a fed, he’s fair game.”

“Yeah, right,” Joe said, sarcastically. “Be careful what you ask for.” He flashed an apologetic look at Jack. “Never mind.”

“It’s okay, Joe,” Jack said. He turned to the rancher in the brown hat, and studied his face. “May I ask you a question?” He got a nod. “Is it possible that this person who told you those things…that we might eliminate grazing…is it possible that they were just confusing the park and the monument? After all, it can be confusing.” He waited for the response.

The man looked around. “I don’t think so,” he said. He looked back at a group standing behind a park bench.

“There’s a reason I ask,” Jack continued. “The proclamation expressly allows grazing.”

“That is the case,” agreed Angie Manriquez.

Jack waited for a response from the rancher, but he gave none. “Would you do me a favor?”

The rancher gave another nod.

“Whoever gave you that information, would you give them my name? They could contact me, and I’d be happy to talk to them. I can even send them—and you—a copy of the Presidential proclamation. Yes, I know you don’t like it, and it can be confusing, but it might give them, and you, some comfort, just to read it.”

“Sure,” he said. Again he glanced back. “But, I heard it from Mr. Enslow there.”

All eyes fell on one man standing in the back. Average height, and stocky build, the developer took on a ‘deer in the headlights’ look, his red face glowing against his sandy hair. His Wranglers, boots, Navajo buckle, and starched shirt made him appear part of the rancher crowd, but he marked the high end.

“Mr. Enslow, would you like one of us to give you a call?” Jack asked.

“Uh, why don’t you just send me a copy of that proclamation,” he said quickly.

“I’ll do that.”

The rancorous edge was gone. Joe Morgan was not the only one looking relieved. A few more questions, and comments from Angie Manriquez about the collaborative planning effort, and the meeting ended.

Some started to leave. Others pulled together in groups to talk. Jack made a beeline for Enslow, who stood in a cluster of ranchers, but started backing away. Jack waited and gave him space.

“Too bad Kip Culberson wasn’t here,” a rancher in a sweat-stained cap said. “I hear he’s still so damned mad about the national monument that he just didn’t want to be here. All he wants to do is fight it.”

Enslow stopped and listened.

The rancher continued. “Ol’ Kip might’ve been encouraged by this. At least, to be able to talk, don’t you think fellers?”

Enslow stepped away. Jack caught his eye momentarily, only to have him step back into the circle.

Jack leaned in. “If you have a business card, I’ll mail you that proclamation.”

Enslow pulled a card from his pocket, and handed it over, keeping his attention focused on conversation.

The card said, ‘Enslow Development Company, Wayne Enslow, President.’

Jack heard his name being called. Joe, standing with a man in chinos and blue shirt—the man looked like he was from back east—waved him over. Jack joined them.

“Jack, do you know Mack Latham, manager of the Inn of the Canyons?”

He did not, but of course he knew of the Inn, the grand hotel in town. “No,” he admitted. He shook the man’s hand.

“Mack invited me to speak to the Chamber of Commerce next week. I’m committed to something else that day. It’s on Wednesday. Are you free?”

Jack took his time about answering. “I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

“Don’t believe him,” Joe said.

“No elaborate preparation needed,” Latham interjected. “A few prepared comments. Take some questions. Friendly discussion.”

“Jack can speak for me,” Joe said, “and he would cover it as well as I would.”

“Great, eleven o’clock, at the Inn.” Latham shook hands and left.

Joe stepped closer. “Glad you were here. It helped.”

“I doubt it.”

“Don’t believe that.”

Angie Manriquez reached over and touched Joe on the sleeve. “Thanks for arranging this. I was worried there for a moment, but it ended well.”

Joe laughed. “Yes. Thanks again for coming.”

Manriquez turned to Jack. “I assume you’ll be working with my staff on that public meeting in three weeks. It’ll be good to have someone who can work through tense situations.”

“That wouldn’t be me,” Jack said. He looked around. “If they’d smelled my fear, I would’ve been a liability.”

She laughed and turned back at Joe. “Think we should get him involved?”

“I do.”

Change the subject, fast. “Do me a favor,” Jack said to Manriguez. “Tell Paul Yazzi’s boss that I said he’s a good hand. He saved our bacon a few nights ago. On a fire in California.”

“You just did,” she said, backing away. “I’ll tell him we talked.” She turned to leave.

Jack let out a sigh. Debt repaid and subject changed.

She stopped and turned back. “I bet you two would be a good team on this planning effort.” She nodded, pondering the thought, and departed in the direction of the church.

“Anyway,” Joe said, as if finishing a thought. “Thanks for taking that Chamber meeting. I’ll be relying on you to help me stay out in front on these matters.”

“Joe, I’m not the right guy for that. You need someone else.”

“Nonsense, you did great today. Let’s talk about this, back at the park. See you there.” Joe spun around to go.

Before Jack could put up an argument, he heard his name.

Karen Hatcher caught up with him, a friendly look in her blue eyes, her blond hair catching the breeze. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Been in California, fighting fires. Got back last night.”

“Man on the go. Where are you heading now?”

“Back to the office.”

“How about lunch?” she asked. “At Elena’s? Out on the patio.”

Carne asada did sound good, and it would keep him away from Joe Morgan. At least for an hour.