Chapter 160

MIDVILLE, WYOMING

A few minutes later, Frank, Margaret and Tina, Tingle and four members of his team, along with the pastor and his wife, sat at a conference table in the building Bill had originally thought still housed a real estate office. Coffee or a soft drink, according to taste, in front of everyone, Ray Tingle, at Wainwright's nod, got up to stand beside the table. He clicked a remote, and a big, hi-res screen came on at the end of the room. Displayed there was a recent aerial shot of the town. Tingle didn't comment on how the shot had been taken, but if it was a satellite view, it was better than anything Pastor Cambridge had seen on the net.

"Blur that picture so the dilapidated buildings aren't as noticeable, and I suspect we can begin to have an approximation of what your little town once looked like," Tingle commented.

"Oh my," Cambridge sighed out. "I guess I had become somewhat accustomed to all of the abandoned and rundown buildings, but they really stand out in that picture."

"In a couple of years, if everything goes according to plan, you won't have to blur the picture to imagine a thriving town," Wainwright commented, his voice reflecting his sincerity.

Tingle nodded in agreement with his boss. "We have been completely open and aboveboard regarding the reason my team and I have been here the last two weeks, but to reiterate and to use Mr. Wainwright's terminology, he has tasked me to devise a plan to 'jump start' Midville."

Wainwright, Margaret and Tina all chuckled at the "jump start" expression.

"Anyway, I had complained that I was getting tired of being cooped up in my office, and I guess I mentioned it one time too many. That aside," he said with a grin directed at Wainwright, "my team and I have had conversations with a number of citizens here in town as well as with several farmers and ranchers in the surrounding area.

"The responses fell into several general categories that we fully anticipated, except for one thing, which I'll mention in a minute. Those responses ranged from enthusiastic acceptance to disbelief, and in some few cases, to outright and obvious distrust. We have some ideas to present to Mr. Wainwright and his family tonight, and to you, Sir, as the Mayor," he said, focusing on Luther. "Unless we have the total support of you and the town council, plus a good portion of the citizens of the town, Mr. Wainwright's proposed project will be doomed from the beginning."

"I doubt that my support will..." Pastor Cambridge began before Tingle interrupted.

"Respectfully, Sir, you're wrong, and that's the subject I just mentioned that I would return to. But now is as good a time as any. Your name was frequently brought up, and it was certainly not uncommon for us to hear suggestions to 'check with Luther, ' or 'if Luther likes it, I'll back you as much as I can, ' or 'you need to see the preacher.' On and on. A surprisingly large number of the residents here in town, as well as the local farmers and ranchers, appear to be willing to accept your judgment on things of this nature."

Luther Cambridge was shaking his head. "I mentioned at the restaurant what little my position as the de facto Mayor really represents, and I need to explain something else to you. Our tax base in Midville comes from three main sources. The first is our water. We have two artesian wells on the south side of the town. They're probably the reason there ever was a Midville to begin with. Our water purification plant is old, but still does what we need it to do, although maintenance on the plant and pumps is becoming more expensive every year. Each month we bill our customers for the water they use, but some of them can't pay. Some owe hundreds of dollars for water ... that we'll never collect. We just bill them and forget it. They don't have the money or they would have paid already, and we're not going to cut off water to anyone. Next is our garbage pick-up. We subscribe to a commercial garbage collection service, and our town gets a small share of the proceeds received from billing our residents, but not everyone pays for collection. The company has fairly large garbage cans, and sometimes several families use only one can, sharing the can and the costs.

"In addition to those two sources of revenue, such as they are, we receive some tax money from the businesses that have managed to remain open. Those taxes help to support the town. Water, garbage collection fees and some sales tax, plus a little from license fees, and other taxes are just about all the revenue we recover to pay the town's bills. By the time we pay for power for the street lights and water pumps, plus maintenance on the water system, we have precious little left over to have holes patched on our few paved streets, or to have the other streets graded. We have absolutely no money to assist anything you might endeavor to accomplish here."

Tingle was shaking his head. "We don't expect the town to assist, other than to give us the go-ahead and to eventually approve building permits, licenses and the like. Everything we do will be up to code, or well above it in most instances. Of that, you have my word."

"Let's hear more about this plan," Luther said. "Sorry to have interrupted."

"Your comments weren't an interruption. I'm learning, as well as informing all of you in regard to what we have envisioned."

At a nod from Frank, Ray Tingle continued. "The basis for our ideas came from Mr. Wainwright, and no, I'm not trying to butter up my boss. He gave us a 'suggestion' and we've spent the last two weeks enhancing and expanding that idea. But before I get around to explaining his idea, I need to discuss some other things with you."

At a touch of the remote, the picture on the screen changed to a rural scene, again from high enough to show a section of perhaps a two-mile area. The scene screamed downward as the camera zoomed in. Now obvious were several herds of cattle, apparently grazing. The scene shifted to other locations, all showing small herds of cattle.

Tingle continued. "The cattle industry is still here — barely — according to the ranchers we've interviewed. The scene changed yet again. This time, the animals were different. The camera zoomed in to show a herd of sheep, but there appeared to be even fewer of them than there had been cattle in the other scenes. They watched as black and white dogs scurried to move the sheep toward another pasture.

"The sheep ranchers don't have much of a market for the wool now that the country is flooded with cheap China products," Luther inserted. "And from what I've read, mutton accounts for only a small percentage of the meat market in the USA."

Tingle continued, "Agreed. Yet there once was a thriving sheep industry many years ago when there were still only a few truly large companies in the West. Years ago, there were cattle and sheep trains leaving the West for the Northeast and other points in the US — the economy was booming. Now from the same general area where once thousands of cattle and sheep were shipped almost daily, not to mention the tons of wool that went out, there now is only a trickle — at least a trickle from the smaller, family owned ranches. The company owned farms and ranches are still doing well throughout the West."

"Big money took over," Luther supplied. "They control the prices the small farmers and ranchers receive for their goods. Many acres of farm and ranchland stand idle every year, and more farmers and ranchers go broke."

"Why?" Tingle asked, just to reiterate.

"Because they can't sell their goods for a profit sufficient to support their families."

Tingle smiled and continued with his presentation, this time with pictures from the past. The scenes on the screen appeared to span from the mid-eighteen-hundreds on up to about nineteen-thirty. Small businesses abounded everywhere. Ranchers drove cattle into holding pens, and sometimes in the older scenes, even using the main streets of the small towns to do so. Blacksmiths toiled at their forges, some of their completed wares displayed outside their shops, leather workers made harness and other items, boot makers worked at their trade, their boots and shoes lining the windows of their shops, and seamstresses worked in their small businesses, their dresses displayed in their front windows. People carded wool, then with spinning wheels spun the wool into thread. Seen through a window, a man worked a large hand loom turning dyed thread into cloth.

The last scene remained on the screen as Tingle turned back to his audience. "In the winter, farm families had little to do regarding their farming endeavors. But ... many used the cold months to turn wool into cloth. They used some of it to make their own clothes, and often sold the remainder to companies in the Northeast to produce clothing and other goods for the populace.

"Now, I would like to divert for a moment to discuss something else: Tucumcari, New Mexico."

Wainwright sat back, his hands laced across his stomach, a smile on his face. Tingle had, of course, briefed him on the team's ideas, but still this man never ceased to amaze the billionaire. I can see where he's going with this. He's taken my fledgling idea and expanded it, just as I knew he would. I've already made him a rich man. He could quit today, if he wanted, and never think about working again. I'll give him another bonus when his part is done, of course, but in the end, although it may take awhile, he'll make me far more profit than anyone here will expect or envision, and the town and its citizens will make even more out of this than I will. Hell, it might take me five years to break even, but one day the profits will pour in. Who cares how long it takes? Little One has seen to that. He held back a chuckle that would have made the others wonder. As his thoughts went on, I have the money, and this little town saved my brother Alpha's wife. Midville is in its death throes now, but give us a couple of years and things will be different.

"Tucumcari?" Pastor Cambridge repeated.

Tingle turned to face the Mayor more fully. "A few years ago, a friend and I decided to spend some vacation time on a car trip. Oh, I had flown to various places over a good bit of the world, but I wanted to travel through our country, not just over it. Flying from one place to another, you sometimes fail to realize just how big our nation is, and how beautiful. Anyway, I think we noticed the first sign about Tucumcari approximately five hundred miles before we got to the town.

"I can't remember exactly what the sign said, something to the effect of spending the night in Tucumcari, and giving some ridiculous number of rooms available, at least for a small town. Eventually there was a sign that gave the number of motels, but the first one and many of the others we noticed on the way, gave the number of rooms. I guess it's an attention getter. I know it got ours.

"Miles later, another sign gave a lesser distance to the town, and advertised things to see and do while there. To shorten a long story, we, like many others, had seen so many of those signs along the highway, over hundreds of miles, that my curiosity would not allow me to drive by without dropping off the Interstate and checking out the town.

"But ... I suspect that long ago when the Interstate was built, Tucumcari was faced with what happened here. Businesses from Route 54 were dying; everything was passing them by on the Interstate. But trust me," he said, "Tucumcari hasn't died."

The scene on the screen switched to an overview of a town full of businesses and traffic. "The town is booming, even after all the years since the Interstate was opened."

"But..." Luther started. "We don't have anything to advertise ... What should we do? Advertise that our motel has fifty rooms, or whatever? Our little town doesn't have the money to purchase advertising on one billboard, and there isn't anything to put on the sign, anyway."

Tingle's grin grew wider. "That can change. While Tucumcari still had a viable business base when they began to advertise, you don't have that here. But ... it can be, and unless I miss my guess, the business base necessary for our advertising won't be long in coming."

"Okay, but..."

"Please, bear with me, Pastor."

Cambridge nodded, squeezed his wife's hand and took a sip of coffee.

"Property," Tingle said, "Property." The scene on the screen changed to a drive through of Midville, present day. While the video ran, Tingle continued, "First, there has to be viable property to encourage business back into the area — no matter what type of business it is. There we meet our first real obstacle, assuming that you and the town council approve our plans, of course. To restore the buildings, or replace them, we must first own them. Almost instantly, the cost becomes prohibitive — normally. But ... we have an advantage over that of a single citizen's attempts to reestablish a business here.

"It only took a small effort to determine who now owns all these buildings. First: there are the banks that have foreclosed on the owners, or for other reasons still own property here, property the banks can't sell. This comprises over fifty percent of the buildings and property in the town, and we're including houses in this as well, of course. Second: property still owned by the original business owners or their heirs. And third: property confiscated by the state for non-payment of taxes. There's a surprising number of these.

"Our people are negotiating with representatives from the three categories to buy up groups of properties. The overall figure will be substantially lower per property than if we bought each one singly."

"You're talking about basically buying the whole town? I suppose people might say you want to become a slum lord," Luther said with a half smile.

Tingle tensed up for a second until he noticed the glint of amusement in Cambridge's eyes.

"We won't be slum lords long," he said with a grin. "And that brings us to the next stage of the project. What do we do once we own a substantial percentage of the abandoned buildings in Midville? Well, we have an idea for that, and your responses and backing will weigh heavily on a positive outcome of our endeavors here."

Intrigued, Wainwright sat forward, knowing by Tingle's body language that he was coming to a crucial part of the presentation.

"We want to take the town back a hundred and fifty years. Sheltered, board sidewalks with a continuing facade of the old west from one end of the town to the other. Absolutely every building and business in the business district participating."

"The few businesses remaining simply can't afford it," Luther began.

"It won't cost them anything — at least not in the beginning. We'll eventually charge rent on the buildings we purchase, but that rent will be reasonable for this area and forgiven completely for the first few years. There will be many small businesses. The ones who already own businesses will essentially get the makeover for free. And before you say anything, we'll put all of this in writing and even give you money to hire your own attorneys to look over the contracts. My job isn't to cheat anyone; it's to 'jump start' Midville."

"In short," Megan said, "you're talking about bringing back a ... sort of cottage industry."

"Well put, Ma'am. There are differences of course, but with a ramped up tourist trade there would be a substantial amount of money to be made here. And with Mr. Wainwright's connections there would be guaranteed sales of the new products." He stopped to grin for a second, then went on, "Because of a little advertising, the hiring of a famous chef and higher prices that reflect the quality of the restaurant's menu, Mr. Wainwright has caused a woman who was struggling to make ends meet with her small restaurant near Winter Park, Colorado to now have totally different problems. Her biggest worries now are how long it will take to get her new restaurant built, and where she will seat all her customers who are begging for reservations even months ahead. Nice problems for a business owner to have."

"But how could anyone guarantee sales of cottage industry products, particularly with the big chain stores filling their shelves with cheap goods from China and other countries?" Megan wanted to know.

"Actually, there are a lot of people who will buy Made in USA products, and put simply, our advertising people are well-versed in their trade. Mr. Wainwright has done favors for many people involved in many businesses, over a span of years. Chances are, he won't even have to call in many of those favors. Once word gets out, the people who own companies he's helped will volunteer to buy from us, and this will also spread the word about Midville.