and his are plenty rotten. He has told people every cock-and-bull story you can imagine. He even had one old fella who was nearly blind sign a sales agreement and told him it was a refusal letter! This man has no shame. These folks can’t afford a lawyer, so they turn to me and a few of the pastors in the district to see what we can do, and I can tell you, it’s not much. Malcor’s got big bucks and bigger plans, and God help anybody who gets in their way. Check the record for fires lately? Dramatic increase in electrical and attic fires. That’s no accident. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, we can’t prove it, but doesn’t mean it isn’t so. As a newspaperman, you should know that.”
“The thing I don’t get is the zoning people. They can’t just go from residential to commercial on a whim. There are laws governing things like this.”
“There surely are. That’s our biggest problem. Back in the Depression when this area of town got started, it was a tent city of Dust Bowl refugees. Bottomland by the river that nobody much wanted. So, willing to make a cheap easy buck, a couple of the farmers who owned the land—Bronson and Kerr by name—rather than kick off the squatters, decided to sell. They broke the land into lots and sold it off. No zoning laws back then, and who cared about the Okies anyway? Everyone figured they would drift out just as they drifted in. Some of the folks were tradespeople back home, though, and decided to set up shop out here. My dad was a blacksmith, and his shop was next to our house until he died, and that was during the Korean War. There were mechanics shops, grocery stores, churches, and a veterinary hospital. Later on, there were welders, cabinet shops, all kinds of businesses. There’s still the big lumberyard on Park Street. No one ever bothered to zone the area. Then it was incorporated into the city back in the ‘50s. Nobody paid any attention. That’s why there’s no sidewalks or fire hydrants. Just poor folks with no say-so downtown. Malcor has petitioned to have the whole area east of the river zoned industrial commercial. Since it isn’t zoned at all, it doesn’t really have to be changed. Word is, Christopher has been spreading some money around downtown to get it done quicker.”
“Doesn’t sound too hopeful for the homeowners. But bribery is still a crime, even if it is a done deal.” Cole realized there wasn’t much more Bates could offer.
“We need some press on this thing. Can you help?” Bates knew the answer before he asked.
“I’m not sure it would help, being written up in The Sentinel . Maybe the Ledger , huh?” Cole stood to go. “I appreciate your time, Brother Bates. I’ll let you know if I find anything out that will help.”
The big man stood and extended his hand. “I’ll be praying for you.”
“Thanks. Say one for my friend Ellie, too, would ya? She needs it a lot more than me.” Cole thought if there was anyone worthy of God’s ear, it was Bates, and welcomed the help.
“We all need prayer, son. God bless you real good.”
“I hope so.”
EIGHT
The Zoning Department was housed in a marble mausoleum referred to as the Court House. It actually served as the home to most city offices. The City Hall, built in the early ‘50s, was a shortsighted project built too small even before construction was finished. The functioning Court House had moved to a new building in the late ‘60s while the old building filled with the overflow from City Hall.
Green marble went up the wall four feet high and seemed to make the long hall nearly come together at the far end. Cole loved old buildings and the coolness that the marble floor and walls seemed to give off. The double doors were frosted glass and said “Zoning Department, Myron G. Hearst, Commissioner” in gold leaf lettering. A small piece of paper was taped to the left door reading “Please Use Other Side” in block letters with a blue
“The thing I don’t get is the zoning people. They can’t just go from residential to commercial on a whim. There are laws governing things like this.”
“There surely are. That’s our biggest problem. Back in the Depression when this area of town got started, it was a tent city of Dust Bowl refugees. Bottomland by the river that nobody much wanted. So, willing to make a cheap easy buck, a couple of the farmers who owned the land—Bronson and Kerr by name—rather than kick off the squatters, decided to sell. They broke the land into lots and sold it off. No zoning laws back then, and who cared about the Okies anyway? Everyone figured they would drift out just as they drifted in. Some of the folks were tradespeople back home, though, and decided to set up shop out here. My dad was a blacksmith, and his shop was next to our house until he died, and that was during the Korean War. There were mechanics shops, grocery stores, churches, and a veterinary hospital. Later on, there were welders, cabinet shops, all kinds of businesses. There’s still the big lumberyard on Park Street. No one ever bothered to zone the area. Then it was incorporated into the city back in the ‘50s. Nobody paid any attention. That’s why there’s no sidewalks or fire hydrants. Just poor folks with no say-so downtown. Malcor has petitioned to have the whole area east of the river zoned industrial commercial. Since it isn’t zoned at all, it doesn’t really have to be changed. Word is, Christopher has been spreading some money around downtown to get it done quicker.”
“Doesn’t sound too hopeful for the homeowners. But bribery is still a crime, even if it is a done deal.” Cole realized there wasn’t much more Bates could offer.
“We need some press on this thing. Can you help?” Bates knew the answer before he asked.
“I’m not sure it would help, being written up in The Sentinel . Maybe the Ledger , huh?” Cole stood to go. “I appreciate your time, Brother Bates. I’ll let you know if I find anything out that will help.”
The big man stood and extended his hand. “I’ll be praying for you.”
“Thanks. Say one for my friend Ellie, too, would ya? She needs it a lot more than me.” Cole thought if there was anyone worthy of God’s ear, it was Bates, and welcomed the help.
“We all need prayer, son. God bless you real good.”
“I hope so.”
EIGHT
The Zoning Department was housed in a marble mausoleum referred to as the Court House. It actually served as the home to most city offices. The City Hall, built in the early ‘50s, was a shortsighted project built too small even before construction was finished. The functioning Court House had moved to a new building in the late ‘60s while the old building filled with the overflow from City Hall.
Green marble went up the wall four feet high and seemed to make the long hall nearly come together at the far end. Cole loved old buildings and the coolness that the marble floor and walls seemed to give off. The double doors were frosted glass and said “Zoning Department, Myron G. Hearst, Commissioner” in gold leaf lettering. A small piece of paper was taped to the left door reading “Please Use Other Side” in block letters with a blue
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