THE ARMENTARIUM
28
THE FATE OF every living thing now depended on one decision by the members of a single family. The Jepsons of Jepson County had owned the Nokobee tract for five generations, keeping it pristine as an outdoors heirloom across 150 years. They were burdened by no more than light county taxes. Wealthy from cotton and outside investments, they chose not to cut even a small part of the valuable longleaf timber. By the end of the twentieth century, however, almost all of the younger family members--by that time a majority in the Jepson Trust--had left the Gulf Coastal Plain. They were settled in the assizes of wealth in Atlanta, Miami, and New York. When the projected market value reached a certain level, they would likely sell to the highest bidder.
"When do you suppose that will happen?" Raff was seated on the sofa in his Uncle Cyrus Semmes's office. Now beginning his third year at Florida State University, and unsure of his own future, he was also growing increasingly anxious about the future of Nokobee.
"Can't say exactly," Cyrus replied.
He had pulled up a chair to face his nephew. He lit a Havana cigar, slipped his eyeglasses down his nose to peer at Raff over the rims, and said, "Why do you ask? You heard something I haven't?"
"Nosir. I just like to keep up with things there."
Cyrus tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and blew a smoke ring. Holding this posture as if in deep contemplation, he said, "Well, I can tell you this much. The word on the street is that the county will be paving the Nokobee Lake road in the next two or three years. That'll bring the value of Nokobee up. My guess is that the Jepsons know that and they're holding off till it happens."
"Well, do you think whoever buys it will develop it? I mean, cut down all the trees and stuff and build houses there?"
"Count on it, Scooter." Cyrus leaned over and laid the cigar on an ashtray close by on the coffee table. "That's the only way they'll be able to break even, much less make any serious money."
"But it's one of the most beautiful places in this part of Alabama. You said that yourself, and you'd think there's got to be some way--"
"Well," Cyrus interrupted, "just because it gets developed doesn't mean it has to be any less beautiful. You've been down to Destin with your parents and seen how nice they're making those resort places and housing developments along the Gulf. They blend in with the landscape just perfectly."
"But they aren't natural. What happens to all the trees and animals and--"
"Scooter!" Cyrus interrupted again. His expression changed from avuncular to annoyed.
"Scooter, I know how much the Nokobee tract means to you, and your mom and dad too, and I admire you for that. If I were a very rich man--and I'm not--I might buy that land myself. It would be a sound financial investment for the family. I don't know where you're going with this, or what you want to do about it. I'm not even sure why you brought it up. You haven't changed your mind about anything, have you?"
"Nosir. I was just--"
"Well, it wouldn't do any good if you did, and just studied biology and planned to stay out at Lake Nokobee. I know you'd be a top-notch wildlife manager or professor, or whatever, but what good would that do for the Nokobee tract, and all those other great places down here you'd like to save?"
"But shouldn't we try to do something?"
"Maybe you've forgotten what I told you when we made our deal. If you want to save land, you've got to have power. That means you've got to have a lot of money, or else you have to be in a position to influence land deals and business development. I know it takes a lot of hard work, and for sure you're not going to enjoy all the courses and training you'll have to go through, but if you want real power--and I want you to have it--you've got to succeed inside the system. Now, I'm telling you, just continue what you've been doing. You get on through law school, and do the best you can, and then I'll help you all I can."
Raff felt trapped. He knew, but hadn't yet faced, the solution his uncle had put before him, that maybe the only way to erase such a dilemma of opposing forces was to satisfy both. It takes commitment to a long-term goal and exceptional effort, but there, he thought, you have it.
"You're right, you're right, of course...I want to thank--"
"There's one more thing," Cyrus started up again. "You're not going to like this, but the Nokobee tract is going to be developed no matter what anybody does. I don't know exactly when, and nobody can say, but it could be as soon as five years and for sure on the outside in ten years."
Raff froze. He held his breath and stared at his uncle. He thought, Here it comes, bad news for sure.
"Raff, I wasn't going to tell you this, but it's something you oughta know. Sunderland Associates has bought the Dead Owl Cove parcel, and at a pretty steep price. Drake Sunderland wouldn't make a move like that unless he intends to acquire the whole west side of the Nokobee tract. When the Jepson family puts the property on the market, and that is surely going to happen as soon as their trust irons out a few wrinkles, like how much and who gets what, Sunderland will move fast. He will be on it like a chicken on a june bug, count on that, Raff. He'll bid high, and as soon as he gets it he'll cut the timber to make up the front money, and he'll do that fast too, and then he'll leverage the funds to develop the whole property."
"I don't understand. Why can't Nokobee be left alone, as it is?" Raff's question was naive, he realized with embarrassment, but now he was grabbing for straws.
"That's elementary. You should know better. The Jepsons want the money."
"Why can't the State of Alabama take it over as a nature reserve?"
"Well, now, that would be nice, wouldn't it? But you're talking twenty million dollars, maybe thirty million with the Nokobee lakeshore included. Then more to fix the road, for a lot of traffic that isn't there now, and still more to put up and maintain park facilities. The state, I'm sorry to say, is broke. It's got a lot of parks already, and it's not going to put up a fortune like that in taxpayer dollars for another one, especially in a remote area with limited access like Nokobee."
"Well, what can be done?"
"Well...to tell you the truth, nothing. You have to understand that Sunderland has had a very successful history in just this kind of land acquisition and development. And Nokobee is shaping up as a big deal for them, maybe a make-or-break deal for the company. Scooter, look at me. I know you love the woods there, and it is a beautiful place, and it's your mom and dad's favorite picnic spot, but if I were you I'd find another place to protect."
Cyrus paused for half a minute, which seemed a hundred times longer to Raff. He cleared his throat and rubbed the bald spot on his head with his middle three fingers, as he did in tight business discussions.
"Scooter," he continued, "I'm being frank with you about this matter, and for your own good. I worry about you a lot these days. I think you've gotten a little off the rails here. I was young and idealistic myself, trust me. I nearly got myself killed for it in Vietnam. I think I know how you feel. But you have to realize you've become a bit obsessive. You've lost the big picture. Now, no one wants to hurt you, Scooter, but I just happen to be on Drake Sunderland's side on this one. Nokobee and Jepson Counties are among the poorest places in Alabama, and believe me, that's really poor."
"Yessir, that's true enough," Raff agreed.
"The woods up there for the most part are scrub, not much good except for chipping and pulp, and quail and turkey, I guess, and rattlesnakes. A few people, like the Millbrooks of Brewton, made a lot of money a hundred years ago, logging long leaf pine. Now that's long gone. And the counties are a little far away for Mobile to have much economic input. Your dad would tell you that much, judging from his own hardware business. And I expect you understand it yourself, now that you're taking college courses, that they need better schools in both those counties. Developing Nokobee, if it's done right, and I believe it will be done right, is going to give that area and especially Clayville an economic bump up. A lot of people down here will see real estate around Clayville as a good investment."
"Why would they do that?" Raff asked, perking up a little bit, thinking he'd found a crack in the argument. "It's still a long way from Mobile and Pensacola, and there are all kinds of recreation places around there and on down to the Gulf."
"Your problem, Scooter--and I don't blame you because you're young--is that you don't have vision. Nokobee's isolated now, sure, and its recreational facilities may never compete with the ones we have around Mobile and on over to Pensacola. That'll stay true even after the housing and lakeside docks are built at Nokobee. But this part of the Gulf Coast is filling up with people real fast. And they're not just sharecroppers coming out of the cotton fields either. They're mostly well-educated, hardworking people, with solid incomes."
Raff tried to widen the crack he thought had opened. "But why would just bringing in a lot more people be such a good thing?"
"Look at me, Scooter. You want Nokobee and Jepson Counties to just stay redneck heaven forever? Is that what you want? Please understand, nothing's going to stop progress on the Gulf Coast anyway. We're already a very important part of the Sun Belt. Mobile and Pensacola are expanding fast even by Sun Belt standards. Am I right?"
Raff hesitated. Then he spoke, almost in a whisper. "Yeah, I guess, yessir." He didn't want to agree with his uncle, but he couldn't think of anything else to say, and he had to be polite.
"Now just compare what used to be with what we have now," Cyrus bore in. "When Granddog was a boy, just about all the land south of Mobile was undeveloped woods and swamps. You could drive all the way from Dog River down to Cedar Point and see only a few houses here and there. The last stretch of the road wasn't even paved. And when you got all the way to Cedar Point, you could look over to Dauphin Island. It was a beautiful place, with beaches and the old Civil War fort at one end, but you had to rent a boat to get there. A lot of that island was simply vacant land. Now most of the area between here and Dauphin Island is developed. It's a thriving part of the economy of Alabama. There's a bridge to Dauphin Island, and you can drive across it in a few minutes. Now, that is progress, Scooter. That is real progress. Don't you see that?"
Raff's battle with his uncle was lost. "Yessir," he said, looking down at his knees and then back up.
Then he was surprised to see that his uncle hadn't finished. He was getting excited. Cyrus had stubbed out his cigar on the tray. Now he removed his glasses and waved them at Raff.
"Scooter, America didn't become great by sitting on its ass. We had to be tough and we had to work hard. We thrived on war, to be perfectly frank about it. Just look at American history, and I don't mean the girlie left-wing version they give students in school. We had to push back the Indians to get what God meant us to have. We went to war with Mexico to double the size of this country. That took us to the Pacific. I won't say the way we did it was right and good but that just happens to be the way the world works. Grow or die! We, especially the Semmeses and the Codys and the other old families around here, were the winners, and that means there had to be losers. We didn't win by sitting around writing poetry in nature parks. You're a Semmes, Scooter, and I know you have the stuff of one. I'd hate to see you wander off into some liberal never-never land."
Raff raised his hand like a student in class and said, "But--"
His uncle was not to be interrupted. "I'll tell you where this whole part of the Gulf Coast is headed, Scooter. Pensacola is bound to keep expanding its suburbs and little satellite towns to the west until it meets developments coming out from Fairhope and the rest of Baldwin County. Mobile is going to spread north way past Satsuma and west on across the Mississippi border to include the Gulf Coast there. In fifty years Mobile and Pensacola will be one single urban area surrounded by well-to-do suburbs. I like to think we'll be a metropolis like the Gold Coast on the other side of Florida and the Twin Cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis."
As Cyrus was finishing this oration, his secretary Cindy Sue Lauchaux tapped lightly on the door and entered the room. She was a tall brunette, in her mid-forties, dressed in light tan slacks and a frilled white blouse. Her double first name had been bestowed in Southern accordance with her stature as second daughter in the family. Her last name suggested Cajun or, less likely, Old French Mobile. She spoke slowly in a soft, alto voice.
"Excuse me, Mr. Semmes, but your trainer called. He wants to know if you'll make your four o'clock appointment today?"
Cyrus glanced at his watch and rose from his chair. "Tell him I'm on my way.
"Gotta go, Scooter. I'm getting fit by taking boxing lessons. Best kind of workout there is, boxing. I try to do it like the professionals."
Raff made one last try as he followed his uncle to the door. "Won't there be any room for natural history reserves in the new Twin Cities?"
Cyrus halted, turned to face him. "Well, of course there will be, if we plan all this the right way. There'll be plenty of parks, with easy access, where families can go to relax and see some nature. We can arrange guided tours like the ones at Disney World. There'll be a lot of gardens as beautiful as the one down at Bellingrath. I'm hoping that right here in Mobile we might expand the Azalea Trail, and make it the big deal it once was. The impact on tourism will be just great."
"But won't there be any real wild areas for the native plants and animals?"
Cyrus paused, marinating that concept a bit, and resumed his explanation. "Look, Scooter, I think you're mature enough to understand that what we've got going here is big, and it's wonderful. Drake Sunderland and I, and some other business and political leaders in Mobile and Pensacola, have a nonprofit group we call the Gulf Gateway Coalition. Our aim is to help guide the growth, make it long-term and in the right direction and the right pace, of course. We'll keep the nature lovers happy. Frankly, I've always hoped that you yourself might play an important role in that effort."
With that, he spun around and walked out the door. "I'll be back first thing in the morning," he told Cindy Sue. She waggled her fingers at him but did not look away from her computer screen.
Raff started to follow him. Then he hesitated in order to look up for a moment to the space above the door, as he always did when he visited this office. There hung a stuffed five-foot alligator his uncle had shot during a hunting trip in the swamps of the Mobile-Tensaw Delta. The reptile stared back at him with a yellow glass eye.
Raff thought of Frogman's fourteen-foot-long Old Ben in the Chicobee River. He murmured to the specimen on the wall, "Sorry you got cut down in your childhood."
As he stepped out of the granite-rimmed entrance of the Loding Building, Raff looked down Bledsoe Street for his uncle, and spotted him fifty yards away walking briskly in the direction of the city center. He had no desire to catch up, so he stayed where he was for a short while. Feeling the afternoon sun bearing down through the hot humid air, Raff walked across the narrow street to stand in the shade of a large magnolia tree. When he looked down Bledsoe Street a second time, farther beyond the Loding Building, and from this new angle, he could see a row of small houses built in the mid-1800s and occupied continuously thereafter by Mobile families. Each bore a small medallion next to the front door denoting the house's historical significance. Raff walked on down to them to sit in the shade on a bench next to the first one.
Just as he was settling he heard a chittering sound above his head. He looked up to see a squirrel on the telephone line that crossed the street, balanced like an acrobat on the wire, trying to work its way to a tree canopy on the opposite side. From the thick vegetation there came the same chittering of a second squirrel. Raff focused on the two animals. What was this all about?
He remembered quickly: territory! The two squirrels were engaged in a territorial dispute. Raff knew that sound from the Nokobee tract. The squirrel on the wire was the invader, the one in the canopy the defender. Raff rose from the bench to watch more closely, and his mind connected to the conversation he'd just had with Cyrus. The ownership of land, and the power and security it provided: that was what drove the battles of squirrels. And the cycles of the ant colonies. And that was what Cyrus Semmes was trying to tell him too, in a tragic sense, about what runs the world.
These were no defenders for reserves like Nokobee. No territorial threats emerged from the inhabitants to halt their enemies. The land was falling unopposed to the developers. If the vanishing life within that area was mute, who then would speak for it? Raff started to walk toward the city center again. Now at last he had an idea of where to go and what to do.