29
HE REACHED THE five-story office of the Mobile News Register and walked into its green-walled lobby. With the eye of a naturalist entering a new habitat, he looked about to take in the scene before pressing on. Across the room, in a glass-fronted trophy cabinet, were two rows of plaques and statuettes. To the left on the same wall hung a framed front page of a Mobile News Register, pale yellowish brown with age, with the banner headline "NAZIS INVADE POLAND." Another next to it, in an identical frame, announced "JAPAN SURRENDERS!"
Between the trophy case and elevator was the reception desk and switchboard. Raff asked the young woman there if he could speak to Mr. Bill Robbins. He was connected at once to the environmental reporter and natural history essayist. Before the journalist could say more than "Robbins here," Raff declared, with the kind of urgent tone used by an accident witness calling the police, that he was from Clayville, and a student at Florida State University, and he had a serious environmental problem he wanted to talk about.
Robbins walked into the lobby five minutes later. He ushered Raff into the elevator and up to the main pressroom floor. Sitting across from Robbins's desk, Raff took a first close look at the journalist he had read avidly since he was a freshman in high school. Robbins was about what he expected: medium height and average weight, probably in his late thirties, with a short Lincolnesque beard and neatly combed dark blond hair. He was dressed in chinos and a taupe outdoorsman's shirt with two pockets, one of which was stained at the bottom by a leaking pen. He wore no tie. Good. A tie would have had a disorienting impact on the younger man.
Robbins listened intently as Raff poured out the whole story of Nokobee, up to and including the session he'd just had with Uncle Cyrus. He remained impassive, leaning slightly back in his chair, eyes half closed. He slowly rotated a pencil like a parade baton through his moving fingers.
By the time Raff finished his account, he had worked himself into a tone of despair. His tension was close to dissolving in tears. "I just don't know what to do. I thought I could turn to my uncle for help, but that's been a great big disappointment. I'm sorry I didn't know you personally coming here, but I read all your columns, and I thought you might want to know about all this, and help me decide what to do. I don't think Uncle Cyrus understands the issue. Or if he does, he doesn't care. That's even worse. He doesn't have any idea of what natural environments are all about, and he seems so set on what he's doing I don't think he would help even if he did understand."
Raff's anger subsided a bit as he spoke. It was now diluted by a suffusion of guilt. He sure didn't want Cyrus to know about this conversation. So in afterthought he added, "May we keep this confidential?"
Robbins nodded and said quietly, "Of course." Then he put the pencil down and lifted his hands, fingers spread in a placating gesture.
"Listen, ease up, fella. You've taken this business all on your own shoulders, and it's going to break you down if you keep on going like this. Let me tell you for starters that you're not alone, Raphael. May I call you Raphael?"
"Well, I kind of prefer Raff."
"Okay, Raff. Surely you don't think you're the only conservationist in Alabama. What I need to tell you in particular and right now is that a lot of people care about Nokobee. They're aware that it's one of the last and best stands of old-growth long leaf forest left in this part of the state. And in case you didn't know it, there are a few endangered species living there. In other words, it's a biodiversity hot spot. And Lake Nokobee adds a lot of aquatic biodiversity. We need to protect all that. Everybody who knows the situation agrees." Then he paused.
Raff kept silent, looking down at the floor, waiting for the journalist to say more.
"But in spite of all that," Robbins continued, "your Uncle Cyrus is right on one thing. The whole Nokobee tract could be wiped out in a heartbeat. All it would take would be one of those big circular timber saws and a couple of bulldozers. Put in an experienced crew, and the place could be gone almost before you could get up there. Those of us who've been following the story hoped that the Jepson Trust might donate Nokobee to the State of Alabama as a reserve, and take a big tax deduction. But the members don't live around here anymore, and they don't care enough at a distance to do anything, unfortunately. What's more, I've heard that a couple of the key people are hurting from bad investments. They need as much cash up front as possible, and as quick as they can get it."
Raff's new good feeling was subsiding as quickly as it had risen. "Then who does care?" he said.
"A lot of people, a lot of people, Raff. It happens you've come to the right person to get information about this subject. I wrote a pretty detailed article on the tract last fall, and it really had some effect. I'm surprised you didn't see it. But I guess you were over at FSU. It won a prize from the National Association of Environmental Journalists. I also mention Nokobee whenever I give my 'Last Great Places' lecture here in Mobile and elsewhere along the coast. Then you've got several private organizations with a special interest in protecting Nokobee. There's the Alabama Conservancy, the Longleaf Alliance, the Delta Protection Alliance. We need to introduce you to them. There are also a few wealthy individuals in this area and over on the Panhandle who are on top of the situation and might buy in if they thought the whole tract was at risk."
"If everybody helped, could they come up with the price? It seems pretty big to me."
"I'd say all things considered the whole deal is about fifty-fifty at this point. The biggest problem is that there are so many land developers circling around, waiting to pounce. They've got the money, and they can move fast. To be frank, they're like a bunch of buzzards waiting for Nokobee to die. The key player is Drake Sunderland. You mentioned him. He's the worst threat, and what's more, he got a foot solidly in the door a few months ago when he bought the parcel at Dead Owl Cove."
Robbins began tapping the tabletop with an index finger as though pointing to the hard reality of the situation.
"He's also got the support of the Gulf Gateway Coalition, which your uncle told you about. The members of the coalition are all big players in business and politics around here, and they've got something else as important as money going for them. They've got a vision--or at least what they call a vision. It's sort of like a religion. In fact, it is a kind of religion with them."
"My Uncle Cyrus seems really fired up about it."
"Yeah. They think they have a plan. When people in the future list the great cities of the Deep South, they want it to be Houston, New Orleans, Miami, Atlanta, maybe Birmingham, and--don't laugh--the Mobile-Pensacola Twin Cities. They're even talking to Jet Blue about making it a new airline hub.
"Their philosophy," Robbins went on, frowning and slightly shaking his head, "is that the earth was created for man, and dominion over nature mentioned in the Bible means replacing nature with people. They separate the world into two parts. Here is where we live, and away from us out there is nature, the place where critters, bugs, and wild plants live. Nature is fungible, in their view. I actually had a local banker say to my face what price he thinks will buy Nokobee, 'It'll be twenty million dollars, and a couple of endangered species aren't worth that,' he said."
"Well, what about all the churches? Don't they care about the environment?"
Robbins shook his head again. "Believe it or not, a lot of folks on the Christian hard right around here are dead set against nature reserves. They think saving the wild environment is just an all-around bad idea. Don't get me wrong. Most evangelicals I know are for conservation. They believe God means for us to save the Creation and God's good green earth in general. But a few extremists are absolutely convinced God means us to do the opposite. They're saying, 'Use it all up, the faster the better, because Jesus is coming. The End of Days is almost here. He'll show up as soon as the planet's messed up a little bit more. The devil wants to keep us all here on earth, and Jesus wants to take us on up to heaven, at least He wants to take the true believers up.' They say that's all written in the Book of Revelation."
"Yeah, that's scary. I've heard something like that on the radio. It's pretty bad."
"Yeah. Well, anyway, it's at least a potential complication. This part of Alabama and the Panhandle next door is about as far right in religion and politics as you're going to find anywhere. I think the extremists are a small minority, fortunately--you'll find them mostly in little churches out in the country--but some of those preaching on the radio are powerful way beyond their numbers. And they come close to promoting violence in the name of God. Like, they say Islam is an evil religion. Or the United States ought to kill Castro or somebody else they say is godless and don't like. It's best to stay clear of them. I'd say don't rile them up if you can avoid it. Don't even get in a conversation with any of them."
"Uncle Cyrus said he'd buy Nokobee if he could afford it."
"Yeah, I'm sure he would. But then--and don't get me wrong--what would he do with it? Anyway, buck up. We've probably got three or four years, maybe more, from what I've heard, before all the serious finagling begins. I hear some of the Jepsons want to hold off until they can get a higher price. Public opinion can change a lot in that period of time. If worse comes to worst, and if it looks like Nokobee goes to Sunderland or any other developer who'll bid higher, then the conservationists in this area will form a special coalition to challenge the development in the courts and in public opinion."
Robbins rose and offered his hand. "Meanwhile, the best you can do for Nokobee is to go on to law school. Your uncle is dead right there. Plan on coming back here. We can use you to help represent nature in the courts. Meanwhile, don't worry about this conversation. I'm not going to say anything to anybody about it. I don't want to cause a rift inside your family, and especially with your Uncle Cyrus."
Raff smiled, nodding his head. "Thank you. I really appreciate it. I feel a little better about things, I guess."
"Okay, good," Robbins said. "Anyway, stay in touch, will you, Raff? I promise to let you know of any really serious developments I hear about, and I hope you can get in on the action when you get back."