Copyright 2015 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
Dad went over to meet a crew at the A-Frame. Most of the crews we had met in the weeks before didn't want this job. It would take too much work. The crew that had won the bid for cleaning up the A-Frame on Parcel A was not a local crew. They lived north of us and had to commute four hours each way to get to us. It meant they had to be on the road by 5:30 a.m. each day until they finished the job.
The Boss of the crew was a former mortgage broker, who told my dad, "The Banks are all crooks. You guys are the victims."
"Well, I don't think the Bank is totally to blame," said my Dad.
"They are. You guys are the victims," the Crew Boss stated with fervor.
They all talked to my Dad as if HE was the owner of the property. They told him what they were thinking, per the clean-up, and wanted to get his "Okay" with everything they were planning on doing.
They also wanted to know if there was anything left on the property that was important to us. If there was we needed to get anything left that was important off by the next day, before they took pictures again to send back to the Bank. They even offered to help us move it too.
The Crew Boss also told my Dad that he had three dumpsters there with two more on call ready to come up. He said if there was room left in the dumpsters we could toss in anything else we wanted, since the Bank was paying for it all!
The entire crew wanted us to purchase the property back from the Bank. More and more people seemed to be rooting for us! They also wanted to know our story. They wanted to know the story of a family that defeated the Bank, and wasn't defeated by the Bank.
"Hey Dad," I said.
"Yeah," he replied as he rummaged through the fridge to look for something to have for lunch.
"I was thinking about us the other day, and all these books we've read. Anthony Robbins, Jim Rohn, Napoleon Hill, Leo Buscaglia, and even watched 'The Secret'. It's one thing to know that stuff when things are going well in your life. It's a completely different thing to apply all that stuff when you're in the middle of a shit-storm."
"That's very true. This is the toughest place we've ever been," Dad replied.
That afternoon, just about the time my Parents were going to pick me up to go out to dinner for one of my Dad's veteran organizations, I looked out my bathroom window and saw a white truck driving around. The driver stopped the truck in the middle of the apple orchard stepped out.
My heart started racing. The tension was building. I looked out in my binoculars to try to see what was going on. The truck had driven right by my house and ended up going down to my Parents new house on Parcel B, the Glass House. I called my Dad.
"Yes," said Dad.
"Hey, there's a white truck outside your house."
"Okay. I'll go see what's going on," he said.
By the time my Dad went outside the truck had driven down the road towards the old house, the A-Frame, and had stopped in the middle of the orchard. Whoever was in the truck was on the radio talking to someone. I still had no clue who they were or what they were doing. I just wanted them to go away. I wanted everything to stop, stop the postings, stop being served, just have it all stop.
My Parents loaded up their car. The truck backed up and headed over to the Glass House. I walked into my bathroom to listen through the opened window. Fear was running all out.
"Hi," said my Dad.
"Hi. You folks are sure hard to find," said the guy in the truck.
"Well, this probably isn't good news, is it," said my Dad.
"No, I'm afraid it's not."
It turned out to be a local Sheriff Deputy serving my Parents with the seven day Eviction papers for Parcel B. Parcel B was the same lot my Parents were currently living on, with the Glass House and Main House. It was the same lot that we had moved everything into from the old house, the A-Frame and Garage on Parcel A. It had taken us almost 30 loads of the tractor's trailer. Parcel B was also the same lot I lived on in the Cabin.
The truck drove by my house heading to the front gate of the Farm. A few minutes later my Parents came over to pick me up. Even though we'd been expecting the notice, it was still unsettling. My Mom seemed okay. But Dad's energy was pretty uptight. I think Mom was just working on not thinking about it.
Who could blame her?
If there was any help being offered by the U.S. Government with all the bailout money that was being given to the Banks we had yet to receive any notice about it. You would think if the I.R.S. can track down your whereabouts, then surely the rest of the Government can too. All they had to do was ask the Banks and/or Lenders to send them a list of who was in or about to go into foreclosure. It wouldn't be that hard. Then take that list and send notice to all the property owners that help was here and give a way for them to make contact in order to request assistance, be it a web site and/or phone number.
The only notices we got were more foreclosures and evictions. The U.S. Government was silent. If there was any money being given out to help prevent the economy from failing, it wasn't heading to the people in need.
"The price good men pay for indifference to public affairs is to be ruled by evil men."
Greek Philosopher, Mathematician, Writer
(Abt. 428-328 BC)
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