A/N: Greg has left Ali and Tomas at the Stable to work up a layout plan for the oil plant and walked to the bank for his meeting with Courtley. Following the change in the attitudes of Ali and Tomas to his project ,after their apparent enthusiasm of the night before, he now has misgivings about extending his plans to include them. Greg has left the truck with Ali so he can borrow a pallet truck for when the equipment for the plant arrives the next day. He tries to ignore the scowls and harsh looks cast at him by passers by as he walks through the town and blames it on the false rumour circulated by somebody about him being in bed with young Jess. But he has urgent banking business to do and arrives at the Bank to be told the Manager is held up. Greg sits in the foyer reading a magazine while he waits for the manager. Now read on:-
Timeline: 10:34 Friday, 20th April :: Commercial and Farmers Bank, Bamptonville.
Greg sat cross-legged on the bench outside Bill Courtley’s office browsing the current edition of Nebraska Farmer with increasing interest as a source of local information, and how the economic implications of current agricultural trends impacted on small rural communities such as Bamptonville.
He found one article particularly fascinating and read it through carefully, with increasing interest, since it ran parallel with his bio-diesel objectives. Written by a professor at the University of Nebraska, College of Technology the piece presented a reasoned and powerful argument for the urgent need for Nebraska to reduce its reliance on power derived from fossil fuels; all of which have to be brought in from outside of the State.
The part that raised ferment in Greg was a call for the State to produce more of its own energy requirements from the vast amounts of bio-mass currently going to waste in field burn-off, creating air pollution as its by-product.
Greg sat forwards to the edge of the bench to read the article a second time, just to make sure he had read it correctly before dropping the journal onto the bench beside him in a state of excitement as he mulled over the factual content of the article. ‘The State’s giving away grants to put in small-scale bio-mass powered generating plants and the power company has guaranteed to buy all they can produce.’
Greg punched the air in delight. It was proof positive that the State was looking for better ways to source its fuel requirements from waste . ‘If they’ll encourage the use of alternative energy and give grants for bio-mass, maybe they’ll do the same for bio-diesel?’
Greg was fully alert and tingling with exhilaration at the prospects this discovery opened up for him. Picking up the magazine again, he made a mental note to subscribe to Nebraska Farmer.
The sepulchral silence of the bank’s foyer and waiting area was rudely disturbed by an angry man in farmer’s coveralls and knee length rubber boots storming out of the Manager’s office and tainting the air with the powerful odour of dairy sterilizer.
“Damn Banks, they’re all the goddamn same, they give you umbrellas when the sun’s shining and want ‘em back the minute it starts to rain.”
Greg sat back in surprise, tossing the magazine to one side and watched the man march, angry and protesting, out of the bank. He leaned further to one side to peer into the open doorway of the Manager’s office from whence the man had emerged.
He saw Bill Courtley standing back from the doorway regaining his composure, his face flushed with embarrassment, and wiping his face and neck on a broad handkerchief. He smiled nervously when his eyes met Greg’s and stepped forward with his hand outstretched to greet him. He apologised as they shook hands.
“Sorry about that Mr. Mitchell and for keeping you waiting. Won’t you come through please?”
Greg stood and followed the manager into the spacious and comfortably furnished office, its pastel wall-paper and full length windows lending a brightness that was more in keeping with a country house drawing room than a working, commercial office.
Greg looked out of the long windows onto a neatly trimmed grassed area edged with flower borders and pots riotously displaying spring flowers. He recognised tulips and wall-flowers among other brightly coloured daisy like plants he knew, but could not name..
Greg walked towards the manager’s heavy wooden desk, but Courtley led him into an area beyond it to a coffee table and two comfortable armchairs that overlooked the little garden.
Courtley ushered Greg into a chair with a beaming smile before moving towards the second chair. The Bank Manager was clearly back in control of himself and in business.
"I’ve heard a lot more about you Mr. Mitchell since we last met a few days ago and thought we might take this opportunity to get to know each other just a little better- seeing as you’re planning to stay with us for some time. … That’s according to what Bill Elbury told me when we talked."
Greg thought the manager’s opening gambit unconventional and put it down to him being still a little flustered after his upset with the farmer. He noticed Courtley’s raised eyebrow and smiled. It was a question, and the manager was waiting to hear an answer.
“ Could be Mr. Courtley … it all depends.”
The eyebrow remained raised, but Greg decided against elucidating further and a painful silence followed, broken eventually by Courtley offering refreshments.
“Some coffee Mr. Mitchell or would you prefer tea, we have both.”
Greg sat down bewildered by the rapid and stark change in Courtley’s demeanour; so soon after a disastrous meeting with his last customer. Greg needed to see how far he could trust this man and answered with a warm smile. “Coffee’s fine thanks.”
Courtley watched Greg closely as he settled into the chair. He was about to say something when Greg pointed at the door.
“What was all that about umbrellas?” Greg asked his question accompanied by a friendly smile. Courtley hitched the tops of his pants before sitting opposite, brushing imaginary crumbs from his lap while he himself settled a wider, more corporate smile across his face.
"Oh That," he said with an over hearty chuckle and wave of his hand, “that’s a case of not being able to do a customer a good turn without it backfiring to bite me.”
Greg frowned to show his lack of understanding, hoping for a little more explanation, realising the manager could not discuss another customer’s business with him directly.
Courtley waved a hand dismissively as he talked down the incident. “It’s just one of those things that don’t come out right as planned and then the Bank becomes a soft target for it all going wrong.’ Courtley chuckled before adding “It’s to be expected after all we bankers stand alongside Realtors and Tax Inspectors at the bottom end of public esteem.“
He laughed again in the hope that was the end of the matter, but Greg’s steady gaze and lack of a smile unsettled Courtley who continued with his explanation, but in a less flippant manner.
“You see Greg. And may I call you Greg?”
"Sure.”
‘Thank you. I’m Bill by the way. … You see Greg, in a small town like Bamptonville the Bank is more’n just a place to put and get money from. … Here we’re more like, how can I put this? We’re more like a Community Centre. A hub if you like around which the commercial life of the town works.”
He paused and saw by the expression on Greg’s face that he had caught the Englishman’s interest, but did not know the reasons, believing Greg was sourcing faults in himself, causing Courtley to be more guarded.
“ I can see you are very interested in this petty incident Greg, may I ask you for why?”
Greg shrugged. “The working practices of this town are different in many ways from what I am used to … Bill.” Greg added a smile to further allay the banker’s fear that he was under a personal scrutiny.
“Since I am planning to set myself up here and invest heavily in the area I need to know as much background as I can get hold of and the Bank seems like a new seam of knowledge that could be useful to me.”
“Ha Ha," Courtley chuckled, slapping his knee and became visibly relaxed, happily accepting Greg’s explanation that took him off the hook of scrutiny.
“ I see, that’s not a problem. Let me tell you how it works. … I get to hear lots of different things in the course of my day here in the bank and when I’m walking around outside in the town. People tell me things and when I hear something that might be of benefit to one of my customers – and let me say here and now, they are all my friends as well, my personal friends, …”
"Of course.”
“… so when I hear something that’s not confidential I pass it on to any body I think’d be interested in knowing about it. It all helps the world go round if you get my drift.” Courtley paused to take a deep breath before continuing in a more solemn tone that carried with it the disappointment of unfairness.
“That’s why sometimes when things don’t work out as expected or go wrong they like to come in here to kick my butt and take it out on me. But, be sure about this, it has nothing to do with the banking business; it was just a favour that went wrong. It happens like that all the time; when it goes wrong that is, only when it goes wrong. When it goes right, we never hear a word from ‘em, and that’s most times.” The same note of disappointment had crept back into his voice.
Greg recrossed his legs, this had intrigued him even more. “Thanks for that Bill, I have a better understanding of how things work in the town now. But … but do you mind telling me more. I know you can’t tell me the specifics of individual cases, but, like I just said, with your ear to the ground the way it is might be just what I need to help me work up my own plans”
Courtley exhaled and relaxed into his chair. The heat was off him and Greg was about to make him a confidant, which pleased the bank manager even more as it could mesh well with his own plans involving the newcomer to the town.
“Well Greg, like you said, I cain’t tell you specifics, but I knowed Cyrus Polder you just seen leaving needed to clear a patch of well watered scrub land alongside a creek running through his property,‘cos he’d said so to me a hundred times or more in the past year alone. He’s a beef and dairy farmer and he don’t let his cows and young stock go down into it. He says his cows don’t do well there so he fenced it off and let it go rough, but it’s good land for growing potatoes.”
Greg interrupted. “I thought they grew the nation’s potatoes in Idaho?”
“They do, it’s their main crop, but we grow ‘em here as well, but not so many. Anyway, I heard Ben Morton wanted someone to grow him some special potatoes, a heritage variety. Cut a long story short I brokered a deal between Ben and Cyrus.”
Greg held up a finger to interrupt again with a question. “Why didn’t Ben Morton go to a specialist potato grower in Idaho or somewhere else?”
"Transport costs Greg. Transport costs, they are the killer of moving goods these days. Ben wanted ‘em here in these parts and he just needed a quantity to sell for eating as cheap as he could get ‘em growed.”
“So what went wrong, did Bill Morton renege on the deal?”
Courtly slapped his thigh and laughed quietly. “Not a bit of it, Ben came good, but he wanted a specific quantity growed that would only call for planting on half the land Cyrus needed cleared. Cyrus ploughed up all the land figuring if Ben could sell ‘em and make a profit as well as pay him for growing the crop, he could do the same for himself and have what Ben’d take for a profit for himself, instead of only the much smaller, grower’s contract fee Ben paid him.”
Greg nodded that he had got the picture, but the story had aroused his curiosity.
“So what happened Bill, to make it all go wrong?”
Courtley sighed and shook his head, pulling a despondent face. “ Long and short of it all was by the time Cyrus planted, growed and harvested the crop, and if I say it myself, it was a damn fine crop, with as good a yield, if not better’n you’d get anywhere, let me tell you. Well, he had to pay folks to harvest ‘em and then found he couldn’t sell ‘em in bulk. That’s the way Ben carted his share out of the place, in bulk. … Cyrus found he needed grading and boxing equipment and boxes themselves to put em in, then there were more transport costs, salesman’s fees, insurances and more wages for folks to work the machinery. He offered ‘em to Ben for a peppercorn, but Ben didn’t want any more. … Said he had more’n enough for his needs for that year. Cyrus couldn’t see a profit in ‘em after all was said and done and got real sore about it all, said he wished he hadn’t let me persuade him..”
Greg cut across Courtley and picked up the conversation “So what you’re telling me really is that this farmer, Cyrus, got greedy and hadn’t done his research?”
Courtley pursed his lips and exhaled heavily through his nose.
“That’s not a word I’d use in anybody’s hearing other’n yours Greg, but I think you get the idea.”
Greg sat forward in his chair and shuffled his bottom irritably.
"But it don’t add up Bill, spuds are spuds and there’s a market for them everywhere, you just have to find the one that pays the most. You have to look to find it, business won’t come to you. Business doesn’t happen for people who sit on their butts and expect it to turn up on their doorstep.”
Courtley clapped his hands together appreciatively. “You know that and I know that Greg because we are businessmen and folks the like of Cyrus don’t understand that well enough. They’ll grow you anything that’ll grow round here mind, but when it comes to a business plan. Uh–uh, they’re lost. They’ve never had to do it before and don’t see the need for it now. They just do their own thing and hope for the best.”
Greg shook his head with misgiving. “But if he pulled them out of the ground last October and it is now late April. Why have they not sold?’
Courtley brushed his lap with his hands as if he was brushing away all responsibility. “Well what Cyrus did was to add up all the costs and found transport the biggest of all, that’s to somewhere he could sell ‘em at his price and came to the conclusion that as far as this deal was concerned, he’d put more in his mouth than it had teeth to chaw on and he stopped trying to sell ‘em.”
“Where are the potatoes now? You said he had 150 tons and they were a good crop. It don’t make sense to me to leave a good product to deteriorate like that.”
"Well Greg he blamed fate and me for his bad luck and they lie in a big pile in his main barn to this day; that’s where they’ve been since he took them out of the ground.”
'He's a stock farmer you said, why hasn't he fed 'em to his cows?'
Courtley slapped his thigh and chuckled again. "That's an irony for you Greg. He cain't sell 'em for stockfeed 'cos his price is too high to get his money back and he cain't feed 'em to his own stock either because of his contract for the cows."
Greg looked perplexed. " I don't understand you Bill? Why can't he feed 'em to his own cows?"
"Cos they're not his cows that's fer why. They're all leased and the contract with the leasing company spells out the feeding regime that don't include potatoes. Something to do with risk of disease. Cyrus cain't even use 'em as feed. He's plumb stuck with 'em."
“And they’re still good, the potatoes I mean?”
Courtley shrugged. “Apparently so, but they are now taking space he needs to use and he wants them out of his way. He’s real mad ‘cos he can’t use 'em or sell ‘em at a price that’ll cover his costs, much less give him a profit.”
“That’s stupid. Everybody eats potatoes in these parts. There has to be a market.”
“That’s what I told him Greg, but it only made him madder still. Seems like these are stock-feed potatoes and not regular eating varieties. Nobody wants ‘em at the price he’s asking. He’s out good money on this deal and blames the Bank for it.”
“But you said he decided to plant the extra acreage and create a supply for a market he didn’t know if or where it existed. It’s an all too common mistake for newcomers to business.’
“Quite so!”
Greg shuffled forward again feeling the beginnings of a business buzz coursing through his veins.
“I hope you don’t mind telling me some more about this Bill as I am more than intrigued. In fact I am getting interested. There could be a deal in there for me.”
Courtley sat forwards, looking askance at Greg.
“Are you sure about that. I know he’s tried everywhere local and transport costs...”
Greg waved him down with a polite raising of his hand for quiet while he thought. Courtley added.
“Well now, I heard you are a determined trader Greg, but potatoes never entered my mind as something you might be dealing in?’” He held his head to one side to listen carefully to what Greg said next.
“Potatoes are a commodity just like any other, they have their own characteristics, market, values and prices. I don’t know what they are yet, but I can soon find out.”