-3- Turnabout is Fair Play THE OLD MAN was a hero to the young urchins in the neighborhood. Some years back a judge had taken away Clyde McCormick's driver's license, and his daughter had sold his car to keep him out of trouble. However, he didn't recall anyone telling him specifically not to drive. So, from time to time he would fire up his old farm tractor and take a spin around his wooded seven-acre lot and a few roads in the Southside Richmond neighborhood. By the time he was 81 he had a gaggle of adventurous boys, who, upon hearing his diesel coming their way, would run out and hop on one of the big fenders for a ride. McCormick was a gentle man, never drove fast, and the mothers in the neighborhood trusted him with their offspring. Plus, he assured them he would never get out on the main road with his happy hitchhikers. Clyde was a good story-teller and regaled his troupe of youngsters with some of his days in the Navy, specifically a few pranks he had played on his officers when they had plenty of dead time at sea, with nothing to do but watch for invading whales in the Sea of Japan. At the end of some of his stories, with a twinkle in his eye and his aromatic pipe, he would caution the kids not to do what he had done, lest they get in trouble. Many times he had almost convinced them his purpose in life had been to serve as a bad example. He would counsel, "Never take up smoking, always tell the truth, and be kind to one another." Then he would send them home. One fall day for no apparent reason, Clyde got it in his head that he needed to clear all of the fallen leaves from his corner lot and went about it with a vengeance-while several of his young followers rode on the Ford fenders with him, helping him dodge the many trees with his tractor's front-end scraper. It was one of those years with a heavy acorn crop and seemingly twice as many leaves as usual. After several days, his suburban forest was down to bare dirt with great piles of leaves scattered about the edge of the road, awaiting city pickup. Then as Fate would have it, a tremendous rainstorm thundered through the city, causing mud to slide downhill, much of it oozing into Clyde's nextdoor neighbor's fish pond. Dying koi, gasping for air, began to bubble to the surface. It took only several days for the stench to get the attention of most everyone in the neighborhood, including downstream neighbor, Cliff Hanger. Clyde felt terrible and owned up to the great terrain robbery as he called it, and promised to make amends for Cliff 's catch of the day, so to speak. This is where it got interesting, but to this day we still do not know all the details. First, we observed a team of loggers with chainsaws, clearing a path some ten feet wide from the road up Clyde's hill, some 60-70 feet. Next came a well-digging company, with a tall rig and lots of pipes. We heard later the well was 55 feet deep, which was most curious since the area was already provided with city water. Then followed an irrigation company that spent several days digging shallow trenches for an underground sprinkler system. The neighbors were beside themselves with curiosity. A week later Clyde appeared briefly, supervising big trucks that had arrived with tons of rolled sod. In no time at all, the bare lot had been transformed into a most appealing park, further piquing the curiosity of more and more neighbors during their daily dog walks. Even more mysterious was the absence of Clyde to answer any questions about his project. The curmudgeon that he was, we think he enjoyed teasing his neighbors, baiting them to guess what he was up to. Several times he had broken loose from the neighborhood on his tractor and been sighted at the Home Depot, three miles away. When questioned, he just twinkled that he had run out of pipe tobacco and that it was good to get out now and again. The only conversation one could extract from him was that he delighted in folks calling his improved lot, McCormick Park. It seemed to add a nice touch to the neighborhood (and no doubt helped avoid a lawsuit with his neighbor, Cliff, according to a rumored handshake agreement to prevent more koi catastrophes). All this activity was too good an opportunity to let pass for another McCormick neighbor, a guy named Ralph Fenwick, who lived directly across the road from the lot under improvement. Fenwick, with always too much time on his hands, felt it was his duty to add to the rumors of McCormick Park. So . late one evening at his computer he created a sign indicating the ultimate purpose of McCormick's ground-clearing. The sign included an enlarged seal of the City of Richmond (copied from Fenwick's monthly water bill), worded something to the effect: "According to Richmond City ordinance 16.54 B (876), this property of ___________________ acres is under consideration for being rezoned for Commercial Use. A public hearing is set for __________________ to hear comments from nearby property owners regarding this approval for _____________________. A special use variance for 24 hour operation will also be considered." Then in these blank spaces Fenwick inserted by hand "4.38 acres," "November 25, 1997," and a "7-11 convenience store." There was one last detail Fenwick added to the bottom of each sign. Printed in all capital letters: "IF THERE ARE ANY QUESTIONS REGARDING THIS PROPOSAL, CALL ZONING OFFICER LEROY STONER AT TELEPHONE 272-6744." He ran off three copies on hot pink weatherproof paper, and after midnight nailed them to McCormick's trees along the edge of the road; the early-rising joggers would be sure to see them. Fenwick was especially pleased with this addition as Stoner was a beer-drinking buddy, living only two miles away. Stoner fancied himself as a flip-for-profit real estate mogul, who was frequently in conflict with the staff from the Richmond zoning office. Fenwick also knew Stoner hated to rise early, and didn't answer his home phone any time before 9 am. Pleased with his work, Fenwick went to bed about 1 am; alas, it was a short night. Almost at dawn, he was awakened by several loud neighbors, with arms waving, discussing the posted signs, outraged that an all-night 7-11 was coming to their peaceful neighborhood. Since this was in the dark ages before ubiquitous cell phones, no one could call Stoner on the spot, but several high-tailed it home eager, to give this "Zoning Officer" selected pieces of their minds. It was only later that Fenwick learned from Stoner how many early phone messages he had gotten that morning. Finally, Stoner got up, dressed, and learning the whereabouts of the proposed rezoning, he angrily drove over to the site. Seeing Fenwick's house, he realized he had been pranked, but still found it difficult to convince the testy gathering that he was not a Richmond zoning officer and had nothing to do with the signs. In Stoner's attempt to rip the hot pink notices off the three trees, one neighbor, no doubt of German, we-obey-the-law-compulsiveness, almost came to fisticuffs with Stoner. Fenwick laid low behind bedroom curtains, not wanting to get involved with domestic disputes, as they say, but could still hear Stoner trying to explain, "That knucklehead who lives right over there across the street has done this." They didn't buy it and several came with him, banging on Fenwick's front door. He jumped into the shower, leaving his wife, Edna, to answer. She knew nothing of the caper and did not let them past the front door. She could truthfully report that her husband was indisposed, not able to answer the door. Of course, Fenwick had to quickly explain to her what all the commotion was about. Like most wives still in their nightgowns, she was barely amused, concerned mainly with what the neighbors or police would think of them as new residents. Eventually, everyone went home that morning with a good story to tell. It would be charitable to ask why Fenwick would go to such lengths to play a practical joke on his good friend, LeRoy Stoner. We wouldn't want the reader ever to think Fenwick was a mean-spirited soul, but even in grade school Fenwick's teachers observed, that in a contrary fashion, he deliberately "colored outside the lines"; thus, the story deserves one more explanation. Unbeknownst to Fenwick, one sunny day about a month earlier, just after he and his wife had moved into their new house, Stoner had driven over to welcome them to the neighborhood. Finding the Fenwicks not at home, Stoner picked up a leaf rake and with each passing neighbor, introduced himself as Ralph Fenwick, telling them he had just returned from safari in Africa. Stoner was reported as engaging and friendly, but he cautioned each neighbor to keep their distance as he had been recently diagnosed with the highly infectious Ebola disease. Cordially, he inquired about any upcoming neighborhood picnics or Christmas parties, much to the horror of the solicitous neighbors. It was several weeks before Fenwick's wife realized what Stoner had done. As you can imagine, the Fenwicks had a difficult time blending into the neighborhood, trying to gain credibility and establish new...
