The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County (13 page)

Never in my many years of editing the
Ames County Argus
has a column writer prompted so many people to write letters to this newspaper. More than 200 letters to the editor arrived at this newspaper since the column was first published, with more arriving each day. Most come as e-mails, but regular letters have filled our mailbox as well.

Stony Field, the award-winning but mysterious environmental writer, is prone to stir up people, but with his recent comments about a sand mine supported by the Link Lake Economic Development Council and recently approved by the Link Lake Village Board, he hit a hornet's nest. Letters are coming from throughout the country, from the east and the west coast, from north and south, from rural areas and major urban centers.

The letters run about two to one in favor of Stony Field's position—he argues quite convincingly that a community needs to attend to its history and be concerned about the environmental impact of a new development beyond merely supporting an idea because of the potential for additional jobs in the community.

We obviously do not have sufficient space in the
Ames County Argus
to print all of the letters we have received, so what I have done is select a sampling, trying to be fair in including those that agree with Stony Field and those that take issue with what he had to say. Some of the letters are so filled with angry invective and too often include words that cannot be repeated in a family-oriented newspaper that I have set them aside. Here is a sampling of the letters, both agreeing with and, often strongly, disagreeing with Stony Field's perspective:

21

O
n this cool June morning, with dew sparkling on the hay field that Ambrose could see out his kitchen window, he sat enjoying a cup of coffee and reading the recent issue of the
Ames County Argus
. Ranger, his ever-present pet raccoon, stood at his side.

“Well, Ranger,” said Ambrose, “it looks like old Stony Field got people thinking about putting a sand mine in Increase Joseph Community Park. Even got Bill Baxter at the
Argus
to sit up and take notice.” Ambrose showed the newspaper editorial to the raccoon. “Know what Baxter said, Ranger? Here, I'll read it to you. ‘Never in my many years of editing the
Ames County Argus
has a column writer prompted so many people to write letters to this newspaper.'”

The raccoon looked at the newspaper held in front of him and lifted a paw to touch the paper.

“And look at all these letters, Ranger, most of them agreeing with me. Just look at that. Maybe my writing is making a difference after all. Maybe there is still something we can do about stopping a sand mine from coming to Link Lake. Let's hope we can muster enough opposition to at least save the Trail Marker Oak. What a tragedy if that old tree came down.”

Ranger looked at Ambrose and held out a paw for him to shake.

“We'd better get to work—lots of weeding to do in the garden, and our roadside stand needs a little sprucing up before we can be open for business. Wish I had more energy. Old age must be creeping up on me.”

22

K
arl Adams arrived at the Appleton airport, rented a car, found Highway 10, and headed west toward Link Lake, some forty miles away. As a consulting mining engineer with offices in Portland, Oregon, he traveled the world, helping mining companies set up new operations. The Alstage Sand Mining Company had hired him to help them set up their mining operation in Link Lake, Wisconsin. The company had set late October for the mine's official opening.

Karl, a lifelong bachelor, was tall, thin, and had a full head of black hair, deep penetrating eyes, and a personality that quickly won over people. He was especially good at coming into a community where a mine was planned to soothe over any negative feelings about mining, and, of course, to emphasize all the positive features—especially the job creation and economic benefits that result when a mine opens. In the twenty-five years that he had been a mining engineer, a community's acceptance of a mine had become ever more contentious. Some people didn't want a mine in their neighborhood, plain and simple. It didn't matter that the country needed coal, or steel, or whatever else was dug from the ground; these people saw mining as a way, to use their words, “to rape the environment.” He also had seen mining become a political issue, often tied to economic development and job creation with little concern for environmental protection.

In Karl's mind, bringing a mine into a community had its pluses. He was also a realist and knew a mine had a downside as well, but if all the rules were followed, a mine could be both an economic asset to a community as well as friendly to the environment. Increasingly in recent years, he found himself doing more public relations in a community than technical mining work. He was happy to do it and in fact rather enjoyed working with people, both those who applauded the coming of a mine as well as those who would never accept one coming even after a mine had been approved. As he drove over to Link Lake from the airport he thought about the only time he had been to Wisconsin, when a mining company had hired him to help with some exploratory work for a possible mine in Oneida County. That mine had never opened and the mining company decided to go elsewhere.

His contact at Alstage, Emerson Evans, had said little about the new mine in Link Lake, other than sending Karl some technical information about the quality of the sand there, and the fact that the mine would be located in a community park. The location seemed a bit odd to Karl, but it was not his job to question the site of a mine. He was to make sure the majority of people in a community were on board and supportive when the mine began operations. He had been in the middle of some really nasty situations where communities had chosen sides both for and against a mine's opening. He hoped that Link Lake would not be one of those places. Karl had read about the new iron mine in northern Wisconsin, and how it not only divided the northern Wisconsin community where the mine was to be located but also divided the state as it became a hot political issue with most Republicans foursquare behind the idea, and many Democrats raising serious questions about the mine's potential environmental impacts.

Karl Adams had done his homework. He had gotten the names of the members of the Link Lake Economic Development Council and names of the mayor and the Link Lake Village Board members. The latter group had negotiated the contract with Alstage. He especially wanted to meet Marilyn Jones, whom Emerson Evans with the Alstage Sand Mining Company praised as one of “the strongest leaders and most forward-looking persons” he had met in a while. Evans told him that she owned and operated the Link Lake Supper Club. He also had checked out the local newspaper, the
Ames County Argus
. Karl had learned many years ago that the local newspaper was a good place to start if you wanted to get a feel for a community, what was bothering it and what was making it feel good. Billy Baxter, editor of the
Argus
, was on the top of his list of people he wanted to talk with.

Arriving in Link Lake, Karl drove up and down Main Street, noticing the Eat Well Café, a couple of craft shops, an antique store, a furniture store, a dollar store, and, nestled against the lake, the Link Lake Supper Club. On the outskirts of town, he found the small but tidy-looking Link Lake Motel—the kind where you drive your car up to the door. It advertised “American Owned, Free Wi-Fi.” Karl checked into the motel and then following the directions he had gotten from Alstage, he headed his rental car toward Increase Joseph Community Park. The park was only a mile or so from the motel and easy to find—one of the advantages of a small town is that almost everything is easy to find. He stopped at the park's entrance, where he spotted a massive bur oak tree. In front of the tree stood a concrete post with an attached old metal plaque that read, “Trail Marker Oak. A sacred tree.” He wondered what that was all about. He spent the next hour exploring the park, using the technical information he had gotten to see exactly where the sand mine would be sited, the location of the processing facility, and the possible transportation routes in and out of the park.

The park was a beautiful, peaceful place. He noticed children playing on swings and a couple of families having a picnic lunch on tables organized under pine and oak trees with a fine view of the lake in the distance. The air was filled with the laughter of children and the sound of birds singing high in the treetops.

He made several notes in his pocket notebook and took photos with his phone. When he finished with his introductory inspection he headed toward Willow River, where he hoped to find Billy Baxter and gain some inside information about Ames County, Link Lake, and the coming of a sand mine to the community.

Baxter was in his office when Karl arrived, trying to decide what he should put in the coming issue of the
Argus
, and especially trying to decide how many more letters to the editor about the coming sand mine he should publish. The letters kept rolling in, still about two to one in opposition to the mine. Baxter was torn. If he kept printing the letters it would surely add fuel to the flame of opposition that was already burning brightly, and if he stopped publishing the letters he would be accused of selling out to the pro-mining group. He also had in the back of his mind ad revenue; he knew he should never make an editorial decision based on ad revenue, but it was ad revenue that kept his paper going, and a good number of his ads came from businesspeople who backed the coming of the mine and weren't at all bashful in reminding him of that fact.