The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County (34 page)

B
illy Baxter waited to act on the Stony Field situation—he wanted to see a confirming story in the
Los Angeles Journal
, which syndicated the Field column each week, before he would include a story in his paper. Meanwhile he traveled to Link Lake and to the Increase Joseph Community Park to gather updated information about the Alstage Sand Mining Company's recent activities. He heard a new drilling machine had been delivered, along with armed guards. He knew his readers would appreciate an updated story on the mining company's plans and present operations, especially since other counties in Wisconsin such as Crawford and Trempealeau had been examining their procedures for permitting the development of sand mines.

He stopped his car in the parking place near the Trail Marker Oak, got out, and was immediately confronted by an armed guard holding an assault rifle.

“Please climb back in your car and move along, sir,” the guard said in a gruff voice. He held his rifle in front of him, his finger on the trigger guard, ready to use it at the slightest provocation; at least it looked that way to Billy Baxter.

Baxter pulled out his identification that indicated he was a journalist and held it up for the guard to see. “I'd like to talk with someone who can update me on mining operations,” Baxter said quietly but firmly.

“I have my orders,” the guard said. He was tall, well over six feet, with a camouflage mask covering the lower part of his face. “I am to let no one pass.”

“But don't you understand? I am the editor of the
Ames County Argus
,” said Baxter.

“Sorry. I don't care if you're the king of England, nobody gets by me.”

“You're sure about that?” asked Baxter, stuffing his credentials back in his pocket and fishing out a camera. Before the guard could react, Baxter had taken his picture.

“Give me that camera,” the guard ordered.

“Over my dead body,” said Baxter, who ran to his car, roared the engine, and sped down the road.
I've got a different story than I thought I'd get, but it will surely get people's attention when I run it with the picture of this armed guard
.

Back at his office, before he began writing the mining story, he checked the AP Exchange website and saw the story he was waiting for. Lucas Drake had it right about Stony Field. This would certainly be first-page news in the
Argus
, and that's where the story would appear, along with the story about armed guards at the mining site and his inability to talk with anyone about mining plans.

He read the story published in the
Los Angeles Journal
, but rather than using it as it was written, he decided to write a separate story, using the facts he had at hand, but also writing about Ambrose Adler as a farmer who had a pet raccoon, a vegetable stand, and a way of life that did not include such taken-for-granted conveniences as electricity, automobiles, tractors, and even telephones. He would mention that Stony Field columns were often controversial, but they were always well researched and well argued—and well written. He decided to quote from several recent columns, especially those that took the Village of Link Lake's officials to task for being taken in by promises of jobs without taking into account the importance of historical artifacts like the Trail Marker Oak and the potential harm to people and to the environment once the mine began full operations.

In addition to the front-page story, Baxter also decided to write an editorial about the Stony Field situation. He had not forgotten Lucas Drake's threat to cancel his subscription to the paper and Drake's encouragement that everyone else should do so unless the paper quit publishing the Field column.

As much as some of us would like to see certain speech eliminated (for some, Stony Field columns), our Constitution assures us that we have the right to speak out, to share our opinions, and likewise, we also have freedom of the press, which means the press can do likewise.

Let this always be so, as these are the freedoms, along with several others that provide the foundation for the United States of America.

Let's applaud the good work of Ambrose Adler (Stony Field) and be extremely pleased that we have had this skilled writer in our midst these many years.

60

H
oly moley,” said Fred Russo when he pulled out a chair and sat down across from Oscar Anderson at the Eat Well. He looked around the crowded restaurant. “This place is packed to the gills.”

“It sure is, and these aren't local folks either. I couldn't find a place to park my pickup, had to walk three blocks. Whole damn Main Street is parked full of cars and vans and buses. I told you it would be a circus when people found out who Stony Field really was and I was right.”

“For once you nailed it, Oscar. I never saw so many bigwig newspeople in one place in my life. Let's see, I spotted CBS, NBC, ABC, CNN, Fox— each has a big old truck with one of them satellite dishes hanging on the top of it. Kind of interesting it is, aside from it messin' up everyday goings on in little Link Lake.”

“You know what I saw, Fred? I saw that big-shot CNN guy with the fancy hair, that Klayborn Stitzer fellow who thinks he's up on about everything happening in the world. Well, I saw him talking to our esteemed mayor. The mayor looked like he was gonna wet himself he was so excited.”

“Yup, Oscar, just look around this room. We are in the midst of grandeur. In this room are some of the finest journalists in the world,” said Fred.

“Oh, calm down. My guess is these guys pull on their pants just about the same way that we do. I don't know about the women, don't know how they do it,” said Oscar, who smiled when he said it.

“Know what, Oscar? I saw the CBS truck parked up there by the park and one of them big-shot reporters was talkin' with Emily Higgins while they stood in front of the Trail Marker Oak. I can imagine what they were talkin' about. Wonder what those gun-totin' guards thought about that. Wonder what the Alstage Sand Mining people thought about it? I'm sure the last thing the mining company wants is this kind of attention, just when they're about to open their new mine,” said Fred.

“I drove by Ambrose's place this morning. Fred, there were cars parked on both sides of the road for a quarter mile in each direction, and photographers stood elbow to elbow in his front yard, waitin' for a picture of the poor old guy. Sheriff 's car was directing traffic. You'd think Ambrose was havin' an auction, for all the people that were gathered there. Too bad. Too damn bad this had to happen. I feel sorry for poor old Ambrose. Wonder how he's takin' it. I wanted to stop and talk with him, but I couldn't get near the place. Them damn photographers are something else. Like a bunch of wolves waiting to devour fresh meat. That's how I'd describe them. Like a pack of hungry wolves,” said Oscar, who appeared to have forgotten about the cup of coffee in front of him.

“I'll bet Marilyn Jones isn't too pleased about all this either. She never liked Ambrose, especially when he was datin' her sister way back, lots of years ago. Did you remember that, Fred? Ambrose and Gloria Jones were plannin' on gettin' hitched and Gloria and Marilyn's folks put a stop to it, and Gloria left for California and never came back.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember all that. But I'll bet you my bottom dollar that no one was more surprised that Ambrose Adler was Stony Field than Marilyn Jones. I'd sure like to have seen her face when she first got the news. Sure like to have been there,” said Fred.

“Well, the Eat Well folks are not complaining; my guess is that they've never in all their years seen such business in their place as they're seein' right now. And my guess is that the supper club is doin' pretty damn well too. Talk about improvin' the economy in Link Lake. I wonder if the Economic Development Council has noticed the amount of money being spent in this town without one mining hole being dug. I wonder if they ever thought about that. My guess is that for years to come people are gonna flock to little Link Lake to see where Stony Field lived and worked. I betcha it's gonna happen, whether the village wants it to or not,” said Oscar. “Mark my word.”

“I have marked it,” said Fred, finally picking up his coffee and taking a big sip. “Damn coffee is cold.”

61

Why is my mother coming to Link Lake?
thought Karl Adams as he drove along Highway 10 on his way to the Appleton airport.
She's associate editor of the
Los Angeles Journal
. Why didn't the paper send a reporter, not someone of her stature, to cover the Stony Field story in Link Lake? What's going on?

Gloria's flight was right on time. Karl waited at the baggage claim area for her, and after a few minutes, there she was. They embraced, talked briefly about the flight, found Gloria's luggage on the carousel, and then headed for Karl's car, neither saying anything. Once away from the airport, they headed back on Highway 10 toward Waupaca, and then Link Lake. Karl broke the silence. “Mom, why are you coming to Link Lake? Are you here to cover the Stony Field story? It's turning out to be a circus with media people here from all over the country.”

“Yes and no,” Gloria answered.

“What in the world does that mean?”

“Yes, I'm coming because of Stony Field. And no, I am not here to write a story about him.”

“Now I really am confused,” said Karl. “Why in the world would you come to Link Lake, Wisconsin, in the middle of nowhere just because a famous writer lives here?”

“Well, where should I begin? It's all kind of complicated.”

“Mom, you are not sounding like your old self. What's going on?”

“Well,” she began, “now that we know who the real Stony Field is, it's probably time that you knew who the real Gloria Adams is.”

“What?” was all Karl could think to say.

“I suppose I should start at the beginning. First, you should know that my name has not always been Gloria Adams,” she said.

“Huh?” said Karl, glancing at his mother beside him, her hands together on her lap, a strand of gray hair falling over one eye.

“I was born in Chicago in 1944 and moved with my parents to Link Lake in 1955, when they opened the Link Lake Supper Club. My parents were Fred and Barbara Jones and my name then was Gloria Jones.”