The Banker

J. Farnsworth Kelley turned off the lights in his office and set the alarm before he left the building. As usual, he was the last to leave. He thought it important that the President set a good example for the other bank employees-an example that said, "hard work, long hours, and diligent effort will be rewarded." He was a perfect demonstration of this.

Kelley's black Cadillac sat in its special covered parking space next to the bank's side door. There was not another car in the town of Colbert like it. He'd had to special order the car in Nashville since there was no Cadillac dealership in town. Kelley wanted everyone to know when he drove by-to know that they were close to a man of stature. In fact, everything about him-his car, his name, his house, his clothing, his bearing-was calculated to show the people of this little town just who he was and, by inference, just who they were.

As he drove by the Riverside Shopping Center, his thoughts carried him back forty years. There was no shopping center then. The area was a slum along Willow Creek called "Crawfish Bottoms." When the creek flooded, as it did on a regular basis, the poor residents either camped out on the rocky ridge west of the creek or moved their meager possessions to the upper stories and stayed with them until the water subsided.

Kelley hated it when his thoughts took him back to those days. Although he'd resolved not to think on those times, his mind had no regard for his wishes. Some sight or sound or person would trigger a forgotten key and those forbidden memories would come flooding back. Today the vision was especially acute-he and his mother racing against the rising water, sometimes in the middle of the night, to get their possessions up the narrow stairs. They had been careful to see that everything in the house could be lifted by the two of them and fitted through the narrow opening to the upstairs room. And the cleaning out of the mud, the crawfish, and sometimes a snake or two after the water left. The severity of the flood just departed was always measured against the highest water mark on the wall in the front room, 26 ¾ inches from the floor. Yes, he hated it when his mind forced him to revisit these times. Hated it because he felt as if everyone else was viewing the same scenes and knowing-yes, really knowing-who he was.

In those days there was no J. Farnsworth Kelley. His mother called him Jack. To everyone else in town, he was "Crawfish," the little kid from Crawfish Bottoms who pulled the homemade cart through the more affluent sections of town delivering the washing his mother took in. Unable to face the responsibilities of parenthood, his father had left for parts unknown before he was born.

Jack had hated every minute of it. Hated the jeers of the other kids when they pointed out one of their hand-me-down jackets his mother had gotten for him from the "clothes closet" at the Methodist Church. Hated the condescending attitudes of the adults when he picked up and delivered their laundry. Hated it so much that he'd vowed to himself that he'd get even someday, that they would all pay for their snide remarks and slights. He didn't know how he'd do it, but he knew he would. It was that burning in his gut that kept him going.

Today, there were no more Crawfish Bottoms. The town, with Federal help, had razed the slum houses, put Willow Creek in a large metal tunnel, and put up a levee and flood gate where the creek flowed into river. They built brick duplexes for the displaced poor in another section of town. His mother had been so proud of her new home. In a way Jack was glad she had died before it became what it was today-a brick slum that didn't flood.

Just as Crawfish Bottoms had disappeared, so had Jack "Crawfish" Kelley. He was smart and had studied hard in school hoping that good grades would open some doors. They did, but not enough. College was out of the question. So he signed up for a four-year stint in the Navy. It was a calculated move. He placed high on tests and got to choose some excellent training schools. He also got to see quite a bit of the world. But, most importantly, he got money for college. With it, some small student loans, and part-time jobs he got his degree and ranked very high in his class in the process.

It was during college that he changed his name. He had no middle name and "Jack" seemed so common. So he kept the "J" in front and added "Farnsworth" because he thought it sounded important-sounded as if the person bearing it were somebody.

It was also during college that his department head helped him get on part-time at one of the banks where he attracted the attention of one of the executives. That gave him an inside track to a full-time position upon graduation. With ability, hard work, and a strong mentor, he rose rapidly. He was head of one of the bank's branches when he learned that the parent company was buying the leading bank in Colbert. He lobbied hard, and successfully, to be named as its president. He'd left town as Crawfish Kelley in a tight sailor suit; he'd come back as J. Farnsworth Kelley in a three-piece suit and a black Cadillac. Fate had dealt him the hand he'd wished for. It was his to play and play it he had for the last five years.

The little boy pulling the laundry cart thought mostly of getting even in physical terms. The bank president in the Cadillac sought vengeance on the spirit. His bank was the dominant one in town and had most of the loans, mortgages, and financial transactions of any consequence. Kelley loved it when one of his former tormentors or one of his mother's former customers had to come in for a loan or an extension of payment or to seek some financial favor. It was not that he turned them down. On the contrary, most were approved because Kelley prided himself on making good business decisions. However, the petitioner always left knowing who held his financial fate in his hands, who could ruin him if he chose, and who, in a capricious moment, might just choose to do so. Within a year or so of his return, Kelley had most of the leading citizens of the town on edge. He could see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices as he met them at various town functions. Yes, the proverbial chicken had come home to roost.

Kelley's mind came back to the present when he crossed the river and saw the big house at the top of the ridge. It was visible for miles and seemed to dominate the valley and the town. Yes, that house was a long way from Crawfish Bottoms Kelley thought as he turned into its long drive.
After putting the car into the garage, Kelley strolled around the well-kept yard enjoying the view. His wife was in Nashville where she still did a lot of volunteer work. Their only son was away at boarding school. He felt like a Medieval baron as he looked down on the valley and town. Yes, revenge was sweet. He could almost taste it. He savored it and feelings of fruition and contentment flowed through him not unlike the Willow Creek of old at flood tide. Life was, indeed, good.

Kelley strolled around the house to the back yard and was startled out of his mental contentment by the four cows that had thrust their heads through the barbed wire fence and were busily stripping the leaves off his shrubbery. He ran them away and then stood leaning on one of the fence posts thinking.

When the property lines had been set years ago, the crest of the ridge was a natural stopping place for the farms on both sides of it. Kelley had bought one of these small farms and done away with the old house site by the road. He didn't have to build so close to the back property line but the only place for his house was at the top of the hill. This put one of the rear corners of his house only about forty feet from the back pasture fence of the opposite farm. It was owned by an older couple, Zebulum and Boonie Mae Snavely.

When Kelley had selected his house site, he had foreseen no problem with it. But he had not taken the closeness of the Snavely's pasture into consideration. This was not the first time his shrubbery had been eaten. As he leaned on the post and watched the cows graze, the solution came to him. He'd just buy a few acres of the back part of their place and create a buffer zone between his yard and the pasture. Yes, that's what he'd do. He'd tend to this tomorrow.

The next day Kelley did some checking. He never took a step without preparation-without doing his homework. There was no mortgage on the Snavely place and they had no outstanding loans anywhere. Since he would have no leverage, Kelley would have to be at his persuasive best.
When he left the bank that afternoon, he drove on past his place and followed the road around the end of the ridge and up the next valley to the Snavely place. Kelley did not know them well but he knew they had no heirs. He'd gone to school with their only son who had been killed in Vietnam. He and Ronnie had not been friends but he remembered that Ronnie had never teased or made fun of him. When the others did, he just seemed to pull off to one side and not join in.

As Kelley stopped his car in the drive of the Snavely's modest farmhouse, he saw Zebulum coming from the barn and his evening chores. He came around the house to greet his visitor. Boonie Mae came out on the front porch drying her hands on her apron. After the initial greetings, they invited Kelley to sit with them under the large maple tree that dominated the front yard. The vintage chairs were metal with about twenty coats of paint but comfortable. Kelley could see that his reputation had preceded him-that the Snavelys were cautious and apprehensive wondering what he wanted with them.

After a few minutes of small talk about the lack of rain and falling beef prices, Kelley got to the point of his visit. "Mr. Snavely, you know the back of my house and your back pasture fence are right close together. I'd like a little more space behind me so I'd like to buy five acres across the back of your pasture. And just to make sure I treat you right, I'm prepared to pay you the going rate for good creek bottom farmland for it."

Zebulum heard Kelley's proposal without showing any outward emotion. He glanced at his wife who dropped her eyes, deferring the decision to him. He rocked in his chair, rubbed his chin with its stubble of white beard, and looked up into the branches of the maple, thinking.
Kelley broke in, "Mr. Snavely, I'd be pleased if you'd like to think about this for a few days."

After a few minutes, Zebulum leaned forward in his chair and looked Kelley in the eye. "Tain't no need of doing that. Ah kin give ya' ma' answer rat now. Ah jest don't know as how ah'd wanna sell part of ma' place. Iffen ah ever does sell, hit' ud be better ta' have eighty acres than seventy-five."

Kelley was prepared for just such a turn. "Well then, Mr. Snavely, let me make you an offer for the whole eighty acres." He paused for effect. "Bottom land price for every acre, of course."

"That's a mighty good offer, Mr. Kelley."
"I'm glad you recognize that, Mr. Snavely. I don't think you'll ever get a better one. Here's what it would come to." Kelley handed him a memo pad sheet with the figures on it. Why don't you just consider it for a few days?"
"Naw. Ain't no need ta' do that. Ah jest ain't innerested in sellin' rat now."

Kelley tried to hide his annoyance. "Well now, Mr. Snavely, you know you and the missus aren't getting any younger. This would give you all a nice little nest egg for your later years. You seem like a good business man to me and surely you can see that you're not likely to get a better offer."

"Ah spec you rat, but when a man ain't ready ta' sell, he just ain't ready ta' sell."
There was nothing more to be said but as Kelley rose to go, he could not resist one last parting shot. "You should mark this down, Mr. Snavely. Times may not again be so favorable and the next offer you get might not be so good." Zebulum and Boonie Mae did not miss the veiled threat.
Kelley bided his time waiting for a fortuitous moment. Zebulum's cows continued to eat the shrubs.
Then, one day on his drive home with the car radio set on the local station, he heard the news. A local farmer had gotten careless while mowing on a steep slope. The tractor turned over on him. He was dead when his wife found him. It was Zebulum Snavely. Events had played into Kelley's hands.
After waiting a few weeks-what most would consider a "proper" amount of time-Kelley drove around to the other side of the ridge one afternoon to see Boonie Mae Snavely. She came out as he got out of his car and invited him to sit again under the maple tree.

This time there was no small talk. As Boonie Mae Snavely plopped down in the lime green metal chair she got straight to the point. "Ah guess you's come about the land. Well, iffen ah sells it, ah'm gonna sell the whole thang. Ah ain't innerested in a whole buncha parts." Kelley noted that she seemed much more assertive than she had been on his earlier visit.

"That's fine," replied Kelley as he handed her a slip of paper. "Here's my offer for the whole eighty acres."
Boonie Mae took the paper and stared at it for several minutes. A dark cloud seemed to come across her face. The muscles in her jaw tightened causing noticeable bulges beneath each ear. Finally, she spoke. "Mr. Kelley, this is a lot less than ya' offered me an' Zeb jest a few months ago."

"Yes...yes, you're right, Mrs. Snavely. But you know that land is selling pretty slow right now and land prices are going down." What Boonie Mae didn't know was that Kelley had put out the word that he wanted the Snavely place and that no one else dared make an offer before he either bought it or withdrew. "And," Kelley continued, "I made you and your husband a good offer and you will remember I warned you both that the situation might not continue to be so favorable."

Boonie Mae remembered-she remembered a lot of things. She looked Kelley in the eye but her lower lip trembled as she spoke. "Mr. Kelley, why are ya' doin' this ta' me? Ah know where ya' come from. Ronnie told us how the other kids treated ya'. We always told him not ta' join in. Did he treat ya' bad an' we not know of it? Is this ya' way at gittin' back after all these years?" There was a pleading in her voice as she searched for an answer.
Boonie Mae's questions touched a nerve somewhere deep inside Kelley's being. Perhaps it was a twinge of conscience that he had thought long dead. Kelley pushed it aside. He would not be deterred with his goal so close. "No, Mrs. Snavely, Ronnie was never mean to me. This is just business."

Boonie Mae looked down at the paper that she was turning over and over in her fingers. "Ah'll have ta' think on it, Mr. Kelley."
"Of course, you will. I'll be waiting for your answer," replied Kelley as he made his departure. As he backed down the drive, Boonie Mae was still sitting in the green chair looking at the paper fluttering in her hands.
Kelley didn't expect a quick answer. He thought he'd wait a week or two before he brought any more pressure to bear. It would give her time to realize that she couldn't run the place by herself and that she wasn't going to get any other offers. But within a day or two, Kelley noticed something odd. Boonie Mae was in town every day driving their old beat up pickup and talking to a lot of different people. "Just what could this old woman be up to?" Kelley asked himself. He was soon to find out.

A day or so later and just after getting home for the evening, Kelley thought he heard voices coming from his back yard. Going out to investigate, he found Boonie Mae Snavely and some fellow with an armload of stakes obviously marking off an area in her pasture. She had a long tape measure and some papers on a clipboard. "Naw, not there. Move ‘at last ‘un two foot up the hill," shouted Boonie Mae as she referred to her clipboard. "Now let's check the width again." The two began dragging the tape around. Kelley walked out to the fence and leaned on a post.
It wasn't long before Boonie Mae noticed him. "Well, hello, Mr. Kelley," she shouted to him as she made her way in his direction. "Ah bin need'un ta' come by an' see ya' but ah jest bin sa' busy." Kelley noted that she seemed excited over something.

"Just what are you laying off over there, Mrs. Snavely?" he asked.
"Mr. Kelley, ah've decided ta' keep ma' place an' go inta' the chicken bizness. You know the chicken plant in town will provide an' deliver the baby chicks an' all the feed an' pick ‘um up when they get frying size an' pay ya' fer ‘em."
"Chickens?!" Kelley almost shouted incredulously as his mouth dropped open.

"Yes siree," continued Boonie Mae, "an' all ah've gotta have is the chicken house. An' they give ya' plans ta' build it by. This here's gonna be ma' first ‘un an' ah've got plenty room fer more iffen this'un works out. Ya' don't want ‘um too close ta' yer house on account of the smell."
"But...but...but," Kelley stammered as he looked at the rectangle of stakes only about thirty feet across the fence, "what about my house?"

Boonie Mae looked up as if seeing Kelley's house for the first time. "Well, Mr. Kelley, all ah kin say is ah'll take care of my house, hit's up ta' ya' to take care of yourn. An', as ya' said, this is jest bizness." Boonie Mae turned on her heel and went back to directing the man with the stakes. Kelley stood clinging to the fence post for support.

After a sleepless night, Kelley concluded that Boonie Mae had to be bluffing. He'd just do some checking the next day. He'd find out what she'd been doing in town every day.
Kelley began his search early the next morning. He put out the word and answers were not long in coming. Boonie Mae had met with the president of one of the small banks. It had to be for a loan to build the chicken house but the president would not divulge further information. She'd had at least three meetings with the folks at the chicken plant and had picked up plans and specifications. She had met with two contractors about making bids and had been to the ready-mix concrete plant, the lumberyard, the electrical supply house and the farm supply store. Also, she had been to the county departments checking on building permits and restrictions. The strangest of her activities had been the two meetings with the head of the new investment company. "What did this woman have to invest?" wondered Kelley. But, considering everything, Boonie Mae seemed to be serious. She was doing all the right things. Kelley had to admit that his worst fears were being realized.

For the next several days, Kelley walked out to the fence every day and looked at the stakes. He could almost smell the chickens. Finally, he climbed the fence and walked out among the stakes. From this vantage point, he saw for the first time the double line of stakes that ran over to the fence row and down the hill before crossing the small creek and continuing to the front pasture gate. That had to be the access road. That settled it. Kelley got into his car and drove around to Boonie Mae's.

She did not come out when he drove up. He knocked at the front door and heard sounds of movement inside. Boonie Mae came to the door and invited him in. She ushered him into the living room and asked him to have a seat. The door leading to the dining room was open. Through it Kelley could see the dining table cluttered with blue prints and other papers. At one end a cup of coffee sat where a chair was pulled back. Bonnie Mae was obviously busy working on her project.

"I've come to make another offer," began Kelley.
Boonie Mae cut him off. "At's gud. But afore ya' do, let me make ya' one." She rose from her chair, went into the dining room, picked up a piece of paper from the table, returned, and handed it to Kelley.

He looked at it twice and then looked away blinking his eyes to make sure they were focused. A third look at the paper confirmed his initial reading. The numbers were the same. Kelley was visibly shaken. "Well, Mrs. Snavely, this is a much higher figure than I first offered you and Mr. Snavely. The best land around here's not selling for this price. And furthermore..."

"Ah know, Mr. Kelley," replied Boonie Mae, cutting him off, "but hit seems ta' me that thangs is worth about what somebody's willin' ta' pay. Ma' finance man tells me that with that amount, ah kin get me a little place in town an' with gud investment management, have enough ta' live on ‘til ah die."

"Why, this is highway robbery," sputtered Kelley.
"Ah guess ya' could say that, Mr. Kelley. But ah ain't holdin' no gun on ya'. An' ah ain't got but two choices-git this much money or raise chickens. Hit's yore choice what ah do."

Kelley's first impulse was to get emotional-to become indignant about the unfair price or to play on her sympathy. He resisted the urge. His years in business had taught him better. In a situation like this, it was best just to take your losses and go on. Boonie Mae held all the cards and Kelley had nothing left in the hole. Both knew exactly where the other stood. Boonie Mae sat patiently waiting for Kelley's response.

"I'll need to think about this for a few days." Kelley was grasping at the straws of time, hoping that he could come up with something-anything-that would alter the situation.
"Well, Mr. Kelley, ya'd better think fast. This is Thursday an' the contractor is comin' Monday ta' start the road."
Kelley's shoulders slumped. If he let her get the road started, the price would probably go up. "Be at my office at ten in the morning and I'll draw up the papers."
"Kin ah bring ma' finance man with me ta' look over them papers?" she asked.

Boonie Mae was leaving nothing to chance. "Bring anyone you want," answered Kelley as he rose from his chair. "I'll see myself out."
"Boonie Mae! Boonie Mae! Air you in thar?" Sioda Fitzhugh yelled through the front screen door.
Boonie Mae yelled back, "Come on back ta' the kitchen, Sioda!" The two women had no problem recognizing the other's voice. They had lived across the road from each other for over fifty years.

Sioda pushed her way through the boxes strewn about the house leaning heavily on her walking stick. Boonie Mae was wrapping and packing dishes. She looked up as Sioda struggled through the kitchen door. "What in the name of Pete are ya' doin' with that cane, Sioda?"
"Ah ain't had a gud week," reported Sioda as she dropped heavily into a chair. "Ah wuz cleanin' out that thicket behind the house tother day an' ah creeled my ankle a rat smart."

"Ya' hadn't oughta be doing stuff like that," scolded Boonie Mae.
"Ah know that. But with my Clyde being dead goin' on nine year now, ah've found out that a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do." That had become Sioda's favorite statement since her husband's death. It was meant to evoke sympathy as well as to show her resolve to go on with life. Boonie Mae had heard it a thousand times. "An' that's not the half of it, Boonie Mae. Last Monday night a limb fell offen that big beech down below the barn an' broke down a section of fence an ma' milk cow got out. Hit wuz nigh on to noon afore ah found her eatin' vines over by the Johnson place. Ah gotta rope an' tied her to the back of the car an' drove home with her. But ah had ta' drive so slow that the car overheated an' boiled all the water otta the radiator. Ah didn't think ah'd ever git that thang cooled off. But you know what ah always say. A woman's gotta do..."
"Yes, Sioda, ah know," interrupted Boonie Mae. She didn't feel the need to hear the statement again.

"Looks like yer gittin' packed up pretty gud."
"Yes, hit's comin' rat along."
"Ah'm shore gonna miss ya' ‘round here. Ah guess Mr. Kelley done give ya' a gud price for ya' place though."
Boonie Mae recognized the hint but she was not about to reveal what she'd been paid. "Yes, hit were gud enough."
"But ah fer one am shore disappointed fer ya'," Sioda continued, "that ya' didn't get ta' live out ya' dream."
"What dream ya' talkin' ‘bout?"

"Why yore dream of coverin' that hillside with chicken houses an' bein' somebody in the bizness world an' makin' lotsa money an"...
Boonie Mae cut her off short. "That weren't never my dream. Ah hate chickens. Ah couldn't stand the few we had ta' have ‘bout the place. Always nestin' in the wrong places, peckin' yore fingers, leavin' their droppin's all over the front porch, scratchin' up yer flowers. Ah never could stand the nasty things."

"But...But...But..." Sioda stammered, "what ‘bout all the work an' plannin' ya' done, the blue prints, stakin' off the place, all the meetin's ya' had, an' ya' told everybody what ya' wuz a gonna do?"
"You should know the answer ta' that better'un anybody," Boonie Mae answered.
"Ah should?"

"Yes, ya' should, Sioda." Boonie Mae wrapped the last cup and put it into the box before looking over her glasses at her neighbor. "As ya' always say, a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do."

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