EDITOR'S NOTE: Ellen Sugarman is a nationally known investigative reporter. She has given KWTN permission to serialize her new book about environmental terrorism in the Florida Keys.
In Chapter One, officials from County Code Enforcement, the Sheriff's Office and the Florida Marine Patrol— off duty and in civilian clothes, but armed— pay an unofficial visit to property owners on Little Knockemdown Key. A few days later, the owners were cited, ordering them to tear down unpermitted structures— even though many of those structures had been there prior to the law requiring permitting. In Chapter Two, Sugarman used Fantasy Fest as a backdrop to introduce us to her cast of characters. In Chapter Three, an investigative reporter hears about an alleged conspiracy by multiple government agencies to take over private property in the Keys and, in Chapter 4, she starts to look into it. Chapter 5: Officials "raid" Little Torch Key. Chapter 6: Government officials charge a Sugarloaf resident with environmental infractions and, in Chapter 7, they take his house. Chapter 8: Code Enforcement records begin to reveal a pattern of deceit. To read previous chapters of The Willing Seller, see our website— www.kwtn.com.
Kate glanced at the clock over the stove. 9:15. Maybe it was time to call it a day. Then the doorbell rang and made the decision for her. She wasn't expecting anyone, but friends often dropped by unannounced. "Just a minute, I'll be right there," she called out, grabbing up agendas and minutes and moving them into the office. Bruiser raced to the front door and stood there yapping. The bell rang again. Kate hollered "Coming" on her way back to the kitchen to scoop up the notebooks and dump them in a drawer. Then she went into the living room and opened the door.
Sara Deebs was standing on the porch, dressed in sweats and running shoes, a backpack slung over her shoulder. Damp blond hair plastered to her forehead, red cheeks, an overall aura of gaminess and sweat. She'd obviously just finished working out. When Kate opened the door, a big happy grin spread over her face.
"Glad to see you're home. I was on my way back from the gym and I thought I'd stop over, let you buy me a beer," Sara bellowed, stooping to pat Bruiser, then gathering Kate in a damp embrace. With Bruiser dancing circles around her, Sara strode straight into the kitchen and flopped down heavily onto a chair, dropping her backpack on the floor. She hoisted bruiser onto her lap, said "Hey there, big guy," and laughed as he covered her chin with kisses. Kate got two Becks from the refrigerator and handed one to Sara, who twisted off the cap and chugged the beer greedily. When she came up for air, she sighed, "Just what the doctor ordered."
"Which doctor's that?" Kate joked, sitting down across from her friend and taking a drink.
"Oh, yeah. I needed this," Sara said, glancing at her Swiss Army watch. "I been lifting weights for nearly 45-minutes. I'm pretty dehydrated. Hey, I almost forgot." She bent down and took a bag of Hawaiian chips out of the backpack, tearing it open with her teeth. She grabbed a handful and waved the bag at Kate. "Here, have some. The salt's good for you."
Kate helped herself to some chips. "Gee, I'm glad you're here, Sara. Saved me from a fate worse than. I been working since four, I was starting to go blind." She took another swig from her bottle, then reached over and clinked it against Sara's. She didn't know which she welcomed more, visit from Sara or the chance to escape from her work.
"What're you working on?"
Kate shrugged. "Just looking at something, I don't even know if it's a story yet."
"Who you tryin' to bullshit?" Sara rolled her eyes. "You're looking at it, it's a story. You can tell me about it, I know the drill. I promise to take all your dirty little secrets to the grave." As she said the word "grave" her eyes lit up. Sara was a passionate collector of funerary art: photos of tombs, death masks, cemetery artifacts. She'd go to graveyards and take rubbings from tombstones. The walls of her house were covered with Weeping Angels, Blessed Mothers, and other sepulchral chic.
Kate knew Sara could be trusted. The two of them told each other everything, always had, always would. Besides, she wanted to talk about it a little. With Sara's involvement in the world of the nonprofits, she was bound to know a bit about this stuff.
"The conservation movement. I think there's some, shall we say, questionable tactics involved in the land preservation that's been going on down here."
Sara's eyebrows raised. "Oh, yeah? This land preservation you're talking about. P-2000, the Conservation League, that kind of thing?"
Kate nodded.
"Hey, aren't you treading on sacred ground here? These people are sacrosanct, just like mom and apple pie. Corruption in the land conservation movement? I'm shocked at the suggestion. You think there might be some hanky-panky, just because there's millions involved?" Sara threw her head back and roared, a loud unruly sound. Her voice and her energy matched her bulk. She was one of those large women who was comfortable with her size and that made her attractive. "Better watch your ass if you go after them folks."
Sara was privy to the few times when Kate had received threats of violence over one or another story she was working on. They would joke about it, how someone called and threatened her, and Kate— being of the opinion that the worst thing you could do was give the slightest indication that someone could scare you off a story— would tell them, Take a number. She once told Sara that it was a fact no one killed journalists in the U.S.
Sara went on with her teasing. "Yes, indeed, girlfriend. You better cover your ass. I happen t'know some of these boys."
"Like who?"
:Like the Reverend Clive Farrell. For one."
"Head of the Conservation League."
Sara's face had an expression of great amusement. "Yep, THAT Clive Farrell. You know him at all?"
Kate shrugged. "Not really. I know who he is, of course."
"Well, the Rev's a study. I'll tell you what I know about him. First, the nickname. Happens Clive actually used to be a redneck Baptist minister in another life. Like his daddy before him. Then he REALLY got religion and decided to testify for the environment. Seeing as how there's so much more money in that, compared with a dirt poor little Southern church in Georgia."
Sara stopped to eat a few chips, wash them down with beer.
"So one fine day Clive shows up in Florida, I think it was Tampa. Without any history at all. Presents himself as one of the good guys, an environmentalist. He's all duded up, he's perfected the jargon and now he's preachin' to the `greens.' Instead of saving souls, he's saving land. Hell, he's saving species! He makes no bones about it, he's even saving us from ourselves. You ever heard him speak?"
Kate shook her head.
You really have to. I'll tell you what, come with me Thursday to the Last Chance meeting. He's the speaker. You'll get a kick out of it, he's a hoot. Now where was I?" She started worrying the label on her beer bottle as she thought about it. "Oh, yeah. No one back then knew he was an actual minister. That came out years later, when Clive had already made his mark. Some reporter started digging for a colorful piece and struck paydirt, you know how that can happen. One room shack, gap-toothed relations, the whole nine yards." Another drink and she drained the bottle, so Kate got her a fresh one.
"A few years later, he made his way to the Keys. Way I see it, it was a natural transition. As we both know, the Keys have always attracted con men in one form or another. Like flies to a pile of dung. Our friend Clive's a prime example. He came to the Keys to make a killing, like all the rest of his kind. Only he had built himself a great cover, I'll give him that. People welcomed him with open arms, he had that mass appeal. That's the preacher in him. First off, he's an egoist. A proselytizer who really believes he's still got a direct line in to God. Anyone disagrees with him, they're sinners, plain and simple. Plus, he's arrogant. Clive knows what's right. He and his cronies are out to save the Keys, whether we like it or not. And from what I hear, they don't care who they destroy in the process."
Sara thought a bit, nodded. "But at heart, the Rev's just a good old-fashioned con man with a nose for a real easy grift."
To be continued next week.
Willing Seller is a work of fiction. The events and characters portrayed are imaginary. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is coincidental.
Ellen Sugarman's writing has appeared in publications such as Newsday, Time, Vogue, Ms., Penthouse, New York Times Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Chicago Sun Times, and the Miami Herald's Tropic Magazine.
As a freelance television producer, she has worked with ABC, Fox News, A&E and the BBC. Several years ago, she produced a segment on environmental terrorism in the Florida Keys for ABC's 20/20. Although scheduled to run several times, the show was ultimately killed, reportedly because of pressure from the Nature Conservancy.
The program did air in the Keys, however, after activist Peter Anderson was able to obtain a videotape of the show and paid for time to run it on local cable television.
Among a number of shocking revelations, the program documents that State Attorney Kirk Zuelch, while a member of the local Nature Conservancy board, offered to drop charges against property owners accused of environmental crimes if they would sell or give their land to the Nature Conservancy. Zuelch quickly resigned from the Nature Conservancy board after he was interviewed by 20/20.
Anderson encouraged viewers to tape the show when it ran on local TV. If you want to see this show, KWTN has a couple of loaner copies. Info: 292-2108.