Jack
Everything’s gone wrong.
I worked for more than a decade toward my goal of building an affordable, safe, sought-after housing community in Stanton and I’m about to fail.
I click through my slide show on the conference room wall. All of my artist representations of Rose Towers Community are on the projection screen. I have the plans completed, the funding set, everything in place, except the approval of the Downtown Development Committee.
The eight members of the committee sit behind a long table. The chair, Mr. Atler, was my biggest supporter. With his backing, I expected my bid to pass. He leans over and whispers to Ms. Smith. She’s co-chair and in the seat next to him. She scribbles something on her notepad and shows it to him. He scowls and looks at me. The committee member on the end is frowning. Another is staring out the window, not even pretending to pay attention.
I rally and continue my presentation.
“As you can see, the community will have a circular walking and jogging path, a playground, an outdoor pool, grills and picnic tables, and a large open grassy area for recreation.” The pictures on the wall give a bird’s eye view. The land is currently overgrown and fallow. The warehouses have been empty for twenty-five years. But the buildings have character and incredible potential. I glance at the faces of the board again to gauge their reaction.
Only a few of them are paying attention. The second I stepped into this room I knew the attitude toward me had turned. The committee’s no longer supportive. They’re ambivalent at best and antagonistic at worst.
But why?
“The buildings will retain their character and historic appeal, but include modern amenities,” I say in a confident voice meant to disguise my confusion.
I click through lifestyle images showing the kitchen, bath and laundry in the units. The images are polished, appealing—but for some reason that I can’t fathom, I’ve lost the committee.
The mood in the room isn’t with me.
I make one last effort to sweep them up in my vision. My passion.
“For more than a decade, I’ve renovated homes in Stanton. My passion is taking unlivable, discarded spaces and converting them into homes. In renovating the warehouses to residential, the city of Stanton will open up a new market of living space. The city will show that it cares about the quality of life of its people and its families. Right now, there’s a housing shortage for the working class and middle class. It’s reached crisis levels. Throwing up new developments and bare-boned apartment buildings with paper-thin walls isn’t the answer. No matter a person’s income level, they deserve a well-built, solid family home with character, architectural beauty, and a feeling of security, safety and community. By giving a city livable homes, you give it a heart. Which is why I ask that you vote to approve my bid for Rose Tower.”
I close the presentation. The dimmed lights turn back to brightness. I scrutinize the faces of the board. I lobbied hard before the meeting today to make sure I had enough votes. They denied the other contenders. There are no other open proposals that I know of. This should have been a win.
This project is more than business for me, it’s the culmination of my life’s passion. I grew up in a housing development, with cold, drafty walls, mold, rot, and petty crime. I want to give kids and families more than what I had.
Mr. Atler, the Chairman, leans forward. “Mr. Jones. Thank you. While we appreciate your vision, we have reservations.”
My shoulders tense. As of yesterday, Mr. Atler was my main supporter. Now, his arms are folded over his chest and he’s leaning back in his chair. Classic closed-off posture. Defensive look on his face.
Something changed in the last twenty-four hours, and it’s not to my benefit.
I roll my shoulders back. “Let me address those reservations,” I say.
Ms. Smith, the co-chair and a lawyer at a prominent law firm, speaks. “This committee was formed last year with the directive to act in the best interest of the city of Stanton. The best interest. Am I clear?”
Her lips are pursed. I scan the faces of the board. All closed off. None friendly.
“No. I’m not clear. My proposal will do exactly as you say—provide the city with an income for decades, bring life to downtown, increase foot traffic, revenue, revitalize the riverfront. Rose Tower will bring untold benefits to the community. I’m sure Mr. Creston, the donor of the property and a known philanthropist, would agree.”
A quiet debate begins amongst the committee members. It quickly becomes clear that another party has entered the field and money, a great big sack of money, is at stake. And, the amount apparently, is much more than what my project will bring.
“I move to deny the Rose Tower bid,” Mr. Atler says.
“I second the motion,” Ms. Smith says.
I’m speechless. Completely speechless.
A vote is called and my vision is unanimously voted down.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Jones. Meeting adjourned.”
And that is how a ten-year dream is crushed in ten minutes.
The committee files out. I’m left standing at the front of the room. I look at the empty chairs and the vacant table. It’s done. It’s all over.
Mr. Atler and I are alone in the room. He stands and starts to make his way out. When he looks my way, he shakes his head.
“Dratted business. You understand. I’ve always been an admirer of your work. What is it fifty, sixty properties rehabbed now?”
“Sixty-two,” I say. Each one is meaningful.
“Yes, yes. Charitable of you. Anyway, Jones. We received another bid. Too good to refuse.”
I step forward. I can’t let this go. I can’t let this be the end. The Creston warehouses are perfect for my project, there’s not another spot within sixty miles that fits as well.
“What can I do to convince you otherwise. Can I file an appeal? Bring more funding? What do you need from me?”
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing. We’ll be wrapping this up at the next quarterly meeting.” He looks at his watch. I’m losing my chance.
“There’s got to be something. Anything. Come on, Rick. You believe in this too.” I put my hand on his arm, trying to recapture our connection.
He sighs and rubs at his eyes. “I’m retiring next year. Can’t wait to hit the golf course every morning. I’m too old for these political machinations. You hear me?”
I nod. He’s thawing.
“Cindy, my wife, she thinks well of you.”
“She’s a lovely woman.”
He scrubs his eyes again. “She nearly had my head last night when I told her we’d have to vote you down. Renovation is a pet project of hers. She’s HGTV mad, thinks she’s a fixer-upper diva. Couch pillows, fluffy throws, quartz countertops. Do you hear me, Jones?”
“Yes?” Honestly, I’m not clear what he’s getting at.
“Good, good.”
“I’m to make an appeal?”
“Criminy, no. You’ll be shut down again. I’ll vote you down myself.”
I shake my head. Confused.
“It’s not me who’s blocking you. It’s the Richie Riches of Stanton, the power players. The committee’s in their pocket. They’ve decided the warehouses should go to another party. Line their bank accounts a little more. If you can convince them that you’re the better bet, then you’ll get your project.”
“The Richie Riches?” Stanton is a small city, with a population of a few hundred thousand.
Rick shakes his head ruefully. “The Drakes, to start. Get them on your side and the rest will fall in place.”
My mind works out questions and plans. The name Drake sounds vaguely familiar.
“Any other advice?”
He shakes his head and holds out his hand. I take it and give a firm shake.
“My wife will be happy if you get your project through. She wanted to pass on some wallpaper suggestions for the entries. A happy wife makes a happy life. I’ll walk you out.”
We head down the hall to the front door of City Hall.
At the parking lot Rick gives a last bit of advice. “The final vote for the warehouse bid is at the next quarterly meeting. I’d have made my play before then if I were you.”
“Thanks.”
I hold up my hand in farewell.
Inside, my mind is spinning.
I failed. Failed miserably. But I have a direction and a glimmer of hope. Find the Drakes and convince them to fall in love with my dream. Heck, I’ll convince them to fall in love with me if I have to. I head off, ready to get in bed with the Drakes and make them fall in love.