FOOL’S GOLD OF A DIFFERENT COLOR
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
Ramsey was waiting for them. Ever since Doheny and Canfield found oil in the “City of Angels” in ’92, good folks had been getting fleeced by smooth talking suits with big words and thin wallets.
He still burned whenever he thought of his father losing the Oklahoma farm over a questionable missed payment. What’s the saying, “the rich get richer, and the…oh you know how it goes.”
Folks in the area said Ramsey always spoke of “the tomato patch”. Truth was, ten acres on that sloping piece of dirt was an ok spread. He was a fair boss and always paid on time. Stories would float around about helping a family through a hard time when the man got laid up for two weeks or more.
It would not be the first time that he was underestimated by someone with a little schooling. Ramsey spent any free time studying the land that brought in a well and the areas that missed the good Lord’s blessing. Truth be told, he was most often right in his assumptions. When it came to his patch, he thought his blessings were more red like the tomatoes than black.
Higgs was the foreman, and had been with Ramsey almost from the beginning. His wife died two years back from tuberculosis, and even with the help of a sister, times were tough for the family. Over lunch, the two of them would lament the changes going on, seeing hard working folks lose the work that farming gave and oil took away. Ramsey would consider himself an honest man. You do not lie to another person. You do not take advantage of deserving people earnest in their efforts. He felt his plan met this code of personal conduct.
He went unnoticed for several days as he hollowed out several small areas in the lower part of the field. He kept some of the tomato plants. Once finished, these “spots” simply look like little areas struggling to produce. Late one dark night, he returned with two barrels of oil, and carefully laid the black substance in little pools within his marked area. Once finished, he returned home to a good night’s sleep.
Early one morning, Higgs found him in the office hut, and said that three gentleman wanted to speak with him. Ramsey found the smiling and well dressed men by one of those new Duryea driving machines. “We have an interest in buying this land and making you rich” the big one said. Ramsey paused, then spoke “not for sale.” The men owned Acme Oil, and claimed they were the most successful oil men in the area. Again they spoke of oil riches against the back breaking labor of farm struggle and threw out a price of $10,000. No need to even inspect the farm they said. Ramsey put a hand to his jaw and shuffled his shoe in the dirt.
Higgs stood next to Ramsey as the Acme boys continued their sales pitch. “I like my tomato patch” said Ramsey, “and I help these workers who depend on their wage.” The look on their faces spoke volumes to Ramsey as they grinned foolishly. “We can go higher in price” said the one with glasses and bowler hat.
“You are free to look around if you want” said Ramsey, “but as I said, I don’t think I’m interested.” He went back in the hut, and then soon left for the day.
Give it a day thought Ramsey, maybe two. The next day, a cloud of dust appeared as the Duryea puffed up the incline. The Acme men arrived with a fourth person introduced as their lawyer. The lawyer said, “we are willing to take a chance on this land and will pay $50,000 if we can agree today.” Ramsey looked at the men with earnest, and said, “I have taken it as a practice to study this greater area and determine if something can produce or be dry, I strongly believe my farm to be without the oil you seek.” As he turned away, the skinny one called out “$100,000 and this is our final offer.”
Inside the hut, the five men pushed the papers around. Before signing could be done, Ramsey blurted out “I can’t do this.” A quiet settled upon the assembly. After a moment he then spoke “perhaps there might be a way if you agree.” He would take $50,000 on the provision that the ten acres would revert back to him free and clear in six months if no oil had been discovered. Papers were signed.
Three days later, and with a larger bank account, Ramsey found Higgs. As expected, Higgs was downcast with his future prospects and the pressing needs of his family. Ramsey handed him a check for $2,000, told him to stay in the area for the next six months, and to expect his return to Los Angeles.
Riverside was a fertile fruit growing area south and east of Los Angeles, Ramsey drove in that direction. After selecting a choice 100 acre ranch parcel, he started hiring the men to develop his new orange orchard.
Six months goes quickly when there is so much to accomplish. The irrigation was installed and the young trees planted. He headed back to Los Angeles with the name of a good land attorney in his new coat pocket. It took a month to settle all that Ramsey required.
The “tomato patch” was now officially split into six parcels, five acres for Higgs, and one acre each for the five families that had labored for him all these years. To each he gave a check for replanting, and for living expenses until the first harvest.
While driving back to his new Riverside orchard, he smiled within himself and felt a gratefulness for the twists and turns that life can bring.
Richard Swain
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
Ramsey was waiting for them. Ever since Doheny and Canfield found oil in the “City of Angels” in ’92, good folks had been getting fleeced by smooth talking suits with big words and thin wallets.
He still burned whenever he thought of his father losing the Oklahoma farm over a questionable missed payment. What’s the saying, “the rich get richer, and the…oh you know how it goes.”
Folks in the area said Ramsey always spoke of “the tomato patch”. Truth was, ten acres on that sloping piece of dirt was an ok spread. He was a fair boss and always paid on time. Stories would float around about helping a family through a hard time when the man got laid up for two weeks or more.
It would not be the first time that he was underestimated by someone with a little schooling. Ramsey spent any free time studying the land that brought in a well and the areas that missed the good Lord’s blessing. Truth be told, he was most often right in his assumptions. When it came to his patch, he thought his blessings were more red like the tomatoes than black.
Higgs was the foreman, and had been with Ramsey almost from the beginning. His wife died two years back from tuberculosis, and even with the help of a sister, times were tough for the family. Over lunch, the two of them would lament the changes going on, seeing hard working folks lose the work that farming gave and oil took away. Ramsey would consider himself an honest man. You do not lie to another person. You do not take advantage of deserving people earnest in their efforts. He felt his plan met this code of personal conduct.
He went unnoticed for several days as he hollowed out several small areas in the lower part of the field. He kept some of the tomato plants. Once finished, these “spots” simply look like little areas struggling to produce. Late one dark night, he returned with two barrels of oil, and carefully laid the black substance in little pools within his marked area. Once finished, he returned home to a good night’s sleep.
Early one morning, Higgs found him in the office hut, and said that three gentleman wanted to speak with him. Ramsey found the smiling and well dressed men by one of those new Duryea driving machines. “We have an interest in buying this land and making you rich” the big one said. Ramsey paused, then spoke “not for sale.” The men owned Acme Oil, and claimed they were the most successful oil men in the area. Again they spoke of oil riches against the back breaking labor of farm struggle and threw out a price of $10,000. No need to even inspect the farm they said. Ramsey put a hand to his jaw and shuffled his shoe in the dirt.
Higgs stood next to Ramsey as the Acme boys continued their sales pitch. “I like my tomato patch” said Ramsey, “and I help these workers who depend on their wage.” The look on their faces spoke volumes to Ramsey as they grinned foolishly. “We can go higher in price” said the one with glasses and bowler hat.
“You are free to look around if you want” said Ramsey, “but as I said, I don’t think I’m interested.” He went back in the hut, and then soon left for the day.
Give it a day thought Ramsey, maybe two. The next day, a cloud of dust appeared as the Duryea puffed up the incline. The Acme men arrived with a fourth person introduced as their lawyer. The lawyer said, “we are willing to take a chance on this land and will pay $50,000 if we can agree today.” Ramsey looked at the men with earnest, and said, “I have taken it as a practice to study this greater area and determine if something can produce or be dry, I strongly believe my farm to be without the oil you seek.” As he turned away, the skinny one called out “$100,000 and this is our final offer.”
Inside the hut, the five men pushed the papers around. Before signing could be done, Ramsey blurted out “I can’t do this.” A quiet settled upon the assembly. After a moment he then spoke “perhaps there might be a way if you agree.” He would take $50,000 on the provision that the ten acres would revert back to him free and clear in six months if no oil had been discovered. Papers were signed.
Three days later, and with a larger bank account, Ramsey found Higgs. As expected, Higgs was downcast with his future prospects and the pressing needs of his family. Ramsey handed him a check for $2,000, told him to stay in the area for the next six months, and to expect his return to Los Angeles.
Riverside was a fertile fruit growing area south and east of Los Angeles, Ramsey drove in that direction. After selecting a choice 100 acre ranch parcel, he started hiring the men to develop his new orange orchard.
Six months goes quickly when there is so much to accomplish. The irrigation was installed and the young trees planted. He headed back to Los Angeles with the name of a good land attorney in his new coat pocket. It took a month to settle all that Ramsey required.
The “tomato patch” was now officially split into six parcels, five acres for Higgs, and one acre each for the five families that had labored for him all these years. To each he gave a check for replanting, and for living expenses until the first harvest.
While driving back to his new Riverside orchard, he smiled within himself and felt a gratefulness for the twists and turns that life can bring.
Richard Swain