The People of My Town

So this is it, I thought. This is where we'll spend our worst holidays ever. My best friend, Bodie, had driven me up onto the dirt driveway of the ramshackle house I'd rented for my three children and me.

Once the general store, the house stood in plain view of the cafe, the hardware store and the post office at the intersection in the center of Glennville, a former silver-mining town in California's Greenhorn Mountains. I took a deep breath and slowly walked up the creaking steps to the porch.

I'd worked hard to make a good home for my family. But over the years my husband had become increasingly abusive, and in November 1985 I'd finally made the decision to take our children and leave. We'd moved in with Smitty, the town sheriff, and his wife, Paulette, while I scraped together enough money to afford a place of our own. This old house was the best I could do for now.

Going inside for the first time was a shock. The last occupants had been kicked out, and it wasn't hard to see why. The stench was overwhelming. "They must've kept a hundred cats and dogs in here," Bodie said, holding her nose. "But I'll help you clean it up."

I've made a big mistake, I thought. Who could be happy here?

We were loading Bodie's pickup with trash when Smitty stopped by. "Looks like the place needs a little work," he said with a wry smile as he ducked his head to fit under the door frame.

"Yep," Bodie said, "but we'll have it looking like a palace in no time."

"One nice thing," Smitty remarked as he looked across the front room, "you've got a great view."

He was right. The house had a huge bank of picture windows in front. Not only could I see everything that was going on in all of Glennville, Glennville could see me! Even though I had been involved with the PTA and attended church every Sunday, I spent most of my time at home with my family. Funny how you can live in a community for years and never know its people very well.

As Bodie and I hauled away truckload after truckload of refuse, the folks in town looked on. I didn't want to become anyone's charity case. I was determined to take care of myself and my children, on my own. I had a lot to prove, especially to myself. So much for doing it with dignity! I thought as we drove through town on the way to the dump with yet another odiferous load.

When we returned, we found that a few people had walked over after picking up their mail at the post office to peer in at our progress and offer encouragement.

Silver-haired Don and his wife, Zo, who owned the hardware store, strolled over that afternoon. "How's it going?" Don asked shyly, shuffling his cowboy boots on the porch.

"It's coming along," I hollered from the front room. I had been pulling up the filthy old linoleum with a crowbar when from under all of the muck and grime appeared the original pine flooring, clean and pure.

"You're going to need some stain for that," Don said and charged out the door.

"See, honey?" Zo said, coming up beside me. "You found something nice here already."

Don came back in with a grin from ear to ear. "Here's some surplus stain that I got as a sample," he said. "Now, no charge for this, okay? You just gotta tell me how it works."

Lightbulbs blew and the outlets popped, so it seemed likely the electrical system needed fixing, but our landlady didn't want to spend the money. A fellow named Mark showed up on the back porch one afternoon. "Thought I'd take a look at your wiring," he said.

Most folks wouldn't be too happy to see Mark outside their door. He had lots of tattoos and was rumored to have a dark past. But I reluctantly invited him in. He turned out to be a first-class electrician and installed up-to-date wiring for the entire house.

"I liked doing the work," he explained, and his fee was more than reasonable. A home-cooked meal was all he would take for his labors.

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