As I enter day two of writing On Creation, a Human Explanation, my movie, we enter the final full week of Presidential Election 2016, the most bazaar in US history. I see a connection, the fact or state of creating, on the one hand, the act of investing in a new leader, on the other, the former lead spiritual, I pray for God’s blessings.
Today, I’ll be writing scene one of my playbook, my departure from Flower Mound, Texas.
Leaving my spread for the last time. I stop on the county road for a last look. I had bought a piece of what was a farm a mile north of Grapevine Lake in 1962 as an investment. South of Grapevine Lake was to be the largest airport in the world. Little did I know what that purchase meant to my future.
A year after my purchase, I divorced my first wife. She was awarded our home. I was awarded the land. A year after my divorce, I remarried. My second wife and I built a small California style vacation home on my land in Flower Mound, a rural incorporation. She, her six year-old son and I moved in. We planned on living there until we could afford a home in Dallas.
We commuted to Dallas, a 30 minute drive, where we both worked. I was an independent office wholesaler of lumber. My new wife quit her job and went to work with me as my secretary. The owner of the small office building, a multimillionaire investor I knew, his brother, owner of a large lumber yard, and a customer, gave me his office, hired my wife to manage the building, and in payment we got his very nice two office sweet free, including saddles, tack, wood working machines and a small sailboat and trailer. The owner retired to the Gulf coast.
After a year in that arrangement, the building sold. Flower Mound had just received local Dallas-Ft. Worth telephone service. All I needed was an office. I bought a portable office building and moved it to my Flower Mound spread. My lumber business prospered. We added onto our vacation home. We were blessed with a boy of our own. My wife became a homemaker. I hired a secretary.
My wife became the Town of Flower Mound secretary, a non-paying job. Edward Marcus, chairman of the board of Dallas’ Neiman-Marcus fashion department store owned a ranch a mile down the road. He and a group of Dallas investors, with government help, were planning to make Flower Mound a New Town. The New Town concept was to build from scratch an ideal city, complete with commercial and industrial areas. The idea was to eliminate the big city bedroom community–developers buying outlying land cheap and bribing politicians to bring city facilities out to them.
Flower Mound’s “old settlers” wanted no part of it. The lamestream press got in the act. Came the usual populist story that sells newspapers, big city slickers out to make a buck. The “old settlers” had on their side Denton County’s corrupt politicians and a corrupt county attorney and sheriff. The “old settlers” unconstitutionally took over Flower Mound’s duly elected town government and ordered Flower Mound New Town shut down. It was not a lot different than today’s national politics.
I led a legal battle, which ended with the appointed mayor of Flower Mound and two cronies grabbing me in the Denton County Courthouse, the major of Flower Mound strangling me with my necktie. This started a free-for-all. The hearing me and my friends got was cancelled. The Flower Mound chief of police paid me a visit, suggesting that I leave Flower Mound. I was seen as a troublemaker nobody liked.
My second wife filed for divorce. In her view, I was mentally ill. As I viewed my spread from the county road, I vowed that I would find a new life and never look back. I drove away excited. I loved sailing the gift, my small sailboat on Grapevine Lake. I dreamed of one day going for a sea adventure. My plan was to buy a sailboat and sail the South Atlantic Ocean for a couple of years. My wife, who was divorcing me, had all the more reason to believe I was psychotic. She spread the word that I had decided to desert my family for a life at sea. Who was psychotic? It makes a good story, right?
I left my old life on Good Friday, 1975, arriving in Miami, Florida on Easter Sunday for the first day of my new life. On Monday morning, I started calling Miami boat yards. I was looking for temporary work while I waited for the divorce trial. On my third call I landed a job as security guard in a large South Miami boat yard.
A couple of months after arriving in Miami, after midnight—I was mosquito bitten and sweaty on a muggy Miami night—my key wouldn’t open my one room apartment door. The lock had been changed. I had not paid my rent. My wife saw to that. She failed to send the check on the sale of my stock, which was agreed to be mine to exist on until the divorce trial. I could have written a check for all the money in the checking account and driven away with my wife penniless.
I called the police. They went to the landlord and got the new key and gave it to me. The landlord had not followed the legal procedure for eviction. The next day my lawyer called to tell me that my wife had gone to court and gotten our property settlement agreement repudiated. I’d have to return and be present at the trial.
I drove back to Dallas. My lawyer got a court order to give me living expenses while I waited for the trial. While I waited, I happened to meet an astrologer at a Parents Without Partners party. I gave him $20 to create my astrological chart. It turned out that everything he said would happen came true.
My astrologer pointed out that there was a “part of fortune” in my chart. People who do things behind my back against me pay dearly. The property settlement agreement gave my wife our home, all other improvements, a new car, money in the bank, everything but 10 acres of unimproved land. I did this for our son. The value of land in Flower Mound had soared in value. I was expecting enough from the sale of the land to buy my dream boat and enough left to carry me for a couple of years at sea.
At the divorce trial, the court awarded me everything except the furniture and the newer of our cars, the judge commenting that he was being overly generous. The Texas Homestead Act gave me all improvements on my land, the land I owned prior to our marriage. My child support was set low. I was out of work.
Also conniving behind my back, favoring my wife, was the Internal Revenue Service, which hung itself with its own rope. There again we have my “part of fortune” in my astrological chart. A good story, right? Here’s more.
Reid: Disgustedly, picking his nose, says FBI sitting on proof of Trump-Russia ties. It’s so embarrassing!
In the year of my Flower Mound legal stand was the Texas Bicentennial celebration. Individual participation was encouraged. I volunteered my service, stating what had taken place in Flower Mound. I was scheduled to appear before the Texas Judiciary in Austin’s Capital, in the old Supreme Court room. The room was packed, the press with their cameras and eager reporters. I sat with dignitaries that were to be heard. When my name was called, I was the last, the room vacant. A Texas senator asked the chair to be heard. Permission was granted. The argument that since I was merely a citizen with a beef, I was not a proper party to be heard.
I was told by the chair to proceed. After I was heard, the hearing was adjourned. The chair, Senator Dewitt Hale, stopped me in the Capitol rotunda to congratulate me, stating that I would be hearing from him, and I did. He wanted to put me on a committee to investigate corruption in country government. After all, the very purpose of the Texas Bicentennial celebration was to was to address the very problem I brought to the attention of our leaders. I told Senator Hale I was leaving the state permently.
I learned that Denton County had enough population to warrant a district attorney. I told my lawyer. He became the Denton County District Attorney, replacing the corrupt Denton Country attorney. Of course, none of this has ever been hinted, much less reported. It would not sell. No way! It could cause a change.
Edward Marcus died of a heart attack after his project was shut down. He would have been pleased at what I did. Flower Mound, Texas is a Dallas-Fort Worth bedroom community of 200,000.
On Christmas Eve 1975, the scene changes. I set sail on the South Atlantic on a sailboat I named Bold Venture. Good story, right, one Hillary Clinton would enjoy? Maybe Michael Moore would be interested. Somebody tell him.