Fix It - 3. Chapter 3

Making plans was somehow not as hard as they thought. They started quietly, with each of them poking through their own parts of the community, asking how people felt. And people were surprisingly happy.

“Wow! I didn’t think we had that kind of power,” one of Ike’s friends said. “Telling politicians they’d just spent a lot of money on something that had to be trashed – and them actually listening.”

Jae heard it, too, from her somewhat younger friends. “Hey! Someone paid attention. I didn’t think that happened anymore.”

“Well, they want to get re-elected,” Jae said grinning.

“But it wasn’t their faults. Everyone thought it was a great idea at the beginning. So all that money was wasted.”

“The offices’ll be used,” Jae guaranteed her.

Owen’s wife just laughed when she heard. Then she took him to bed.

“Now don’t you go making another baby,” he warned. “That’s not part of the celebration.”

“You don’t deserve that on top of this,” Lisa said laughing. “Besides, you’re too old.”

It gave him incentive.

Don and Noah celebrated similarly. “Now you can sleep ten minutes longer,” Noah joked, “before straggling to work.”

“I don’t straggle. I’m almost coherent by the time I get to my car.”

Once they knew they had community support, they started a very small “We Goofed” campaign, looking for volunteers to handle the work they couldn’t. That was the big stuff – plumbing, heating, and rewiring.

“Are we asking too much?” Owen asked. “Should we just raise money and pay these people?”

“It’s more fun to watch you panhandle,” Rob joked. “Besides, once you start paying people, it never stops.”

“Good point,” Jae agreed.

They were also reminded that some of their officers, especially from the weekend and night shifts, had skills from their full-time jobs or from careers they’d retired from.

“I thought I’d gotten away from all this,” Selma said laughing. “Good thing I didn’t donate my tools.”

“I didn’t know you were an electrician,” Elena complimented.

“Yeah, well...” Selma shrugged. “There are things I keep quiet. Otherwise, friends keep asking favors.”

“Like us?” And they laughed.

Meanwhile, people they’d never met started coming into the station, asking if the renovation rumor was true and if volunteers were really needed. When they were taken to the town hall to inspect, they did it carefully, offering a range of good suggestions, and checking their schedules for free time. Elena tracked them all. She wasn’t in charge of the work – they all shared that responsibility – but she managed the early coordination.

Just before the work started, when the rumors became official, a four-by-eight foot sign, professionally designed and painted but made to look like a handyman’s special, went up in front of the Town Hall. It repeated the “We Goofed” plea – but larger.

“Now we’re certified jerks,” Rob cracked, having passed the sign on his way to work.

“We are kinda out there with our pants down,” Ike admitted. “You think we’ll get the grief that Owen did?”

“We’ll see.”

They got some of it. The Springfield paper trashed them for wasting “All That Dough! Especially when so many people needed it more.” The TV station made them into a joke. “Kop$ With Ka$h,” the anchor scolded, the pun made blunt when spelled out on the screen.

“Don’t listen to them,” Theo advised, when Elena stopped by his shop for coffee. “They don’t live here so don’t know what’s important. We all like having you down the block.”

“You miss our business,” Elena jived.

“I didn’t lose any of it,” Theo happily replied. “I kept track. You guys are loyal.”

So, it turned out, were the people of Waldron, and soon the “We Goofed” campaign turned into more than low key fund raising.

“We need to do this officially,” Owen told the mayor. “We can’t keep tossing people’s checks and kids’ coins into our petty cash drawer and taking out what we need – even if we carefully monitor it.”

“I trust your bookkeeping,” the mayor assured him. “You’ve all proved yourselves over the years.”

“We still need an account.”

“OK – I’ll set one up and have a new line added to the budget. It’ll be taken care of.”

“How much are we gonna lose to management?” Owen joshed.

“Nothing – I promise. You guys’re working hard, so just focus on the renovation.” The mayor grinned. “And maybe do a little police work.”

The campaign wasn’t only for fund raising and asking for supplies. It let people know the department had heard them and was slowly moving back to where it belonged.

“It won’t happen right off,” Owen told one of the college reporters – the story was soft news nationally, and the reporter was a stringer for NPR. “There were very good reasons we left the old place. And once we fix as many of those as we can afford, we’ll go back.”

“You sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger,” the student said, and Owen laughed.

“No – he tried doing everything by himself. We need all the help we can get.”

And volunteers suddenly seemed to have no problem finding the new station.

“Maybe we did panic,” Owen worried at a lunch meeting. “Maybe we just needed some good PR and a “We Didn’t Goof” campaign. A ‘Now How Can We Help You Find Us?’”

“Don’t say that in public,” Don cautioned. “You’ll get racked by the media. They’ll force you to resign.”

“I doubt that,” Elena softened. “We’ve made too many new friends with this. It’s something the community can be a part of, rather than just watch.”

“Like they did when the new offices went up?”

“First, they complained about what was coming down ,” Jae remembered. “They were suddenly nostalgic about all those rotting old mill houses and moldy storage sheds. Then they griped that we were building too close to the river.”

“People like to whine,” Rob joked. “It gives them passive control. But this gives them real control, and they like it.”

Some volunteers phoned, some walked in, and some texted. Some even sent proposals and resumes, and everyone made clear they were ready to work for free.

“Labor isn’t an issue right now,” Elena reported. “We’ve got high school kids, and church groups, and scout packs – all wanting to do community service.”

“Some kid’s gonna get into college for fixing my desk,” Ike crowed.

“Maybe our drunks’ll help, too,” Jae joked, “Instead of enjoying their new motel.” She turned to Owen. “Is there any chance of fixing the old cells?”

He set down his sandwich. “It’s low on our list,” he admitted. “Like almost the bottom.” He looked to Ike for confirmation.

“It’s just not important,” Ike agreed. “Technically, there’s nothing wrong with the jail. It’s sound. The cells just look like cages.”

“Made of iron straps,” Jae reminded them. “Like something medieval. And if you’re over six-foot, you have to crouch.”

“We don’t get that many drunks,” Rob countered.

“There’s at least one every week. Plus someone for missing alimony or shoplifting.”

“It’s still not cruel,” Ike insisted. “But we’ll try to inch it up our list.”

“People also want to know if we’re keeping a station here – even a tiny one,” Jae continued. “That’s from the folks who live right around us – the former whiners. They suddenly like our security.”

“They’ll have the fire department and the town offices,” Owen offered. “But a satellite station is out – you know we don’t have the staff for even one person during the day. Let alone ‘round the clock.”

“I’ve told them,” Jae said shrugging. “I’m just reporting back.”

“Where are we on our list?” Owen asked Elena.

She got out the paper copy. “I’m hoping we’ll be through it in another six months – faster if we’re lucky, but not by much. You know work always takes longer than planned.”

“And that’s from contractors who’re making money,” Don agreed. “Our volunteers are often being called for real jobs – work that lets them eat.”

“They’re doing wonders,” Ike praised.

“And no one’s complaining,” Owen capped. “Not a single greedy one of us.”

Everyone laughed.