In September 1974, when I was 13, we made a trip to Middleville, SD (not its real name). My dad was interested in purchasing the ancient "Duff Hotel" (located on main street) and having us move there to operate it. As with our own "Earling Hotel" in Earling, SD (not the real name of the hotel or the town), the Duff Hotel's ground floor was a full residence, in which we would live.
From about September 1971, when I started the 5th grade in Earling, through early 1974, I had occasionally asked my parents if we could move away from Earling because I wasn't that fond of the place. After my future best friend's arrival in early 1974, my desire to move slowly started to disappear. By September 1974, I was probably not yet entirely opposed to moving; however, living in Earling was finally starting to become more enjoyable. If we had not been out of town so frequently that summer on vacation trips to California, eastern South Dakota and Missouri, I would have seen my new best friend even more, and so my desire to stay might have been even stronger than it was.
As we departed from Earling on a Saturday, bound for Middleville, I was probably looking forward to the adventure and maybe even to the promise of starting over in a new location.
Then we arrived in Middleville.
From that moment on, my opinion about moving, at least to Middleville, changed dramatically.
The hotel was very old, very poorly lit and, as a consequence, very depressing. The interior seemed as if it had last been remodeled in 1900. It just felt like the sort of place where social losers and 90-year-old hermits would come to hide away from the world. I couldn't imagine living in such a place (at least not until I was a 90-year-old loser hermit).
My parents and my younger brother and I sat in the living room and visited with the poorly dressed, overweight woman who owned the place. She had a somewhat attractive daughter, who was about my age. I remember being somewhat receptive to her presence, but I couldn't concentrate on her because I was more interested in getting out of that town and going back home. Knowing me, I probably whispered my opinion of the place to my parents every time the opportunity arose and was either ignored or told to be quiet.
Sometime after sunset, I went outside and stood there, frustrated with my inability to have a say in my own future. I stood in front of the hotel and inspected Main Street by the light of the street lamps. A few feet away, at the corner of the hotel, a few kids my age were standing in a group. They completely ignored me. The hotel owner's daughter was among them. They were all smoking cigarettes. To me, that made them a gang of total delinquents. My assessment of Middleville and its inhabitants was suddenly complete and completely irrevocable. There was no way on earth I would agree to our moving to a place where I would have to grow up among "those sorts of kids." In "Earling" County, I had seen practically no kids who smoked. As such, I had been very well insulated from humanity's more unpleasant realities (according to my innocent standards).
I hoped beyond hope that my dad would not be interested in buying the hotel. As soon as we were alone, I told them what I had seen outside and insisted very strongly that we not move there. I continued to insist, even though I was pushing my luck by being so demanding. I'm sure my dad lost his temper with me more than once, but I was convinced that my childhood would be going down the toilet if we moved to a town like that. Incurring the wrath of my dad for a short period of time was vastly preferable to ruining the remaining years of my youth by living it out in a dump of a hotel in a dump of a town with "trashy" kids.
We stayed that night in the hotel (I must have blotted this out in my mind because I cannot remember it at all). We left for home the next morning (Sunday).
I was completely distraught during the trip home. I continued to argue for the first hour or so (maybe more), and I'm sure my dad finally lost his temper, saying that the decision was final. We would be moving to Middleville as soon as possible. I was forced to give up for the time being. I lay in the back seat (my antagonistic younger brother must have been in the front seat between my parents), pretending to sleep while secretly shedding a few tears. I was now old enough (tears aside) that I thought my opinion should count for something.
But it didn't.
Even a brief sightseeing tour through the Badlands did not cheer me up. I could not stop thinking that I would soon be living among "delinquent" kids, and my dad didn't care.
Then, somewhere between the Badlands and Earling, as I lay in the back seat, I had an idea. It was a long shot (and then some), but it was better than doing nothing at all.
As soon as we arrived home, and the coast appeared to be clear, I went into my dad's makeshift office to put my plan into action. I knew my own handwriting was still clearly recognizable as a kid's handwriting, so I put some paper in my old Royal Typewriter.
First things first, I had to come up with both a realistic man's name and a town name. They had to seem relatively unique and authentic. It wasn't so difficult making up the man's name (although I can no longer remember what it was), but I was drawing a blank as far as a town name was concerned. As I stared at the junk on top of the desk, I saw a catalog. In the small print on the back cover, I saw "Modesto, California." It sounded like a convincing name.
I then typed something along these lines:
"Dear Mr. [MW's father],
"We are sorry to inform you that the Duff Hotel has been sold to Joseph Henderson of Modesto, California. We thank you for your interest."
Sincerely..."
That was essentially all I wrote. I then put an envelope in the typewriter and typed my dad's name and address. In the return-address spot, I typed the owner's name and "Duff Hotel, Middleville, SD." After stamping it, I walked to the post office, about a block and a half down main street from our Earling Hotel.
It was a very quiet Sunday afternoon. Everything was closed; not a soul in sight. As I contemplated what I was doing, my greatest fear was that my dad would notice that the postmark was from "Earling, SD," instead of from "Middleville, SD." It was a chance I was completely willing to take. Besides, I knew him well enough to know that he seldom paid attention to such details. If he did notice it, then it would be purely by accident. I also had to hope that neither he nor the hotel owner would decide to call one another.
Yes, my scheme was extremely risky; nonetheless, as soon as I dropped the letter in the slot, I felt a great sense of relief -- and empowerment. I, a mere 13-year-old, was taking not only my own future but also my family's future into my own hands. All that remained now was to lay low and wait.
Normally, I picked up the mail every day at the post office during my walk home from school, but this time I didn't want to be associated with that letter in any way, shape or form. I wanted it to look like a completely legitimate letter, and that could only be accomplished if my dad or my mom picked up the mail and saw that letter in the box. I believe I even stayed away from home after school for the next day or two so that I wouldn't be asked to go get the mail. Besides, I especially didn't want to be around when my dad finally read the letter.
I don't remember the next few days very well. I just kept hoping that I wouldn't suddenly hear my dad shout my name at the top of his lungs. Luckily, that didn't happen. I cannot believe my parents didn't wonder why I had suddenly stopped protesting our possible move to Middleville. They should have known that was unlike me. In fact, I didn't even tell my best friend what I had done because he might inevitably have told someone else (for instance his own parents), and they would eventually have told someone else, and ultimately the story would have reached my dad through the grapevine (as for telling my brother, that would have been like personally whispering it in my dad's ear; my idiot brother would have "tattled" on me even if he had been a co-conspirator). Not only would I be up a certain creek without a paddle, there might still have been time for my dad to call the owner and buy the hotel.
It took a while for the results of my scheme to trickle down to my ears, but.....
Guess what.....
It worked!
It actually worked!
I had outwitted my dad and changed the course of our family history. Even more importantly, I had changed the course of my own life!
I don't remember when I became aware of my success, because I had kept my distance from my dad for several days or more, and I certainly never again asked about our possible move to Middleville (you would think they might have at least noticed that little detail...). When I did learn the news (probably from my mom), I had to turn somersaults silently. Speaking of which..., you do realize just how incredibly difficult it is for a 13-year-old to celebrate anything silentlly, don't you? But that's what I did, because that's how desperate I was not to move and/or get caught.
I even continued to refuse to tell any of my friends what I had done because of my respect for the power of the grapevine. As long as I was a kid, my dad could never learn what I had done. I don't remember when I finally did spill the beans to one of my friends in Earling County (maybe I never did).
Sometime in the early 1980s, when I was in college, I decided it was safe to "confess" to my mom (she had played no real part in the Middleville deal). She was utterly shocked. She quickly warned me that it would still be unwise to confess to my dad, because he had been extremely angry when he read that letter. She told me that he (as well as she) had been completely fooled by it.
My mom eventually blew the secret herself and told my dad what I had done (she has always been a terrible secret keeper). One day a few years later, my dad or I finally mentioned the subject to the other. He told me what Mom had told him. I replied with the hugest, most sincere smile he had seen on me in years.
What else could I say? :-)
I had waited for over ten years for this moment! It was finally time to rub my dad's nose in my one-and-only "glorious" victory as a kid. And, let me tell you, I had a blast -- but all in good fun, of course.
He was still very irritated about it, because, as he explained it, there had been an economic boom near Middleville right after we had visited the town, and he might have made a lot of money by immediately turning around and reselling the hotel during the height of that boom.
I replied that I couldn't care less about any lost profits. In fact, I told him that he could have made a million dollars, as far as I was concerned, and it still would not have been worth it for me to have lived in that miserable town.
Yes, dear reader, I am still very proud of what I accomplished on that Sunday in September 1974. I had scored a victory for powerless kids everywhere.
P.S. To this day, my mom regrets that she didn't save that letter as a treasured family memento (she now gets a real kick out of my success also). I agree completely. I used to be a major pack rat (maybe I still am), but I was so intent on staying away from my dad after I mailed that letter that I wasn't about to take a chance on looking for it.
