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This is a story about being liked and about not being liked!  This post is based on a conversation I had with a friend of mine, Jan, when I went into town today:

Jan:  I really hated that man.  Despised him, really.

Me (surprised at my friend’s unusual display of vehement disdain for a citizen of this little town she grew up in):  What man?  Who are you talking about?

Jan:  Ryan Sullivan.  He was the city’s building inspector for nearly 20 years.  I was still selling real estate in 1985 when I brokered a sale to Kurt Anderson, and helped him every step of the way through his process of building an RV park up Rosebud Canyon.

Kurt followed all the rules for building in an historic district, met all the zoning requirements, and Ryan signed off on everything.  There were no problems right until the end.

And then Stan Casey came back to town two weeks before Kurt’s grand opening, and you’ve never seen anyone back-pedal so fast in your life as Ryan did.  He changed all the paper work and told the city he never signed off on anything and never would.  Kurt had invested $25,000 on that park, and you know in 1985 that was a LOT of money!  He wanted to sue the city but everyone told him that only one case against the city has ever been won, and his was not going to be the next one.

Me:  What was the case that somebody won against the city?

Jan:  Nobody knows.

Me:  Who in the world was Stan?  What did he have to do with anything?

Jan:  Oh, Stan and Ryan were old buddies since grade school.  Stan was on vacation the whole month the project moved forward, and when he came back and found out the RV park had been put in his neighborhood he blew a gasket!  The whole project was permanently tabled and there was nothing Kurt could do about it.

Me:  So you hate Ryan for that?

Jan:  Oh, no, not only that.  Not long after this happened a couple of mafia guys came to town and decided to build an amusement park up Tombstone Canyon on empty lots they bought.  They wanted to buy the lots next door to theirs.   One had one of my houses on it, right next door to an old house owned by the Methodist pastor.  Neither of us had any intention of selling so Ryan Sullivan, on behalf of the city, condemned both properties.

I found this out one day when Mr. Mafia Man stormed into the real estate office with his friend and slammed his fists down on my desk, telling me that one way or the other he was going to have my lot.  After he had the city condemn both houses he got them to agree to tear both houses down.

“Oh, no you won’t!”  Jan demonstrated the enraged squinty-eyed red-faced look she had used 25 years ago on Mr. Man when she rose from behind her desk and challenged him head on.  “Over my dead body!” I let that man know.   “There’s a whole lengthy process for condemning buildings in this town.  The city can’t just condemn buildings in the historic district, and they sure can’t just decide to tear one down!  The law is on my side, not yours.”

Me:  Why do I think this wasn’t over yet?  (I tried to ask her what the mafia wanted with an amusement park in this fiscally challenged ex-mining town, but Jan was on a roll in a completely different direction.)

Jan:  Oh, no, it wasn’t.  Next thing I knew, a day later, someone ran into my office screaming, “You’re house is on fire!  Somebody’s burning down your house!”

Sure enough, Mr. Mafia Man’s friend lit the Pastor’s house on fire right next to mine, and the side of my house closest to his was engulfed in flames by the time I got there.  My house was a tall 2-story wood frame house nearly a hundred years old.  They called it The Globe Boarding House back in the day.

“What in the world are you DOING?” I demanded of the happy man watching his flames devour other people’s property.

“Ryan Sullivan paid me $500 to burn this house down,” the man replied.  “Sure is too bad your house is on fire, too!”

The fire department put the flames out on my house after it had burned off most of the siding on one side and a large part of the roofing.  I was SO mad.  I wanted to sue the city, but I was also told that nobody sues the city and wins.  Well, except for that one time.  Besides, you’d have to have an awful lot of money to throw away if you go up against them.

Me:  OK, what happened next?  (Jan didn’t say if her house was insured)

Jan:  Well, I just went to work on fixing up that house.  It took me about a year to get to the point I was ready to have the foundation rebuilt.  I had the proper city construction permits.  The house was up on tall jacks.  Next thing I know Ryan Sullivan appears on the scene waving a Cease and Desist Order, demanding all work on the house stop immediately.

Of course I was furious, but I was also worried about the house.  I tried to be diplomatic.  I asked Ryan, “Can’t we at least take the house down off of the jacks?  Can’t we just put it right down exactly the way it was?”

“Nope,” he said, “you can’t touch it.”

Ryan wouldn’t let us do a single thing.  I told him a strong wind was going to come down that canyon one day and it would blow the house right over.  You couldn’t reason with that man.

Me:  What next?

Jan:  Well, of course the wind did come down that canyon and it blew the house right over.

According to Jan the argument went on for another 9 months before the city gave up and let her complete the work on her house.  She had to hire a crane to come stand the house back up.  After all the work was finally done, Jan sold the house in 1990 for $25,000 to a drug dealer’s drug dealing daughter.

Me:  Was that the end of the story?

Jan:  Oh, no.  They burned the house down.  You know that family.  All the kids are druggies, AND they’re fire nuts.   One of them caught that poor house on fire and burned it to ashes.  But I sure didn’t care by then.  I had my money.

But what really tickles me is that now that Ryan Sullivan is dead, the county and the city got together and finally named a street after him.  A road, really.  Ryan Sullivan Road.  But it only goes to one place and that’s to the city’s sewage treatment plant.  I sure wasn’t the only one in town who couldn’t stand that man.

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