Sycamore Row

Tulane at homecoming was unforgivable—and the even feebler efforts down at Mississippi State. It was gaining momentum as the geezers finished trashing Dukakis, who’d just been thrashed by Bush, when the banker said, loudly, “Say, I heard that woman has rented the old Sappington place and is moving to town, with her horde, of course. They say she’s got kinfolks moving in by the carload and needs a bigger place.”
    “The Sappington place?”
    “You know, up north of town, off Martin Road, just down from the auction yard. Old farmhouse you can barely see from the road. They’ve been trying to sell it ever since Yank Sappington died, what, ten years ago?”
    “At least. Seems like it’s been rented a few times.”
    “But they’ve never rented to blacks before, have they?”
    “Not to my knowledge.”
    “I thought it was in pretty good shape.”
    “It is. They painted it last year.”
    This was considered for a moment and was the cause of great consternation. Even though the Sappington place was on the edge of town, it was in an area still considered white.
    “Why would they rent to blacks?” asked one of the geezers.
    “Money. None of the Sappingtons live here anymore, so why should they care? If they can’t sell it, might as well rent it. The money’s green regardless of who sends it over.” As soon as the banker said this, he waited for it to be challenged. His bank was notorious for avoiding black customers.
    A realtor walked in, took his seat at the white-collar table, and was immediately hit with “We were just talking about that woman renting the Sappington place. Any truth to it?”
    “Damned right,” he replied smugly. He took pride in hearing the hot gossip first, or at least appearing to. “They moved in yesterday, from what I hear. Seven hundred dollars a month.”
    “How many carloads?”
    “Don’t know. Wasn’t there and don’t plan on dropping by. I just hope it don’t affect the property values in the neighborhood.”
    “What neighborhood?” asked one of the geezers. “Down the road is the auction barn that’s smelled like cow dung since I was a kid. Across the road is Luther Selby’s scrap yard. What kinda neighborhood you talking about?”
    “You know, the housing market,” the realtor fought back. “If we get these folks moving into the wrong areas, then property values will go down all over town. It could be bad for all of us.”
    “He’s right about that,” the banker chimed in.
    The merchant said, “She ain’t working, right? And her husband is a deadbeat. So how does she afford $700 a month in rent?”
    “She can’t get Hubbard’s money this soon, can she?”
    “No way,” the lawyer said. “The money is locked up in the estate until the lawsuits are gone. It’ll take years. She can’t get a penny.”
    “Then where’s the money coming from?”
    “Don’t ask me,” said the lawyer. “Maybe she’s charging everybody some rent.”
    “The house has got five bedrooms.”
    “And I’ll bet they’re all full.”
    “And I’ll bet nobody’s paying her any rent.”
    “They say he got picked up for drunk driving, couple of weeks back.”
    “He did indeed,” the lawyer said. “Saw it on the docket, Simeon Lang. Caught him on a Saturday morning. He put in a first appearance and Jake represented him. Got it postponed for a while. I figure Ozzie’s involved some way.”
    “Who’s paying Jake?”
    The lawyer smiled and said, “Oh, we’ll never know for sure, but you can bet your ass it’ll come out of the estate, by hook or crook.”
    “If there’s anything left in the estate.”
    “Which looks doubtful.”
    “Very doubtful.”
    The merchant said, “So back to my question. How does she afford the rent?”
    “Come on, Howard. They get checks. They know how to play the system. Food stamps, Aid to Dependent Children, welfare, housing, unemployment—they make more sitting on their asses than most folks do working forty hours. You get five or six of ’em in one house and all drawing checks—ain’t gotta worry about the rent.”
    “True, but the Sappington place ain’t exactly subsidized housing.”
    The lawyer said, “Her Memphis lawyer is probably front-loading the expenses. Hell, he probably paid her to get the case. Think about it. If he forks over fifty or a hundred grand, cash, up front, to get the case, then rakes off half of the estate when the ship comes in, then it’s a good deal. Plus, he probably charges