short stories / By Heidi Walters

Orick or bust

Last Friday morning, the blue-eyed, 6‘4” Russavage, his dark hair going iron gray, loped about the big empty grounds next to the rental houses. He smelled like leather, on account of his tall hide boots and mountain man jacket (“the Teddy Roosevelt line”), and as he walked his words tumbled out about the future here: three to four big hotels, a campground, a bronze elk, a big banner, a restaurant and coffee bar, guides, gear, a concert venue, a campground, and — the biggie — an official National Parks Lodge along the lines of those grand-old-days affairs found in Yosemite and Yellowstone. “I mean, what a way to leave your mark on the earth, to build a National Parks Lodge — instead of a topless bar” or something like that, he said.

Russavage took off into the woods onto a paved park trail. “All the trails in the park come here,” he said. “You want to see old growth trees? There you are, right in front of you, baby.” Clean air, tall trees — it’s his mantra. He even has a band called Johnny Redwood and the Rockin’ Rangers. “All I ever talk about is redwoods … sing about redwoods … dream about redwoods.” He doesn’t blame the Park’s presence for timber’s dramatic decline — it would have crashed anyhow, once the last old growth reserves got cut, he said.

Russavage’s scheme includes another hotel — possibly a Holiday Inn — back in town on a 28-acre hay ranch. He thinks his projects will be good for the park, and good for Orick. “I’ve never heard of a National Park Lodge failing, anywhere,” he said. “Orick won’t go away, because of the park.”

Although Russavage seems to have the fond support of many townfolks and merchants, some of them are pretty cautious with their enthusiasm. And they flat out disagree with him about the park’s good influence.

At the Snack Shack, run by Jackie Pierce, Jackie and her husband, Cliff, were passing the time Friday afternoon during another long lull in burger traffic. Their burgers are good — fresh, shaped by hand — and the milk shakes are made with real ice cream. The drivers in all those cars whizzing by were missing out. But business has grown steadily worse.

“It’s not real good,” said Jackie. “Not since they shut our beach down [to camping]. Fifty percent of my customers came off that beach. The whole town was depending on that.” Jackie recalled the story — legend all over town — of how several years ago a park ranger unwittingly warned a local not to go into Orick because it was dangerous and full of “lowlifes, scum and drug whores.” Somebody made a T-shirt about it.

Next door, at Hagood’s Hardware, Judy Hagood was sitting at her computer in the dark, cluttered recesses. The store’s stuffed with antiques — not for sale; she doesn’t have another place to store them. She offers movie rentals, and nuts and bolts. She said she went up in a helicopter one day, and from up there, Orick looked beautiful. “But if you drive through it, Orick sucks. It’s dying. … The park doesn’t want the town to survive. That’s the feeling I have.” As for Russavage’s big lodge plans, she said, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” She paused, then added, “He’s living a pipe dream.”

But we’ll end on a happy note: At the Shoreline Market, Betty Meyer was working checkout. “You have to work very hard to make a living in Orick,” she said. She’s seen the town go from four filling stations to one (here at the market). And, yes, she, too, blames the park’s presence and the loss of 300 campers. But she loves it here, nevertheless. “I wouldn’t live anyplace else.”

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