by G E Barr

Created on: December 12, 2009   Last Updated: December 14, 2009

Third World Conspiracy

When my ex-husband died about 2 years ago, my son came home to me.  With him came a so-called inheritance which his father had left.  I've been through three attorneys.  The second one, an elderly man, managed to get a detail or two done on a property deed.  I paid him appropriately before he retired and he advised that I go to the attorney who now holds my paperwork.  I go into his office, he wants to chat, and we chat.  He says he's going to do things. He never does.  He said he'd send me a bill, he never did.

I cannot legally evict people, but I can rent the property out and that's what I do.  That's how I can stay home with my son and teach him at home. 

When I rented a mobile home out, which is located in Stonewall, Oklahoma, about 20 miles from where I live, I had no idea of the hell to come.  I rented to an Indian woman affiliated with the Chickasaw Nation.  She has a couple of children and a drunk husband who's around now and then.  When their rent did get paid, he paid it and I saw him sober once.

The last time I received rent from them was May 25, 2009.  July 15, 2009, I knocked on the door of the mobile home in Stonewall.  There was no answer.  I inquired with several neighborhood folk concerning the property and whereabouts of the renters.  I was told they'd not been seen in a month. 

I crawled through the window of the mobile home and the stench was immediately sickening.  Mice and cockroaches.  Clothes piled everywhere.  Clothes piled on a mattress in the middle of the living room floor.  The master bedroom was completely covered in piles of clothes and junk.  The other bedroom where there children slept was covered in clothes, junk, toys and garbage.  The kitchen wreaked and when I opened the refrigerator, I saw maggots squirming in rotten fruit. 

I began cleaning the mess out.  I immediately had a young woman ready to rent  it.  Her mother viewed the place.  We both stood there gagging, at the grotesque scene, but she could see the place had potential.

A couple of days after I'd gone into the mobile home, Christy Wallace, the woman who'd trashed the place was in my front yard with her drunk husband.  They were yelling at me as I stood on my front porch.

"You can't just go in and start taking our stuff out." Christy Wallace yelled at me.

Really?  What the hell do you do? 

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