August 15, 1921 (Blythe, California)
County of Riverside Tax Collector’s Office
“Nuff sed.”
“Excuse me?” The tax collector seemed confused and not a little irritated.
“Not sure what so difficult to understand, Mr. Jessup. Acts of God and Satan have conspired to make it impossible for me to pay my farm tax. Acts of God? Bd growing season last year. Satan? That’s the government’s War causing low cotton prices. I need an extension.”
“Your implication that the government is Satan aside, these are difficult times. And therein lies the problem.” Jessup took off his eyeglasses and laid them atop the file on his desk. “The government needs money to provide the services we render—which are many, Mr. Ragsdale. Even in the best of times, we rarely offer more than two extensions. You’ve had three.”
“If I pay you now, I can’t buy seeds and other supplies, and next year I’ll have no crop to sell, and you will get nothing. I can give you 25% now, buy supplies, pay the rest after harvest.”
“I cannot give you another extension.”
“Are you still having trouble understanding my words? You can have 25% now with an extension, or nothing. Ever.”
Mr. Jessup shook his head and looked down at his file. A minute stretched out. He sighed. “I might be able to take half now and half in a month, but I will have to check with my superior.”
Steve held his tongue for a moment, remembering that Lydia had told him not to lose his temper. “There’s no point in negotiating. Blood from a turnip, Mr. Jessup.”
Jessup shook his head. “I’ve made my offer.”
Steve held his tongue again. Government. We elect these incompetents and pay their salaries, and in return, they believe they are our overlords to tell us what to do with our lives and our land, and charge us for the privilege. “Do you know what a farmer is, Mr. Jesus?”
“Of course I—“
“A farmer is a human being who gets farmed to death by politicians.”
“Mr. Ragsdale—“
“I have a wife and four kids. You’re offering me a choice: pay now and have no money to plant a crop, so we will starve. Or, don’t pay you, and you take my farm and we starve. Is that about right?”
Jessup sighed. “I am not going to debate semantics with you.” He set his jaw, staring into Steve’s eyes.
Steve nodded. “Guess it’s good to be a fat-ass rich man on government dole than a cotton-farmer under your jurisdiction, I suppose.”
“Now, Mr. Ragsdale, there is no call for vulgar insults. Pay now or leave. We are done.”
Steve nodded. He was prepared for this moment. I’ve taken big risks before. I survived. He flipped through the pages before him and pulled out a sheet of paper filled with handwriting.
“May I borrow your pen?”
Jessup, frowning, slid a pen and inkwell across the desk. Steve dipped the tip in the ink, signed the document, and thrust it across the desk.
Jessup looked at it and frowned. “What’s this?”
Steve stood up. “You now own a cotton farm. Ownership in two weeks, when we will have vacated the property.”
Jessup opened his mouth and then closed it.
Finally got him to shut up, Steve said to himself. “Enjoy, but beware. The government bureaucrats are the devil’s ass.” He turned to leave.
Mr. Jessup sputtered, “You’re just leaving it? Just like this?”
“Exactly. Gonna go change the world. Or at least the part of it between here and Palm Springs.”
“That’s empty desert for 100 miles.”
“Quite true. Farewell, Mr. Jessup. I have to see a man about a well.”
Coming in 2024
Desert. Sun. Sand. And no roads or human settlements within 50 miles in any direction. The perfect place to found a town?
That’s what Steve Ragsdale believed. So he and his wife bundled up their four kids in their 1915 Ford Model T, bought a local prospector’s shack and well, and built a fuel station (a 50-gallon drum), a repair garage, and café. He advertised “Free food on days the sun doesn’t shine” and “No drunks, no dogs—we prefer dogs.” He was the mayor, sheriff, rockhound, author, naturalist, desert guide, and Santa Claus at Christmastime. He became one of the local “Desert Rats” and earned the moniker “Desert Steve.” Along the way, he became part of history: the construction of the first State and National highways, the invention of prepaid healthcare, General Patton and World War II, the largest iron mine in the United States, flying saucer sightings, and much more.
Based on a true story, this is the tale of a quirky, clever, and bold man who pursued a dream, wrote bad poetry, and found ways to survive when many would have perished or packed it in.
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