Let Them Look West

Chapter 1-3

“You never said if you wanted coffee or anything,” Banks reminded him.

“Coffee is fine,” Rob stated, making some notes in his notebook about the looming foreboding of the mountains, the buildings they drove by, and the general appearance of the city and inhabitants. Banks insisted on driving through the downtown area. It was a mix of Western frontier architecture and a modern stereotyped approximation with timber overhangs and facades on the storefronts. Unsurprisingly it had the feel of a resort town: small and wealthy and primarily designed with tourism in mind.

After stopping at a drive-thru coffee shop, they began the journey in earnest. Banks drove slowly and cautiously with deliberate, exaggerated movements, as though he was, with every motion, trying to prove that he was the most reliable person for the job.

Rob clicked his pen for a minute and watched the scenery some more before delving into the task at hand. “Jordan or Mr. Banks? Which is it?”

“Jordan is fine,” he clarified, smiling serenely at the road.

“You mind going on the record for me, Jordan? While we drive? I’d like to get some background for my article. You lived here long?”

The older man’s head bobbed up and down while his eyes remained locked straight ahead. “I have lived here all my life for the most part, moved a state over for work once or twice, but that’s it.”

“How long have you known the governor?” Rob wanted to keep the questions coming quickly. He found that this method elicited the most honest answers. Conversation let people get too comfortable, which led them to hedge and embellish. Sometimes if they got too comfortable then they would let something slip which they hadn’t intended, but Rob did not have the time for that method. Maybe he would with the governor, but that would take more than a half hour window of conversation.

“I’ve known the governor since before he was elected but not long before. I worked for him on his first campaign.” Jordan replied.

“Were you his driver then too?” Rob asked.

Jordan chuckled hoarsely. “Yes, as a matter of fact I was, among other things: scheduling with churches and other groups who wanted to host a campaign event, organizing his schedule, fielding calls. I did this and that. He has a secretary now, so he doesn’t need me for much, apart from driving when he doesn’t feel like it.”

“So, you still work for him?”

The older man’s brow furrowed as he stared at the road. “People don’t really work for Mr. Alexander. It’s more like we work with him toward and for something else.”

Rob could barely keep from making a noise to indicate his disturbance at the cliché. He had found himself a true believer. “And what is that thing you’re all working toward? God?”

The corners of Banks’ eyes creased with countless, tiny fissures, and his lips pulled back over his teeth in a self-conscious and childish smile, as though he were fourteen years old and caught playing with the old toys from the attic which he was too old for now. “We would like to believe that’s the case, as anyone would. Maybe it is the case. We must believe that. The governor certainly does, and that’s good enough for most people. It’s the process that matters the most. He always says that ‘there is victory in the striving.’ One cannot make the kingdom of God on earth. I think once he used a mathematical term, said that Wyoming ought to be an asymptote infinitely approaching God. Not particularly sure what it means, but I liked the sound of it.”

“Would you say that things have improved in the state under Governor Alexander? Tangibly, that is.” Rob knew the answer before he had even asked the question. He had seen the popularity polls.

Banks nodded slowly. “Yes, it’s a completely different place. There is a new energy. Lots of people would call us flyover country—” he faltered for a moment, perhaps realizing that his passenger was exactly the sort of person who would say such a thing. “But it certainly doesn’t feel that way. We are a destination of a sort now. You should see the flocks of people who come to Mount Calvary. People come from Europe, China, Mexico, South America, all over. It has brought new life. It’s not all good, obviously. Not everyone likes the way the governor does business or has his same vision for how things should be.”

Rob figured Banks was talking about the state university, although it was ancient history at this point. Back when the governor first came into office, there was a major outcry from much of the administration and some of the student body that his backward ways would be damaging to their ability to educate and would reduce the number of out-of-state applicants. The president of the university had made a public statement presenting a document signed by dozens of administration and faculty members. They had argued that the governor’s regressive policies did not offer a healthy climate for higher education, that universities were the avant-garde of society, and that any laws the legislature passed under his auspices would cause damage to their recruiting abilities or their chance to be competitive. The governor responded by scolding, “I have seen the subsidies that this state gives to the college, and I would say the word ‘competitive’ hasn’t been in your otherwise expansive vocabulary for a long time.”

Protests followed, and then the rest of the nation took notice. Reporters and out-of-state demonstrators flocked to the college. The most vocal professors and faculty became social media celebrities overnight. People changed the pictures of their online profiles in solidarity. A firestorm raged for days. The university administration canceled classes as things became unmanageable. The governor held a press conference in which he simply and solemnly stated that he would give the president of the college two days to return things to normal and resume classes or he would request the state legislature hold an emergency session to pull all funding from the school. “They want me to call in the state police for all this commotion. I’m not going to do it. They want a show. They won’t get a show. You either do your jobs or I will pull your funding and you will die on the vine.”

The president of the college would not have it. He got the mayor on his side. The mayor was already skittish about the troubles at the school endangering the economy and safety of his city. He had not been a supporter of the governor during the campaign, and this gave him another opportunity to voice his displeasure with the, as he called it, “strong-arming tactics of a tyrant.”

Two days passed and business had not resumed at the college. The state legislature agreed to meet for the emergency session at the beginning of the next month. The day after the deadline, classes resumed. Administrators realized that the governor was showing no sign of backing down. Two days after the deadline, Governor Alexander arrived at the college to meet with the president. Alexander informed him that the board of supervisors, two of whom he had appointed himself, had met and decided to dismiss him. Then Alexander met with the mayor. By the end of the week, nobody in the national press was talking about the school. The board of supervisors chose a new president who proceeded to clean house, firing any administrators who showed any allegiance to the former leadership. It was at that point that everyone knew how the governor intended to run the state.

“I think he had the idea of the monument planned long before he became governor,” Jordan Banks offered, interrupting Coen’s brief period of musing. “I think he even mentioned the idea to me during the campaign. He used to talk about how people used to build monuments all the time, and that it used to be a mark of pride for a people, a cause for inspiration.”

“Well, he’s still the governor, so that wasn’t his end goal,” Rob mused aloud.

“His goal is to make the people an army of God,” Banks commented seriously. He swallowed with finality afterward.

“Has he said this himself?” Rob asked, his pen hovering over the notepad.

“No, not at all.” A sudden nervousness and self-awareness came over the older man. “If you write that down, then make sure to clarify that I said it.” The driver’s neck had flushed red.

“Well is it true?” Rob asked, purposefully leaving the request unanswered.

Banks cleared his throat. “Symbolically, maybe, and I’m just talking about my own opinion.” At this point one hand had come off the steering wheel and closed in on itself with the thumb and forefinger outstretched and touching at the very end. The point where the two nails met tapped deliberately on the steering wheel like a bird adamantly pecking to accentuate each new qualification absolving the governor from any of this opinion. “It’s just what I’ve observed. His style is quite military: the camps, the reorganization of the state workforce into corps, his emphasis on discipline. That’s all I mean.”

“And that has helped the state?” Rob asked.

“It has. We had three of the top ten fastest growing communities in the nation last year. Lots of people are moving here. I figure that must mean he’s doing something right.”

“What about the increase in hate crimes against LGBT individuals?” Coen asked, making use of some of his earlier research. “What is the governor doing about that?”

Banks’ brow furrowed again. “I don’t speak for the governor. Besides, I’m not entirely sure what statistics you’re talking about.”

It seemed that he had hit on a sensitive subject, and Rob made note of it. “There were a few articles about it earlier in the year. I’ll just ask the governor about it when I meet him.”

“I’m sure he’ll know more about it than me,” Banks replied.

They drove south toward a town called Hoback on US Highway 191. Rob could see signs for Camp Hope as they neared. The Snake River ran along to their left most of the way. Just after they crossed over a bridge, so that it ran on their right, Banks turned the wheel and the Town Car peeled off the highway onto an asphalt drive. The narrow road curved smoothly away toward the foot of the mountains. They passed under an imposing wooden archway with the name of the camp painted in bright white letters. The large piece of timber constituted a relief, carved with the state’s landmarks, signs, and symbols. The wooden forms were large enough that he could make some out from the passenger seat. Smooth plains and trees surrounded the landmarks with mountains watching over them all from the back. Rob saw Devil’s Tower, Old Faithful, and a large looming hill with three crosses at the summit, which he could only assume was Mount Calvary. It had already been amalgamated into the identity of the state, along with the other notable locales. The narrow asphalt road meandered on a slight upward grade into the shade of massive trees.

“What sorts of trees are these?” Coen asked his driver, breaking the silence that had descended over the last few minutes of the drive.

Banks, by his bodily movements and facial response to the question, appeared all too eager to embark on a topic that would not result in his replies being printed in a news article. “Mostly pine with some Douglas fir and spruce.”

Soon, buildings came into view between the trunks of the trees. They hid in clusters, camouflaged somewhat due to their n***d timber walls. The car rolled past groups of small cabins and stables, sheds and barns with tin roofs, piles of gravel and bark dust, and cords of firewood. Everything they passed had the oddly contradictory combination of rustic construction and minimalistic frontier architecture alongside the brand new: shiny State Corps pickup trucks and Jeeps, rows of tractors and heavy equipment. On a rise above it all, nestled against the steep craggy edge of a bluff, stood a large lodge building surrounded by a huge wrap-around porch around the base and a matching balcony above. The massive logs which made up the exterior walls glistened slightly with the rich, reddish golden-brown of finished wood, and the railings and frames were made of black wrought iron. A steeply peaked, gray, metal roof, likely made in such a way to easily shed the snow, gave the building an appearance harmonious with the sharp, triangular forms of the trees and distant mountains.