Lucy wondered what Nolan’s reaction was and looked curiously at him. His knee, she saw, was jumping and his knuckles were white.
“What may not be obvious,” said O’Hara, flicking a laser point over the model, “is that the complex will provide parking for two thousand cars, accommodations for five hundred overnight guests, numerous gift shops, and a wide variety of restaurants catering to all tastes from fast food right on up to a five-star dining experience.”
As soon as he’d finished speaking, hands shot up around the room and Curt Nolan was on his feet.
“This is a travesty, an outrage,” exclaimed Nolan.
From his perch behind the selectmen’s bench, Howard White was nodding in agreement. He made no attempt to silence Nolan but let him continue.
“This prop-proposal has nothing to do with Metinnicut heritage,” said Nolan, so angry he was stumbling over his words. “Metinnicuts never lived in long houses—and they certainly didn’t have skyscrapers. And what about that museum we were promised? If you ask me, the only thing this looks like is the Emerald City of Oz!”
He sat down with a thump, and Ellie gave him a little pat on the knee.
White, for perhaps the one and only time, was nodding in agreement with Nolan. Looking around the room, he next recognized Bob Goodman, certain that he, as the lawyer for the Association for the Preservation of Tinker’s Cove, would also be against the proposal.
“Putting all aesthetic considerations aside,” began Bob, pausing to remove his glasses and wipe them with a handkerchief, “I feel compelled to point out that, as presented here tonight, this design does not comply with the existing zoning and site plan regulations of this town.”
Canaday was immediately on his feet. “Point of order,” he said, managing to get everyone’s attention without raising his voice. “We believe there is some precedent here. If built on land that is owned by the tribe, and that can be shown to have been traditionally occupied by the tribe, local zoning ordinances do not apply.”
At this pronouncement, the room exploded in an uproar as citizens loudly debated with their neighbors whether this could possibly be true.
Howard White pounded his gavel, and gradually the roar subsided and order was restored.
“I want to remind everyone that the merits,” he spat the word out, “of the proposed casino are not the issue tonight. The question is whether the board will support the Metinnicut petition for federal recognition. I’m going to close the public debate now and bring that issue back to the board.”
Pete Crowley took his cue.
“I’m sympathetic, of course,” he began, “to the desire of the citizens of our town who are of Native American heritage to reclaim that, uh, heritage. But let’s face it: Most of these so-called Metinnicuts are just about as much Indian as I’m Swedish, and for your information, my maternal grandmother was half Swedish which, as far as I can tell, makes me one hundred percent American!”
This was met with murmers of approval.
“The tribe’s real interest, as we’ve seen tonight, is getting this casino built and as far as I’m concerned a casino is just going to bring organized crime and a lot of other problems to our town.”
Crowley paused and shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry. I’ve lived with these people my whole life and I don’t see how they’re an Indian tribe. They’re just like the rest of us.”
“Well, I’m Italian and proud of it,” proclaimed Joe Marzetti. “It doesn’t make me any less American, but in my family we enjoy Italian food. We keep in touch with relatives in the old country. And I understand what Mr. Sykes is talking about. He has a right to his heritage. And if recognizing that right brings certain advantages to our town, like legalized gambling, so much the better.”
He turned to Bud Collier and, noticing he had dozed off, poked him in the side.
Lucy couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Mrs. Collier might not have liked her story, but it apparently hadn’t affected Bud Collier in the least.
He roused himself, blinked a few times, and spoke. “There aren’t enough jobs in this town. The kids are all moving away. We’re going to become a town of old people if we don’t watch it. These Metinnicuts—they’re fine people. I’ve lived with them my whole life. Give them what they want.”
He paused and cast a baleful eye on the model. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about that later.” His chin sank on his chest and he resumed his slumber.
“Oh, dear,” fretted Sandy Dunlap as Howard White looked in her direction. “I just don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m sympathetic to the Metinnicuts . . . but after what we’ve seen tonight . . . I can’t say I’m in favor.”
Concluding that he had three no votes, White seized the moment.
“Are we ready to vote?” he asked.
“I vote yes. We should endorse the Metinnicut petition,” said Marzetti.
“Yes,” said Collier, expending as little energy as possible.
“I vote no,” said Crowley, narrowing his eyes at the others.
“I, of course, vote no,” said White. “That makes it a tie. Mrs. Dunlap?”
“Oh, dear, I just don’t know.”
Lucy leaned forward, pen in hand, to get every word.
“Of course, I value the Metinnicut heritage, but this is such an important decision, it could change our town forever. Of course, we can’t stand in the way of progress, but we do want to preserve our treasured way of life. . . .”
Suddenly, Sandy’s eyes brightened and her curls bounced.
“I know! Frankly, this is much too important a decision for people like us to make. This is one time I think we should rely on the experts in the federal government.”
Lucy glanced at White; she thought he would explode with rage.
“The folks at the Bureau of Indian Affairs have developed expert criteria for determining whether a tribe is really a tribe,” continued Sandy. “We should let them do their job. I vote
