After a torrid and uncomfortable evening, the Policeman, Tommy, arrived around 9.30 that night, which to me, still nursing a rather difficult to shake time-shift hangover was around 5 in the morning. We concluded that Wallace Hickman, the probable alter ego and email sign-on of my nemesis was more than likely not an Oregonian/Oragarnian/Oragnite and that if the crime shifted beyond the state, the red tape involved made the case more-or-less insurmountable. He summarised that we would be unlikely to get our money back, but that this was very much a crime of theft via deception, and offered me a crime reference number and his email address. Like everyone we had so far encountered, he was delightful, which made the otherwise depressing news more palatable at least.
The news report was a strange mix of emotionally lead footer and a slightly artsy, close up of hands and feet shots, that had the hallmarks of an overzealous film school intern.
The next day I would awaken to coffee and pancakes and the news that a local TV crew would be round in 10 minutes. The lady with the PG tips, who I’ve since learned is called Helen (I think) had called them, thinking our story newsworthy. Everyone agreed that it could only help in our plight, and that we may even garner charitable offers if people were suitably moved. That, in my cynical and twitter savvy opinion, also risked a backlash with the possibility of us coming across naïve or dimwitted, but that didn’t seem to matter really, after all, we didn’t know anyone round here did we? There was the deeper moral issue of course, that this was also public information that needed to be shared, and our story was one of warning, but I’d be lying to say these were my only motivations in agreeing to it
The report was turned around within a couple of hours and by 5 we were being trailered on the Ellen show (much to my wife’s delight). The interview was typically cringe worthy. Simone came across as genuine if nothing else, I looked haughty in the background but the kids wrapped around Jane, their new Gran, and her saying all manner of complimentary things about us sold the story well.
The news article played out several times over the next couple of days, but they also put a facebook contact on for Simone (we both agreed a facebook contact for me would be pretty much pointless, as I rarely respond to anything, and Simone seems pretty much glued to it 24/7) and within hours of it going out there seemed to be another sizeable surge of kindness offered to us by the Bend community. They refer to themselves as Bendites, although Simone and I agreed Benders would be much better.
In the morning I was to find Simone talking to the Minklers (Jane and Michael, our hosts) and comforting Jane, who was crying. Apparently the backlash I had feared had come to fruition overnight, and that people had been saying some horrible things in the News 21 chat forum. Jane was upset because she said this did not represent Bend. I was quick to dismiss it as being an inevitable result of putting something up for public consumption.
I didn’t flick through the responses till later that evening, and knowing more or less what to expect I rather enjoyed them. I also noted that most of the scorn seemed to be coming from a single user, ominously self-titled (presumably) as freedomofvoice, which in itself had all sorts of right wing implications, but having read through his or her cynical vitriol, I found it difficult not to respond. Luckily, being able to respond would have involved creating a sign-on for the chatroom and that was a bridge too far, as I couldn’t be arsed. If you get a chance have a look, at the time of writing it can all be found at https://www.ktvz.com/news/bend-neighbors-help-scammed-family-from-england/797374876 but I don’t know how long they leave it all up. Probably forever.
Day 2 with the Minklers, and along with a lot of impossible offers, we were struck with a couple of solid leads. A couple from South East Bend offered us their holiday flat for a couple of weeks, more if needed until we got ourselves sorted. It was small but comfortable and private and more importantly free, which appealed greatly having just lost the aforementioned sum of money. We met Karen the owner whose husband Bob had heard about us and offered to help, and quickly agreed that this was currently our best option. However on the way back from this meeting, we were contacted by Relocation Agent Mellissa Gotlieb, who wanted to offer us her services for free. We met with her on the way back.
I toyed with the idea of engaging with freedomofvoice, but I feared it may become time consuming and may have also reflected badly upon us, bearing in mind the things I was going to say.
It has to be mentioned at this point that the kids meanwhile, were being looked after by Jane and Michael, a couple in their early seventies who had only met us for the first time the previous night when they scooped us off the street and gave us somewhere to stay. Along with Karen and soon to meet Mellissa they now represented 2 and 3 of a total 5 people being fully leant upon, and the number was again to grow.
Melissa said she had heard about us through her husband Fernando, and that having suffered a frustrating time herself when moving first to Bend, and that was without having been scammed out of ahem dollars, (I’m trying to forget the amount now) that she would help us through the jungle that was the rental market, so we could be housed quickly and without further fuss.
We met her at a temporary office, which was a small apartment in an absolutely stunning setting by the rapids on the Deschutes River. It sat on half and acre of land and had a garden full of fire pits and hammocks. The first thing she asked was if we had somewhere to stay, to which we explained the situation with Karen’s holiday flat. She said, ‘Stay Here’. We were confused, but she explained that she had a lodger, but he only used the premises for his midweek office and that he could be easily relocated. We could move in tomorrow.
I was pretty exited about this. The idea of staying right by the river with some land to relax in (the weather was still warm and sunny), even if it were only temporary, sounded like paradise from all that we’d endured so far. We agreed, called Karen and let her down, or off depending on how you look at it and went back to the Minklers to tell the kids of the exiting news.
We even took the kids down to show it to them later that day, and in the evening Sun it looked even more idilic. This, I started to reckon, was to be the turning point.