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(This is the Book Excerpt that tell the story about how the phoney child molester rumor started in Parkland Washington in 1998.)
On my way back home from the coast through Grays Harbor, I thought I'd check out the simi-transparent stain job I'd done on a cedar sided building in Hoquiam eight years earlier. I'd stopped by the Brother's shop because had been a few years back when I checked up on an older building that they had mentioned they were planning to paint at some time down the road. The Brother's assistant was there and mentioned that the brothers had disappointing experience with the painter they had hired to paint the older shop. Apparently the painter not only screwed the job up, but he also turned out to be a child molester. No doubt that would have pissed-off the brothers because they are a couple real down to earth guys.
The Brothers had earned their wealth over the years by investing in logging truck and equipment when the local logging economy was down and being mechanics, they got a little greasy and fixed things up and worked the equipment as much as they could -- then sold of most of the trucks once the economy went back up.
From what I gathered from their assistant was that they hired the so called painter because they thought I wouldn't be interested in working out on the coast because the last time I had talked to them, I mentioned that surfing hadn't been anything like the years earlier and I'd taken most of my business back to Tacoma to establish more commercial clientele which would supply more year-around-work.
(However, I doubt if they could've gotten in touch with me if they had tried.)
On my way back through Grays Harbor that day, I caught up with the Brothers and they said I could do the job as soon as the weather turned around.
What got me is when I was discussing the price and how I was going to do the job when one of them said, "Hell we the last time we spoke to you, you said you weren't going to work out on the coast any more. If we couldn't get you to do it, we'd just let the siding rot."
I understood how they felt and it was clear to me that they'd gotten to know me pretty well from the first time I painted for them. I couldn't help the feeling of being proud that I usually had a personal relationship with my customers. I'd spent some time with them drinking a few beers after work as we sat around the large homemade double barrel wood stove used to keep their mechanics shop warm.
While I was staining and painting their new building years back, they let me camp out in the office. I'd rolled out a foam mattress pad and sleep on the concrete floor of the freshly done dry-walled room. Of course I'd made it my home with my bass guitar, practice amp and top of the line ghetto blaster. They knew there wasn't anything drastic about me, other than the passion I had for what I liked to do.
Keep your mouth shut Sattler
When I returned home from bidding on the Brother's stain job I felt proud of the personal relationship I'd always had with my customers. I couldn't help but call my friend Dean and mention what Mat had said to me. I happened to like the phrase, "We'd let the siding rot if we couldn't get you to do it." My mistake was mentioning that Mat said, "The last painter we hired not only screwed up the job, but also turned out to be a child molester."
I didn't realize I could be handing out ideas. Not ideas for inventions, but ideas for rumors that the conspirators could use against me.
Since I had no left over work from the summer before -- so when I saw a few weeks of good weather pass by in the spring I loaded up the pressure washer and headed back out to Hoquiam for some money down.
Pg 80 june12 through Page 104 June 29 of Journal.
While working on the brother's shop in Hoquiam, there were times when I heard people talk about the direction I was walking while I was walking around the building. I knew I was being watched and I thought it was a good idea to lock up my truck because I wasn't sure if they were just trying to get to my journal, or if I was just imagining the things I was hearing.
While I was working on the building in Hoquiam it was quite obvious that I was being tested by the locals there when I witnessed another peculiar situation. The locals who worked in the mechanics shop across the way had sent a couple of young girls who were about 6 or 7 years old over to talk to me. They rode their bicycles around the front of the brother's shop where I was tending to some things in the beds of my truck. The young girls asked a few questions about what I was doing and the questions appeared to be questions chosen by others. As always, with kids, I answered their questions kindly, but never stopped what I was doing. I'd talk to them all day if they wanted, but I knew their attention span was only good for a few minutes and they would get bored watching a painter work. It's quite obvious they were not interested in what I'm doing even though they had just asked.
Then I heard a few voices in the mechanic's shop across the way, they were talking about how I was reacting to the young girls. I just kept working and answered the girl's questions and they got bored within a few minutes. Soon they became uncomfortable and reluctantly departed as if they had nothing else to say.
On June 8th, 1998: I had a roofer show up at the jobsite and he inquired about my truck. He wanted to know where he could get one. He told me about his problem of how his fleet of trucks was costing him all his profits. He didn't care about me or my problems or that I was the inventor; he just wanted to know where he could get one. I told him he should go home and pray for one and if he was real good, maybe God would give him a chance to have one.
After I finished the brother's shop, instead of the topic of incorporating as the brothers suggested earlier, Mat mentioned that he wanted me to take a look at the back wall of his mother's house that was peeling. While driving over to her house, Mat asked, "How are you doing"?
I said, "I don't know – I must not be doing too well – we're driving over to another house to paint."
The funny thing about their mothers place is that it was the reason they hadn't seen me in a few years. It was because I'd worked on the very house several years earlier when I'd first taken up surfing. During my first year of surfing I'd scored on a job in Aberdeen, working for one of the well established painting contractors. He had the contract to paint it and I was paid to paint it his way.
And it happened to be a way I firmly believe in not doing. (More on this method of painting in my book titled Sunnyside.) Of course the back wall facing the sun was a peeler and was shot in a year of two.
The neighbourhood I lived in, in Parkland was a fairly decent neighborhood, there was something different about it when I returned back home on the next paint run.
Prior to that time, the neighbours would usually have an adult at the bus stop at the end of the street in the mornings and one waiting for the kids when they got home. Different was the fact that there was a parent among every group of kids that walked by my shop, (which was about mid block.) There ended up being not just one or two, but a whole group of adults standing at the corner bus stop. When I heard the child molester word in the neighbourhood it wasn't hard to figure out what had just happened.
Well that's it in a nut shell folks, if you think I made this all up, I think it's best to ask the neighbours on South 141st Street in parkland as to where the rumor came from. I wouldn't doubt they were told by the Bennets at 601 next door to me. James Bennit worked for the City and he is featured in my pictures; getting a pay-off..