Cover
story
Church
mired in valley conflict
By MICHAEL J. FARRELL
NCR staff Taos, N.M.
The road north from Albuquerque up
the spine of New Mexico winds through a landscape of contrasts. Lean,
begrudging valleys give way to majestic mountains. Modest mobile homes coexist
higgledy-piggledy with more palatial structures. All-terrain vehicles outdo the
speed limit on Highway 68, but the tumbleweed still tumbles across the road on
a blustery February day. The legendary Rio Grande moves urgently over rocks as
if trying to keep up with the times.
Past Santa Fe and on toward Taos, amid echoes of exotic people and
places. Off to the west, the Georgia OKeefe place, a national monument
now that the painter is gone. Los Alamos of the bomb. The contrasts are sharp.
Way back in the rear view mirror is Roswell, where some say we were visited
from outer space. In the side mirror a town called Truth or Consequences, near
the White Sands Missile Range, and that resonates, too. On past Taos and its
historic Pueblo set within the Sangre de Christo mountain range, said to look
red as the blood of Christ at certain times. In addition, the best skiing in
New Mexico is up past Taos. And up there, too, in the valleys, are villages
with names like Arroyo Seco, Arroyo Hondo and San Cristobal.
Tempers are running high in those villages and valleys. It is a
situation new as the most recent wave of nomads from big cities, usually
wealthy and discreet and worldly wise, searching for escape from hectic life to
rustic rural utopias they hope time forgot. But it is also a situation old as
the land itself, which is so dear to humans that, time and again, we fight
about it.
On one level, the people in and around Arroyo Hondo are locked in
a complex property dispute focusing on an old road that allegedly runs through
a new, upscale residential development. But standing back, one can see bigger
forces at play: a clash between ancient cultures and their emphasis on the
rights of the community pitted against modern legal conceptions of ownership;
the eternal tug-of-war between rich and poor; and the very personal animosities
that fights over money and reputations invariably generate.
Not for the first time in such cases, the church has been dragged
into the fray. In the conflict of interests and cultures and personalities, Fr.
Vincent Chavez, pastor of Holy Trinity Parish, which serves several local
villages, has taken sides decisively, with bitter effects.
Trouble in paradise
Nearly every version of this story
begins with the arrival of Philip DeCaro, a lawyer turned developer who in the
early 1980s bought an 80-acre tract of land along the hillside outside Arroyo
Hondo, which is about 10 miles out of Taos, a quaint town with a tradition of
artists and eccentrics.
DeCaro had to build a road to make the new houses accessible.
Parts of this new road, the local people say, were built over a previous road
that is older than memory, but the new people say it never existed, or if it
existed it wasnt really a road but a path. The new road is called by the
newcomers Lobo Ranch Road, while the old people still call it the Camino
Linere.
About half-a-dozen houses were built. All are opulent in a woodsy
sort of way, isolated from each other and from the local community, most
enjoying pristine views of mountains, valleys and especially trees their
backyard is a national forest. Some are occupied only part-time because their
owners have primary homes elsewhere.
From initial high purpose and goodwill, the local atmosphere grew
gradually steamy. At first, DeCaro insinuated himself into the community in
various ways as if this new venture were a marriage made in heaven. When the
locals set up a community association, for example, they appointed him its
attorney. He was also the lawyer of, among others, Trudy and Ed Healy, the
wealthiest family in the village, at least until then, and widely regarded as
backers of local causes, especially environmental.
But back at the new subdivision everything was not so friendly,
many locals claim. People who traveled the neighborhood were urged by DeCaro to
keep away. New residents Marguerite Breen and her husband, Jerry Young, told
the Taos News that they wanted privacy, that, furthermore, in order to
buy the property they had to sign an agreement restricting access on Lobo Ranch
Road to themselves and guests. We consider all community members our
guests, Young said. While this sounded gracious, it implied to the local
people that the newcomers had proprietorship and the guests were guests only so
long as they were invited back.
Is this Fortress America?
What the new residents seemed to be
setting up was a gated community, part of a popular trend toward privacy and
protection.
Gated communities, one of the more dramatic forms of
residential boundaries, have been springing up around the country since the
early 1980s, writes Edward J. Blakely and Mary Gail Snyder in Fortress
America (1997). They go on: We estimate that more than 3 million
American households have already sought out this new refuge from the problems
of urbanization. ... These developments in part reflect the notion of community
as an island, a social bulwark against the general degradation of the urban
social order; they also reflect the increasing attempt to substitute private
controls for public organization, for the joint responsibilities of democratic
citizenship all of us share.
The residents of Lobo Ranch Road dont wish to be seen as
living in a gated community. Ive never heard that term used,
Joseph Werntz, attorney for several of them, told NCR in a phone
interview. No one has ever expressed that concept or that
perception.
Similarly, Paul A. Cross, one of the residents, in written
responses to NCR said, Lobo Ranch is not a gated community, and no
one represented to me that it would be one. My concern is about maintaining my
private property rights and in limiting development in the region. Living in a
gated community doesnt matter to me.
Among the more high-profile participants in the dispute are
Stephen and Doris Briggs. Stephen Briggs explained in a lengthy memo to NCR
that in 1987 they bought a site served by an easement for ingress and
egress over Lobo Ranch Road.
The road is the most prominent bone of contention, but bones of
contention never happen in a vacuum. This is a fragment of how Briggs sees the
background: In 1994, a dispute began between our neighbors, Edmund and
Trudy Healy, and the rest of the residents of the Lobo Ranch properties. The
dispute began when the Healys changed the location of the road. ... Although we
and several other residents who own an easement over the road were not
consulted, we had no real objection to the new location of the road. However,
we did insist that the Healys have the location of the road surveyed and
recorded in the records of Taos County, because they had interfered with our
legal access to our home.
The past lives on
If this sounds legal and technical,
it merely scratches the surface of legalities and technicalities. There have
been suits and countersuits, claims and counterclaims, entangling the community
in a Gordian knot of legal complexities.
The simmering situation grew more combustible in late 1996, when
DeCaro and the other new residents erected a large wooden gate that closed off
Lobo Ranch Road while a sign declared it private property.
But there was no significant response to this seemingly forbidding
gesture until May 25, 1997, when the local community, in a caravan of cars,
trucks and marchers, forcibly opened the gate to Lobo Ranch Road, replaced the
Private sign with another that read: Public Road: Do not
obstruct. The protesters drove along the contested road, past the houses
of the new residents, to the nearby national forest.
One detailed account of the road event was provided in
a letter to the local Taos News by Doris Briggs: We were waiting
at our locked gate, hoping to talk with [the protesters] and let them know that
they were welcome anytime on foot or horseback. However, it was evident
immediately that mob mentality had taken over. I was physically threatened by
their words and actions. I have never in my 58 years been so scared by my
fellow men nor seen such hate-filled faces.
It is a long letter full of telling detail. Toward the end it
says, We know that this was organized by Trudy and Ed Healy. The
Healys deny this.
Much of the brouhaha could be written off as a property dispute
among rich neighbors except for the community.
Time may not have stood still in New Mexico, but it did slow down.
Thus its various villages pose a challenge to change. Culture clash
shouts a recent headline in the Albuquerque Journal above a story about
a flamboyant multimillionaire who paid cash for expensive homes and then
painted them in Caribbean colors until his latest, in Taos, was
burned down.
Out of Time is the title of a little book, by James C.
Bull, about Arroyo Seco, one of the villages that make up Holy Trinity Parish.
From the late 17th century, Arroyo Seco was home to the Pueblo and
Spanish cultures, Bull writes. Then a few Americans arrived during
the 19th century from the North. ... The impact of the skiing culture has been
considerable and apparent.
The land is still poor. Fields represent generations of
history, writes Bull. But not much wealth. Mostly people can get
part-time work in local hotels, Fr. Chavez told NCR. The future wrestles
with the past. A fraternal group called the Penitentes is still active
in the area. A distant offshoot of the Franciscan missionaries who came with
the Conquistadores, its members practice severe penance that includes
flagellation. The organization was condemned in 1892 but was reinstated in
1947. Once a powerful political force, its religious and artistic background is
still regarded as a cementing element in the local parishes.
The oldest things are mostly buried, Bull writes.
You cant really say they are gone because you can feel the old, and
its there, somewhere.
In a film called The Milagro Bean Field War, wonder
shows on villagers faces as precious water is diverted to the heros
little bean field. That wonder reflects the importance of water in New Mexico,
conducted in highly regulated irrigation ditches called acequias. The
acequia commission still is a highly influential body in the community,
as is the local land grant association.
The people ... are very community oriented, said
Chavez. The notion of private property is foreign here. We always had
community property. New Mexico is isolated and different, so, for survival,
people depended on each other. The land was communally owned and
used.
Into this communally oriented neck of the woods literally
rode the ruggedly individualistic Phil DeCaro, a former CIA agent.
Controversy accompanied him like a shadow. He is said to have claimed he took
part in the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba, though his daughter denied
this in the local paper.
Issues to personalities
When DeCaro first built the
contested road and the new tenants began using it in the early 1980s, there was
no significant outcry. Indeed, there was a consistency and continuity about
updating the road, explained local leader Alfred Trujillo, just as it had
changed and been changed for over a century.
But then, the locals say, as the newcomers got better established,
they used various forms of intimidation to keep people from visiting the DeCaro
segment or passing through it to the national forest beyond. The Lobo Ranch
Road residents claim no one sued when they put up Private signs.
The local people counter that, given their communal background of living in
harmony together, they find confrontation distasteful.
Every move upped the social, personal and legal ante.
Ed Healy stumbled on the information that one owner of eight Lobo
Ranch acres was paying only $6 in taxes. He investigated further and found, he
told NCR, that the Briggses were paying approximately $42 in taxes for
26 acres and a new house. The Healys found the low tax bills were a pattern,
they said, indicating that either the developer or the owners had failed to
notify authorities of developments at the Lobo Ranch. The Healys found the
water supply similarly manipulated: At one stage, four houses were paying only
one water bill, they said.
Werntz, the attorney for several residents, denies this on their
behalf. If not enough taxes were paid, thats a public policy
issue, he said. And Stephen Briggs wrote: We ... followed the
required procedures and paid all tax bills that were presented to us.
While Ed Healy is a native of Utah, his wife, Trudy, is local. She
told NCR she was outraged at outsiders who come in and exploit the
system.
Yet its possible these anomalies reflect instead a failed
system of local governance. New Mexico is extremely vulnerable to exploitation,
Ed Healy explained: There are no development impact fees here. This is a
great place for developers. There are no real estate transfer taxes here.
People can do all kinds of things. ... There is also no enforcement of the law
here.
Not surprisingly, DeCaro soon ceased to be the Healys
lawyer. The Healys claim the Lobo Ranch residents embarked on a campaign of
misinformation about them. The Lobo Ranch residents claim the same about the
Healys.
According to the Healys, when they saw plans for a new development
of 80 to 100 houses on what was called the Duncan property, adjacent to the
Lobo ranch property, they bought the 400 acres to ensure that no such
development would occur. A newspaper article by the Briggses, on the other
hand, claims the Healys plan to develop the 400 acres.
The Briggses article goes on: We do not feel we are in
a feud, either with Healy and certainly not the Hondo community. We are aware
that Healy has been very generous to the community, but we feel in this
particular issue he is using the community for his own personal
agenda.
But this seemingly sincere Briggs effort to reach out to the local
community tripped over itself in the first paragraph. No one doubts that
long ago there was a trail between Arroyo Hondo and San Cristobal. However,
Lobo Ranch Road as it exists today is not that path. ... We wonder if any of
the 40 people who gave statements to Healy could testify that they drove up
such a road before 1981.
This was taken by local people to mean that outsiders were calling
them liars. Dont call me a liar, Carlos Rendon intoned
rhetorically to NCR. I know that road was there since I was 6
years old, and Im now 70 years old. Rendon and others swapped
stories about who used the old road and how long ago and for what to
harvest dry wood, to visit a sawmill, to visit friends. And in the distant
past, they said, before San Cristobal had a church of its own, the dead were
carried in procession along the old road to the church in Arroyo Hondo.
Freedom to roam
Much of that traffic, though, was in
the past. No one is contending that the old road or the new is in
constant demand by Arroyo Hondo people nowadays. What is at issue now, the
locals say, is the freedom to go there if they wish. And some told NCR
they liked to roam there or hunt there or have a few beers. But, beyond that,
what seems most at issue is the symbolic right to go where they have always
gone before the old order changed.
The Briggses article provoked strong support for the Healys.
Letters poured in to the Taos News. Ed Healy is a serious
conservationist, wrote one reader. Healy has an inspiring lifetime
record of protecting the environment and has demonstrated an unswerving
commitment to supporting our community on many levels, wrote another.
Villager Vincente M. Martinez wrote: I challenge the
property owners on the traditional road to also have the courage to become full
participants in the community they call home by respecting our traditional
rights.
Trudy Healy, too, responded with ungracious glee to the
Briggses article: My husband, Ed Healy, and I dont have to
put our picture in the Taos News. ... Yes, we are spending tens of
thousands of dollars to get the Arroyo Hondo-San Cristobal Road back that was
stolen as an amenity to subdivision investments.
The heightened rhetoric reflected growing community animosity.
Complexity, meanwhile, was heaped upon complexity.
Chavez, 34, did his seminary studies at the famous Catholic
University of Leuven, Belgium, a distinction usually reserved for talented
prospects. He was ordained in 1991. Less than a year later, he was appointed
pastor of his first parish, an exceptionally speedy promotion even in an era of
scarce priests. Arroyo Hondo is his third parish. His option to join the local
people about 200 of them, though versions differ in the march on
Lobo Ranch Road was a turning point.
Although a number of the new residents at first attended church,
none formally joined the parish, Chavez told NCR. Nor do any attend now.
Soon after the march, the Briggses visited Chavez. He said they were very
angry. But they said they were scared. They disagree sharply about what Chavez
knew about the march and when he knew it.
Chavez quotes Doris Briggs as saying to him: How dare you
participate in something so ugly? He tells of trying to reason with them,
that they were blessed with wealth and opportunity while the local people have
very little. He recalls pointing out the churchs social teaching and
quoting from scripture, including Lazarus and the rich man. He concluded:
After nearly two hours I sensed they still didnt get it.
The Briggses describe a very different meeting. He was not
interested in serving as a peacemaker or healer only in furthering the
Healy cause, Stephen Briggs said. At one point we asked him if he
felt that violence was necessary and if he should support violence. His
response was that as a priest we are sometimes called to be
militant. Father Chavez has not once tried to bring us and his other
parishioners together. He has outright refused all our efforts for personal
reconciliation. He has called for Doris to do public penance. (The
diligent Briggses took this opinion to their pastor in Florida, who has
his doctorate in theology, and the latter assured them public penance had
been abolished by the church in the sixth century.)
Somewhere amid the rumors, word had seeped out that Doris Briggs
was Jewish, but Stephen Briggs assured NCR: We are both lifetime
Catholics. We attended Catholic schools. In the 60s Doris was a member of
a charismatic community and taught [religion classes]. We are both
Cursillistas. We recently went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land with our
Florida priest. We have not stopped attending church. We have stopped attending
Father Chavezs church as we were told by him people like us were better
off in another church.
Paul Cross, another resident of Lobo Ranch Road, responded to the
Catholic question: I am a confirmed member of the Catholic church, as are
most of the residents of Lobo Ranch. ... I also believe that the church should
not involve itself in private property disputes in which it is not a
party.
But now the church was definitely involved. In late 1998,
attorneys for DeCaro filed a subpoena requiring Chavez to turn over 17 types of
information. These included all records of donations made to the parish by the
Healys; a list of all parishioners; a list of all those buried in Arroyo Hondo
and San Cristobal; copies of Chavezs homilies relating to the case.
If Chavez complied, there would be few secrets left in the parish.
But the feisty priest, whose trademark is a Texas-style ranchers hat, was
and remains defiant. There has been an intense legal tussle about whether this
subpoena is warranted. The archdiocese of Santa Fe admonished Chavez that
it was seen as legally not prudent for a pastor ... to be implicated in
any future legal action. Chavez refused to comply with most aspects of
the subpoena, stating he would go to jail if necessary. My response is
that I have to be on the side of the church, the side of justice and
peace, he said.
They think theyre going to hurt the community by
attacking the priest, said local leader Trujillo. When they attack
the church they attack the community, because thats what the church is,
the community. Chavez presented a similar viewpoint: Since
Ive been dragged through the courts, a lot of people in Arroyo Hondo are
fearful of saying anything ... afraid of being sued.
The word intimidation comes up often, each side claiming
the tactic is used by the other. While Chavez invokes the community, especially
the parish, and the local people certainly rallied to the Healys in the letters
pages of the local paper, the Lobo residents counter that they are not outcasts
in the valley. Personally I have friends all through the valley, from all
walks of life, of diverse cultures and backgrounds, wrote Cross. And
Stephen Briggs: Except for a small group of people from Upper Hondo, we
have very cordial relations with the members of the community. Some have
expressed regret at what we are going through, and one sweet viejo ...
told us to come back to church.
No end in sight
Even the district judge, Jay G.
Harris, does not seem to have managed to rise above the strife over which he is
called to render judgment. Chavez says Harris, in response to a question, told
him trouble in the valley will end when you stop opening your mouth in
public. And, in rendering one of his many judgments to date between the
warring parties, Harris remarked that the folks in the valley had gotten along
fine until the Healys came along. These comments, Chavez says, seem to be
connected to the fact that Chavez and other parishioners testified against
Harris in an investigation about racial bias and fairness.
There are dozens of issues in dispute and cases pending. Cross
claims the Healys alone have sued 35 parties with about a hundred
allegations. Chavez was deposed for a day in January. He says there were
15 attorneys representing various aspects of the other side. He
awaits further deposition.
In the sanitized future depicted in Aldous Huxleys Brave
New World, New Mexico is an oasis preserved from the past, a place to which
the brave new people could go to see what it used to be like. Back there in New
Mexico it is the Savage who represents the way we were.
Chavez mentioned the book more than once. Huxley lived nearby when
he was writing it. The New Mexico mention could be construed as an exotic
tribute to its uniqueness and wholesomeness, but then as now, reality is
mercurial and the Savage a work in progress.
I dont see any more conflict between residents of Lobo
Ranch and the residents of the valley floor than I see among the residents of
the valley floor themselves, wrote Cross to NCR. He is not
optimistic that the various claims will be solved outside the courts.
Mediation is always a possibility, he nevertheless added. Stephen
Briggs echoed this: Sad as it is, it looks like litigation will be the
only answer. He added, To be at odds with our local church in
Arroyo Hondo is very painful.
Werntz said the court has actually ordered the contesting parties
to sit down and mediate their dispute in hopes of reaching a negotiated
settlement. This will probably happen in summer. Comments Werntz: I think
if the parties were willing to sit down in good faith and try to reach a
solution based upon compromise, that would be the best course of action for
everyone to take in this case.
Chavez confirmed that, some months ago, before going to the Holy
Land, Doris Briggs approached him and wanted to make peace. I sensed she
wanted to reconcile. She wanted absolution. But he told her that penance
is necessary for reconciliation and absolution. He believed she was acting on
her lawyers advice, Chavez said. He did not seem hopeful about
healing.
Meanwhile, many ghosts wander that disputed road.
National Catholic Reporter, April 23,
1999
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