“Gee, you haven’t asked that question in, what, a week now? We charge that much because we’re worth it.”
“I don’t feel so great right now. It’s a PR nightmare and you know how I hate publicity.”
“My advice is to let things cool off. We have thirty days to file a notice of appeal.”
“Things aren’t going to cool off, Dud. We’ve kicked a hornet’s nest and they’ll eat us alive.”
6
The second article from the Times was prominently featured on page eight, under the headline “Florida Court Rules Against Resort Developer.” Thalia Chan recapped the opinion from Judge Burch and included a statement from Lovely that read, “I am relieved that the Court has chosen to protect the sacred property of my ancestors. This is a great day for the descendants of enslaved Africans.” In response to a question written and submitted by Thalia through Diane, Lovely said, “I hope the state of Florida will take some of the money it planned to spend on a bridge and create a memorial to my people.” Steven Mahon was quoted: “The court did what was right and just and in doing so averted an environmental disaster.” The story was accompanied by an aerial photo, taken by a drone, of Dark Isle.
Neither Tidal Breeze nor the Attorney General’s office could be reached for comment.
7
Two days before the deadline for filing a notice of appeal, Tidal Breeze issued a statement that read: “In honor and memory of the enslaved people who lived and died on Dark Isle, the Tidal Breeze Corporation of Miami is withdrawing its plans to develop Panther Cay. The company respects the Court’s decision and will not appeal it to the Supreme Court of Florida.”
Steven Mahon and Diane whooped it up in their cramped offices and danced a jig. Diane then called Miss Naomi with the news and drove to The Docks to share the moment with Lovely. They wept with her on her front porch and savored the victory. It was such a magical moment, one still difficult to believe.
“You did it, Lovely,” Diane said more than once. “You held your ground, fought for your people, took a mighty developer to court, and kicked his ass. You did it.”
“I had plenty of help, my dear. Plenty of help.”
Mercer called her agent, Etta Shuttleworth, in New York with the news, then spoke to her editor, Lana Gallagher, at Viking. “How many words have you written?” she asked. Typical editor.
“I don’t know, maybe a hundred thousand. I’m throwing away pages almost as fast I write them.”
“Then stop throwing them out and finish the book. I’ll give you a deadline if you want one.”
“Have you ever had a writer ask for a deadline?”
“No, of course not. But if I see the first draft by the first of October we can publish next spring.”
“Sounds like a deadline.”
Not surprisingly, Bruce called within half an hour of the news and informed Mercer that a celebratory dinner had been planned for that night. He was rounding up guests, but it would be the usual suspects, minus Gifford, who had sailed back to Charleston.
“Do you think Lovely would come?” he asked.
“I doubt it but let’s try. It can’t be a long night, Bruce. Thomas is kicking me out of bed at six every morning to write.”
“Mercer, dear, who in their right mind would ever kick you out of bed?”
“You’re hopeless.”
8
Not long after she began her takeover of the BILDF, Diane realized that if she wanted to be paid at least a minimum wage, not to mention wrangling a desk or even a nicer card table, she would have to raise the money herself. Steven loathed fundraising and couldn’t be bothered. The roughly $200,000 that trickled in each year was almost by accident. The Sierra Club was a legendary, A-list nonprofit with a big budget, and while there he had been free to sue and litigate at will, without worrying about the overhead. Old habits die hard and now he almost refused to worry about money. The secretary, Pauline, was part-time, rather lazy, and content with her meager paycheck. Diane wasn’t driven by money but she had an eye on law school. She convinced Steven to let her overhaul their lame website and expand their social media profile. He approved her initial changes, and she gradually brought their little nonprofit into the 2020s.
The Dark Isle case gave Diane something to write about almost nonstop. Their following slowly increased, as did their donor base. When she arrived in town the nonprofit’s donations had averaged $19,000 a month, barely enough to cover their modest salaries and fund its low-budget style of litigation. Seven months later, it grossed $31,000 for the month of May, with Diane cranking out trial updates late every night. Thalia Chan’s stories in the Times had led to a serious uptick in BILDF’s profile.
Inspired by this success, Diane became intrigued with online marketing and its seemingly endless possibilities. Immediately after the trial was over, she raised the idea of a separate nonprofit to raise money for a memorial on Dark Isle. The story was still big news and there was plenty of interest. She discussed it with Steven, of course, then Mercer and Thomas, Gifford, and Bruce. The most challenging conversation was with Lovely herself, who still wasn’t sure what a website actually was.
About the time Tidal Breeze threw in the towel, Diane created the Nalla Foundation. Its mission was “to preserve and honor the memories of the freed Africans who settled on Dark Isle and who could never go home.” The goals were to: (1) locate and renovate the burial sites; (2) build a memorial to the dead; (3) rebuild some of the settlement for tourism; and (4) seek funding from individuals, foundations, corporations, and governments, all for the preservation of Dark Isle and its history. Bruce and Noelle donated the first $10,000 as seed money, and Diane harangued Steven into a “loan” of another $10,000 from BILDF. She took most of the money and hired an online marketing firm. She anointed herself as the executive director, primarily because the IRS required one and there were no other prospects. A salary was also required, so she signed on, initially, for a hundred dollars a month, slightly less than she was earning as a full-time intern at Barrier Island.
With Lovely’s lawsuit out of the way, Steven got busy elsewhere. Its rather sudden completion freed up hundreds of hours and he fell into a more relaxed schedule. Diane hazed him into renting nicer office space, and she was finally able to give away the damned card table. They hired a full-time secretary who had no legal training but could handle the front desk. She was also about to spend half her time with the Nalla Foundation, though she had not been informed of that.
Diane worked tirelessly establishing her new foundation. She wrote grant proposals by the dozen, solicited donors, gave interviews, and played the social media game. After a slow start, the money began coming in, small checks at first from individuals, then bigger ones from other foundations. In July, the African Burial Project sent a check for $50,000. More importantly, it agreed to share its donor list on a confidential basis. Diane went after the donors with a slick direct-mail attack and raised $120,000. She gave herself a reasonable pay raise and informed Steven that she was taking a ninety-day leave of absence from Barrier Island. She did not request one. She just took it.
She had tea on the porch with Lovely and Miss Naomi each afternoon and lunch every Wednesday at a barbecue place in The Docks. In the weeks after the trial there were dozens of requests to interview Lovely, all of which were directed to Diane, who distrusted journalists almost as much as Lovely. However, she had learned that her client and friend was a powerful fundraiser. Her story was irresistible and she was fun to talk to. Each interview, in print or on camera, generated more interest in the Nalla Foundation, and more income.