Return to Cinder

Prelude to a Con, Part 2 -- The Set Up to the Rollout

Listen with Elvis song

In which we return to the fire on January 13, 1979, as more fully described in our episode entitled Prelude to a Con -- Part 1A: Fire in the Holy. That is where I told you about the fire, at midnight, in a blizzard, which totally destroyed our local Methodist Church, which no doubt is a common occurrence. I will talk about why I think the fire was not an accident, and what the real purpose of it was. Hint: it was a set-up to introduce a con-man.

Fields of Flubber

Our story today takes place in the grass fields just outside Pineville, MO -- a town of 3 people. It’s early morning, late March 1979. The Sun has just inched up over the horizon to take a gander at today’s happenings. As for me, I am almost 2 years old, and adorable.

Back in those days, it was pretty common to see thousands of head of cattle, stacked up over miles of grass land, spanning over most neighboring counties. Some black, some brown, some brown an white. Nowadays, though, most cattle end up in feed yards, so you don’t see them out in the fields as much.

Back in March 1979, a dozen-ish double decker cattle trucks, each carrying 50 or more calves, roll down the dirt and gravel country roads outside of Pineville, MO, a town of 3 people. They pass fields -- some grass, some winter wheat, most lined by barbed-wire -- kicking up a line of dust extending a few miles behind them, glittering in the brand new sunlight.

They turn and pull up through an opened steel gate and clutter over a cattle grate -- those are thick steel rods spaced a few inches apart above a ditch to prevent cattle escaping. Because they definitely will. Once inside, the trucks stop and the gregarious truckers get out of their cabs. The truckers are usually good natured chaps -- with names like Red, Tex, Vernon, Buddy, Wade, Cade, Donner, Blixen, etc. -- and always seem to have the latest and best small town gossip, usually about who was caught stepping out with whom and where.

They started out in Kansas hours earlier, well before sunrise, and more than a hundred miles away. They are getting tired, but are happy to be at the delivery point. As they step out of their cabs, they take one last sip of lukewarm Allsup’s coffee (helpful hint: best avoid the Allsup’s sushi), and unload their cargo. A total of 1,150 calves, delivered over two days, averaging 370 lbs each for total weight of 425,756 lbs. And, yes, I know that is not a complete sentence.

These are my Grandfather’s calves and he is delivering them to Doug A. Landers, who will turn out to be a con-man (at least one of them, anyway) with less than zero cattle experience.

Based on the weight, these calves are less than a year old, probably 9 months, I’m guessing.

When I was 3 or 4, I started to “help” my Grandfather with cattle deliveries to his own land, including “helping” with the branding, the horn tipping and feeding. At least, I thought I was helping. I think my Grandfather was really trying to protect me, and also to show me the ropes -- literally. My mom Hannibal loved watching me work out in the fields. It must have quenched her sadistic thirst. Turns out, it backfired! It made me more industrious, tougher and, unlike my siblings(?), I got to spend a lot of time with my Grandfather. I know he his still with me, though.

Here I am at 3 - 4. Aren’t I adorable? You know I am!

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Here is the Pasture Agreement.

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Pretty standard stuff, though it would have contemplated the “party of the second part” having real cattle experience. For the uninitiated and other assorted city slickers, horn tipping is not an easy process, nor is administering medication.

The idea was that the calves would be nurtured, fed (mainly on grass) for 8 - 9 months, after which they would have gained something like 500 - 700 lbs and then delivered back to my Grandfather for final finishing on a mix of grass and grain.

That was the idea, anyway. It didn’t play out that way. Of the 1,150 calves delivered, 625 went “missing”, some within days of arrival. It’s like the grass was made of Flubber, and they just floated away.

The value of the delivered calves was $410,573. That was a lot of money back in 1979. To put that in perspective, gold was trading at around $240 per ozt. Now, it trades at $4,800 per ozt, i.e., 20 times higher. On that basis, $410,573 would equate to over $8.2 million today.

This discussion reminds me of the pilot episode of The Beverly Hillbillies, where the oil company offers Jed Clampett $25 - $100 dollars for his newly discovered oil field. Jed says, “they using some kind of new dollars, called ‘million dollars’”. Great show, even though the Jethro (and Jethrine) shtick got old pretty fast. Fun Fact: The fictional Clampetts hailed from Missouri, just a few counties due East and not far from Pineville.

Let me tell the story of another Loser

Who is Doug Landers?

He was at the time a 21 year old numb-nutted Texas Tech weasel who was so unpopular he could not even get into a fraternity [and probably never had an unpaid-for date - ed], who came from Tulare county, CA, but was really from Pineville, MO, a town of 3 people, and who somehow was able to -- all by himself, mind you, with no help from any one else whatsoever -- steal 625 out of 1,150 head of cattle in the space of a few months

This numb-nutted grifter, by the way, is Douglas Arnold Landers (his 100% real actual name). The con led to at least 3 civil suits I know of, and one Federal criminal action. After he was busted, he accepted a plea deal in Federal court (in January 1981), for which he was sentenced to 5 years probation and ordered to pay restitution of $248,000. He never paid, of course. Instead, he skipped town less than two years later and fled to New Mexico, from what I have been able to dig up.

Doug Landers is still alive, you’ll be happy to hear, and living, last time I checked, in Grove, OK. Grove is about 30 miles from Pineville, MO, a town of 3 people.

Technically, he is still a fugitive from justice, and he has never had to pay a dime or do any time for this and other grifts to come.

His parents were Arnold Landers and Shirley Landers (nee, Woodfill), also from Pineville, MO, a town of 3 people.

They’re dead now. But they left behind a long and storied trail of cons and grifts -- all coincidentally benefitting specific and well known giant corporate interest -- and never had to pay for any of it. Hmmm, I wonder why? No, not really. I’m pretty sure I know. I will lay out the details in future episodes.

Doug Landers was really a distraction, though. Like that rabbit thingy they use at the dog races. The rabbit is not the key. Who is operating the rabbit is.

Back to School

Quiet kids. School is in session!

So, while who is Doug Landers is a valid question, it is not the most important one.

The real question one should be asking is why would my Grandfather entrust said numb-nutted Douglas A. Landers with $410,573 worth of cattle?

My Grandfather was an amazingly astute judge of character, and would help out anyone who was good and needed help. I am reminded of this many times. For example, at my Grandmother’s tree lighting ceremony in December 2021 (can’t wait to show you the pictures, it was beautiful), a cousin once-baked or something said to me “your Grandfather was the greatest person I ever knew”. Same here, I replied.

Now, back to the question, why would he entrust Doug Landers with 1,150 head of cattle? The answer is he wouldn’t have, unless Doug Landers had been recommended by someone who otherwise appeared trustworthy.

This takes us back to the church burning down. My operating theory is that the fire was intentionally set, partly to disrupt everyone’s lives, also knowing the town would organize a rebuilding and financing committee, and build a new church. Folks on the committee would work closely together, become familiar, and begin to trust each other. After all, proximity seeking is one of the most important tactics in the Psychopath’s Playbook.

One of the folks on the committee was a man whom we shall call George R. Downlow III. He worked for an agriculture funding business, which we shall call Crapstone. Crapstone was owned by a very large multi-national but privately owned agribusiness, which we shall call Chargrill.

One of their businesses was feed and feed yards. My Grandfather did not believe in feed yards and fed his cattle out in the fields. He was also very influential and where he went, others followed.

Here is a picture of my Grandfather, tending to the cattle in the field.

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So, as the operating theory goes, George R. Downlow III hired someone to burn down the church, get on the rebuilding committee, get close to my Grandfather, recommend the numb-nutted Douglas A. Landers as a young earnest hardworking kid who just needed a leg up. “I can vouch for Douglas”, I can hear George saying. “He’s a Good’un”.

An Accident on Purpose