Neighbors of Texas ‘Embassy’ Seeing Red

FORT DAVIS, Texas — Until this week, few of Richard L. McLaren’s neighbors thought he could mess up their lives any more than he already had.

Sure, his half-cocked paper war long had clouded the natural splendor of their Davis Mountains Resort homes, his endless blizzard of bogus liens and petty lawsuits, common-law declarations and secessionist manifestoes forcing many of them to spend thousands of dollars--even bequeathing him acres of land--just so he would leave them alone.

But as aggravating as McLaren was, the self-styled “ambassador” of the so-called Republic of Texas never ran them from their rightful domains. That is, until this week, when his armed standoff with law enforcement authorities--now 6 days old--turned these starkly beautiful peaks into a potential battleground.

“I would just like to go home,” said 41-year-old Sally Tucker, dazed and distraught as she camped in a truck along Highway 166 with one of her teenage sons.

Even as McLaren’s attorney begged him to walk out alive, as one of his compatriots did Friday, about 100 residents of this remote subdivision continue to live as refugees--exiled by the rantings of a part-time vintner who believes Texas is his own independent nation.

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A couple dozen families did stay behind--totally isolated now that phone lines have been cut--despite official recommendations that they leave. Others have been separated, one spouse stubbornly guarding the homestead while another remains stranded outside police barricades. A few people, away at church when the shooting erupted last Sunday, never even made it back home to pack a bag.

They have doubled up with friends, left town to stay with relatives, camped out in RVs and curled up on office floors. None of them ever thought this ordeal would slog on so long. All of them want police to stop worrying about a peaceful resolution and start showing some force.

“Their attitude is like, ‘Well, we’ll just wait him out,’ ” said Tucker, who ended up in limbo when she left home Monday to deliver her 2-month-old grandson back to his parents. “If it was just them and him,” she said, referring to McLaren, “that would be one thing. But they’ve got 150 families tore up.”

In many ways, this entire town of 1,212 feels like it’s being held hostage.

Patrol cars from across the state zip up and down Fort Davis’ main drag, normally so sleepy that there’s not a single stoplight. Dozens of reporters jockey with tourists for scarce rooms in a handful of motels and historic inns. The Nature Conservancy of Texas, which had planned to host its annual membership meeting this weekend at a Fort Davis ranch, postponed the event until August. A Girl Scout troop in Midland--the nearest large city, 165 miles from here--also pulled out of a scheduled retreat.

“If they really want to scare McLaren, they oughta back off and let the locals in there,” said Joe Garcia, 32, the owner of a Fort Davis construction firm.

“I’d like to see him come out in a body bag,” his wife, Jennifer, said unapologetically. “I’ve already got a margarita party planned for when he’s gone.”

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Although the Garcias’ sentiment is typical, they share a special contempt for McLaren. One of their employees, Diane Slaybaugh, lives up in the Davis Mountains Resort--or at least she did. Now the 42-year-old secretary sleeps on their office couch, alongside her 17-year-old son, Duane, who beds down on the beige carpet.

“I’m mad as hell, but there’s no recourse, my life is on hold,” said Slaybaugh, whose husband, Terry, is spending the week 125 miles away in Big Bend National Park, where he helps maintain the water-treatment system. “At least, since this started, I haven’t been late for work.”

As she sat at her desk, her three dogs--Pixie, Baby Red and Lovee--nuzzled at her feet. A turtle, also rescued from home, struggled to climb out of its glass bowl. At night, Slaybaugh reads while Duane plays games on the office computer. To bathe, they go next door to a beauty salon, where the proprietor leaves a key for them after hours.

“This is where I live now,” said Slaybaugh, sighing, who worries about having left behind her husband’s insurance papers and medical records, which he will need when doctors evaluate him for a liver transplant next month.

“What are people supposed to do?” she asked.

Texas Department of Public Safety spokesman Mike Cox apologized for any inconvenience to McLaren’s neighbors, but said it was important to maintain a secure perimeter around the site. “Our motto is ‘Courtesy, Service and Protection,’ ” Cox said. “The emphasis right now is on protection.”

Although no residents have been forced to leave, they’ve been strongly advised to do so. Once out, they’ve not been allowed to return, despite the fact that Davis Mountains Resort is a 9,000-acre spread and McLaren’s ragtag group is believed to be ensconced in a far-flung corner, miles away from most homes.

Those rules were easier for residents to accept earlier this week, as long as telephones remained in service. But in an effort to put the squeeze on McLaren, authorities took control of all lines on Tuesday, making it impossible for families to check on their loved ones.

A “Republic of Texas” comrade, apparently sharing in the frustration, walked out of McLaren’s supposed “embassy” Friday morning, surrendering without incident to police. Robert Scheidt, who had been arrested and released in a hostage swap earlier in the week, reportedly told officers:

“I had to get out of there; I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Several of the militiamen who remained were said to have written farewell letters to their families, telling them they expected to die.