The oldest living resident of Hale is 86-year-old Seymore Richardson. He has lived in Hale all of his life, and is in relatively good condition for his age, despite the fact that he is never seen without his pipe. He claims it is the smoke that keeps him alive and healthy, as he'll tell anyone who will listen. Those who listen mustn't be distracted by the flapping of hi gums- literally, as he has only one tooth left. This tooth is rotten and yellowed from smoke, and holds on by a strand, as if it cannot decide whether to end its misery and take the jump, or to hold on for just a little longer and maybe finally encounter some toothpaste. Old Mister Richardson serves as a warning for all the parents to tell their children- 'Do not smoke, Little Johnny, or you'll end up looking like Old Mister Richardson!'.
Of course, there aren't many children left in Hale. When Old Mister Richardson was young, Hale wasn't much of the town that it is now, but just wide open farmland. Families raised their children to help on the farm, and those children would grow to have their own farms, and so on and so forth. But when the Garricks died, things seemed to change, and soon the whole country seemed more techno...techni...well, the kids just didn't want to farm anymore. They went off to college to become lawyers or buisinessmen or teachers. And so they left Hale, whereas their parents had stayed. So now Hale is mostly old folk who enjoy the quiet country life, who grow their own food and milk their own cows, and dont use telephones.
Anyway, Old Mister Richardson likes to tell the story of Hale and the Old Garrick Place every once in a while, at say, town meetings or fourth-of-July barbeques. Everyone listens patiently, even though they've all heard it before, because hey, he's old, and he enjoys telling the story.
Old Mister Richardson is the only person left in Hale who was around before the Change. Back then, his family and the Garricks were neighbours (or at least, as much as neighbours can be when theyre three miles apart). Mister Richardson doesn't really remember the Garricks personally, but he knows their story. He was just a baby when the Sickness came.
One summer day, Angus, the Garricks' youngest son, then about seven or eight, came running across the terbacker (or for you city folks, tobacco) field and pounded on Mister Richardson's door. Of course, Old Mister Richardson was just a baby, so it was his father, Older Mister Richardson, who answered the boy's cries. His family had struck sick, he said, and would they please go get a doctor while he ran home to care for them. So Angus ran home, and Older Mister Richardson rode off to the nearest town (woo, thats a doozy of a ride) to fetch the doctor.
Days later, the doctor stopped by the Richardson's place on his way back home. In whispers (as to not disturb the Baby [Old Mister Richardson]), he told the Richardsons about a flu plague that had suddenly struck not one, not two, but all fourteen of the Garricks. (Mister and Miz Garrick had twelve children) The only one to survive the illness was little Ruthie, about fourteen years old. And she was so affected by the fever brought on by the illness (or perhaps it was losing her entire family) that she went entirely mad and was sent to live out the rest of her days in the Bentonville Insane Asylum, 300 miles away.
So with the Garricks dead and gone, and little Ruthie locked up, there was nobody to take care of the Garrick Place. Well people were starting to like the idea of moving out to the country, these city folks were. So someone had the bright idea of turning the unused farmland into new homes. The Richardsons protested the entire event, as they watched the farmland being plowed and homes erected where the cows used to pasture and the corn used to grow six-foot-tall stalks. They won one battle though, and the Garrick Farmhouse stayed standing where it was. They left it on a small crop of land, enough for maybe a garden and a small pasture if ever someone wanted to move in.
The homes erected on the property were large three story mansions designed to catch the city-dweller's eye. The idea was the one could move from the city into the country and still feel at home.
The homes were occupied for a number of years, the Richardson's land was eventually also bought, and the little town of Hale was constructed. Years, decades later, the people stopped coming to Hale. The rich city folk became bored with the country life, as they didnt know how to plow or raise cattle, and they all moved back to the city. The county folk were glad to see them go. But then there were those homes- those large expensive mansions, just sitting there on the Old Garrick Place (as it became known). They all branched off of a skinny little drive- the locals placed a sign that said 'Garrick Drive' in a last and desperate attempt at remembering the once loved and cared for land, as the houses began to fall apart.
Old Mister Richardson watched the years go by. It saddened him to see such a waste of land, so when people began to move in again, he brightened. So what if they were weird? At least the Old Garrick Place was no longer going to waste.
Fourteen houses branch off of Garrick Drive. The last, number 14 Garrick Drive, is the Old Garrick Farmhouse.