|Henry F. Potter|
Duck, North Carolina
"What made you leave Bedford Falls and why did you choose to move to Duck," we asked Potter.
"I'm getting old," said Potter," and I need more room to breathe. And there was nothing left for me to do in Bedford Falls. Even the people in Pottersville are beginning to think everyday's Christmas! Bah, humbug! I had been hearing about the Outer Banks for years and decided there's still money to be made here," he said.
"But, why Duck", we asked.
"There's money here, big money," replied Potter. "And, not many people live here year round. Look at all these luxurious homes and they're all vacant and ripe for picking. And, Duck will never be anything but a curve in the road anyway, and a draw for rich people from the north. No one knows anyone here and no one cares about anything but getting that scrungie town hall built. Ask some one up the beach who runs this town and they'll scratch their heads. Duck is my kind of town", said Potter. "Let the people have their little gift shops, the real money to be made here is in rentals. Duck needs more rentals, and the bigger the better."
It was clear Potter had done his homework on the Outer Banks before pulling up roots and moving here.
A master of economics and the king of backroom shenanigans, we asked Potter what he thought about the economic and political future of the rest of Dare County. "Will the economy get better and will the shoddy political wrangling continue for another year," we asked Potter.
Potter settled back into his chair, tucked his lap scarf neatly across his knees and began to talk. "I know everything I need to know about every single town on the Outer Banks," he said. "And, your county government! It smells worse than ole man Clarence Odbody's hog pen."
"But, first let's talk about Southern Shores," quipped Potter, with a smirky grin creeping across his face. Potter took a long, slow draw from his cigar and said, " Southern Shores is.....
(to be continued)