The Great Hurwitz Pie Incident

by Al Decker

'Twas round about midnight when I received my marching orders from the Biotic Baking Brigade (BBB), sent from the General HQ and secret ovens located deep in the heart of Headwaters forest. Charles Hurwitz, CEO of Maxxam corporation, the parent company of Pacific Lumber, was having a hush-hush, high-level, emergency, damage-control meeting the next day. My assignment was to penetrate the security surrounding the event, locate Hurwitz... and pie him.

I made every effort to get out of it, telling myself I was too busy, that I'd never get near him or that the meeting had been relocated as rumor bespoke. Nonetheless, I knew I had to do it... how often does Humboldt County's Public Enemy #1 actually come to the place he's destroying? According to the book The Last Stand, June '91 was the last time he graced our presence.

Hurwitz's crimes are legendary, and have been well-detailed in this publication; they provide many compelling reasons for pieing Hurwitz. It's a scandal that after a few decades of dodging criminal prosecution and federal investigations of his business practices (he's currently facing more lawsuits) he can still organize Humboldt County's top business, government, media and law enforcement officials in a secret meeting with no public access or input.

So, on August 21, I headed up to Scotia, Pacific Lumber's (PL) company town, with the idea of first engaging Mr. Hurwitz in a debate over various and sundry subjects such as business ethics, clearcutting, herbicide spraying, etc. As I drove past Stafford, where eight houses were destroyed by a mudslide from a PL clearcut during last winter's rains, I prayed to the spirits for strength and guidance, for the ability to find the man most responsible for this and other devastations.

When I strolled up to the front doors of the Scotia Inn, I reflected momentarily on my appearance. Though I wasn't looking my Sunday best and would stand out from the suits, tourists and loggers who patronize the Inn, there had been no time to go home and change. It was too late to turn back now.

As everyone involved in direct action knows, the life force works in mysterious and wondrous ways, helping people pull off things that defy rational logic. When two security men blocked my entrance to the Inn, I realized the only thing to do was just relax and go for it. I flashed back to the days of trying to get into bars when I was 15. The bouncers had no good reason to let in a tall, skinny kid with braces and pimples, but when I looked them straight in the eyes, smiled outrageously and said the right things, it sometimes worked. After some negotiation, I was escorted in and miraculously made my way to the dining room, where I was eyed nervously by the patrons. I took a seat and spent the next hour drinking coffee on an empty stomach and pondering my predicament. What with PL security chief Carl Anderson watching me from the door, one of his men cleverly concealed behind a pillar three tables away and another guard eyeing me from his truck outside the window, things did not look particularly auspicious.

I proceeded outside and to my surprise a small EF! contingent stood out front with banners and guitars. Shortly thereafter, a group of well-heeled individuals carrying green notebooks began exiting the Inn. Nobody would talk about the meeting or the contents of the green notebooks, which we assume is the game plan (at this point, the endgame) for spin control in the upcoming season of protests.

Then, lo and behold, none other that the Dark Prince himself appeared in the doorway, surrounded by an entourage of cronies, handlers, cops and security. I politely asked Messier Hurwitz if I could speak with him, but he dismissed me abruptly, explaining he had a plane to catch.

Fearing that I would get tackled or shot if I reached too quickly into my backpack for the pie, I asked Hurwitz for an interview on tape, as I slowly reached for the nefarious weapon, and maneuvered between a gap in the entourage. I had a brief moment to repeat the BBB's battle cry, "It's a good day to pie!," and then I was in motion, a few fast steps and rapid predator-prey imaging bringing me right up behind him. The balding top of his head reminded me of a PL clearcut. In the last second I realized he was wearing glasses, and so instead of a wrap-around pie in the face which I feared might break them, I flopped that pie upon his head: contact... splat... Joy!

Regrettably, I never got to see ol' Chuck's face, for immediately upon contact, large angry men with outstretched hands were right behind me. All I could do was laugh heartily and let them tackle me. I was arrested by none other than Humboldt County Sheriff Dennis Lewis and spent eight pleasant days at the lovely Humboldt County Inn.

The media, in its quest for fickleness, focused a lot of attention on the flavor of the pie. Sheriff Lewis proclaimed it apple; BBB spokesperson Blackberry confirmed that opinion. Hurwitz, in his own inimical way, joked, "Too bad it's peach. I like blackberry." What does one say about a man who can't recognize an All-American apple pie, even when he and his stained suit are on the receiving end of one?

Even Newton himself, that great advocate of taking the world apart as if it were a spiritless machine, needed an apple upside the head to understand the force of gravity. May the apple mush upon Hurwitz's head serve as a reminder to some and a discovery to others that Maxxam is subject to gravity as well.

This action is dedicated to the Bison Action Group, to a certain activist up in BC who pied the President of MacMillan-Bloedel and to Robert Hoyt for his inspiring song about apple pie.