Small towns that dominated the American landscape in the 1920s are gone. Urban sprawl has replaced the link to farm and family and a sense of belonging. Apartment dwellings, transit systems, and electronic devices have become the norm instead of visits to Grandma’s house, the horse and buggy, and neighborly chats across the fence. Gossip, infighting, and inbreeding that defined America’s small towns have been supplanted by snippets of national news in the name of progress.
As expected, the stories that defined small towns have been crushed under the weight of expansionism. But there is one story from the 1920’s that has refused to succumb to big-city life. It is a story of mystery, romance, and insanity. The setting is Rooster Creek, Utah, and the star is an unlikely, small man named Wesley Birch, who scared even the bravest of men in town. It wasn’t his fanatic religious zeal that was frightening; it was his irrational behavior.
No matter how the story of Wesley is told, no listener exits the room, for none wants to miss the twists and turns of the tale. The story of Wesley always begins the same way: in a hotel lobby.