While touring the grounds of the Seattle Temple we stopped to visit with the security man who told us a story.

The Church bought the 28-acre site hoping to build a temple, but the city of Bellevue was reluctant to issue the permits that would be necessary.  No help was forthcoming, and the temple's construction was in doubt.  Meanwhile the Church resurveyed the property—more than once.  It was found that the city's fire station was six inches over the line on the Church's property.

The Church offered the city two options:  They could either move the fire station, or grant the building permits, in which case the Church would deed the six inches to the city.  The permits were issued, and the temple was built.

In another instance Aaron asked a surveyor to tell his best surveying story.  Aaron was told about a bank which sued the owner of the neighboring building because the building's wall was three-quarters of an inch over the property line.  To solve the problem, the building's owners had one inch of the entire wall sanded off—a huge and expensive project.

Some time later the bank built an addition onto its own building.  They built right up against the other building.  The owners of the sanded-off building sued the bank, using the same arguments and precedent that the bank had set in its own lawsuit.  They won.  It cost the bank dearly for being one-quarter inch over the property line.

It pays to not be contentious, and to work at getting along with one's neighbors.

My own neighbors sued me.

Mrs. Schreeck's grandfather sold the 60 acres below my house to my father the year I was born.  The 60 acres were sold as it was then fenced.  The south fence of Dad's property was off line.  Both parties knew it.  It was assumed that the fence was off line on the east end, in favor of the original owner, as much as it was off line at the west end, in favor of my father.  Everyone was in agreement with the discrepancy.

Thirty years later I was the owner of one of the properties, and Mrs. Schreeck owned the other.  She was the neighborhood's hard-to-get-along-with person.  I did better than the neighbors because I worked at the relationship.  But one day I was called down to her place, and was accused of theft.  She had discovered that the fence line put me in possession of four extra acres that were really hers.  She'd paid taxes on those acres for many years.  She wanted restitution, and for things to be made right, pronto.

I mulled the problem over, and told her that the four acres were mine by right of adverse possession, but that she could have the acres if she moved the fence.

She went to her lawyer and threatened to sue.  The attorney asked me to meet with them in his office.  I repeated my offer.  She could have the acres, but it would be her responsibility to move the fence, not mine.

The lawyer looked at her and said, “I think he's offering you a good deal.  I'd advise you to take it.”

She took it, but was not happy.  For two years thereafter she would not acknowledge my existence.  When we passed on the road, I'd give her a nice wave.  She looked straight ahead, and couldn't see me.

After several years I finally broke her down.  I got a return wave that looked like she was throwing something.  Our relationship gradually improved until finally she came to depend upon me as the person she would call whenever she had a problem.  I fixed her fences, retrieved her bull that had gotten out, fed her cows for several winters when she got too old to do it, and was called to come find her husband when he wandered off in the night in dementia.  I consider the winning of Mrs. Schreeck's trust to be one of life's greatest accomplishments.

Virgil Spence and I shared a property line up on the forested reservoir ridge.  He suggested that we build a fence between us, and follow the old line of power poles that used to go from the base of the mountain up to the reservoir.

I built my half of the fence according to that plan, but then he presented me with an agreement to be signed saying that we both acknowledged that the fence was off-line.  That would have been fine, but the agreement had other stipulations that I couldn't agree to.  One was that I couldn't sell my land without his permission.  He threatened to sue if I didn't sign.

I moved the fence and put my half on line.  He never did get his portion built.

And then there was Gene Markle.  He inherited his parents' property.  To reach it, the Markles had to cross a half-mile of my property.  Gene wanted to subdivide his property.  To do so he would have to comply with county zoning requirements.  One of those requirements was that he have a 60-foot legally-recorded right-of-way across my land.  He had his attorney draw up a document for Marjorie and I to sign which would grant him that right-of-way.

I wasn't happy about the idea of a subdivision, nor about giving him such a wide right-of-way.  I refused to sign.  He threatened to sue.

I had no problem with the idea of him having a right-of-way, since Markles had used the road from time immemorial, but 60 feet was out of the question.  I measured the width of the existing road.  The widest spot was 18 feet.  I offered him an 18-foot right-of-way.

He sued.  The suit went to court.  In his decision, the judge stated that the issue should never have gone to court, that he was awarding Mr. Markle a 12-foot right-of-way, and that he was responsible for the court costs since he'd lost the case.

Gene was not an honest person.  When he later sold the property he assured the new owner that there was a 60-foot right-of-way across my land.  He even gave the new owner the document stating that was so.

In a later discussion between that new owner and my son, Adam, the new owner presented him with proof that he had a 60-foot right-of-way by showing him the document Gene Markle had given him.  Adam astutely pointed out that the document wasn't signed.  Our names were there, but no signatures.  The new owner had been lied to

The moral of these stories is that kindness always pays, and that contention always brings hard feelings.  The hard feelings often backfire on the contentious person.