The last crime wave to hit Virgin was back in the mid 1990s, when the former mayor, Joy Henderlider, was karate-chopped by her neighbor after serving him court papers to clean up the trash in his front yard."She is the one who invited the Sierra Club and the rest of them into the town in the first place," says Lee. We move into the town hall and sit across from each other – he at the town council table and me in a church pew.

Lee’s response to any outside interference in Virgin has been absolute. Resolution #99-05-20D states: "Since the Grand Canyon Trust, the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance, and the Utah Wilderness Coalition are in total opposition with our values, culture, traditions and economic way of life, we declare them to be persona non grata in our community."

But what would he do if they showed up in town?"Have them arrested." So what’s happening in Virgin, Utah? "We are in a war down here," the mayor says with a soft voice and shy smile that barely sneaks out the corners of his mouth, days before real war hit our country. His name is stitched on his shirt. Since the job of mayor only pays $25 a week in a gas stipend, he works as the accounts payable at a wholesale plumbing and appliance business in nearby Hurricane (pronounced locally as Her-e-cun)."The United Nations is using all these environmental groups and federal agencies to gain a foothold in our country. They have control of the fuel and finances around the world and are now after the world’s food supply. And now they want our guns." I make a few notes."Look, he says, "Hitler took away the guns from the German people and then look what happened. Tens of millions of people died. Then there’s the Columbine thing and the Million Mom March. Clinton made deals with the Chinese."

At some point Sean Amodt, Lee’s son-in-law walks into the room with two women. Amodt is a skinny redhead who works full time at a factory in St. George painting light bulbs for marquees on the Vegas strip. The older one, Shauna Johnson, wears a cap that says "USA." At one point the younger one breaks into a sweet nervous smile and blurts out, "The local school system brainwashes us to believe in the religion of Mother Earth."They are always polite. Amodt turns to me on several occasions and quietly points out that, "If you only would take the time to understand the facts you will understand what is really happening in America." Never a raised voice or a curse word. In fact, I’m the only one who ever raises his voice during any conversation.

We retire to Amodt’s house for a meal of sloppy Joes. Several kids crawl on the floor. At one point, I ask why they wouldn’t want a worldwide ban on AK-47’s and Uzi machine guns. Lee straightens up and takes a long hard look at me. "What kind of magazine did you say this was?"

Virgin’s nearest neighbor, La Verkin,  United Nations-Free Zone. Unlike Virgin’s quiet working man feel, La Verkin is all strip malls, gas-marts and cul-de-sac homes that look like neighborhoods anywhere else where Wal-Mart is the main shopping center.

The law, which Virgin will also pass in the coming month, states that: "…no flags or other symbols representing the United Nations shall be displayed or flown from the city’s official flag mast." Also: "…no UN military troops or personnel may be quartered on city property."

Gail McKell, one of the city council members to vote against the ordinance, answers his door dressed in white shorts, a T-shirt. He is barefoot. He quickly ushers me into the living room, which has two white couches, a white carpet and white paint. The only color in the room is from sketches of the temple in Salt Lake, and a few plaques with drawings of Jesus.McKell, a Washington county game warden for the past 28 years, says his pet peeve is hunters who kill deer and just leave it there to rot. "Don’t get me started on that," he says, clapping his hands together. "There was thunder and lightening outside and they said it was a sign from God that it was a good law. It’s a disgrace."How did they react when he didn’t vote for it?"A man stood up in the back row and said there will be no tomorrow if you don’t sign it."

"Why is everyone seeing enemies that aren’t there?" I ask.He crosses his arms and says nothing for 30 seconds. Then he says in his soft but deep baritone voice, "There is a prophesy in our religion that the U.S. Constitution will one day hang by a thread and that it will be saved by a few brave men." Again he pauses, only this time he seems troubled, almost embarrassed. "Maybe they just have too much time on their hands."

They say Rome fell to pieces when it had no more enemies. Ate itself alive in a lather of gluttony and greed. In the past decade, before the terrorist acts at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, we’ve had plenty of internal squabbles festering with the fat of social atrophy. Waco, Ruby Ridge, the Unabomber's manifesto, Oklahoma City, a questionable presidential election and the FBI chasing anyone with an Asian name. Perhaps Virgin is acting out a primal need for an enemy. Not to conquer so much as to spar with, keep it lean.

The voice on the phone was crisp and exact. 11 o’clock." A few minutes before that time, I take 700 West until the dirt hits the banks of the Virgin River. Public land as far as the eye can see. The 70-year-old former mayor of Virgin, Joy Henderlider, opens the door and out comes the steady beat of American Indian chant music. She points out the garden on the side of the house where she was karate chopped several years ago. The incident paved the way for a new state law." The man got a misdemeanor and was released. But I went all the way to Salt Lake to introduce a new law that makes striking an elected official a felony." I tell her for a small town there are a lot of people involved in civic duty. She laughs but then stops herself short when I mention the gun law."Jay Lee. That man sees boogie men in the dark."

A former medical assistant and school teacher, Henderlider moves through the house like a lioness on the hunt digging up letters and documents she’s saved during Lee’s reign as mayor. One is to the local five county government board telling it and the governor of Utah to "back off" because he "could see the land control scheme behind the façade of doing away with billboard signs along highway 9."Fired up, Henderlider 's eyes are bulging and her black pupils are like mirrors. She tells me of the earthquake in 1992 when several people in town told her they had seen government helicopters shooting radar beams off the canyon walls. "They were sure the government started the earthquake to get rid of us."

She takes me on the tour of her home. In the basement is a year’s supply of food, a grim reminder that the Mormon’s have been waiting for 150 years, and still wait, for the destruction of the world by fire. She shows me pictures of her niece, a model in L.A. "She’s a Buddhist." Henderlider plans to run for mayor in the upcoming election. It’s a tough race since the Lee family extends to 50 people. I ask if she would repeal the gun law. "You bet your little bottom britches, young man."I ask if she owns a gun. "Yes, but that’s my right as an American. Nothing to do with Virgin." As I stand to leave she lightly touches me on the arm. "Do you know what all this is really about?" Finally I thought, clarity in the midst of madness."Property," she says.

The GCT, Grand Canyon Trust, wants to make the public land currently managed by BLM TK from the Hurricane Bench to the Zion Park, an area of TK square miles, off limits to developers. No Burger Kings, no Wal-Marts. All the towns in the valley have agreed to what is called the Zion corridor, except Virgin.

Jay Lee’s riverfront property has recently been zoned for commercial use. He also owns 400 acres on the mesa. His cousin Bud Lee is one of the largest private land owners from Zion to La Verkin, with large stretches of river property and 1,230 acres inside the Congressionally established boundaries of Zion National Park.

Meanwhile, the Woundfin Minnow, about the size of your pinkie, swimming in the Virgin River, is on the verge of being declared endangered. "I don’t really know if saving the Woundfin Minnow is possible or even realistic, but it tells us something is wrong on the Virgin," says Jim McMahon, the Southwest Utah Director of GCT in St. George. He wears the standard uniform of the environmental worker: tan shorts, sandals, and a short-sleeved shirt. He has a large smile and a sturdy handshake. He makes it clear that he has no interest in anyone’s private land. "I don’t care if Jay Lee builds a skyscraper on his 400 acres. What I will fight for is the public land." I tell him what a man, who spent the better part of a morning attempting to convert me to Mormonism, said to me. "God made dinosaurs so we would have oil for our cars." I asked if he was serious and he answered, "Isn’t it glorious?" "Mormon history," McMahon says, "is all about taming the water, taming the land, taming the West. They have built a wealthy empire in the desert and the momentum to keep taming. My job is to slow it down." Before I leave, he laughs and says, "Oh, and for the record, I don’t even know the UN’S phone number."

A local gives me directions to the Virgin bar, two miles north of town, on a road off the highway, not far from the river. "Beers cost $1.50," says the man, flashing me a grin.

The three women seated at the bar introduce themselves as Marty, Tommy, and George. Marty, toothless and happy, is talking to the others about how to win the lottery. Someone is on the line in Arizona waiting to buy them a ticket. "Use your daughter’s birthday you idiot," yells one. "I use my social security number, can’t forget that," says another, laughing and choking at the same time on a cloud of Camel smoke."I’ve got six cars in my yard. The one with gas is the one I drive," says Marty. "When one breaks down I take the battery and out it in the next one."I ask if they like living in Virgin. "Well, where else am I going to go?" says oneThey invite me to a party at Eagles, the private drinking club in Hurricane, the only other bar in the area. They tell me not to worry about the skinheads in Hurricane. "They’re just kids." I tell them I have to meet someone.

The winding dirt road leads to the top of the black volcanic mesa. It splits the home of Eagle Spirit Ranch, Fred and Shauna Johnson’s horse ranch. The other road leads to Jay Lee’s 400 acres. Fred, a Vietnam veteran and geologist, is not home, but Shauna takes me on a tour of the new house under construction.Framed, but still a few months from completion, is an art studio and a master bedroom with a walk-in bathroom the size of a New York studio. The living room has a vaulted ceiling and the garden will be in a wind-protected courtyard. The breathtaking view out the living room window captures a postcard vista of both Zion and the Virgin River.

I review the notes in my pocket with Shauna. In the last town hall meeting she said that the Grand Canyon Trust and the National Park Service were working with the UN to gain control of the Virgin River. Shauna spends the next hour explaining her theory, which was a repeat of Mayor Lee’s. Like some mad DJ mix of Gordon Liddy and Oliver North on solos with the NRA singing the chorus.

Changing course, I ask about the Woundfin Minnow. She suddenly shifts positions, startling me. "No animal is more important than humans," she says. "God gave man this land to use how he sees fit." I ask when she last spent time in the wild. Alone. "I don’t remember."

Reality check; the Woundfin Minnow will most likely die and no one will ever know, except the ecologists who spend their lives knowing these things. But the reason the minnow is such an affront to Jay Lee, Shauna Johnson and others underlies the arrogance which allows man to shoot a cougar for sport, put lead-filled carcasses out for California condors to choke on, or shoot wolves on sight. It is not because they may have to stop overusing the river. The reason it frightens them to the point of seeing UN soldiers on the surrounding cliffs is because if the minnow is important and worth saving, then it allows for the possibility that the earth was not created solely for human use.

Before leaving, I visit the Hurricane Pah Temple Hot Springs. In the office is a Native American with round black eyes folding sheets. His braided hair hangs down his back like rope. He tells me his name is Soaring Hawk and that his people, the Iroquois, from Canada, believe the land is sacred. That living in balance with the animals is sacred. He tells me how the white man cut his grandfather’s hair and shipped him to camp a thousand miles away from his homeland. I tell him about the locals’ fear of losing their land. He shrugs his shoulders and folds another sheet, as if he’s heard this all before. "I understand the fear they have. We believe our only power in this life comes from our connection to the land. They have been here for six generations and see what has happened. Maybe it’s a form of payback."

I had one more question for Soaring Hawk. What was he doing here? "Waiting," he says. I ask for what?
"For you to leave," he replies.