Luxury community of "conscience"

Neither did it help that Ameya had a way of getting ahead of itself, and was prone to make claims it couldn't substantiate; for example, it was news to Thomas Hoving to learn he'd accepted Ameya's invitation, and it was news to the Corporation for the Northern Rockies to read that they'd already endorsed Dokken's project. More to the point, locals objected to a large-scale development built in a fire-prone drainage; they objected to the fact these were second, third or even fourth vacation homes; they objected to what seemed like Dokken's selective environmentalism.

Park County wildlife ecologist Peter Feigley, who smelled green wash early on, questioned Ameya's principles on the blog Luxist. "How many homes do the prospective clients [already] own, and how large are they? Think of how much jet fuel and gasoline is wasted by the ultra wealthy and their families, bopping around between their various homes and resorts." Feigley would go on to describe Ameya as "a sham; targeting wealthy and naïve, if not arrogant, individuals."

For Dokken, this proved too much. When you cracked on the ultra-wealthy, you were cracking on his people, and he couldn't let such a remark go unchallenged. He fired off a letter to Park County planner Mike Inman in which, among other things, he berated his critics for "class envy," claiming remarks like Feigley's were directed "at people who have had more success in life than the letter writers and blog writers ... Perhaps they were smarter. Perhaps they worked harder. Perhaps they managed their money better ..."

There followed a brief communal gasp. Had the locals just been scolded for not respecting their betters? Had Dokken been drinking? Whatever the case, everyone knew what really happened: A millionaire finally used the C-word.

It's weird to be discussing "class" in the 21st century West. For openers, many of us moved here precisely to get away from such a concept, and besides, the West is known for its frontier egalitarianism and hard-nosed reality checks; a beautiful but uncompromising place you were required to meet on its own terms. In short, it was a place where old-world conceits like "class" and "privilege" would get you nowhere, quickly.

Still, the fact that the high-end real estate market fairly suppurates with descriptors like "elite," "privileged" and "exclusive," underscores an unpleasant truth; the people who can afford to buy up the most beautiful spots in the West have no intention of leaving their aristocratic values back home. This would also seem to underscore Dokken's contention that the development of areas like the Paradise Valley is inevitable, and if he doesn't do it, some less visionary person will.

Be that as it may, Dokken seems to want it all; he wants to make money doing something that seems, environmentally speaking, indefensible, but he wants to be well thought of, too. Following his now infamous letter to the Park County Planning Board, he quickly wrote the Enterprise that he "deeply regretted (his) choice of words." He went on to state that "a careful reading of the remainder of the letter ... revealed an outline of environmental initiatives ..." that would, essentially, authenticate his commitment to conservation.

Mostly, a careful reading of the letter brings forth a number of statements that seem in direct opposition to the term as most people understand it. Consider: "Ameya Preserve will be the first carbon neutral community in the U.S. ... addressing the potentially greatest issue of our day in the single most responsible manner." On any green scale, how is the clearing, excavation and paving of elk habitat to build baronial-size, seldom-used luxury homes to be viewed as "responsible," no matter how they are powered, how many organic farming projects, easements or carbon switcheroos are in the works?

In any event, Dokken was hard-pressed to put the genie back in the bottle. For weeks, the Enterprise printed responses like the following:

"It is difficult to forgive Mr. Dokken for insinuating ... that we are stupid enough not to recognize a land speculator when we see one."

"The stark reality is that the Ameya Preserve will turn ... Paradise Valley into upscale suburbia."

"One piece of advice for you, Mr. Dokken. Don't get stuck in a snow drift, coming out of your 'preserve' ... you may find that nobody wants to stop and help you."

And finally: "Years from now, we will look back on the loss of these public sections with regret. The developer and his clients are the only ones who will be happy."

The coming summer promises interesting times for Ameya. While many elite developments have been hit hard by the slumping market (the Yellowstone Club and Idaho's Promontory, among them), interest in Ameya appears to continue unabated; in spite of local opinion, the development goes apace. In the past month, Dokken sold 4,000 acres of Ameya land to neighbor and fellow millionaire candy-magnate Giorgio Perfetti. The deal helped eliminate most of Dokken's debt, and helped move his project along toward final approval. Interestingly enough, Perfetti wanted to buy the land because he didn't want to watch it get developed.

The real genius to Ameya Preserve is that it foresees that global warming might take the fun out of being rich. What if they wouldn't let you jet to two vacation homes per week? But at Ameya, some of the wealthiest people in the world would get to feel that, with no noticeable change in their habits or behavior, they could still be part of the solution. In this way, what Dokken offers most closely resembles the medieval sale of Indulgences; instead of examining or changing behavior, well-heeled sinners simply paid the fine, went right on sinning. After all, they could afford it.

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