Key Weird 01; Key Weird Page 6
The young Cuban mechanic looked up from his clipboard, “Do you want me to go on?”
Jeremy was no fool. He had this guy pegged as one of those con artists you heard about that ripped off tourists.
“No way, Chief! I just drove this car straight through from California without a bit of problems!” Jeremy didn’t figure the wad of road-trash wire counted.
The young man seemed undaunted. “Whatever you say sir. If you want us to do the work on your car, here’s a preliminary estimate.”
He tore off a copy from his clipboard, handed it to Jeremy, and drove off in a wrecker with palm trees painted on the side.
Jeremy looked at the estimate for $5,312.45, wadded it up and threw it on the front seat of the Pinto, which seemed to be listing to one side from a flat tire. He gave the car a good kick, and his boot toe stuck in a rusted-out hole in the door. While letting loose with a barrage of obscenities and struggling to get his boot unstuck, he felt something move in his insides. Jeremy stopped yelling, slowly pulled his boot out, and carefully waddled back up the two flights of stairs hoping he wouldn’t get a butt-cheek cramp before he got to the room.
∨ Key Weird ∧
17
The End of the Road for Taco Bob
“Give me coconut trees and a warm ocean breeze!”
I drove on down A1A across all those islands and bridges, with that beautiful water going out in each direction as far as you could see, till I ran out of road. With a head full of information from the little guidebook, a light wallet, and an optimistic outlook, I arrived at the most famous island in the Florida Keys.
Key West ain’t a real big place as far as islands go, only about a mile or so by four miles, but it’s got a unique history and natural charm unlike any other place in the US.
On a map, the Keys is that line of islands coming off the bottom of the state that looks like Florida is taking a leak on Cuba. The islands are actually part of a long coral reef starting around Miami and going down past Key West. The part of the reef sticking above the water is the Keys, and the part just a few feet under the water around the Keys is what was making Key West one of the biggest and richest cities in the state at one time.
Way before the railroad or highway ever made it to the last big island, Key West was a happening place. Back in the early 1800’s, big ships from all over the world trying to get through the Florida Straits would sometimes wreck out on the reef, and their cargo usually got hauled off real quick by the folks from Key West. This made for about every conceivable kind of people and merchandise of the period ending up on the little tropical island.
Lighthouses eventually put the wreckers out of business, and cigar makers from Cuba were the big news in town for years. The Navy came in and built a fort, then a big base that kept folks busy for a while. There was always fisherman and smugglers, and over the years there came to be a generous sampling of humanity living in everything from mansions to shacks.
These days the island is pretty well covered with all kinds of hotels and motels, restaurants, bars, museums, and every kind of shop you can think of for selling stuff to tourists. The big spot for the tourists is Duval Street in the section called Old Town, on the west end of the island. Duval ain’t but about a mile long, but it’s got the Atlantic Ocean on one end, and the Gulf of Mexico on the other.
♦
While looking for a parking place, I got my first glimpse of some of the historic architecture going on in Key West that has survived the assorted hurricanes, tornadoes, and fires over the years. Some of the houses I saw looked like they got themselves fixed up these days even better than when they were new.
I found a place to park my truck on Duval next to a restaurant with seating outside, and chickens running around on the ground. It reminded me of back home. I eased over toward an empty table with a view of the street out front.
“Just hit town, and right off snags one of the primo parking places on the whole island.”
It was a waitress, a big woman with a big smile, wiping off a table next to the one I was heading for. I give her a nod and a smile back.
“As a matter of fact. How’d you – ”
“The way you’re looking around at everything for one, the guidebook in your hand for two, and I’m pretty sure I’d remember that truck of yours.” She set a glass of ice water and a menu in front of me and continued.
“Too late for breakfast, but I can get you a sandwich. I’d recommend the grouper, or else the chicken. It’s guaranteed fresh.” That came with a big wink, and an on-cue confirmation from a couple of yard birds squawking and chasing along the fence.
“I’ll take a chance on the grouper.”
“Comes with a salad. I’m guessing ranch dressing. Be right back.”
I had the little guidebook still in my hand. “How’d you know what this was?”
She turned her head on the way to the kitchen. “Hard not to recognize. I wrote it.”
♦
With my salad came an explanation. “I write about the Keys for a Miami paper once in a while. A few years back, I put some of my articles together for that little book. It’s been out of print for a while, but I still see copies of it now and then.”
I was impressed, and said so. She shrugged.
“I’ve done a lot of things since I landed on this rock thirty years ago. Besides waiting tables and writing, I’ve worked as a secretary, tended bar, and driven a cab. It’s been a long time, and I may have put on a pound or two since then, but I even danced at the local strip club for a while.” She grinned at my look, then started off towards another table shaking her head. “The stories I could tell you about that place!”
♦
When my sandwich came, I was reading about Key West seceding from the union. Not at the start of the Civil War either, this happened back around 1982. I took advantage of the opportunity to inquire.
“That was a mess! The Feds blocked off the road into the Keys, said they were looking for drugs. Backed traffic up for miles. Lot of people around here said the government was screwing up tourism, so their solution to the problem was to declare war on the U.S., then immediately surrender and ask for financial aid. They finally got it worked out, and the flag of the Conch Republic is still a popular item in the gift shops around town.”
The lunch crowd started getting serious, so I didn’t get a chance for much more chat. I enjoyed my sandwich and read about Ernest Hemingway.
Seems Key West is fertile ground for those interested in learning about, or acting like, Hemingway. There’s a nice house that used to belong to Old Papa hisself that you can visit, and a couple of the bars where he’s supposed to have hung out are still here and do a lively business. There’s even a Hemingway Look-Alike Contest every year that has a bigger draw of contestants than you might think.
I finished my lunch and sat back to let the world go by for a few minutes. In amongst the flow of wandering tourists passing by for my viewing pleasure was the occasional barefoot local on some purposeful mission. Mostly the chickens went about their business, but I did see a scrappy little rooster give chase to a man in shorts and cowboy boots once. After settling the bill and thanking the waitress, I headed out for a look around.
Though Hemingway died long before he could enjoy his popularity in Key West, Jimmy Buffett don’t seem to be one to miss out. There’s even a place called Margaritaville on Duval Street, so I just had to stick my head in the door. I was a little disappointed not to see anyone obviously wasting away in there, but it was still early, and I figured I’d check back again later on.
I eased on through the busy streets of Old Town just taking it all in. The tropical plants blooming, locals in shorts and T-shirts riding old bicycles, music and laughter coming out of the bars, food smells from the restaurants, the warm ocean breeze, and a big bright blue sky up above it all made for a feeling I decided I could get used to.
∨ Key Weird ∧
18
Jeremy Homes In
&nb
sp; Jeremy homed in on the lone topless bar in town like a hormonally guided lust missile. Wearing a new Hawaiian shirt covered with bare-breasted hula-girls, shorts, and cowboy boots, he marched through town straight to the bar. His trajectory wavering only once when a chicken took offense to the sound his boots made hurrying along the sidewalk.
Once inside the dimly lit bar, Jeremy breathed deep the overwhelming aroma of mid-level tackiness that greeted him like an old friend. Like many such establishments, the owners had obviously decided long ago it was easier to keep the lights low than clean the place. Jeremy got comfortable on a sticky barstool, and drank in the gaudy ambience and watered-down liquor.
After he’d attained a suitable glow, Carol’s man-on-the-scene laid in a strategy. He decided he could learn more about treasure in Key West from talking to the locals than wasting his time hanging around some dusty old museum. This might not have been a bad plan actually, except the only locals at the Pink Snapper Lounge that early were the bartender and bouncer, who both seemed to have a case of the black ass and didn’t want to chat with the clientele.
Jeremy finally settled for a lengthy, rambling conversation concerning gas mileage with a couple of sunburned fisherman from Ohio, but the part of his brain that controlled speech shut down when the evening’s first dancer hit the stage.
∨ Key Weird ∧
19
Working the Tourists in Paradise – Taco Bob Makes a Friend
“Tired of the snow, but I know which way to go. There’s a place called the Florida Keys.”
I took a walk down Charterboat Row and asked around to see if anybody was hiring, but nobody knew of anything right off. There wasn’t much else to do except keep walking, so I did.
I wandered on over towards one of the beaches and there was a fella with long hair leaning on a handrail, throwing little bits of bread to the seagulls. Instead of flying around screeching and making a fuss like usual, the birds were all standing there patiently waiting for the crumbs.
“Don’t think I ever seen them ’gulls come up so close like that before.”
I settled in leaning on the railing next to the man myself, and checked out the bird show going on. The fella sighed and gave me a look with his big sunglasses. He was younger than me, maybe mid 30’s, medium build, fine features and a goatee beard.
“The birds, they trust me. I seem to have a way with animals, it is part of the curse.”
Fella had a bit of an accent. He took off his sunglasses about the same time I noticed a couple of healthy-looking young women in swimsuits on the beach were looking rather intently our way. There ain’t many men I seen that I’d call pretty, but this guy sure was, almost what you’d call effeminate.
“Well, it’s good you got that thing with the animals going for you, the curse stuff don’t sound all that good though.” I gave those good-looking gals a smile and a little wink. There wasn’t any response though, they weren’t looking at me. The fella gave a good toss with some bread crumbs and let out a big sigh. He looked me square in the eye.
“You don’t know the half of it señor. You don’t know what it’s like knowing that you’re destined to spend the last half of your life searching for something that most people think is just a fantasy, and a silly fantasy at that.” I gave that some thought while he was working on another of his big sighs.
“I might understand your situation there friend. I’m myself hoping to be spending a goodly portion of my remaining time alive in the here and now chasing after the Ultimate Fishing Experience.” I was thinking about going into how I was also looking to eventually do some serious Lucid Dreaming, when he stuck his hand out for a shake.
“Juan Ponce, at your service, señor.”
“Taco Bob’s the name. Nice to meet you Mr. Ponce.” We were into the handshake thing, and I was about to ask about his familiar-sounding name.
“Please call me Juan, Señor Bob. Some here call me Ponce de Gato because of my profession, and my ancestry.” He leaned down a little while he was talking, and there was a big orange cat appeared just in time for a quick brush with his fingertips. Cat was purring to beat the band. When I looked back again from the two women on the beach arguing, the cat was gone.
“Well then, Juan, I’d be proud if you just called me Taco. Hey, you ain’t no relation to – ”
“Yes, Señor Taco, I’m Juan Ponce de Leon the thirteenth, direct descendent of the famous discoverer of Florida.” This news was followed closely by his biggest sigh yet.
“You don’t say? That’s purty cool Juan! I guess that has something to do with the curse then.”
And it turns out it did. The man launched into telling me about how all those generations of Juan Ponces were always getting all eaten up with looking for the Fountain of Youth about the time they hit middle age.
“I can feel it coming over me now, Señor Taco. Everyday when I look into the mirror and see a new gray hair, or a little line on my face, I know my destiny is drawing closer.” Juan was really taking this stuff hard. We both looked out over that timeless expanse of never changing, always changing sea before us, and each gave a good sigh. I seen the two young women were taking a break from giving Juan the eye, and appeared to be drawing straws.
“I reckon I know a little about where you’re coming from there Juan. Just about everybody got some of that going on when they reach a certain age, you know.”
“Ah, but Señor Taco, for me it is in the blood! It comes over us Ponces and we become obsessed! We have carried the curse since the first Ponce came to the New World!”
I decided to try and change the subject, since this curse stuff was making the man sigh so much I was worried he might not be getting enough air.
I noticed the young women on the beach had stopped flipping a coin, and were rassling around in the sand. All the hair pulling and screaming they were doing had scared off the birds, but was drawing a good crowd of gawkers. Juan gave the scene a bored look and there was another commotion started up behind us in the bushes.
A lizard came out of the bushes running up a palm trunk with three cats in hot pursuit. The cats hadn’t got far up the tree when Juan looked that way and all three froze. Those cats kind of hung their heads and started backing down real slow like they knew they were in trouble. I seen Juan was giving them a look and shaking his head.
“Juan, you said folks called you Ponce de Gato? Seems like I remember Gato means cat; are those your cats there?” The man came up with another sigh, but it didn’t seem to be quite so life threatening this time.
“Yes, these naughty kitties here are some of my charges.” The three cats had come down from the tree. They were walking low to the ground, trying hard to look inconspicuous.
“They are part of our act, Señor Taco. We perform most days at the Mallory Sunset Dock for the people there.” One of the cats slinked over towards Juan’s feet and flopped over on its back. Juan waited a bit, then gave the cat a brief brush on the belly with the toe of his shoe. Cat’s purring sounded like a little boat motor.
“Well, that’s cool. What kind of act you got going on there, Juan?” In my present financial predicament I was also wondering how good it paid, and if maybe I should be thinking about putting together a possum act or something.
“The cats do some little tricks for the people.” He snapped his fingers twice, and a cat I hadn’t seen yet came out of the bushes and jumped straight up in the air, flipped, and landed on its feet. Then stood on its back legs and bowed. The cat’s eyes were locked on Juan, who gave a little nod and the cat came over for a quick stroke on the back.
“Some of the others have little tricks, but mostly I juggle the cats.” Thus ended any thoughts of Taco Bob and his Trained Possums. Other than pretending to be asleep, possums didn’t do much in the way of tricks, and I wasn’t about to try juggling no possums.
The two young women had stopped wrestling around on the beach and the crowd had thinned out.
“I must go attend to some of my affairs, Seño
r Taco. Come by the Mallory Docks for sunset sometime if you want to see the little cats fly.”
I told him I was looking forward to it, and he headed out with at least a dozen cats and one smiling, sandy-bottomed beach wrestler falling in step beside him. The other gal brought up the rear. She had their beach stuff, a puffy eye, and a slight limp.
♦
There’s a place down at the southern end of the island with a big concrete monument called the Southernmost Point in the Continental US. Lots of people around there taking pictures of the marker and each other. Not too far away they were also taking pictures of one of the more unusual phenomena I seen in Key West.
There was a big fat guy there wearing gray clothes, and his skin and hair were colored the same shade of gray too. The man was set up under a big palm, playing a guitar and singing songs about coconut trees, the Florida Keys, and warm ocean breeze. For a minute there I thought it was Marty the Manatee himself, but then I realized it was a Marty impersonator. The only person more famous in that part of the world than Hemingway or Buffett was Marty the Manatee.
Marty got his start years earlier in Key West when he first dressed up like a manatee and was playing in the bars around town. The man worked hard and got to be a damn good musician. Then he wrote the song that put a smile on the face of people across the country.
“Tequila Breakfast” became the anthem for folks everywhere dissatisfied with their jobs, lives, and local weather conditions. That song got a lot of people dreaming of a carefree life in the tropics: a life of warm breezes, porch swings, and cold beer. People flocked to Key West in droves on their vacations to try to live a bit of the dream and hear Marty, even a Marty impersonator, sing the song that had brought them there. I really couldn’t blame ’em none either, because that song did have a bit to do with my own decision to check out Key West.