SOUTHERNMOST SLEEPER

Last night I was the southernmost person in the United States. I wasn't trying to set a record, I just needed a place to park my camper for the night.









My friends have a conch house in Key West. It's between two fancy residences that both claim to be "The Southernmost House in the U.S.". Yadira suggested that I park my VW by the ocean so I could catch a breeze.













I did just that then prepared to tour the town on my bike. Despite it being about 300 degrees, the Southernmost City was awash in tourists. I soon learned why.





Someone had figured out how to turn the Empire State Building on its side and float it to Mallory Pier.




Thousands of people were trickling out anxious to buy mojitos and t-shirts.






Later, like a change of tide, they headed back with new shirts in hand.






I saw so many amazing things in Key West. Next to the art museum was a sculpture of naked ladies dancing. I sat and watch tourists take pictures of each other touching the dancers in private places.







I joined the fun by taking pictures of them taking pictures of each other.



Sunset at Mallory Square was the usual freak show. I guess I got my fill of tightrope walkers, escape artists, and cat tricks long ago. Its still a great place to take folks who have never been there before.

DREAMING OF HAVANA

On my night tour I heard a blues band coming south on Duval Street. I turned to see a one-man parade, a guy on a bike blasting sound and lights like gangbusters.

It was unlike anything I had ever seen.
Suddenly I was his biggest fan, following Psychedelic Bike Man wherever he pedalled. I snapped pictures repeatedly knowing I'd have to later say, "You had to be there".

Watching him wave at the tourists, bartenders, and massage parlor girls told me he did this often.

Finally I came to my senses and broke away for a dinner with friends.

Two hours later I crawled into my seaside camper and thought, "Golly, I'm probably the southernmost person in the United States tonight".

I tried to not let it go to my head.

It certainly didn't keep me from getting drowsy.

As my eyes were closing for good I stared at a faint glow on the southern horizon and wondered, "Could that be Havana?"

(I was too tired to photograph what could be Havana and it was probably too faint anyway. This is just after sunset, looking west from the ol'campgound)

HULA HOOPING 101

"Hula hooping changed my life", said Judith. A colorful plastic tube circled her hips as I interviewed her in a park last month. "I was getting fat behind a computer when an Oregon vacation introduced me to the sport. Now I'm hooping, teaching, and selling them everyday.”

North Grove's Teresa Rodriguez and I were hiking in Camden, Maine, trying to stay out of trouble when we spied the Hoop Lady. When she invited us to grab hoops for ourselves we were happy to join her. Soon six of us hooping by the sea.
Judith, in her early 60's, goes to public places regularly and sets out a collection of her homemade hoops. As her little Sony cranks up the music Judith begins cranking a hoop around her waistline.

After gyrating for a half-hour we agreed it was a great workout. Both Teresa and I were already hula hoop fans and have enjoyed making them on our own. Teresa even goes to hoop classes to learn to spin plastic around her neck, arms, and knees.
We're talking about big, substantial hoops here, not the crummy, colorful ones you find at K-Mart. Those $8 circles are fine for kids but impossible for adults to enjoy. If you weigh more than a hundred pounds you need a bigger hoop with some weight to it. This gives is the centrifugal force necessary to keep it going around your middle.
As we were leaving Teresa bought one of Judith's plastic creations ($20, decorative tape included). When Teresa and her husband return to Miami next week they'll bring the new hoop with them.

Would you like a hoop of your own? I will be having a Saturday workshop next month where I'll be teaching the fine art of hula hoop making. For $15 I'll help you make and decorate your own custom hoop. For more information contact me at bettermiami1@yahoo.com.

BONDED

Last week my brother-in-law, Mario Violich, and his family were vacationing in Hawaii. The four of them rented a small boat so they could snorkel Kauai's north shore.
While they were looking down into the emerald green water a young boy, from another boat swam up. He asked, "we ran out of bait. Do you have any?”

When Mario regretfully replied. "I'm sorry, we don't", the lad invited the Violich family to join him on the swim back to his parent's boat. When they did the boy's dad, who had been watching his son's every move, turned our to be James Bond.
The British actor, Pierce Brosnan (he played the action figure in the 1990's) could not have been nicer, Mario reported. He offered them soda, champagne, and a sit in the shade.

As my sister-in-law, Mary, was hoisting herself aboard, she thought, "Jeez, if I had known I was going to be meeting James Bond I'd have worn something nicer."

LOST IN THE DARK

Every other year we have a Terry family reunion. This week thirty-three of us have gathered on Pawley’s Island, South Carolina. We keep busy sharing stories old and new. Here’s my first,

You know how strange it can be to wake up in a new place, especially in the middle of the night?

Francesca and I have a room in a big pink beach house. It’s roomy, maybe too roomy.

The first night I woke up at 3 am and stumbled into a big closet thinking it was our bathroom. Thankfully, as I was about to relieve myself into my suitcase, I realized my mistake.

I’ve got it now: closet to the left, bathroom to the right.

IT WAS A SUNNY DAY

It seemed like a perfect sunny Sunday until the mugging.

A few hours ago I was answering e-mail when I heard pounding on the door. It was a very distraught friend. She had just been mugged a block away.

At half-past noon a thug had snuck up on her as she was walking past Plymouth Church. The mugger knocked her down, snarled, "Give it to me!" and ripped her I-Phone from her hands.

I called the cops as my wife, Francesca, consoled her. We learned that her phone contained a GPS signal and a minute later, we could see where it was on map. I jumped in my car and raced to the corner of Frow and Douglas uncertain what to do next. Was it this man or that? Both were riding black bicycles.

"This might be one for professionals", I decided. By the time I located a cop my "suspects" were gone. The officer told me she was aware of the crime and I was, in fact, hindering her efforts to solve it.
Oh well.
I decided to handle the small stuff instead. A few minutes before I had seen a man standing suspiciously at the back of a blue building. I thought he might have stashed my neighbor's cell phone there.
All I found was a fresh puddle of urine.
Another officer explained that minutes earlier the thief had turned the stolen phone off stopping the GPS signal. With four cops cars surrounding us it was certain the bad guy was gone.
I gave up crime fighting and went home.
By now our friend was feeling better. We were thankful she had not been hurt but then, pain sometimes doesn't show. She looked crestfallen as she left saying, "I don't know if I'll ever feel safe here again".

TOO FAR TO WALK

First light comes early. By 5 am you can read a book. My wife and I have come to Maine to enjoy long, cool summer days with Coconut Grove friends.
Two of them have a boat in Camden Harbor. Last Wednesday we took it twenty miles north to the village of Belfast. The next morning something came up and we needed to retrieve our car, still in Camden.
These are small towns. There is no bus service. Belfast's lone cabbie told us,"I already have a morning fare". We were stumped until a cop joked, "You could always hitchhike". Despite Maine being the home of Stephen King I thought it was worth a try.
Francesca did not agree saying, "I haven't done that sinced I was 17 and even then it seemed like a bad idea". As I headed for the highway she joined me anyway.
Bless her heart.
As we held out our thumbs I began feeling a little stupid and a lot of vulnerable. I tried to rationalize the novel situation by thinking, "These are strangers passing us by. I'll never see them again".

WAYNE'S WORLD
Twelve minutes later a dry-wall hanger named Wayne slowed down. His smile invited us into his van.
As we drove south he mentioned, "I rarely do this but you two don't look like ax murderers". It got me thinking he could possibly pass for one.
But Wayne could not have been nicer, he went out of his way to drop us off at our car. He did allude to a darker side but added that he had been "off the bad stuff" for over fifteen years.
As he drove off Francesca asked, "Do you think we would have done the same thing for him". I paused then answered, "Probably not... but there are other Waynes in the world. Maybe one of them would help".

YOU CAN GO HOME AGAIN

HEADING SOUTH
Four days ago Francesca, Pi, and I were heading to the Florida Keys in our old VW camper. A beachfront site awaited at one of our favorite places, Bahia Honda State Park. As we drove through Long Key our engine went "kablooey" as the fan belts flew off.
The van drifted into a restaurant parking lot. It was obvious that we'd be there for some time. Despite it being a Sunday we were able to find the local mechanic, Bruce. He told us he could fix it in the morning.
The island's only motel, Lime Tree Bay, didn't allow dogs. We resigned ourselves to camping under a blistering sun next to a busy highway.
Sheez. Could it get any worse?

HELL TO HEAVEN
We sat under a tree waiting for the heat to slack off. I thought of Thomas McGuane's novel, "92 Degrees in the Shade". We sipped cool drinks and thanked the Lord for ice chests. When the shadows got longer I took Francesca and the dog on a town tour. Primrose Lane was just five blocks away. That's where my dad had lived 30years earlier.
When we got to "116" I admired my family's former vacation home. It had new paint and still had the numbers I'd carved in driftwood in '78.
The latest owners happened to step out. We waved hello and after introductions they told us how much they loved the house my dad had built.
An hour and a house tour later we had been invited by these gracious retirees to stay in the downstairs apartment. Pi was welcome too.

SURROUNDED BY MEMORIES
Suddenly we were trading hotter-than-hell for ice-cold air-conditioning. My wife and I slept where my dad had slept. At 3 a.m. I woke up and glanced around for his ghost.
In the morning I stared at Dad's favorite spot more than once. I had captured his image there as he sat waiting for the ambulance, the one that took him away for the last time.
Breakfast was followed by a swim in the backyard canal. We called it "the pool" back then. As I dried off Bruce called to say, "You're good to go". We cranked up the van, waved goodbye, and continued our journey.
Sometimes bad things become good, one window closes and another opens. It happened to us four days ago thanks to Anna and Richie Carlsbrand of Allentown, Pa.

THE MAN WHO KNEW ELVIS

Forty years ago he was producing Coconut Grove concerts. In the 90's we both wrote for community newspapers. Three years ago I discovered Charlie Brown sleeping in the drive-through at Regions Bank.

The Grove's brick sidewalks have always been his favorite place. He'd say with a smile, "You never know who you'll meet". For years I enjoyed conversations with him there as he enjoyed his usual cigarette and beer. He told my sons how it was, growing up with Elvis sixty-five years ago. He always had stories to share and now his hangout had become his home.

I offered help that morning but he assured me, "I'll be okay". Two years ago a stranger hit him in the face with a brick. Charlie spent over a year in hospitals and rehab facilities. I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

FARMER BROWN

Thinner than ever, he nearly ran me over in his new, electric wheelchair last week . We were both shopping in CVS. He joked that he was "buying breakfast", a six-pack of Bud and a carton of cigarettes.

His eyes brightened as he told me his future plans, "I'm movin' to California. Gonna grow dope with a buddy o'mine. It's legal there, y'know." I wished him luck . The doors parted for the future farmer as he made his way back to the sidewalks of Coconut Grove.

MIAMI TORTURE

St. Augustine had its Museum of Death and Key West, The Torture Museum. Now Miami has its own venue for sub-human entertainment. Miami Dade College is now featuring "Instruments of Torture" at its downtown art gallery. You've probably seen it advertised in The Miami Herald and on lamp post banners.

The ad says, "The exhibition aims to be an accusation of torture rather than an explanation of the methods used by totalitarian systems thoughout history".

Does it includes Abu Gharib dog leashes or Dick Cheney's waterboards? You can find out by visiting The Horrible Things We've Done To Prisoners exhibit. It is located on the first floor of Miami's historic Freedom Tower. For tickets and information go to http://www.miamitorture.com/