COCONUT GROVE CHARACTERS AND THE NAMES WE GAVE THEM

     If you lived in Coconut Grove forty years ago you knew a lot of nutso people. They were the legendary characters drawn to our beloved, bohemian, seaside community.  

    Rents were cheap and anything went. If you wore  dress in public that matched your red beard it wasn't a problem. If you wanted to start a wacky parade? Easy, you just asked everyone on the sidewalk to march in the street (that's basically how we started the King Mango Strut back in '82).

 

 

      My Palmetto Avenue neighbor, Bryn Ingram, was reminiscing about her parent's colorful friends on Facebook this week. Most of them had nicknames. In her post she mentioned several, like "Surfer John", "Joe Bike", and "Bikini Mary".

       Bryn asked her Facebook friends if they recalled others. Then the avalanche began. Two days later there were over 400 responses recalling the long-gone characters that made the Grove so special.

    It helps to be a little (or a lotta) crazy to get a nickname. Surfer John told me he got his as he was the only Marine stationed on the California coast who kept a surfboard next to his rifle. We could spend hours just telling "Surfer stories".                 John Snizek was a chainsaw wizard, a pit bull in the flesh, and the first to march as Fidel in the 2000 King Mango Strut. Surfer charmed the crowd that afternoon with a cigar in one hand and Elian in the other. 

 

 

      Liz, QUEEN OF HEARTS, a true Grove Character and a painted rock artist

 

     Joe Bike owned the Grove's bicycle shop in the 70's and organized the legendary Grove bike races. Like many today, he wanted all of us on two wheels.

 

Shena Gina (married for years to Magic Mike at the top), always a Strut favorite.

    "Jellyfish" (Allan Aunapu) got his moniker as he said "I have no spine and I go with the flow" (his life ended tragically last January when his electric trike went against the flow of traffic. His recent obituary is the second article folowing).  

                           Allan "Jellyfish" Aunapu
 

Jelly once crawled the entire route of the King Mango parade pretending to be a dog. Along the way he peed on hundreds of people. Who do you know who might do such a thing? We had them in the Grove!

               "Softball", Terry Ferrer got this shiner when he caught a ball with his right eye.

         

 

                                           Herbert Sherbert

                      Tree Bob and his Hottie Wife, Sunbeam Eilene

                                           Pi the Wonderdog
                                   

     "Drano" (Dwayne Sawatsky) never told me how he got his name. He was the above mentioned parade's mango queen for many years.  He would wear crooked lipstick and an old prom dress. I'm guessing his reputation for being normal went down the drain long before that. He was a good friend, always smiling with a beer in his hand. 

      Nicknames often described these Grove-ites but they also helped us tell them apart.  There were, for instance, three Victors..."Chinese Victor", "Bicycle Victor" (he had a mobile bike service) and, of course, Victor the Rat Man. Victor Beckman was fast. He was proud that he could catch rodents bare-handed. Rat Man also trudged the dark waters of the Everglades naked -probing the mud below with his toes- in search of fossilized bones and artifacts.  Before I landed in the Grove, I never heard stories like his.

     I knew three Bills, their names preceded by "Sky", "Sailor", and "Strawberry".  Same with the Johns which, in my address book, started with "Shrimper John".

                                    Sky Bill at my toga party, 1977

   Most of the nicknamed were guys because they are crazier than women. There's a good reason why 90% of the people in prison are men. 

     If you hung out at the Taurus Bar you knew most of these people. "Beamer" (Butch Warren) was the head bartender, "Nausau" shined shoes and if you looked around you might see Angel, Rocky Raccoon, Jungle Jeff, Space Voodoo, Bikini Mary, Mr. Halloween, Billy Bird, Donna Do You Wanna, Low Beam, Mildew, Cave Dog, Peter Rabbit, Martinburger, or Colonel Badpenny.

    I met Sunhawk there. The quiet, unassuming man lived in a tree and sold carved driftwood for beer money. Now you can only live in a Coconut Grove tree if you're a peacock. 

     Many of the Grove's wild men had no nicknames. Bob Ingram (Bryn's father) could have been "Crazy Bobby", Wayne Brehm "Wayne Insane", or Bobby Deresz, "Out-of-Control" (OOC is one of the few still kickin'. He is outspoken as ever but sadly, does not "borrow" police horses anymore).    

    

Above, the two Bobbys

 

     We could have referred to Dick Fetterman as "Outer Limits". When I picked him up hitch-hiking in the mid-70's, he was dressed like a Viet Cong  wearing black pajamas and a coolie hat. He lived on a sailboat that he accessed by swimming a half-mile out to it. His goal, he told me, was giving up food and water so he could subsist on air and sunshine alone.

      How wonderful that the Grove community welcomed these colorful characters. The Old Grove is gone. If there is a place for the nicknamed now I'm not aware of it. 

     Thanks, Bryn, for "lettin' the dogs out".  What a pleasure it is to have your dad's stories, Surfer's laugh, and visions of Sunhawk dancing in my head once again.  

Yours truly,

Glenn "The Grove Guy" Terry

                        ___________________

PS:  I never had a Grove nickname, "Grove Guy" was the title of my Miami Herald column, 2005-20010

Two more Grove characters, 

                                                            Bryn and her lovely mother, Gay

THE ORIGINAL MARCHING FRED IS DEAD

I could make a Fred joke but that would be

      I could make a Fred joke but that would be disrespectful. The original Fred has gone off to that Great Strut in the Sky.  While he was here, Fred Tasker believed -with a twinkle in his eye- that people with his name should be more appreciated.

     Most of you know about the fabulous wacky parade we started back in '82, Coconut Grove's "King Mango Strut".  Miami Herald writer, Fred Tasker, gave us much of the support and publicity we needed to get our rag-tag minions marching as we have for forty years.

     Mr T was its original Marching Fred and he just passed away at his home in Michigan at 79. 

    In the early 80's he wrote a humor column filled with local gossip. Later he became know as the Herald's "wine writer". I thought this new position was much too serious until I realized he got paid to drink. 

 

     Way back I was doing PR work to promote a new, weird parade, the "King Mango Strut" and the two of us hit it off. He loved the idea and after the first one succeeded. he proposed entering his own group, "The Marching Freds". 

    He felt folks with his first name deserved more respect and through the years, there came to be more than one hundred of 'em strutting in his zany, colorful group. There were Fred Flintstones, guys holding "Better Fred Than Dead"and "Take a Fred to Bed" signs, and even the occasional "Fredrika". 

 

    They got as much respect as Rodney Dangerfield and through the years, Fred and his gang -like Rodney- made us laugh very, very much. The last time I checked there were still a few Freds marching in the Grove's annual parade.  A couple of 'em even passed across the screen as it marched virtually last December.

    One year we held a fund-raiser at Monty's. Fred was our guest expert hosting the Strut's "Cheap Wine Tasting Extravaganza".  I recall him sniffing a glass of Ripple and commenting, "The smell is no worse than rubbing alcohol and its perfect dark red color hides the particles you don't want to see".  

We had a blast that night and raised over $132.

     It is a small world. Early on we discovered we were both married to Michigan women who

happened to be related. Some summers we'd get together at family reunions up there...but mostly,

Cousin Fred and I had a great time on the last Sunday of the year. We strutted ourselves silly at the parade we loved in the streets of Coconut Grove.

                           _____________

he original Fred has gone off to that Great Strut in the Sky.  While he was here, F believed -with a twinkle in his eye- that people with his name should be more appreciated.

     Most of you know about the fabulous wacky parade we started back in '82, Coconut Grove's "King Mango Strut". Miami Herald writer, Fred  gave us much of the support and publicity we needed to get

our rag-tag minions marching as we have for forty years.

     Mr T was its original Marching Fred and he just passed away at his home in Michigan at 79. In the early 80's he wrote a humor column with local news. Later he became know as a "wine writer" which I though was much too serious  until I realized he got paid for drinking.

   

      Way back I was doing PR work to promote a new, weird parade, the "King Mango Strut" and the two of us hit it off. He loved the idea and after the first one succeeded he proposed entering his own group,

"The Marching Freds". He felt folks with his name deserved more respect and through the years, there came

to be more than one hundred of 'em strutting in his zany group. There were Fred Flintstones,

guys holding "Better Fred Than Dead" signs, and and even the occasional "Fredrika". They got as much respect as Rodney Dangerfield and through the years, Fred and his gang -like Rodney- made us laugh very, very much. The last time I checked there were still a few Freds marching in the Grove's annual parade.  A couple or 'em even passed across the screen as it marched virtually last December.

       Small world. Early on we discovered we were both married to Michigan women that

happened to be related. Some summers we'd get together at family reunions up there...but mostly,

Cousin Fred and I had a great time on the last Sunday of the year, strutting ourselves silly, at the parade we both loved in the streets of Coconut Grove.

                                           _____________

 

MISSING THE JELLYFISH

     I just heard my friend, Coconut Grove legend Allan "Jellyfish" Aunapu, has weighed anchor for the last time. What a warm, generous person he was, a tie-dyed sailor filled with child-like wonder.

    When I met Allan in 1974, he was charging down the Grove's Matilda Street on a 10-speed bike, his head held high by a neck brace. Stopping him I had to ask, "Did you break your neck riding this bike?". He proudly answered, "Uh huh!". 

     Finding it hard to slow down, he died in his final biking accident three days ago. I imagine, as usual, he had a smile on his face and and his next adventure on his mind (he was a planning to ride his bike to New York).

      Allan's life was filled with all sorts of high-speed escapades. When he passed last Thursday he was six-weeks short of his 80th birthday.

 

     The son of a motorcycle racer had a need for speed. He showed up at our place on his latest crotch rocket two years ago, in the rain. He assured me at the time, "I've only taken it up to 109 but I think it'll go faster". When I'd say, "Slow down, that's crazy, we want you here for a long time" he'd couldn't hear me. Crazy, dangerous thrills were essential to him.

    When we spoke two months ago he was recovering from his most recent accident. "I totaled my bike hitting a curb but the one I replaced it with is pretty quick too!", he bragged.

 

     Who do you know who wore the same clothes for fifty years?  Allan's choice was tie-dyed overalls. As I walked with him at the 2006 Oregon Country Fair he was mistaken for Wavy Gravy repeatedly.  When he laughed and said, "No, I'm Allan" they were sure it was another one of Wavy's jokes.

 

(At a reunion of the original King Mango Strutters two years ago)

 
  In the 80's he drove a tie-dyed dune buggy. He called the total effect, "Hippy camouflage", invisible to the police.

    Woodstock?  Of course he was there.  Allan, being part of the stage crew, became friends with many of the concert's performers.  He taught David Crosby to sail.

      "Jelly" was a joy to be around, ever-smiling, optimistic, with many sailing stories to share. His buddy, Bobby Ingram, swore Captain Allan could navigate a boat in his sleep, "I was at the helm, far from land, lost at sea in the early 70's. Aunapu woke up next to me, glanced at the stars and said, 'Head east now. We'll be in Miami tomorrow ".  "He was right!", Bobby added, "lost no more".

 

      Like Bobby, Allan was a talented musician.  He was the star of our parties every time he picked up a guitar and played "Zombie Jamboree". *

     Early on I asked my easy-going friend about his "Jellyfish" nick-name. He replied with a smile, "I've got no spine and go with the flow".

 

     As an attorney, I represented Mr. Aunapu in court several times. When he was busted for riding his bicycle on I-95 he explained it was the fastest way to get through Miami. When a cop ticketed him for driving an overloaded vehicle, he told the judge, "It's true we had ten people in a car built for five but we were having a party, it was fun, and I was driving safely". 

     Defendant Allan J. Aunapu was found not-guilty on both occasions. I got paid in mangoes. Judges love him because he was both entertaining and absurdly honest.

     When we started the King Mango Strut parade in 1982 Allan had to be in our silly procession.  I could always count on him to play a role that no one else wanted... like being Michael Vick's killer dog. In his late 60's, he crawled the entire parade route pretending to be an angry pit bull. He growled, barked and  "pissed" on the roadside audience who, of course, loved him.

     Jellyfish had been in dozens of our silly parades when he tried to participate in last December's Covid-induced virtual version. Unfortunately, tech problems got to him, "I can zoom on a motorcycle but not on a computer", he concluded.

 

      How lucky I am to have been his friend.  If you see a shooting star tonight, Captain Allan is probably at the helm, seeing how fast it will go.

              _____________________________ 

                           ________________

 Below, you can open the link to a short tribute to Allan, the first captain of Pete Seeger's sloop, "Clearwater".  Allan was so proud of the ship as well as his son, siblings, his extended family, and his many friends. "Jelly" was planning to drive his electric bike to the annual Clearwater reunion in New York when he left us.

 https://www.facebook.com/sloopclearwater/videos/465797014620075

*___________________ 

Hear Allan's version (2016) of "Zombie Jamboree",

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92oWyVgouNA

____________________

"Clearwater's First Skipper id Dead" article in the Times Union, 

  https://www.timesunion.com/news/article/Clearwater-Sloop-s-first-skipper-is-dead-at-79-15954751.php?fbclid=IwAR03rT_z7enblL9oxrJp34E_2asPxRv3jbZY_LNN8ztnzThb-VPzD_lJyK0

THE 2020 HOLIDAY AWARDS

    Our strangest holiday season is coming to an end. It's time to

take down the lights but before we do, I'm announcing my neighborhood's HOLIDAY DISPLAY AWARDS. 

 

    I did a survey of all the houses withing spitin' distance of our place ( It's one of the things I am good at, I can spit watermelon seeds over 100 yards). I thank everyone who took the time to light up the 'hood with a little holiday spirit.

The NW 12 Rd. Holiday Awards committee,

Glenn

__________________________

 

Okay, here they are...

-DA DA DAH!!!!  

 This year's GRAND PRIZE goes to Patsy West. She filled her front window with wonderful things like Macy's might have in 1962.

 

 

 

 

-BEST PSYCHEDELIC DISPLAY THAT COULD BE USED FOR THE COVER OF A RE-ISSUE OF IRON BUTTERFLY'S "INNAGADDADAVITA" ALBUM.

    Good Show! Geoff and Barbara's place at 12TH and 20TH.

-BEST WAY TO SAVE MONEY (and the Planet) -   Francesca's solar-powered bush. She and her husband (me) saved over 43 cents this season alone.

 

-BEST DISPLAY FOR AVOIDING COVID- This 11 Rd. family took their Christmas outside.  The carport display allowed them to enjoy their tree, assembled presents, and holiday meals without Mr. Pandemic bouncing off the walls.

 

 

 

BEST HOLIDAY WREATH-  The one Ward made for our Christmas show.

-DARKEST HOUSE AWARD- Of course, goes to the Trump House on 12th. No surprise there. Its been dark since they put up their "Trump 2020" banner a year ago.

 

 

 

Everything will get brighter after January 20th.  It's going to be a happier and -as soon as we

get vaccinated- a healthier new year.

 

                                Yippee!

___________________________________________

 

TWO MILES BELOW

      

       Imagine climbing into a six-foot sphere -already crowded with two others- then slowly sinking 12,000 feet into a black, frigid ocean. Does this sound like your idea of fun? That's what our friend, Mike Perfit, does for a living. He’s gone down over forty times in a small submarine to study underwater volcanoes.
     

Here you see how "three guys inside a ball" fits into the rest of the sub's non-pressurized framework.   

   We invited Dr. Mike, a UF Professor, to share his adventures (without sharing Covid) at a neighborhood gathering. We kept it small with everyone distanced in our front yard.             

       That’s what our parties looks like in this era of  Trumpus Pandemicus. Now we tap minds instead of kegs.
   
      

       His stories took us on his deep water studies aboard the submersible, Alvin.  The pilot has the best seat in front of two scientists like Mike.

    Mike riding shotgun behind the sub's pilot 

     After the sub cuts loose from the mothership it sinks three hours to rub noses with NW Pacific volcanoes. For the next three hours they explore, record data, and photograph mysteries of the deep. There’s a whole world down there living off the thermal energy pushed up from the earth’s molten core. You might see sharks, sea worms, or even a tripod fish.

       A Tripod Fish has fins so long it can stand on the ocean floor.  No eyes are necessary in its light-less world.

     Almost everything far below is black, white, or shades of grey.  “Occasionally you’ll see a speck of green in the distance. Moving closer you’ll probably discover a Heineken bottle, said Mike adding, “something red would probably be a Coke can”.  
      Someone asked it the ocean floor looked like a garbage dump and Dr. Perfit pointed out that most or our eternal discards are floating plastic. Sadly he noted that our oceans have vast floating “islands”, as big as countries, consisting of this oil-based trash. Think about that before your buy your next six-pack of water.

     The pressure is incredible so far below, two tons per square inch, like an elephant sitting on your finger.  For fun, the Alvin’s scientists write messages on styrofoam coffee cups then attach them, caged, to the sub’s exterior.  By the time returns to the surface they have shrunken to the size of a thimble.
Mike brought one of his souvenirs to show us.

    Farting is discouraged. The university’s distinguished geology professor told us, “You try to be mindful of what you eat the day before”.  Of course we wanted to know how you take a leak inside the titanium ball. “Oh”, Dr. Mike pointed out with a smile, “you do your best to capture it in a bottle”. No diapers needed.
     The three aboard are entertained by music played on the captain’s CD player.  It’s important as most of the dive consists of traveling rising or sinking in the dark. On one dive the sub’s pilot forget his discs. Fortunately, there was one still in the player so for eight hours, the crew listened to probably the most appropriate album, the Beatles “Magical Mystery Tour”.
     By the end of the talk we all felt fortunate to have briefly busted out of our houses for Mike’s underwater tour, and, to learn that Alvin was much more than a chipmunk.
_______________________________________

_______________________________________
 

 

As folks were leaving I showed Mike this rock I found in the surf on Maui. He quickly pointed out that it was a “volcano bomb”, created when liquid basalt rock shot up to solidify in an aerodynamic shape. He added, “That would might hurt if it came down on your head.”





A WALKER NAMED ALICE

         Ten years ago I climbed the Eiffel Tower. Today our front steps seem daunting. I had foot surgery last week.

     When I woke up they gave me a walker, told me to skedaddle and admonished, "Don't put weight on that thing for two weeks!"

      Death scares he hell out of us and so do events leading up to it. Like needing a walker to get around. Joking about the reaper (and walkers) eases the inevitable.

      Once they were a source of dark humor.  I'd see them in Coconut Grove trash piles and wonder how they got there. When I brought one home in 1986 my wife complained. 

     I suggested, "Let's keep it for a week". Her ballet teacher, Tony, was turning forty which seemed old at the time. What better way to add laughter to his  party than giving him a ribbon-festooned

geezer aid.

     It was a fun-filled gathering. If he was embarrassed Tony didn't show it. The nimble Italian  begged it for a dance which ended with a handstand (note: don't try that at home or anywhere else). 

 After the applause subsided he never touched it again. He left his gag gift with us.

      I folded the frame and set it aside until the next 40th birthday. We laughed at the inevitable once more. When the last of our friends hit the big 4-0 we gave Alice to Goodwill. 

     We had no use for it. We'd never need it and old jokes at 50 aren't funny.  It is old, retirement is on the horizon and Metamucil's in the medicine cabinet.

     This morning Francesca and and I were discussing the odd metal frame next to the bed and the birthday joke from the 80's. She pointed out, "Maybe you should have kept it around. When people turn 60 or 70 the tide turns again. You might hear, "Thanks.  I'll be needing this soon!". 

     Mine?  It's taking me to dinner tonight, forty-feet away.

                           _______________

 

WHATTA YA DO WITH THOSE CAMPAIGN SIGNS?

       Isn't it incredible how plastic signs pop up before every election?  Do the candidates with the most win? 

Even more amazing is how they fill up our land-fills afterwards, zillions of them, probably enough to cover the moon a thousand times.

        These days I recycle them for the campaigns that follow. Here are two recent examples,

 

                                        

Get some paint.  Maybe we can start a trend.