Manpot's Tales of the Tropics

by Boyes, Malcolm

  I met Quito on my first ever trip to the British Virgin Islands in 1984. Quito would serve behind the bar, "Quito's Gazebo," nestled on the spectacular white sands of Cane Garden Bay…and then pick up his guitar and play a few tunes. The trades would blow through the gazebo carrying those sweet sounds out to the half dozen yachts bobbing in the bay.

  Times have changed...

  Now the Gazebo is about ten times the size of the original little beach bar...I even joked to my pal that he should rename it "Quito's House of Blues". The bay is usually full of boats and Quito now has a big friendly staff keeping the food and booze flowing freely. Nowadays Quito only has to worry about singing and not serving .But the music is still beautiful.

  Tuesdays and Thursdays Quito plays acoustic...and then rocks the Gazebo on Fridays and Saturdays with his band "The Edge"

  Next time you are in Cane Garden Bay drop by “Quito’s Gazebo”, preferably when he’s playing, and introduce yourself…you’ll never regret it and may find a good friend for life...Anyway...here’s the tale he told me of…“Johnnie One Nut”...

  When Quito was a kid, Cane Garden Bay was a northern outpost on Tortola…only reachable by donkey or boat and pretty much its own world. Jimmy Buffett' wrote a famous song called "Coconut Telegraph" about island gossip and message sending...but that's just how Tortola's north shore had to operate.

  Someone would shout down from the top of Mount Sage to a house below and the message would be relayed down the hillside, person to person, finally reaching the bay below. You can just imagine how the finally delivered message differed from the one that started fifteen hundred feet up the mountain!

  In those days the village was populated by many colourful characters…and one very ornery man.

  Every day this man, we’ll call him "Johnnie", would drink Callwood’s rum all day long. The oldest functioning rum distillery in the Caribbean is still at the end of the bay and still creates its powerful cane liquor. Smoking and women are still forbidden inside for fear it will ruin the booze! The place is even mentioned in Jimmy Buffett’s “Manana”….anyway Johnnie loved the stuff way too much...

  Thanks to a steady diet of Callwood's, by the end of every day “Johnnie” would be deep in his cups. He’d stumble the length of the bay yelling insults at everyone he came across...especially at Quito and all the other kids playing on their beach.

  Finally he’d reach the far east end. There lived a little dog in a cottage and he always saved the worst for last.

  Every day the drunk would put his face right up to the dog’s, breathing his rummy breath right at him...and yell. The dog would stare at him and bark. That little dog put up with it for three long years.

  On one fateful day “Johnnie” completed his stumble and confronted the dog. As he started his tirade the dog went unusually quiet...he cocked his head to one side…then launched himself straight at “Johnnie's” crotch. With one solid bite he removed, cleanly, one of “Johnnie's"…eh...”crown jewels”...and spat it on the ground...”Johnnie” looked down in horror and disbelief...

  Then, screaming with pain, ran right into the warm ocean looking for relief...

  Not a good idea.

  The salt water hit the open wound...and “Johnnie” now screamed so loud some say they heard him in Smuggler’s Cove at the far west end of the island.

  There was not much anyone could do to help “Johnnie”...so they loaded him on a donkey and sent him on the long, very bouncy trail, to Road Town to the only hospital on the island. It was a very painful journey that lasted more than two agonising hours.

  It was a very subdued "Johnnie" who finally showed up at Peebles Hospital in Road Town.

  “Johnnie”...now “Johnnie One Nut”…was patched up and sent home….and lived very quietly the rest of his days never ever bothering another soul...especially that little dog at the other end of the bay...

  "Johnnie" is long gone from Cane Garden Bay. Now the lovely bay is connected to the rest of the island by roads...roads to still only to be driven by the bravest of the brave, because they were built on those old donkey trails and are as steep as the side of a house.

  But the legend of "Johnnie One Nut" lives on in the beachfront bars, down the beach at Callwood's, and is even passed on to teens as a cautionary tale about drinking a little too much rum...and being rude to our little four legged friends.

  Thank you Quito.

  DON'T CALL ME RAY…OR STEVIE WONDER

  Floyd, L'Amour and their adorable black lab Leon lived a life of domestic bliss in Manhattan. The time was the late sixties and this openly gay couple enjoyed the "live and let live" attitude that blossomed during that time of "peace, love and flower power".

  Life was good for them…but they yearned to travel to a new exotic locale and get away from the hectic New York lifestyle for a while.

  They heard of a little island in the Caribbean named "Tortola"...and of a tiny hotel on the north shore run by a rebel priest and his wife. It sounded perfect to Floyd and L'Amour.

  They finally tracked down a post office box for the hotel, "Sebastian's", and mailed a letter.

  This was long before telephones had reached Tortola's North Shore. A few weeks later they got a response from a very proper Bostonian lady, Elizabeth McKenna...

  Yes...she and her husband Warren would be delighted to have them as guests...but they had to realise life was pretty basic on Tortola in the area they called "the country". Along with no telephones there was no electricity and roads that were barely more than donkey tracks.

  Perfect thought Floyd and L'Amour.

  But there was one problem…neither of the guys wanted to leave their beloved pooch behind. If they were going to this Tortola place, Leon had to go with them. And that created another problem…

  The only way a dog that big could fly with them in the cabin of the plane was if he was a seeing eye dog. And that required one of them….to be blind.

  Now both Floyd and L'Amour had perfect 20/20 vision but….L'Amour decided that he would try to be the "sightless one" so they could take Leon with them on their grand adventure to this exotic, far off little island.

  So every day, for the next few weeks, Floyd, L'Amour and Leon would head into Central Park.

  And there L'Amour would practice "being blind".

  At first it was very difficult and L'Amour would find himself sneaking a peak through his blinking eyes…or Leon would decide to dash off after another dog with L'Amour hanging on for dear life.

  It was not very convincing.

  "It is not easy being blind, "L'Amour confided to Floyd over martinis one night, in the understatement of the century. It may not have been easy but L'Amour was a man on a mission.

  He would learn to play a convincing sightless person.

  Finally, as the day of departure drew near, L'Amour and Leon had managed to work out an act almost convincing enough. To the casual observer L'Amour seemed sightless and Leon performed almost well enough to persuade folks that he was a real guide dog.

  The day finally arrived...the cab was called and the motley crew headed to JFK where they would catch a flight to St Thomas. From there it was a short cab ride to the dock and then a ferry ride to Tortola.

  In these days before airport security, the TSA, and fear that everyone boarding a plane was a mad bomber, things went amazingly smoothly.

  The trio boarded the plane…L'Amour convincingly allowed Leon to lead him down the aisle to his seat helped by the ever attentive Floyd.

  They settled in their seats with Leon snoozing at L'Amour's feet.

  The "blind man", his "guide dog" and his best friend were off on the grand adventure.

  All went well. They arrived safely in St Thomas, Floyd picked up the bags for his "sightless partner" and an hour later they were skimming over the azure waters of the Caribbean towards the dock, where the very proper Elizabeth, hair perfectly coiffed, waited with her battered Jeep. Floyd and L'Amour immediately dubbed her "Sister" Elizabeth.

 
They all climbed aboard the Jeep….and finally L'Amour could stop being blind.

  They told Warren and "Sister" Elizabeth their wild tale over cocktails that night, sipped by candlelight at the water's edge of beautiful Little Apple Bay, Tortola. They had no choice about the candlelight as there was no electricity.

  Everyone laughed and howled….and Leon dashed up and down the beach...and through the village chasing chickens.

  Life was very good.

  The trio spent their days swimming and sunning in this unknown paradise and, just before cocktail hour, the guys would inquire what outfit "Sister" Elizabeth would be wearing for dinner. Every night Floyd and L'Amour seemed to have the perfect attire to compliment "Sister" Elizabeth's.

  Warren and Elizabeth would create the most amazing dishes served by candlelight every night….fresh lobster, kingfish, breadfruit and vegetables from local gardens. It was simple…and it was wonderful.

  Over the two weeks of their memorable stay a strong bond built between the flamboyant guests...their lovely dog...and Warren and Elizabeth.

  On their final night Floyd and L'Amour announced they would be cooking dinner that night as their "thank you" to their hosts.

  Shortly before dinnertime "Sister" Elizabeth strolled into the kitchen to behold, what she would describe years later as "a lobster explosion". Nonetheless Floyd and L'Amour served up a wonderful lobster salad...and then poor Elizabeth spent the rest of the evening cleaning up "the explosion."

  But nobody cared...life was wonderful for Warren and his lovely wife...and for this crazy gay couple and their free-spirited dog.

  The final day of their stay came too soon for everyone...hugs and kisses were exchanged and many tears were shed as the St Thomas ferry pulled away from the dock.

  Then reality hit L'Amour…he had to be blind again.

  Everything went pretty well as they cruised from Tortola's West End to St Thomas' main port of Charlotte Amalie….that is until Leon got a little "mal de mer."

  Thinking he wanted just to be affectionate "blind" L'Amour let Leon climb onto his lap…..and right then and there Leon deposited the very considerable contents of his tummy all over L'Amour.

  Now L'Amour's natural reaction was to leap to his feet...run to the ferry's tiny head and clean himself up. But, just in the nick of time he remembered..." I am blind."

  By now Leon was trying to clean up his master...and Floyd was wiping poor L'Amour down. There wasn’t even anything for L'Amour to change into as the luggage was stashed on the stern of the ferry.

  Poor L'Amour had to make it through immigration and customs before Floyd could retrieve their luggage and he could change into something clean.

  Washed down, spruced up and smelling strongly of Brut aftershave L'Amour, Leon and Floyd headed out to the taxi stand. The lone cabbie took one look at the big black dog and got a whiff of the pungent, over Brut-ed L'Amour, and announced in no uncertain terms that they would not be welcome in his cab.

  Floyd explained his partner was "blind" and that Leon was his "seeing eye dog" but the cabbie would not budge….that is until a couple of "quality ladies" of "questionable repute" overheard the conversation.

  The next thing anyone knew the "ladies" had the cabbie pinned against his vehicle as they waved their sun umbrellas threateningly at him. The cabbie relented…L'Amour and Floyd kissed the "ladies" and gave them something for their trouble...and all three climbed aboard the cab.

  Things seemed to be back on track and an hour later L'Amour and Floyd were enjoying a rum punch in "Sparky's Sky Lounge" at St Thomas Airport while Leon contentedly slurped a saucer of water.

  The flight was announced and the threesome, with L'Amour led by the arm and Leon, headed across the hot tarmac for their flight back to New York City.

  They were sad to be leaving but they'd had a wonderful time ...and managed to bring Leon along. The "blind act" had worked almost perfectly.

  But, about an hour out of New York, things started to change. L'Amour had been dozing when he heard the captain announce they would be making an "unscheduled stop" in Baltimore.

  Moments later, the plane started to descend.

  Although L'Amour was still "officially blind" he opened his eyes a crack behind his sun glasses and saw a sight he'll never forget. Everyone on the plane was staring at him, and Leon, with a look of pure hatred in their eyes. They obviously believed his beloved "seeing eye dog" was solely responsible for this "unscheduled stop".

  L'Amour closed his eyes tight and hoped for the best.

  The plane landed on a snow covered runway and taxied off to a waiting area (remember this was the sixties...long before "airbridges" connected terminals to planes.) Stairs were brought up to the plane and Leon did nothing to help the trio's causes when he darted for the opening plane door...shot down the stairs and promptly made a huge circle of yellow snow.

  Now everyone was convinced the plane had been forced to land because of Leon's "call of nature". The reality was the same snow storm that had dumped on Baltimore had briefly closed down JFK and that was the reason they landed. Not one of those passengers would have believed it. That damn "seeing eye dog" and his master were the problem.

  After a while everyone re boarded the plane and it was obvious L'Amour, Leon and Floyd were in everyone's, pardon the pun….doghouse.

  The plane finally landed in JFK and the threesome could not have been happier to put some serious distance between themselves and their fellow passengers.

  Only when they were in the cab heading back to Manhattan did L'Amour dare to open his eyes. He had become pretty good at navigating through the terminal as a "blind man". He felt maybe this was some sort of eternal punishment.

  If it was...this group had one more thing to ponder. They entered their lovely apartment to find their kitchen scorched. Soot and smoke were everywhere. Anything that hadn't been damaged by fire or smoke now had a deep acrid smell.

  Floyd and L'Amour quickly found the source of all this destruction….someone had left the coffee pot on…two long weeks ago.

  Of course, that's what happens when you leave a "blind man" to turn off the appliances.

  Weeks later life was back to normal for Floyd, L'Amour and Leon. The apartment was repainted, refurbished and smoke free. L'Amour swore he'd never play "blind" again...and Leon was happy to give up his "guide dog" duties and just romp around Central Park as a "normal" hound.

  But one thing Floyd and L'Amour did promise…they would return to that magic island but maybe...just maybe...this time Leon would have to stay in Manhattan and L'Amour would be able to catch every amazing sight without fear of being busted.

  THE LAST GREAT BEACH BONFIRE

  They were the boys of summer….a hot summer in the sixties when they stood shoulder to shoulder with Martin Luther King to bring freedom and civil rights to the South. Their homes were firebombed by the Klan...their leader was killed...but they fought for that freedom and change.

  Now it’s another summer day...far, far away...July 4, 2002 on the white sands of Little Apple Bay on the Caribbean island of Tortola...

  For more than thirty years these boys of summer have celebrated this day when America shines a beacon of freedom by lighting their own beacon…a bonfire from collected driftwood and palm fronds...

  On this day the men collected a huge pile in the middle of the sand...close enough to the water so the high tide would carry away the burnt embers later. They wiped their sweat-streaked faces and sipped cold beers as they admired their work…The trade winds blew, the tropical sun beat down and life was good for these history makers...

  That’s when the “man from the hill” ran panting into the picture...This man lives in a home that hangs precariously over the bay. There he holds cocktail parties for his influential pals from Washington DC and Broadway.

  The boys, of course, are never invited.

  There is no doubt our neighbour fancies himself as a man of influence...a man to be listened to. We think of him as a rather "colourful
" annoyance.

  “You have to move the fire”, he wheezed,” last year we had to call the fire department when the sparks blew up the hill.”

  None of the boys ever heard of the fire department from nearby Capoons Bay even being called….they certainly didn’t show up...but the “boys”, one with more than eight decades under his belt, faithfully moved the wood further down the beach...

  God forbid an errant spark should disturb "Mr. Colourful's" happy hour...

  Then the fire department (one volunteer) showed up...

  “A concerned citizen has complained...We can't let you light the fire,” he explained...though his broad smile showed what he was really thinking...

  There was nothing for it…the annual gourmet bar b q would go on as planned…without the fire...

  The sun sank into the Atlantic giving the “boys” a spectacular lightshow….the bright stars started piercing the inky sky when suddenly an orange glow filled the beach...The flames from the fire shot to the sky...the embers swirled...the boys cheered and the ladies who’d stood by their sides clapped...

  Everyone formed a giant circle and sang "We shall overcome".

  Suddenly those turbulent sixties in the South didn’t seem so very far away...They were still rebels.

  It was a wonderful night to celebrate freedom...a freedom these “boys” had fought so hard for...

  Next morning the “concerned citizen” called..."You defied me,” he steamed.…

  And just minutes later two members of the local constabulary showed up...

  The case of the errant bonfire was growing serious.

  There was only one thing for the boys to do...send out the secret weapon...Miss Elizabeth. Now Miss Elizabeth is a proper white-haired Bostonian lady married to the ringleader of this aging crew of "troublemakers". She'd stood by her husband as they'd been burned out their home by the Klan. She'd endured the death threats. She'd stood by him when McCarthy fingered him as a Commie ...She'd followed him faithfully to Tortola to live on the north shore when there was no electricity and just donkey trails.