EDITOR'S NOTE: Ellen Sugarman is a nationally known investigative reporter. She has given KWTN permission to serialize her new book about environmental terrorism in the Florida Keys. It is a work of fiction. The events and characters portrayed are imaginary. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is coincidental.
IN CHAPTER ONE, published here last week, officials from County Code Enforcement, the Sheriff's Office and the Florida Marine Patrol— off duty and in civilian clothes, but armed— pay an unofficial visit to property owners on Little Knockemdown Key. Then citations were sent out ordering the owners to tear down unpermitted structures— even though many of those structures had been there prior to the law requiring permitting. That is fiction, of course. Nothing like that would ever happen in Monroe County.
To read previous chapters that have been published here, see our website— www.kwtn.com
It always amazed Katherine how she forgot, from one year to the next, the noise and sheer magnitude of Fantasy Fest. Tonight, as she made her way through the thousands of costumed revelers who were gyrating down Duval Street, the manic energy of the mob, the sights and sounds, assaulted her senses. As though she hadn't witnessed first hand this crazed debauchery for eight years now— or was it nine? Maybe it wasn't that she forgot. Maybe each year, sated with the giant Halloween party and exhausted with its excesses, she simply pushed the memories from her mind. Sort of like childbirth, so she'd do it again.
Right now she was on auto-pilot, following in the wake of her next door neighbors, Diane and Everett Rose. Everett was an ambulance driver, a big burly Conch— the Key West name for locals— who stood six foot five and sported an impressive beer belly, a head of golden curls and a perpetual sunburn, a boyish face that always wore a grin.
Diane, a tiny brunette with porcelain features who eschewed the sun entirely, was a nurse. As a couple, the Roses were a classic example that opposites attract. As different as day and night, they got along famously and were fun to be around. They always dressed as a twosome for Halloween, the Diane-and-Everett act. This year they were aliens like a lot of other people. Huge balloon heads, antennae and glassy eyes, bodies that reminded you of the skin of a squid.
Katherine, on the other hand, had copped out by wearing black, throwing some dime-store luminescent spheres on her wrist, and donning an expensive feathered mask. In the old days, she would have teased her thick red hair for an `animale' effect. But that was no longer possible. A few weeks earlier she had a sudden urge to be shorn and now sported a fuzzy crewcut that, coupled with her tall athletic frame, gave her an overall butch look.
Less than three blocks from the house she'd rejected the mask, which was hot and irritating and made it difficult to see where she was going. It now bounced from her wrist, catching on the loops of glowing plastic that were the only part of the costume she actually liked.
Everett was point man. He led them with the finesse of a fullback through streets packed by rowdy people, down-home drunks and tourists who were convinced a ticket to Key West gave them license to behave in ways their home towns would have never tolerated.
Not that Kate wasn't an expert in her own right at getting through crowds. No reporter worth his salt was unable to navigate a sea of excited humanity with dispatch, an absolute essential for the job.
Kate drew a breath, surveying the crowd. Monstrous. Scary. Not the costumes, the people in them. Admittedly, the costumes were spectacular. Many were outrageous, sort of a drag-on-drag. That was the idea. And of course there was plenty of nudity. Boys with little more than a string bikini and a mask, flaunting their gleaming bods for other boys. Bare-breasted women sporting still wet body paint that had turned their boobs to so many `arts objects.' Or so they debated every year when the town's more staid members joined with the hardline Christians and tried to outlaw public displays of nudity at the parade.
It wasn't that Kate was shocked by the visuals. A longtime student of human nature, she was never surprised at how far people would go to get a little attention. Still, she shuddered to think all these red-blooded Americans had come all the way to Key West's mini-Mardi Gras just because they wanted to drink `til they dropped, then throw up on the street.
Everett found a place opposite the judge's stand to view the parade, then went and got them three Buds. Arrayed on the platform was a clutch of Key Wets's local celebrities all decked out for the festivities. Most of them were people Kate was genuinely fond of after years of living in this godforsaken place that some called Paradise and others called the end of the line.
Captain Tony, the Mayor, was dressed as a pirate and playing host as natural as could be after three decades of doing it at his famous bar. In his arms was an infant dressed as a poodle. Probably a grandchild, since the Captain, nearing his seventies, had finally called a halt at six wives and ten or so kids.
The thing about Tony was, all his women seemed to stick around, creating a most unlikely— but workable— extended family with him as the hub. Kate has once ghosted a bio for the Captain. It was a great gig. He used to show up at her studio to tell her stories, this was back in the days when she kept a studio on the abandoned Naval base at the tip of the island that had since become a very pricey neighborhood. When he didn't find her in, Tony would leave a Camel cigarette as a calling card.
Next to the Captain sat ex-state senator Virginia Allan, Monroe County's unstoppable power broker. Miss Allan was now in her eighties but she still sported an impressive makeup job, a serious hairdo and some noticeable cleavage. She had come as a trekkie in spandex.
There were also a lot of Kate's girlfriends. One was Sara Deebs, a statuesque blond in her thirties people called, behind her back, the queen of the not-for-profits. Sara was director of the Key West museum, such as it was, and president of the historical society. Plus, she had a grant to rehab the Key West lighthouse and was honing a proposal to trick out the Little White House as well— so named because President Truman used to stay there on his frequent visits to Key West.
To most people Sara was a Harvard-educated historian, but to her intimates, she was a wild woman and a jock who tended to party too much when she wasn't leading the volley ball team to a win.
Kate's other friend was Jacqueline Greene, a soft-spoken Southern woman who was a popular local judge. Jackie, as everyone called her, was decked out as a cosmic tour guide. The costume, which she had made for her, had cost plenty and was well-worth the price.
The Judge had taken off her silver and rhinestone helmet in order to sip from a flute of champagne. As she kept an eye on the parade, she was carrying on an animated conversation with the editor of the Key West Daily News, Gideon Emerson. Emerson was a gaunt handsome man with sparkling dark eyes and a silver mane of hair. Known to his friends as the Silver Fox, he was intelligent, outrageous and gay— not necessarily in that order.
Since the daily he piloted was hardly a bastion for hard news, Gideon had thrown Kate many a story over the years, as much in the interest of getting news out as from friendship.
Mel Fisher, the world famous treasure hunter, rounded out the glitzy group. Fisher's costume consisted of a glittery mask and a fresh shirt. Fighting alcoholism, old age, and a slowly metastasizing cancer, he sat off to the edge of the platform, staring into the middle distance, oblivious to the tumult.
Kate had a soft spot in her heart for Mel, because she loved fanatics and obsessives and Fisher was both. He had held on to a dream for nearly 20 years: ;his search for the Spanish galleon Atocha which had been shipwrecked in a fifteenth century hurricane.
When his Treasure Salvors finally found the wreck, complete with a ninety mile long wall of silver ingots, Kate covered the story for Time and got to spend ten days with the crew out on the open sea as they brought the treasure up. It still ranked as one of the best times of her life.
The parade was the part of Fantasy Fest Kate liked best. The floats were stupendous, probably thanks to this year's Lost-In-Space theme.
Watching them progress slowly down Duval Street, she recalled the time some friends of hers had dressed her as a California Raisin and snuck her onto their time share company float. It had seemed like a fun idea at the time— until the sound system started cranking out "Heard It On The Grape Vine" and Kate found out she wouldn't get to lounge on the float and wave at the crowd, she was one oft he unfortunate raisins who had to dance around in the street.
The raisins in the street were fair game. Things were thrown at them, they were abused by drunks. Like one guy who really got in her face, telling her how he hated spuds, and his equally drunk buddy who kept saying, "Hey, man, she ain't no spud— I think she's a raisin." Exhausted, soaked with sweat and suffering from sore feet, at the end of the parade Kate swore she'd never do THAT again. (At least they did win first place.)
Now and then someone they knew would peel away from the crowd and stop to talk.
Jack Peterson came along with his latest girlfriend, a leggy blonde dressed as a space floozy— spandex, makeup to the max, lots of paste jewels and big hair. It was a great idea, Kate wished she had thought of it. Jack was a good-looking Irishman with curly grey hair, twinkling blue eyes and a classic profile.
A known egomaniac, Jack had come as himself: Admiral of the Conch Republic. He was decked out in a turn-of-the-century French naval uniform with a broad hat that sported an ostrich plume and he was carrying his trusty Conch sword, crafted from a loaf of stale Cuban bread. He exchanged hellos and saluted everyone formally.
Now two aliens muscled their way into the group. Before anyone could react, they removed their heads to reveal Betsy Washington and her husband Pete. Betsy was Katherine's physician and close friend. "Great costumes," Kate said. "You make them?"
"Pete did."
"Cool," Everett said, turning to compare his and Diane's with the Washington's. "Very good masks, where'd you get them?"
Pete said he found them in the Salvation Army on Big Pine. Then everyone agreed there was nothing you couldn't find there for a few bucks, if you just took the time.
It was clear Betsy wanted to hang out awhile, but Pete started making noises about trying to find their kids. Betsy tried to object, but soon gave in and turned to go.
"We haven't had a visit for a long time, Kate," she called over her shoulder. "Drop by the office one of these days for lunch."
This was their usual m.o. since Kate disliked visiting Betsy at home where Pete would hold sway. Betsy knew what Kate thought of her husband, although they didn't talk about it.
Pete was an unemployed carpenter who was content to live off the income from his wife's practice, but still treated her with contempt. Kate wasn't the only one who felt this way. Betsy was more or less a recluse due to Pete's behavior. In the four short years they'd lived here, he'd pretty much alienated everyone in Key West.
The evening spun on in the realm of total fantasy that wasn't really much more fantastic than Key West on any given day. Kate often likened the place to a giant out-patient clinic, only half in jest, because of its craziness. Even after all these years, she was still sometimes brought up cold by the goings-on. Just when you think you've seen it all, there was still more— much more— to come.
To be continued next week.
Ellen Sugarman's writing has appeared in publications such as Newsweek, Time, Vogue, Ms., Penthouse, New York Times Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Chicago Sun Times, the Washington Times Insight Magazine and the Miami Herald's Tropic Magazine.
As a freelance television producer, she has worked with ABC, Fox News, A&E and the BBC. Several years ago, she produced a special on environmental terrorism in the Florida Keys for ABC's 20/20. Although scheduled to run several times, the show was ultimately killed, reportedly because of pressure from the Nature Conservancy.
The program did air in the Keys, however, after activist Peter Anderson was able to obtain a videotape of the show and paid for time to run it on local cable television.
Among a number of shocking revelations, the program documents that State Attorney Kirk Zuelch, while a member of the local Nature Conservancy board, offered to drop charges against property owners accused of environmental crimes if they would sell or give their land to the Nature Conservancy. Zuelch quickly resigned from the Nature Conservancy board after he was interviewed by 20/20.
Anderson encouraged viewers to tape the show when it ran on local TV. If you want to see this show, KWTN has a couple of loaner copies. Info: 292-2108.