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. Here is a synopsis of previous chapters. For complete chapters, see our website: www.kwtn.com.
In Chapter 1, 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. A few days later, the owners were cited, ordering them to tear down unpermitted structures— even though many of those structures had been there prior to the law requiring permitting.
In Chapter 2, Sugarman used Fantasy Fest as a backdrop to introduce us to her cast of characters. In Chapter 3, investigative reporter Kate Anderson hears about an allegfed conspiracy by multiple government agencies to take over private property in the Keys. In Chapter 4, she starts to look into it.
Chapter 5: Officials "raid" Little Torch Key. Chapter 6: Government officials charge a Sugarloaf resident with environmental infractions and, in Chapter 7, they take his house. Chapters 8 and 9: Kate's review of Code Enforcement records seem to reveal a pattern of deceit. Chapter 10: A lawyer tells a property owner, in jail on seemingly trumped up environmental charges, that he can get him off if he will sell his property cheap to the Conservation League.
In Chapter 11, Kate shares her suspicians with the editor of a local newspaper . Chapter 12: The editor suggests that she take a close look at Rev. Clive Farrell and the Conservation League. Kate and a freind head down to Bahama Village to hear Farrell address a meeting of Last Chance. Chapter 13: The meeting. Chapter 14: Kate meets Clive Farrell and asks for an interview. Chapters 15 and 16: The interview.
Chapter 17: Another government raid. Chapter 18: Kate does her homework. Chapters 19 and 20: She attends a Code Enforcement meeting. Chapter 21 and 22: We get a peek inside a Steering Committee meeting of the Conservation League.
Sam lazed most of the day away in a hammock strung between palm trees in the back yard, within earshot of the water, but not the road. The lower forty, his uncle Ray liked to call it. The setting was so exotic that when the occasional boat motor or disjointed voice from out to sea woke him, he had difficulty sorting reality from his dreams. Eventually, the sun began to set, the air grew cooler and a small breeze came up. Sam roused himself and went inside. There, he made a stab at scanning his voice mail, then ended up asleep on the living room couch.
When he woke, it was dark. He was famished, so he decided to rekindle his longtime relationship with a popular local hangout called the No Name Pub. He remembered it for its great pizza, brews, and the sort of convivial atmosphere that had drawn him down to the Keys. It wasn't far from the house, a straight shot over dark unmarked roads that connected No Name Key and Big Pine. For the life of him, Sam couldn't have given anyone the directions, but he made it there on autopilot. The route having been etched on his subconscious by countless late night journeys there from his uncle's in the past, and even murkier trips back to the house in a decidedly inebriated state.
He persevered, unsure of his navigation, until he was rewarded by the memorable sign on top of the rambling yellow building. `No Name Pub', it read, `Oldest Bar— built 1936', YOU FOUND IT!' The spirit of comraderie extended to the appetizing smells, the sounds of honky tonk music and laughter, the welcoming light that drifted into the parking lot from the pub.
Inside, it was just as Sam remembered it; at least some things never change. The funkiness and good cheer, the downhome Keys' ambiance, the friendly happy faces welcoming him inside. And the utter weirdness of the decor, particularly the dollar bills autographed and tacked up on the walls and ceiling by happy patrons. Sam took a stool at the planked bar— which was heavily carved in graffiti— and read some of the messages scrawled on the dollars. "Lisa Found Heaven.' `Kathy & Sara, Indiana Conchs.' `Happy Pay Day.' `Summer of 2000—Hoorah!'
A weekday, still early, the place was only half full, despite the ruckus. Sam checked out the two guys next to him. He figured them for fishermen— the short white boots, dark tans, overall grungy look. Three stools on his other side were empty, but a little further down an older couple, probably husband and wife, were sipping cocktails. Sam ordered a pepperoni pizza and a draft beer from a cute brunette bartender who said her name was Jess. He took a long swig of beer when she handed it to him and looked around.
The No Name Pub. He grinned, unable to contain a small congratulatory chuckle for managing to be right here right now— instead of anywhere else on the planet. The sound drew matching smiles and chuckles from his neighbors, who clinked his glass with their long neck Buds and introduced themselves as Mike and Andy. Andy had curly blond hair and a short reddish beard, a diamond stud in his ear, an accent that sounded like Georgia.
Mike was dark with his hair back in a pony-tail, a couple days' growth, and startling blue eyes. They were both wearing t-shirts that had seen better days. Andy's was a dingy gray that had once been white, Mike's was blue with the words `Happy Trails' on the back.
They had time for a chat before Sam's pizza arrived. From the get-go, they were easy and friendly. Without much prompting, they told him they lived on Big Pine and fished for a living. Although that living was threatened more and more by the regs. And they really homed in on him when he said he was a reporter from up north.
"No kidding?" Andy said, giving Sam the Keys' equivalent of a penetrating stare.
"No kidding," Sam replied, his mouth full of pizza. "Hey, you want some?" he asked them, holding out a slice.
"No thanks," said Andy, the talkative one. "Me and Mike already ate." Mike nodded, drained his bottle, signaled for another. Jess obliged him immediately.
"So? You here on an assignment?" Andy asked, politely.
Sam shrugged. "Maybe."
"What sorta thing you write?" Andy inquired. The two of them looked real interested when Sam described the two stories he'd done in Florida. "Isat so? Seems like you're on the right side of these environmental issues," Andy said. "That's unusual."
"Very unusual," Mike put in, still working on the beer.
"So, you heard about all the shit that's going on on Big Pine?" Andy asked . Sam could tell by the way he said it, Andy was about to fill him in. "With the Key Deer? Fish and Wildlife? All these enviro-Nazis?"
"Here, here," someone said from down the bar.
Sam shook his head and kept on eating. The pizza was every bit as good as he remembered, spicy sauce— and lots of it, thick crust, plenty of cheese. He made it clear that he was listening. "Go on."
"Well. It's this Key Deer preserve," Andy told him. "You must've heard of that. Haven't you?" Sam nodded. "Preserve now covers most of Big Pine. 8000 acres. And controls the place, so we can't live. Ever'thing we do is a regulation."
A blond haired young woman at a table behind them cut in. "You wouldn't believe it Mister. Even though my baby could drown in the water, I was not allowed to put up a fence. Some people tried, had to pull `em down. And pay a fine."
Mike nodded and said, "It's true," as Sam looked around.
The older couple had been listening. Now they moved over to the empty stools on Sam's left. She was dressed in a turquoise polyester pantsuit and had big white earrings. Her hair was short and fluffy and ash blond. Her husband wore a light blue guyaberra shirt, in the Cuban manner. He had slicked back gray hair and a small grey mustache.
Introducing himself as Walter and his wife as Geri, the gentleman said, "You have to understand that, here on Big Pine, we're all being held hostage. By these out-of-control environmentalists who've taken over the Key."
To be continued next week.
Willing Seller is a work of fiction. The events and characters portrayed are imaginary. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is coincidental.
Ellen Sugarman's writing has appeared in publications such as Newsday, Time, Vogue, Ms., Penthouse, New York Times Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Chicago Sun Times, 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 segment 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.