Tuesday I drove down to Capt Larry’s house in
Bradenton for an evening of reminiscing.
Like me, Larry has history in the Virgin Islands. More specifically, for a time he hung out in
Benner Bay, which was known by locals as the Lagoon, and that’s where I lived
and worked for most of my many years on St Thomas.
The Lagoon is on the south east coast of St Thomas,
about a mile by road from Red Hook. In
the time when I was there the business of the Lagoon was boats and people who
lived on boats. There were two medium
sized marinas, a boatyard, a few charter boat companies, a fuel dock and
convenience store, a couple restaurants, and of course - bars. Several bars.
The best known bars were the “Lagoon Saloon” and “Bottoms Up”. The best way to get to either bar was by
dinghy. Both bars were roughhewn and
authentic. There was none of the pirate
pretense that is now so common. These
were genuinely pirate. These were not
places where blender drinks were served.
Bottled beer, shots and well-drinks was all they served. If tourists found one of these places and
wandered in, they might make the mistake of ordering a blender drink. When that happened the tourists were told,
“You’re in the wrong place. Get the hell
out of here.” For those of us who were there in the ‘80’s, we look back on those years in that place as a special time in our lives. It was a community of boat bums, rascals, drunks, Rastas, mediocre musicians that got better the more we drank, pot heads, wanted men, unwanted men, and generally colorful Caribbean characters.
Oh, the stories we can tell…and others we can’t.
People there lived in the moment. The past, prior to finding the Lagoon, was not something we spoke of. The future was not something that concerned us, and we certainly didn’t plan for any. The comparatively well-heeled among us lived on boats in a slip at Compass Point Marina or Independent Boatyard. . But many others avoided the cost of marina fees. They lived on boats at anchor or on moorings that for the most part were unregistered and illegal.
And it was a community. It looked after its own. Example: there was Hat-man Jeff, who lived on
the remains of a broken boat that a storm had driven into the mangroves. The boat would have sunk if it wasn’t stuck
up on the mangrove roots. Jeff was
called Hat-man because he had one trade.
He collected palm fronds and weaved them into hats, which he’d sell to
tourists in Red Hook. Hat-man Jeff had a
dog named Charlie that was his constant companion. It was known that Charlie was the smarter and
more responsible of the two. Speculation
was that Jeff had done himself permanent damage though too many psilocybin
mushrooms. When word went around that
Charlie had been sick, and there was now a veterinarian’s bill that Jeff
couldn’t pay, the hat was passed at Bottom’s Up and the vet’s bill got paid.
Another example: if some stranger, looking like he
just got off the plane, was heard to be asking questions about someone in the
Lagoon, immediately the assumption was that he was a Fed - IRS, FBI, INS or - god
forbid - DEA. Word would quickly get
around and the guilty would sail off for a couple days at Jost Van Dyke in the
BVI. It was amazing how much business
dropped off in the Lagoon when there was a suspected Fed in the
neighborhood. People would stop showing
up to work - if they had any - and you could find empty bar stools when there
should be none.
My first job in the Caribbean – entry level marine
mechanic - was for a charter boat company in the Lagoon called Bimini Yacht
Charters. My last job in the Caribbean -
captain and charter yacht management - was for another charter boat company in
the Lagoon called Trawlers in Paradise.
Between those jobs I worked at other charter companies, worked as a
free-lance charter captain, did yacht deliveries, and skippered yachts for
private owners. I sailed the East Coast
as far north as Newport, Rhode Island, and I sailed down island all the way to
Venezuela. But I always found my way
back to the Lagoon. That’s where my pal Scary
Gary would be, Ingrid and her young son Alan, Gorm and Anna Hilting and their
son Dennis…to name just a few. While we
were there it was home. Now Gary is in
Portland, Oregon. Ingrid and Alan are
back in Germany. The Hiltings sailed off
and settled in North Carolina. We don’t
see each other often but we are in touch.
When we get together inevitably conversation turns to our time in the
Lagoon and people we knew there.
At a recent a recent ASA Instructor’s meeting I was
introduced to another captain who had spent time in the Caribbean. This was Capt Larry who now has a house down
in Bradenton, Florida. At first Capt Larry and I
talked about our years in the Caribbean in generalities, but as we realized
we had both been in and out of the Lagoon, our conversation grew more focused on
dates and people we knew and where we had worked. We realized that our paths had crossed
before. We arranged to stay in touch and
to meet again. Which is how I came to
drive down to Larry’s house on Tuesday with photo albums I have from my time in
the Lagoon. Larry pulled out one of his
albums as well. We swapped stories of
our time there and of people we both knew back then. Meeting Capt Larry has been a rare
treat. The Lagoon was such a special
place and time and to know someone else who knew it the way I did is
gratifying. 
