Chapter 14 - feb 2010 - hollywood (trip 2)

©2011 Tom Weathers

We got into Hollywood midday Wednesday. Hollywood is just North of and seamlessly joined to Miami. After I checked in at a Holiday Inn near Bill's house (which in true Florida fashion seemed bigger inside than out) we toured the beach part of Hollywood Beach. We ended up at a little Cuban place in Fort Lauderdale for dinner. Bill was a fine tour guide.


A picture along the Hollywood beach front shot by jovial tourist. The first person we asked to shoot our picture looked up from her book, shook her head and kept on reading.


This was the jovial tourist. Notice that unlike the rest of us this fellow is not bundled up against the unseasonable chill. Perhaps he was from a colder climate - Canada maybe.


We encountered people who did not appear to be tourists sitting on the sea wall, eating ice cream, watching us watch them. (As I write this more than a year after the trip it occurs to me that I took no notice of the ocean during these travels. It was a simply a strip of blue in the background.)


This is a picture of Bill in front of one of the many renovated places along Hollywood Beach boardwalk. Pastel is the color of South Florida.


Here is another picture of Bill bundled against unseasonable chill. We talked about about everything, South Florida architecture, tourists, writing, various ghosts of times gone by. At this point, a year out, I don't know how much Brenda was in mind - if she was like the ocean just beyond the seawall, not noticed but there. (I imagine that if one returned to the boardwalk at night when no one else was around the ocean would them loom large.)


This is a picture of Bill at a little Cuban place where we had the best flan ever. At this point I think we had been talking about Lulu publishing and how to sell books.

Chapter 13 - feb 2010 - lakeland (trip 2)

©2011 Tom Weathers aka Viejo

I arrived in Lakeland Florida Tuesday, the fourth day of the trip.

(I broke up the long haul from Phenix City with a stop in Gainesville, Florida. I remember absolutely nothing of that. But I do recall following my GPS through south Georgia, crossing field after empty field, miles removed from any town that I had ever heard of, feeling isolated. I had lost my context. According to the GPS I was going in the right direction on the correct road, but it was empty knowledge )

Bill Moore rode the Amtrak from the Miami area to meet me. We were joined by his old friend and fellow writer George Graham who lives in Lakeland. In Bill's terminology, this was the Writer's Tour part of the trip. Bill and I drove back down to Hollywood the next day (Wednesday morning). We went past Lake Okeechobee but never saw it because of the levees. We stopped in Moore Haven (a haven for lost Moore's?) and shot a picture of Bill standing in front of a sign.


Lakeland Terrace hotel. I arrived at 11:30 that morning. Driving down from Gainsville along a deserted back road selected by the GPS I encountered seven or eight deputy cars. Sometimes they appeared from behind, sometimes from side roads. All were going South, like me. Knowing how I sometimes drove my Subaru WRX I felt guilty although I had not done anything, at least not where they could have seen me (or so I assumed). One followed me for many uncomfortable miles.

There was a Park in front of hotel. Killing time before Bill arrived I walked. I encountered friendly old folks, a family feeding ducks, and several street people bundled up against 50 degree temp. I was only a little uneasy. It was the unease anyone would feel along in a strange place. I didn't think about it.

The park was filled with sculptures. Baroque music played from nearby speakers. It was a classy place.


Downtown I ate chicken, rice and garbanzos at a Cuban place called Pipos. I considered asking friendly Latinas from Cleveland at next table if they would let me take picture then concluded they might not be that friendly.


Still killing time waiting for Bill I visit another park in the center business district of downtown Lakeland.


Returning to the lake I encounter birds, all turned into the unseasonably chilly winds.


The Amtrak station was across lake. A girl, a dog and sculpture appear in the foreground of this picture. Expanded, the picture reveals that the girl is at least as sculptured as the sculpture.


I shot a picture of Bill as he got got off the train. He has aged since he and I rode the Amtrak to New York City. But he has held up well. His Cuban travel mate - the lady who initiated a fight for better seats - recognized me as "viejo" before he did. See his Senora Alavarez post for a description,


This picture shows Bill and his friend George Graham after several hours of stories. George was a newspaper man for most of his career then worked for a time editing technical writers including Bill. (Note that most places have forgone the luxury of having editors.) George now writes a fine passionate liberal blog.

Chapter 12 - feb 2010 - phenix city (trip 2)

©2011 Tom Weathers

I left Saturday morning. There was snow on the streets. I had to detour around a wreck in Mt. Holly and sit in stop and go traffic on I-85 through Gastonia while people slowly made their way on the slippery pavement. At that point, if possible, I would have turned around and returned home. The trip did not seem to be worth the effort.

My first stop was in Phenix City to see cousins Joe and Mary, and their spouses Brenda and JD. Mary and JD drove up from Mobile. I had not seen any of them in over 12 years.

Family History Aside

Grandparents BK and Molly Parris moved back and forth between Phenix City, Shelby and Asheville. I am not sure where my mother, aunt and uncles were born, but it was in or near one of those places. Aunt Margaret, Joe and Mary's mother, stayed in Phenix City, marrying there. Uncle Bob moved back to Phenix City in 1956 after my mother died. It might be useful to know that according to my mother the Parrises fought on both sides of the civil war and one of our maternal ancestors was a Cherokee. There was family glory. But it wasn't straightforward.

Snapshots and commentary

Aunt Margaret's old house. She's been dead since 1998. Uncle Bob lived in a trailer out back and had a meal with her every day. At least twice my sister Mickey came here looking for something. In the late 1950's a few years after our mother died Mickey (who was maybe 13) rode by herself on buses to visit Aunt Margaret in Phenix Cirty and Uncle Ken and Aunt Virginia in Danville Virginia. In the early 1960's she ran away from Women's College in Greensboro for unspecified reasons and went to Phenix City. Upon receiving a call from Aunt Margaret, my father and I drove from Shelby to Phenix City. Sitting on lawn chairs out back behind the house we talked more than we ever had; we actually became friends. But she never did tell me why she ran away from Women's College.

Cousin Joe's house. My GPS got me to the neighborhood. I called and he waited for me in the driveway.

Cousin Joe - the old wrestler. As a young man he resembled Paul Neuman and drove like a mad man. He knows everybody in Phenix City and half the people in Alabama. I suspect he sees into us all.

Cousin Mary Like her mother, joyfully immersed in the drama of her life and family.

Brenda - Joe's wife. Her role is to take care of everybody. An even better driver than Joe I would rather ride with her than anybody. She keeps a very neat house.

JD - Mary's husband. He did two tours in Nam. He tells fine stories and bad jokes.

Joe at Uncle Bob's grave. Bob was more like an older brother than an uncle. He taught me about guns, showing me how to shoot all the rifles, shotguns and pistols in his extensive arsenal. I don't shoot anymore but I remember his lessons. (Once I was struck in the thumb by a sliver of lead from a defective Harrington and Richardson .22 revolver. Bob begged me not to tell my mother of whom he was afraid.) My father suggested that Bob was a fool. I suppose in some ways he was - certainly he was not comfortable in his own skin. I thought that I would grow up to be like him.

It was a day devoted to cemeteries. We walked to Cousin Buster's grave.


Buster's grave. He was a smart gentle man with a well-developed sense of irony. When we were children he pointed out uncomfortable truths (for example that my father, his Uncle Tom, was funny but flawed).

Aunt Margaret's grave. She hid her ironic insights behind a sweet smile. Buster might have gotten his irony from her. I got my sense of irony from the Parris side of the family. Sarcasm came from the Weathers.

Chapter 11 – feb 2010 - introduction to florida trip (trip 2)

©2011 Tom Weathers esq


Bill's picture of me in Hollywood Florida.

This was the first big trip. Later there would be others.

The Idea

The Florida trip took place in February of 2010. I don’t remember where I was when the idea came to me. Everything seemed possible because nothing seemed to matter. Everything was the same. I contacted cousin Joe Hunt in Phenix City Alabama, friend Bill Moore in Hollywood Florida, and friend Joe Gettys in West Palm Beach Florida. They said “Sure come on.”

The BedroomMy plan was to finish the front bedroom before the trip. I would get rid of or relocate Brenda’s stuff, rip up the old carpeting and expose the hardwood floor, and shift bedroom furniture as needed. I wanted to at least spend a few nights in these refurbished quarters before leaving. I hoped that I would feel better although I no longer remembered what that sensation might be like.

It didn't make any difference.

It was a visit with ghosts from times gone byIn seven days I stayed in four motels and hotels and two houses. I met one large dog, five cats (two of whom didn't emerge from under their owner's bed) and 10 people. I drove about 1,700 miles at speeds up to 90 MPH and almost got killed in Miami by a speeding Porsche. I saw the place where Al Pacino as Scarface was threatened by the chainsaw-wielding drug traffickers. I went to many areas where English was the second language. I saw Ferrari's, Bentley's, Lamborghini's and Freightliner pick-up trucks. In Phenix City I saw a hill full of ancient shark teeth and in Palm Beach I rode down a lane cut through a huge stone outcropping, like a canyon in paradise.

Death Trip
Of course it was a death trip. Any trip involving older people who may never see one another again is a death trip. Hell, (I observe with bravado) even a going-away lunch for a departing co-worker is a death lunch insofar as there are people who may never see one another again. But in this case there were the inevitable health issues. Everybody was getting older (except maybe Bill Moore - or so it seemed) and getting old is rear-guard action which can only be prolonged, never won. Bill swears I didn't have a pale companion hovering just out of sight behind my left shoulder. But I have seen the pictures. (Hell, in that B/W picture taken in Hollywood I could be DEATH.

Death Car

Regarding that business with the Porsche. Maybe I did exaggerate. Maybe not. Bill was driving (with brio and panache) his wife's Mercedes around a long sweeping curve at the end of I-95 in Miami when the Porsche appeared out of no where. If everybody had stayed the course he (she?) would have hit us somewhere between the right front fender and my door. The closing speed was certainly over 100 MPH. But Bill and the Porsche both twitched and we passed with feet to spare. It happened so fast there wasn't time to be afraid. (My one impression - not a thought - was that Bill's car was going to get messed up.)

Hotels/MotelsLying down on king sized beds in front of innocuous TV shows (for some reason I found myself watching old episodes of NCIS) was like taking a drug which wiped my mind clean until I woke up at 4:00 or 5:00 anticipating the next day's adventure. It was not until later that I had sleep apnea episodes and sometimes woke up really confused.

Structured TripThis was not a free-form wander. I had to show up in Phenix City on Saturday, Lakeland on Tuesday, and West Palm Beach on Thursday. In most cases I followed directions provided by the nice lady in the GPS device - or when that was not available, at least a route suggested by Google Maps. I had hoped to get lost in the trip, just me, the Subaru and the rhythm of the road. That only happened on twisty segments of interstate going through Atlanta, Miami and Jacksonville - when I was lost in unease and anxiety. The other kind of lost might require a different trip - sans schedule, sans interstate, sans cities, sans GPS - where I really allow myself to get lost.