esrosedotblog

TROUBLE IN PARADISE

At Key West Beach, Wondering Who’s a Vagrant

This is funny. Sort of.

We used to go to Key West on a fairly regular basis.

It was best when it was in its hippie-gay phase.

For a few seasons some discos from Fire Island (The Monster) and other gay enterprises moved to match the gay migration, some of it A-list (Calvin Klein).

Key West was thought of as Provincetown South. Some inkeepers and restauranteurs had places in both locales.

We had a lot of fun in Key West. I may have actually gone there alone once or twice.

I did my first snorkel swimming on the coral beds which are no longer very rich. John and I found a deserted island that the boat guy took us to and then discretely sailed off for an hour while we had at one another. Another fantasy scratched off the list.

Then things turned. We had the worst weather ever one year. We stayed bundled up in a heatless guest house with no sun for days. Cold rain. 24/7.

We didn't go back for awhile. February can be the cruelest month in Florida. The Caribbean, St. Croix, became our happy haunt until Hurricane Hugo.

Then we tried Key West again.

The hippies were gone. The gays were gone. The cruise ships had landed.

The city had put in a wharf to welcome cruises and it became a day stop with hot and cold running drunks and knuckle draggers from one end of Duval Street to another.

We rented a house this time and, aside from the cold pool, it was a nice stay. And it was our last.

I remember the morning runs were punctuated by the sound of breaking glass from the bars.

Another Key West story. I went there a couple of times to have a business meeting with my partners.

The last time we went, the time we told one partner he wasn't anymore, we walked to a restaurant and got lost.

One of us, the one who got X-ed, insisted on walking further in the same direction despite the daunting signs that we were in the Key West ghetto.

Finally, in an act of mercy, a black guy came out of his house and told us we should do a U-turn and go back where we came from. It wasn't an "or else" statement. It was a simple humanitarian warning.

Now.

None of this is about homelessness.

But if one thing was a constant all the times I have been in Key West, it is the homeless. Or the "vagrants". Same thing.

As one of them says in this article, Key West is one of the best places in the country for living outside on the streets or the beach or wherever you can find a secure sleeping place.

They were always there. Panhandlers. Idlers.

And drunks.

But, in the drunk category, you can't tell the vagrants from the tourists except that the tourists are a lot more of a public nuisance. Throwing up, acting out. It is a drunk's playland. Duval Street once claimed to have the highest density of bars of any town in the United States.

The vagrants are quieter. They sit and nurse their bottle. They lounge. They go to the beach and play chess and checkers. They enjoy the sun.

I don't know why they are rousting them off the beach. No one else ever goes there.

Key West is on a coral bed. There is no sand except that which is trucked in. The "beach" is so close to the airport you can smell the diesel.

I like the creativity behind the title "quality of life policing".

Whose quality? Whose life?

We have the same problem in Palm Springs incidentally. Vagrants. But they are kept in a tight cordon in an area not exposed to the tourists.

And it is not really that great to sleep outside in the summer.

No one has started "quality of life" policing yet.

Labels: culture