some more short stories

Intro to the hundred and ? simple stories

The past is always behind us but I, we with problems and losses, relive it each day.   After I write down all the important stories of my life, I hope I will be able to leave my past behind in a more meaningful way. I also desire, in part, that in doing a complete job, here, I will be better able to move onto a bright and fruitful future.  You will, perhaps, enjoy my short stories.  They are simple and straight forward and void of literary creative license.  Everything is factual.

My therapist Roxanne has asked me to write about my childhood.  I was recently arrested and  I entered into a deal instead of trying to expalin what would be unbelievable in court, though I had mentioned I was acting with the Federal Government and thereby under the protection of the "Supremacy Clause."  I’m now in a rehabilitative program  at 5040.  

I recently saw the assistant state attorney, who prosecuted me, Steven K. Talpins, in the hallway of 5040.  I told him I was writing some short, personal, stories for the program and my family.  Mr. Talpins said, “Jon you should publish your works because your situation is very unique.”  I’ve taken his advice.  Although I am prohibited by law to sell any material relating to my arrest, the reader will get a good idea what happened to me through my short stories.

Moreover, for a person in my position, who grew up in a wealthy family, it has always been hard for me to say certain things, relay events, without seeming as if I’m showing off.   I never went around talking about money or property. If I met a girl at King’s Bay Country Club, I wouldn’t usually say, hey we own this place. 

Showing off or not, all the facts, good and bad will now be out on the table. This may upset some family members or friends but I’ve lived my life, mostly, as it were and open book and now it is an open book.  

Emerald Lake

When I was old enough to see and say, “dad, over there” my dad had me driving with him spotting for sale signs.

One sunny day I spotted an old sign hidden in a thicket of trees.  My dad pulled over to inspect the area and to our surprise there was a large lake behind the trees which we later learned was named Emerald Lake.  My dad purchased the lake and adjacent land

There were a bunch of docks that were attached to the Eastern bank and of these docks we used one in particular around the center.  I guess the other docks belonged to the property owners in the neighborhood.  I always wondered how it was that these other docks existed. Did they rent from my dad?  I don’t recall asking.  But I do remember, vividly, some intruders to the lake but first let me tell you about the fish.

The fish at the lake were very large, perhaps two feet long.  My grandfather, Papa Jack and I named the fish and would feed them from the dock.  It was super fun having our own big fish and our very own lake.  I’d swim to the island in the middle of the lake and ponder the day that my dad would destroy the peace of the lake by building a building next to it.  But that day was far off for me, a child who lived for each moment of exploration.  There would be new lakes, new finds.

There were a bunch of what I called “hippies” who would swing from a long rope, hung form the tall trees at the Western side of the lake.  They’d swing over the pond and drop in the water.

I wanted these guys out.  All I had to do was tell my dad and he’d take away the rope, kick them out.  But these people were there before I was there and like the other dock owners or renters, this was not my lake exclusively.  I said nothing to my dad about the hippies.  In fact I was intrigued by their novel invention and I’d watch them out of the corner of my eye. The lake was large enough for all of us.

One day the Miami Herald came out and took a picture of me and my grandfather feeding the fish and soon I saw myself in the Herald.  The article is in my dad’s scrap books but he won’t tell me where the scrap books are located.  Go on line if you can and find me.  Put in Rosen and Emerald lake in North Miami, Florida.

About twenty years later I was driving in North Miami and was drawn to the lake and like a homing pigeon I came right to it.  I went out onto our dock.  I looked out across the lake. To my surprise, everything looked very much the same.  And the rope was still there.

David singing During Divorce

The youngest is David.  My father had moved out of the house.  David, because of his scanners and all the information of robberies, was quivering like a leaf at night.  He’d be alarmed at the slightest sound, a branch moving in the wind.  Then he’d start to shake.  I had begged my dad to put in an expensive alarm system but it didn’t allay David’s fears.

I was over 18 years old and back then you could “go out” and party at the clubs at 18.  But my mom was gone at ballroom dancing competitions and I was left to keep David company.

I recall one night I was feeling angry that I was left alone to baby sit. David’s shaking was bothering the hell out of me.  We were sitting on our parent’s bed.  The TV was on and it was some show to do about the Holocaust..  There was a point where at the end of the war, the children were in a building and were about to be shot by machine gun. The children started to sing a song and David, who has a great voice, started to sing the song along with the kids, in perfect harmony.

David had learned songs that I had never heard of since he went to Beth Am, a Jewish school.  At that moment, my anger turned, instantaneously, to love, for David, and I almost started to cry. 

At the time, I wrote a letter to everyone in the family about it.  I wish I could find a copy.

Camil and the Gun

In about 1985 I met a guy sitting next to me, on a plane, named Camil from Spain.  He explained to me that during the Inquisition that Jews were forced to convert to Catholicism and were given plant and animal surnames like pero or in his case a derivative of pero in Periera.  So he converted back to Judaism and moved to Israel where he enlisted in the army.  He was one of the body guards for Brook Shields (btw: Shields is related to Conde Lequio...what a small world indeed) when she was filming a movie over there and he showed me some pictures of him and Brooke.

Camil was very good looking and charming.  He had neat accent and was very kind.  We became good friends during the plane ride and I told him he could stay at my home if he needed a place to stay.

Camil was staying in Martha’s old room, off the pantry.  He unpacked his belongings and showed me a gun that was about the size of three lighters put together.  That night something incredible happened.  We lived in the largest house on the most famous street in Coral Gables, called Santa Maria and strange things usually do not happen in the neighborhood.  It’s not like we hear gun shots, have drug dealers roaming the streets.  We would leave our doors open during the day without fear.

Camil came to my room on the other side of the house.  “Jon, you must come over to the other side, we must go outside and hear what is going on.”  I went out the front door with him and I heard a girl screaming  very loudly as if she were being tortured.  I personally was scared.

I’ve had sex with a girl who screamed as loudly as she could, during her orgasm, which was similar to that scream but this was not until years later – so my only thought was that a girl was being killed slowly.

I perched at the side of a car in my driveway while Camil approached the house on the side street where the noise was emanating.  A car started, zoomed out of the driveway and was heading straight for Camil to try to run him over.  Camil had the small gun in both hands now and was aiming at the car.  He fired two shots and dove into the grass of my yard. The car sped off.  I asked Camil why the glass of their windshield did not shatter and he said that he fired above the car.  We called the police but didn’t say anything about the shots or the small gun.  We never found out what happened over there. Camil gave me the gun which I eventually lost as I do everything excluding the things in my Bar Mitzvah box.

Dad’s Office

On the way to the office we’d pass a building that my dad owned and he would say, “I own that” and then the next time we passed I’d say “you own that.”

He owned his office building on Flagler.  I would often enter my dad’s office through the back door that led directly to his office.  In the office I’d sit in front of his giant desk and look at all the plaques on the wall.  His entire wall was filled with plaques for something he had done in the community.  I was highly impressed with my dad.

I’d venture out into the salesman’s area where I’d be greated by Dan Sherman and Jack Lemieux and many other super salesmen.  Dan taught me how to make a quarter dissapear into my arm. 

The eastern side of the building was residential and run by my dad’s brother Marvin.

In the front was secretary Sunsy Morejon and my dad’s right hand Alicia Baro, a famous Puerto Rican.  I’d sit on Sunsy’s lap and she taught me how to draw a dog, perhaps the only thing I draw well to this day. (other than stars).

It was always much the same there.  It was a home away from home for me.

Baby Saved by Christmas Tree

King’s Bay Yacht and Country Club with its 1000 members had lots of beauty and charm.  Upon entering the club house one would see flights of free standing stairs that led up to the various dining levels and ballrooms.  The stairway had a wood banister that was supported by metal spindles on each step.  But each step was wide and there was room for a kid to get between the spindle.

During Christmas an infant crawled through the third story spindle and fell to what would have been 30 feet and death but there was a Christmas tree on the second level. The branches of the tree extended to the outer wall where the baby was falling and diverted and cushioned the fall to the second floor. The baby was fine.  Thank god for that Christmas tree.

Ink at Riviera Day School

The following is one of the most serious yet funny moments of my life, that ended…well you’ll see. It’s a 13 line story.  I was sitting behind Jeff Gurtler, a friend of German heritage. We were in homeroom at Riviera Day School, eight grade, a private school in Coral Gables owned by the heavy handed Mr. Cohen. Nobody ever wanted to be taken to Mr. Cohen's office.  Once I saw him dragging a boy out by his hair.

One day I had a plastic vile of ink.  Out of character I sprayed the word “fuck” on the back of Jeff’s shirt.  Jeff was so mad that I had apparently ruined his dress shirt that he told the teacher, who looked at the shirt, saw the profane ink job, I had done, and immediately scolded me and led me to the principles office.

Little did everyone know that this ink was a special disappearing ink that they sold in the stores back then.

I was stalling. “Hold on Sir, let me grab my bag.”  I walked as slow as I could  but fast enough so that the teacher would make a fool of himself.

Inside the principles office, the teacher told Jeff to turn around so that Mr. Cohen could inspect what I had done.  When Jeff turned around, there was not the slightest trace of ink.  Boy was that good timing. The incident was dropped and I never heard another word about it.

Jar of Candy

When I was six I was aware of a bottle full of colorful candy that was above the laundry machine, on a shelf, in the pantry.  I wanted that candy!    I reached the bottle and I tried to open it but it wouldn’t open.  I sat down and tried some more to no avail.  I was now trying with all my might.  How could a small bottle and a mere metal top stop a determined kid like me?

I put the bottle in my right hand and tried the top with my left hand, the weaker hand.  Suddenly the bottle broke. The glass penetrated my left thumb, slicing it from the tip or phalange all the way to the base where the u is formed with the pointer finger.

There was blood all over.  Doli, my governess, rushed me to the hospital where I was the recipient of the expertise of an emergency room doctor, less than a plastic surgeon’s whom we would strictly employ in the future.  I guess there becomes a point when you get enough money where you only solicit the best.

Today, you can’t see the mark from afar but if you look close you will see a long scar that traverses my thumb. In all my life I think I’ve only shown it to one person.

It reminds me of a time and place that I loved. It reminds me of how incidents leave their mark on us.  It also reminds me of the many subsequent times when I tried too hard and suffered the consequences.

Judge in Sauna

Since I can remember, perhaps at age three, I would go with my father to the King’s Bay sauna..   Over the years I would venture into the sauna by myself.  There was always a procedure of putting on a pair of throw away paper slippers, obtaining a towel and taking off all your clothes.  I never took off all my clothes like the older men but always entered in a bathing suit and a towel wrapped around it or over my shoulder. Enough with the formalities.

The interesting thing is that I would say hello to people and everyone was cordial.  However, there was one man with whom I did not say a word and he did not say a word to me.  He and I would find ourselves alone in there.

We would sit for long periods as if we were in a contest.  I could see him turning red from the heat sitting up on the top level while I was down in the cooler section below.   Invariably I‘d leave before him. It was strange that this man never even said hello to me. I was a kid. You think he’d say hey kid what’s your name or what are you doing here by yourself or how come you’re not in the pool with all the other kids…but never a peep. And you think I would have said something to him, like hello sir but I never did.

It went on this way for years and years.  From age 5 to 20 I’d see him almost every weekend and nothing ever changed.  How strange.  I thought he must have problems to be so serious.  It turns out I was right.

One day I was reading in the Miami Herald about operation court broom sweep.  Judges were the target.  Well this sauna guy that I had sat with, in silence, hundreds of times had his photo in the paper.  He was one of the judges. I thought, he’s been doing some crooked things for a while and that’s why he never wanted to talk to a kid.  He didn’t want to corrupt me or he didn’t feel wholesome enough to talk to a kid.

It’s best that I had no relationship with him because otherwise  I would have felt devastated when I saw the article.

Little Door Between Rooms

In 1969, my parents already had five kids and we needed a larger house.  We were looking at various homes in the Gables when we came across 4730 Santa Maria.  I was touring the upstairs when I found a little door, inside a closet, just a bit smaller than I.  I opened it and it led to the closet of the adjacent room.  Cool.  I pleaded with my dad to buy the house, just because of the door, and he did.

Although the house had three bedrooms upstairs and two downstairs (a room in the garage would be built to house Rene, our cook, which makes six rooms) there was no private room for me, though I was the third oldest.

I shared a room with three siblings, Nancy, Robert and Miriam.  Britt had his own room as did Robin. My parents obviously had their own room and Martha, our governess, had her own room and Rene had her own room built into the large garage.  So, four of us on bunk beds. 

We played hide and go seek in the dark, in our room.  Three of them after me. They hardly ever caught me as I’d roam.  It would have been great if we could have used the small door to access new venues but Robin lived in there and she was too old to be part of our group.  But I did use the door.  I’m almost too embarrassed to tell cause Robin will read this one day.

Robin had this friend, Debbie Nie.  She was stunning. Debbie would spend the night.  You can imagine what I did. 

Robin’s closet was full of clothes.  I was sly and quiet and snuck into their side so I could see Debbie naked.  For all the times Debbie slept over, I never once saw anyone naked.  They always got dressed in the bathroom. 

Mom & 1971, ’72

This could be a very long story but I’ll keep it short.  What is true and not true, no one will ever know or if you did know, watch it you might be killed in a car accident. (just a joke).

It is true that my dad was important and had some local political power back in 1971.  It is true that he was president of the Miami Board of Realtors in 1971 and re-elected in 1972.  It is true that my dad had already succeeded in helping Steve Clark get into office as his campaign manager. (I used to pass out little Steve Clark candy bars on the street with Mr. Clark before his first election).  It is true that Ricky Valedore was a Miami Realtor and wanted to become president of some Florida chapter of the board of Realtors.  It is true that my dad, as president of the Board did not support him but rather supported an “outsider” (something he was not supposed to do) from the West Coast named Tom Woods.  It’s true that two of the Watergate Burglars, the Cubans, were working for Ricky Valedore’s real estate company.

Now let’s stop here for a moment and do a quick Watergate review.  What was Watergate? Was it just a botched break in to obtain some damaging records to embarrass the Democrats?  According to those in the know such a J Gordon Liddy, (and I’ve never read the Gemstone Files), there were a whole bunch of plans to eliminate the political competition including drugging and kidnapping.  Were these plans ever put into action? Perhaps we should all read the Gemstone Files.

My mom’s contention is that she was drugged at the convention to elect the president of the realtors association in order to get my dad out of town so Valdore could win.  There was a whole tactical operation of which I’ll spare you the details.  Once home, my mother recognized certain faces in the paper having to do with Watergate and at that point she was convinced that she was part of a widespread conspiracy. 

This led to a deep depression in my mom and problems with my dad. My dad never believed her and a whole bunch of problems ensued that I will  get into in another story.  Such issues led to my parents divorce much later in 1986.

Money Tree at West Lab

Near the basketball court at West Laboratory School, there was a tree which I discovered that had quarters in the dirt at the base.  I’d keep on finding them.  When they were gone, I’d dig a little and more would appear.  It was my own personal treasure. They say money doesn’t grow on trees but how about under them?

There were two other trees that were special to me and I’ve already written about the Mulberry tree but let me mention the other since it was so important to me. It’s really not anything too interesting like the other stories.

There was a tree in the front of the school that had a limb with a spot that formed a u shape so that I could perch in it just perfectly.  I’d wait for my mom to arrive in that perch. She’d beep her famous beep, bum bum ba bum bum – and a final bum, bum and if I wasn’t in the tree I’d come running.

My Near Drowning and near death experience

From my understanding and I could be wrong, as always, drowning is when you die and a near drowning is when you almost die or die and come back to life.  The following experience is a near drowning, obviously, as I’m writing about it unless I’m clairvoyant and wrote this before it happened as if I were writing it now.  I’m just trying to be funny and creative – but I’ll just stick to the facts for now.

I was on break from the University of Pennsylvania.  I was with a girl named Dana Gorodesky, a pretty girl but one with whom I had a platonic relationship (I added that cause she’s married now and it’s also true as is everything I write).  Dana brought me to a party on Star Island.

I was in the pool and a black man and I started to talk.  His name was Alonso Highsmith and little did I know he was a famous football player ( I don’t follow football like 99% of the USA).  Alonso told me that he had listened to my dad give a lecture at the University of Miami on how to obtain an unsecured line of credit.  He told me that he obtained a $5,000 dollar loan with his signature and that he was going to put it in the bank and pay back the loan with it.  Then he’d go for more the next time.  We had a good chat and then the conversation turned to who could swim the farthest under water.

 Alonso was putting up his gold Rolex against my classic convertible firebird in the driveway.  I knew I would win cause, well you’ll see in a moment.  And I wasn’t going to take the man’s watch but I’d let that side of me show after I won.

Ever since I read the Right Stuff I had experimented with holding me breath for double that of normal lung capacity.  In the book an astronaut held his breath for double the other guys because he knew that the lungs have an excess capacity of 100%.  That means when you feel your going to just die, let’s say at 50 seconds, you can go on holding it for another 50 seconds, totaling 100 seconds.  I can probably hold mine into the 2 minute range with the trick of hyperventilating for a minute or more before the start.  I had been experimenting in the Kings Bay pool for years and I had already won a contest at the Riviera pool.  Believe me when I say that I was 100% sure that I would win, no matter Hyzman trophy winner or whatever. 

You go first. No you go first.  No, you go first.  I wasn’t going to let him get away with winning this argument.  The you go first’s lasted for what seems like 30 minutes but in reality it was probably about 5 minutes.  I gave in and decided to go first.

I did my usual hyperventilating but I misjudged the distance of the pool. The pool was longer than a normal back yard pool.  I decided to put on a show and go real far, double what I knew he could do at his best.  So I decided to do 7 laps.  It’s real hard to hold your breath till unconsciousness but I did it.  I went through severe pain underwater to get to the end of the 7^th lap where I stopped before the wall.  

Alonso, after 30 seconds or so (I don’t know as I was unconscious) pulled me out of the water.  It was reported to me later that I had blood coming out of my ears and there was a foam coming out of my mouth.  My eyes were all white, with no pupil showing. To this day, I vividly recall the following details…

I was aware that I was in a state that was different than any dream I had ever been in.  I tried to get out of it but it was impossible.  I saw two eyeballs.  My face was superimposed in both eyeballs.  The eyeballs rotated from back to forward, slowly or at a medium speed, and I could see my face appear and disappear as the eyeballs continued to spin. 

I realized that I was probably dead because the experience was so unique and so foreign that it could be nothing else.  I had no idea of how I had gotten into the state and I had no conception of my body or where I was. I did not recall swimming.

I said to myself, this must be death but it is not so bad because I can think.  I could also create dream like scenarios and I began to experiment with this ability.  I am only at a loss of knowing what happened to the eyes at this point.  I imagine that they went away momentarily as I would project a dream but they also remained because it seemed like an eternity where I was trying to escape the eye movement and return to life. I felt a godly presence, however, and I was not scared.  I remained calm and in an experimental mode from which I continually tried to escape to no avail.

I finally said to myself, if I can go jogging and forget that this is a simulated event, a dream that I am creating, then I will accept it.  I will accept death.  I will accept it because this is like a life unique unto itself and I exist in another sense.  I was jogging and it was very real but I knew it was not real so I tried harder and harder to create a life like simulation.  Again, I wanted to forget that I was dead and pretend like I was alive.

I am told that people were performing CPR on me but they were not holding my nose closed so that the air breathed into my mouth was escaping through my nose. A nurse saw the commotion and came to my rescue.  She was Ann Kaufman’s sister, Debbie.  After receiving the proper CPR, I began to breath again.  They all left me alone.  It was reported to me that I had the most serious look on my face.  Dana was crying and praying to her dad who had just died to help me.

Attempting a real life simulation, I got up from the floor.  Alonso was trying to hold me but I pushed him off.  I was still in the dream state, at this time, trying to run.  It was not until a few seconds later, I imagine, that I started to see a haze. I saw a girl backing away from me as I stumbled.  It was her party, I recognized her but I was not sure if this was part of my dream or reality.  Suddenly, in a split second I was back to life and I saw everyone clearly.  However, everyone was making noise and I was still not sure if I was actually back to life for in my experience there was no getting out of the death state – so how could it be?  I said, “could everyone be quiet.”  Everyone shut up at once and that is when I knew that it was life.  I said, “I’m fine.” All I wanted to do was to tell everyone about what I had just experienced; how I had been at death or the verge of it, in a state impossible to come out of, but yet I was now fully conscious, talking and listening to real people, fully aware of my body, able to touch and fell solid objects -- and above all the eyes were gone. I was back and it felt oh so great.  You’d have to experience it to know the feeling. It was like I was reborn in a physical sense.

This story is the beginning of a long story of a difficult journey I soon encountered. I would soon enter the earthly gates of hell.  I’ll tell you in another story.

Nichols

I’m not sure when my dad purchased the Nichols but I remember it as far back as subsequent to the time he purchased Emerald Lake. The Nichols was located a stones throw from the Bal Harbor Shops, the next building north after the Singapore.  It was the first property in Surfside after exiting Bal Harbor and you could tell. If you know the area, you know what I mean.  But it was a multi million dollar purchase and it was on the ocean.  This was another home away from home for my brothers and sisters and me.  There is so much to say about the Nichols, where shall I start? 

Back then the Americana was the big hotel and it was just a few down from us.  We’d go there day and night with Martha and burn through quarters in the arcade.  Then we’d eat. We had a charge account at the Singapore restaurant and we just signed for our meals. 

Soon the Nichols was two buildings and then three.  Like a monopoly game my dad was picking up the whole block.  That was our plan.

One day my dad told me  a secret.  He said, “there is a Jewish mobster named Meyer Lansky and he owns the Singapore hotel.”  From that day on I tried to find out about this Jewish mobster.  The maitre d' at the Singapore was my friend and one day I asked him, “does Mr. Lansky come in here to eat?”  He replied, “yes, at 9 every morning.” 

Of all the weekends and holidays that we stayed at the Nichols I never went hunting for the man.  I wanted to but something inside me said, “no.”  The reason I never sought him out is that I was already very proud of my religion and of my dad.  I saw how hard my dad worked and how honest and respected he was and then I thought of a man who made his money as a mobster and it repulsed me.  That was too easy.  Anyone can be a mobster if they have half a brain.  I figured if I saw the guy that I’d say some nasty things to him. Jewish or not, child or not, he’d have me eliminated.

One day I heard an intriguing story about him.  Some mobsters form Canada asked Meyer Lansky if they could buy some property on Miami Beach.  “Sure,” said Mr. Lansky, “but I’ll be buying it back from your widows.”

Another night, when I was older, I was drunk and around the Nichols when I ran into some trouble with the owner of a restaurant.  I’m sure it was my fault, whatever the disturbance due to my level of intoxication.  Anyway, the way I got out of the trouble is I said, I’m Jon Lansky and you know who my dad is, you better leave me alone or you’ll be dead in the morning.”

That reminds me of another memorable situation.  I was with Mike McAlevey at Sachs in the Bal Harbor Shops.  A salesman was treating us poorly and I said something like, “hey, my dad owns the Nichols right over there and we send a lot of business here.”  That was uncharacteristic for me cause I never went around showing off.  But Mike was so happy that I said it.  “Yeah” he told me, “that was good.”

Robert and two memorable Boating Experiences

My younger brother Robert weald and dealed and came up with the money for a small boat.  This boat he kept somewhere at Kings Bay.  Kings Bay is on the bay and Kings Bay owns several of the lakes and waterways that adjoin the property.  In fact, the main lagoon at Kings Bay was dug out and the fill was used to create the back nine and ___________ park.  The island that remained was solid rock and thus was left alone.

There was no boating allowed in the Kings Bay waterway.  However, one day Robert and I were water skiing.  We ran into another boat doing the same.  When we were both at idle, I yelled, “there is no boating allowed in here.”  The reply was, “then why are you boating in here.”  I said, “our father owns Kings Bay and this lake.”  One of the guys then retorted, “if your dad owns the place why are you in such a small, raggedy boat?” My brother replied, “my father owns the club, not us.” 

Another time Robert was employed at the club as the launch operator.  The concept was absurd as he charged as much in food, to my dad,  as he made.  His job was to take people on a small boat to their sailboat which was moored in the lagoon.  Robert decided that the boat needed a paint job.

He went out and purchased some blue and white paint and painted the boat.

I remember that a big problem ensued as many of the sailboats ended up with paint on their sides.   These were expensive sailboats.  Robert had forgotten to include a drying solution to the paint or he didn’t give it time to dry.  I don’t remember much more about it.  

Oh, there is one other boat story.  Robert first had a small dingy about four feet long with  a tiny motor.  He was real proud of it and would sell it eventually to invest in a larger boat.  I wanted to drive the boat one day and he wouldn’t allow me to.  After pleading with him, in front of some friends, in vain, I ended up pushing him in the lake. For years he held a grudge.

Sitting on the steps at the Nichols

In 1981 or 1982 I was sitting on the Northern steps of the Nichols Apartment/Hotel a group of buildings that my dad owned since I was a small boy.  I was with a friend Alex Moskovits.  We had just run on the beach – a few miles and we were tired and winded.  We sat down on the steps to the main entrance and lobby facing the Singapore.

An older lady came from inside the Nichols and said, in a mean tone, “you kids must move from this entrance and get off the property.”  She was the new general manager and we did not know each other.

I said, “mam, my dad owns this building” and we continued to sit there. 

 

The 13 Year Old Security Guard

When my little brother David was three he was changing bullets, in and out of a revolver, in our garage.  We had a housekeeper Rene who carried a gun in her apron.  She’d supervise him at night loading and unloading the bullets, something my father or mother did not know.

During the same time period David had purchased all types of scanners and electronic devices from Radio Shack.  He was a electronics aficionado. 

My father and a few partners purchased the famous Kings Bay Yacht and Country Club in 1982 (that my dad and Armondo Codina developed into Deering Bay). 

At 13 years old, David asked my dad if he could work in security at the country club.  My dad replied that he’d have to go through an interview with the manager.

David got the job. He received a time card, uniform, badge and golf cart.  He also had a pocket full of keys.  I remember hearing that David found two employees kissing in a closet.

One day a friend of mine, Howard, who was also working as a security guard at the club asked David, “hey David, how come you’re not in camp like all the other boys your age?”  David replied, “ I’d rather be making money than spending it.”

The Mulberry Tree

There was a giant Mulberry tree at West Lab elementary School behind Mr. Birchanski’s class.    I tasted a wild Mulberry one day, from that tree and I had never tasted something so sweet and bitter at the same time, something so delectable.  The tree was 50 feet high and 50 feet wide but a few of us managed to make it up the trunk and into the tree to gather the fine specimen before they were ripe enough to hit the floor.

One day I was out on a limb, way out on it and I heard a cracking noise.  In lieu of snapping and possibly killing me, the branch lowered me to the ground as if it were an elevator.  I don’t think I ever went back up into that tree.  But I still long for the taste of those berries and I’ve only found them twice in all the years since elementary school.

The Treasure Chest

My friend Geoff McKee and I used to swim, every day, 1.5miles, in the ocean off of South Beach.  Geoff is 6’4” tall and almost went to the Olympics for rowing.  He had the best simulated time in the country but he hurt his back.  He had great endurance.  I can tie him in a one lap race but in the ocean he was always way ahead of me.

Geoff would swim far out on the vegetation line, where it’s 20 feet deep, while I was afraid of being bitten by a shark and swam as close to the shore as possible.  I’d stop, rest and look. Geoff would be bobbing his head up and down.  He would swim down to the line and pick up objects such as pool balls and all kinds of junk, the whole time maintaining a steady lead over my straight freestyle void of such adventures.  Geoff, rain or shine, would never miss his swim!

One day I decide to place a treasure chest on the vegetation line in the hope that he would see it.  I found a silver chest and asked my mom for some Jewels.  She gave me about 15 pieces of costume Jewelry that all looked real. I put them inside. I also put a fake looking piece so that he would have some idea, so his heart wouldn’t be broken in the event he found it.

I set out early in the morning and placed the box way out at the veg line, next to a certain buoy where we always started.  Then I brought another friend, Ricky Cava, as a witness though I didn’t tell Ricky a word of my plan.

Ricky, Geoff and I set out for our swim.  It’s very hard to find things in the ocean, even if you know the exact area, and I was thinking my plan probably would not work The swim began..

It hadn’t been more than a few seconds when Geoff went down.  He never went down that early so I knew he was going for the chest.  He came up and before his face was out of the water completely he was gurgling the words, “a treasure chest, a treasure chest.” Ricky looked on.  I turned away from them and started to laugh silently  Finally I gained my composure and turned around, while treading water, with a serious face and said, “but we must continue our swim.”  Geoff said, “no I don’t feel like swimming today.”

On shore I said to Geoff, who was inspecting his treasure, “Geoff, do you think it would be fair, since I was with you, if you give me the chest and you keep all the Jewels.”  “Sure” he said.

Now it is quite ironic that I had just lost the girl I loved because of mistakes I made.  Geoff told me that my love was not real and that I liked her for her stats.

I didn’t tell him that I planted the chest until much later.  I did tell him, several times, that the Jewels were fake but he didn’t believe me. The ironic part is that Geoff, as smart as he is, thought my love was fake and the Jewels were real.  He was wrong on both counts.

It turns out that Geoff found a real gold chain in the pile of costume jewels.  He wears it to this day.