How to Police a Butt

Biloxi, Mississippi

We were policing used cigarette butts here at Keesler AFB when the news about JFK came in. We watched all day on TV. That was back before filter tips and the process just involved stripping the butt along the seam, disbursing the tobacco, rolling the paper into a tiny ball and throwing it back on the ground. With a filter-tip, that wouldn't work. I don't know how they do it now. You were expected to smoke. Those were the days.

I wanted the Air Force to pick me for a program to go back to a University full time for a couple of years on their dime and then on to Officer Training School. There were 100 slots for the program and they were processing 500,000 new enlisted men a year. I think I improved my odds by spit-shining the soles of my boots. My commanding officer took several visiting Congressmen to see my boots. There were lots of tests and interview boards. I made a 99 percentile on the Air Force Officers Emotional Stability Test. I pretended I was Captain Jack Armstrong in crafting my responses to the eight hour test.



I made the program and got an automatic promotion to staff sergeant after nine months of service. I met Mrs. Phred at FSU because of the program. Otherwise she would have probably married a Jewish orthodontist from Miami. Camille came though here in 1968. That was the one featured in the Forrest Gump movie.

Katrina hit here directly in 2005. The recovery is slow. The beach road is still about 90 percent concrete slabs with maybe 10 percent rebuilt. The old oaks that were stripped bare and denuded have begun to grow leaves again.


We went to see the Jefferson Davis Presidential Library. His home was badly damaged by the storm and most of his papers were lost or badly destroyed. We went to see several other museums, but every time the GPS would lead us to a bare cement slab. Apparently the 2009 Microsoft Streets and Trips program doesn’t deal well with hurricane losses.



Davis’ house was used for a confederate veterans home from about 1903 to 1956 when they ran out of confederate veterans. 900 of them are buried in the back yard. By 2065, the Vietnam Veterans will all be gone as well, except for maybe the one who is 108.


The best deal in town is the low cost buffets at the casinos. The food was excellent and the cost about $7.



Off to New Orleans in the morning. Several of the locals warn that it has become a much more dangerous place at night since Katrina. We were warned not to go beyond the 600 block of Bourbon Street. I’m betting that my usual steely glare and command voice with deter evil-doers. If that doesn’t work, the Glock in Mrs. Phred ankle holster will do the trick.

Bad Hair Days and Under Toads

Navarre Beach, Florida

On the way here, we pass the little fishing town of Panacea. We remember going to visit Mrs. Phred’s older hippie friend in 1965. He has a little cabin with things on the wall that say “Peace” “Love” and other hippie ideas. He is my first contact with the hippie culture. We drive back to the FSU campus 25 miles in the night on Mrs. Phred’s motor scooter. She yells that the moist air makes her hair all “frizzy”. That’s the first time she tells me that, but not the last.



The beach here extends for 30 miles. There is a stretch of 10 miles that is a national seashore. The beach is littered with seaweed, plastic trash, coconuts and jellyfish carcasses. We see maybe four other people on the long stretch of white sand beach and dunes. It’s Monday and cloudy. We stretch out our beach towel and lay back to listen to the pounding surf.



I think that laying on the beach is what retired people should do. As Timothy Leary would have said, “This is really it”…or is it? A young couple walking on the beach waves at us and Mrs. Phred says, “they are thinking, ‘that is us in 40 years.’ ”…I tell her, “If they’re lucky”.



Mrs. Phred at first refuses me permission to swim based on the the rip currents and later relents. “Aye, Captain”, I say, “the crew is grateful.” We endure this paradise for maybe 45 minutes and then Mrs. Phred goes back to the Toyota to read her book out of the wind. I go out into the ocean up to my knees and let the waves crash over me. I think about the ocean “Under Toad” that my parents always talked about.



I see a flock of pelicans coming my way from about a mile down the beach and try to take pictures. By two we get heavy rain and thunderstorms. We’ve made reservations for a three day weekend in New Orleans and then three days in Betty’s RV Park in Abbeville, Louisiana.


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The Stingray Shuffle

Port St. Joe, Florida

Saint George State Park was full when we pulled up to the gate Friday afternoon. We should have anticipated that development. Spring and Fall are the prime beach camping seasons in Florida. In the summer, heat, sand fleas and no seeums can make camping very unpleasant. Right now is the time to do it.



We settled for Pressnell’s Marina and RV Park, just outside Port St. Joe. We kind of like these little marinas that also do camping. The residents tend to stay for a week, a month or season to fish and live in tents, old trailers and RVs. They rent boats here and offer fishing guides. Some people come here every year to catch and eat the scallops which abound in the big bay formed by the barrier island.


I bought a big flounder at a nearby fish market. It was very fresh, but it still had the fins and skin on. We peeled it as best we could, expecting a culinary disaster, but it was light and flaky (with lots of bones).



Today we played tennis. I was up 4-2 at one stage, but lost the first set 6-4. After that we drove out to the Port St. Joe Peninsula State Park. It has nine miles of unspoiled sand beaches. In 2002, it was named the best beach in the world (no idea who decides these things). I went swimming.



The water was very nice (about 80 F.) and I spent about an hour letting the big waves crash over me. I do the Stingray Shuffle, sliding my feet along the bottom to let the rays know I’m coming until I tire of that and float off the bottom. The yellow flag is up for winds and rip currents. Mrs. Phred worries and nags but I explain to her that Navy Seals and Old divemasters like me are immune from these concerns.



Outside the park, we see an environmental and economic disaster that stretches 40 miles. Thousands of lovely, new, large and unoccupied beach homes that almost all have a “For Sale” sign in front. These were built and purchased on “spec” and for vacation homes during the bubble. A trillion dollars is not going to come even close to solving the problems of the banking system.



We went to Apalachicola to pick up some books to read and to lunch on their famous seafood. I loved the fried oysters, crab cakes and seafood chowder. Mrs. Phred had no complaints this time. I name Apalachicola for the award Best Seafood in the World for 2009. We need to move on in the morning. This time I make no prediction about where we end up, but I do like the Gulf swimming this time of year. There are a whole series of lovely State Park beach campgrounds along this long stretch of Panhandle beaches. Maybe we’ll get lucky.

Skyping Down the Road

Perry, Florida

I encouraged Mrs. Phred to drive the new RV so I could play with the computer.

Her sister called on Skype from Venice, Italy, so I held the laptop up so thay Mrs. Phred could see her sister and talk while rolling down US 19.



I turn the laptop around and show my SIL the open road ahead, lined with pink and purple clover.

Amazing....Skyping down the road...trying to lighten my load...

Off to a Slow Start

Manatee Springs State Park, Florida

We finally get our RV back from the dealer about noon. We spend one night in the RV sleeping in one of the dozens of hanger-like service bays. We had a list of five things to repair, including adding a little air to the tires. The only thing they managed to accomplish was the air fill, I think, but I haven’t checked that work yet.



They wanted to charge $100 for the tire pressure check and $240 for diagnosing the satellite dish problem. The satellite dish was originally broken on delivery and they didn’t have the parts to fix what they claimed was the problem. I gave them the fish-eye on both issues and they wrote it all off to customer goodwill.



The problem with this dealer is too many moving parts. We dealt with a service advisor, a cashier, a gate security guard, the IT department, the cabinet shop, the parts department, a satellite specialist and numerous others. We had top wait an extra two hours to get a zero balance bill because the service advisor's computer was frozen. I prefer one guy with a truck who fixes the problem and writes out a paper bill.



We made it to the Manatee Springs State park about 150 miles north of Tampa. The manatees left about a month ago when the water in the Gulf warmed up. The big spring empties into the Suwannee River. Right now the water level is high so they are not permitting swimming, diving, kayaking or canoeing. As a result, the park is pretty much empty except for us and numerous very tame deer and armadillos.



It seems very quiet and peaceful, so we decide to stay another day to read, play scrabble and take a drive down to Cedar Key. Cedar Key is a little bump-out on the West Coast of Florida. This 100 mile stretch of coast is about the only place in Florida that lacks good beaches, due to low swampy conditions. The nice thing about that is this part of the State also lacks people.



The deer seem to have been fed frequently by campers. I give one a banana and it comes to the table to sniff around for more treats. Florida deer are small and graceful.



We have lunch in Cedar Key: stone crab, crab bisque, smoked mahi-mahi spread and sauvignon blanc. We don't care for the wine or stone crab, but I don’t expect much in a tourist place. I promise Mrs. Phred better seafood along Florida’s panhandle coast.



Next stop is the white sand beaches of St. George Island State Park on the North Gulf coast of Florida.