This post was originally published in May, 2010. Tonight I
re-watched the movie Erin Brockovitch and was reminded of this series
and decided to repost for all of my new blogger buddies who may not have
seen it. Stick with the 3-part series and you will see why.
A week or so ago I was enjoying an afternoon repast with my ole buddy Punch
at the White Lion in St. Augustine, FL. The occasion was the annual
Gamble Rogers Folk Festival which, for the first time, was spread out
among several different venues throughout the ancient city. A great
idea as St. Augustine, the nation's oldest city, is easily one of the
most desirable destinations in the country and the location made for a
grand afternoon of great music and visual delights.
However, as usual, Punch had gotten his calendar totally screwed up and ended up in Cowford nearly un-announced
and a month earlier than the festival, which was alright with me as the
boy's visits are always an excuse for some good creative loafing, this
one being no exception.
As we sat on the Lion's patio overlooking the Castillo De San Marcos, I was reminded of my recently departed friend Rick O'Shea,
one of the most special people it has ever been my pleasure to know. A
wheelchair-bound paraplegic due to an auto accident as a teenager, Rick was one of those persons who made lemonade
out of lemons and, because of his infectious spirit, was always
surrounded by the most interesting people doing the most interesting
things.
To
digress a bit, a week or so before, I had gone on one
of those "clean-out-the-dresser" tears where you rip through your
dresser drawers and pull out everything you haven't worn in years
and toss it into the rag pile. In my case, it always involves several
dozen t-shirts that I've collected over the years but could never throw
away, some of them twenty or thirty years old and emblazoned with some
logo or other from some event or other that I attended or was part of.
One
such shirt was a rather ugly one that I never wore (pictured) but is
full of fond memories from an event surrounding Rick. It seems Rick's van had broken down and he didn't have the money for a new one, so
his friends got together and threw a party to help him out. Indeed, we
ended up raising several thousand dollars for the down-payment on Rick's
new van. (Some of you might recognize a few of the players at that
event, particularly Grammy-winning bluesman Derek Trucks and Noel Friedline, a fabulous jazzer who now lives in Charlotte.)
Well,
with great gumption and fortitude of purpose, this particular shirt
ended up in the rag pile. A short while later, when I grabbed it to
wipe down my just-washed car, I paused to look at it and a rush of
memories came flowing back to me.
As
you can see from the logo, Rick is depicted in his chair flying a
kite. Rick had gotten into kiting some years earlier and by then had a
cottage industry employing two or three people in his garage building
and selling them. There are many tales surrounding him and his kites,
one such adventure involving the aforementioned Castillo De San Marcos.
It
was Rick's custom to station himself each Sunday afternoon on the great
lawn of the fort so as to catch the sea breeze off of the Atlantic and
fly his kites. He was always attended by a retinue of pretty young
girls and hippie guys who were constantly looking for ways to push the
kiting envelope.
It
began benignly enough with just one kite, usually a very colorful one
such as a Chinese dragon or the like. Then, it expanded to two kites on
a line with a banner or two. Then, several kites on a long line topped
by a para-sail which they tied-off to Rick's wheelchair to hold it
down.
Well, you
guessed it, it wasn't long before a gust of wind sent Rick and his
wheelchair careening across the lawn straight for the old fort and its
surrounding moat. The hippies and chicks ran him down and tackled him
before any serious mishap, but the string of kites took a
furious nosedive and crashed into the top of the fort, scaring the crap
out of a gaggle of tourists, and knocking a softball-sized chip of coquina
out of the national treasure, much to the chagrin of the National Park
Service who forthwith banned any further kite flying on the grounds.
It
seems that Rick's kite assault had done more damage to the fort than
all of the battles and mishaps of the previous four-hundred years! All of this I observed with much glee from my favorite Sunday afternoon perch on the patio of the White Lion.
Undaunted,
Rick and his minions soon set up shop at the end of a residential
street which dead-ends at the grounds of the fort, giving access to the
great lawn and the attending sea breeze. By now the kite line was a 300
foot length of rope at the end of which was a para-sail some 20 feet or
more across and supporting 25 or 30 smaller kites and banners. It was a
glorious sight and became somewhat of a tourist attraction in its own
right.
They used a
wench to control the monster and fastened it to the bumper of Rick's van to hold it down. The kites were self-supporting in the strong
wind, requiring no attention, and it made for good entertainment for
Rick and his friends to picnic on the grounds of the fort in the cool
summer breeze while enjoying the kite spectacular.
Well,
you guessed it, it wasn't long before a gust of wind overcame the
weight of the van and dragged it backwards into the concrete barrier at the
end of the street, completely destroying the drive train in the process.
Fortunately, no one was hurt.
Thus
was the demise of Rick's van and the catalyst for the party to
raise funds for a new one. And thus, the catalyst for my memories and
this post.
To be continued...
Cool story. I'll look forward to the sequels.
ReplyDeleteI haven't heard of Noel Friedline, but Dereck Trucks rocks.
Derek was just a kid back then. If you ever get to the Charlotte area, keep an eye open for Noel, you won't regret it.
DeleteI wouldn't want to mess with the wench controlling the winch!
ReplyDeleteWell... you might change your mind if you saw some of the winch wenches.
DeleteWitch winch wench should I be searching for?
DeleteThat wench with which winch to ratchet up your gettyup.
DeleteThen I will have to watch for a wild wench with a pole pulling winch to wrench up my gettyup.
Deleteha. that rocks...dang, messed up the fort...glad he was undaunted...and that last kite sounds incredible...hmm...betting he was a rather interesting fellow...
ReplyDeleteI guess the French and English never thought of a kite attack or things could be quite different around these parts today.
DeleteGreat start! I'll be looking forward to the next installment.
ReplyDeleteI don't think I could have parted with a tee shirt capable of evoking such good memories. Wear it? No, but maybe make it into a throw pillow. Or even frame it and hang it on the wall. Some shirts are much more than just shirts.
I didn't part with it. It's in a drawer. Trouble is, I've got so many tees with great memories attached. Hey, that gives me an idea, a post on each tee. Ummmm
DeleteYou've got my attention...waiting for part two and three!
ReplyDeleteAlright! Showtime.
Deletegood the first time. equally good now. you are the river.... never put out hands in the same water twice.
ReplyDeleteMixed message here? But I'll take the first one. Reminds me of that great line from Anthony Quinn in Lawrence of Arabia... "...but I am poor because I am a river to my people."
DeleteI love Rick..
ReplyDeleteSo does everybody.
DeleteMr C. There's a pic of Rick in my studio taken on the Jax Beach Boardwalk (another favorite spot). He's always in my heart. I miss him deeply. Your entry about the van reminds me of a story that I can't (for obvious reasons) tell here. But, we'll see each other soon and I'll tell you then. Cheers, Anj
ReplyDeleteMaybe I can sanitize it enough to tell on my blog. I'll try.