Geezer Paradise (22 page)

             
"Well, the party's over," Willey said.  "There's nothing more we can do here.  We might as well go."  We said goodbye to Mary and headed out of the park and back to Tarpon Springs.  We were not happy campers.

Chapter Fourteen

ON OUR WAY back to Sofie's
I said, "Wait a minute.  Let's go to Bertha's and ask the Judge what he thinks about all this.  I'm sure he's seen it on TV."

             
"Good idea, Barney."  We turned around and headed down to Clearwater.

             
Bertha's looked just as it did the last time we were there.  The same crowd was at the bar.  Didn't any of them work?  The crowd was yelling at the TV over some sporting event.  Bertha waved as she moved up and down the bar serving drinks.  Frank Sinatra was still moaning in the background.  It made me grind my teeth.  My first job out of school was in a department store where they played Sinatra songs day and night.  By the time they played One More For The Road, for the thirteenth time, we would mosey up to the snack bar, where Ed, the snack bar guy, would give us a glass of orange juice for fifteen cents.  For another fifteen cents he would take the glass under the counter and pour a shot of vodka into it.  By late afternoon the snack bar was a popular place. 

             
The judge sat alone at the end of the bar.  We walked over to the Judge and said hello.  We sat down and gave Bertha our order, including one for the judge. 

             
"How are you?" the Judge asked.

             
"Not so good," I said.  Bertha came with our beer.  I really didn't like drinking beer that early in the day, but I took a swallow just to be sociable.

             
I said, "We came to ask if you saw that business about the discovery of an Indian burial ground up in Citrus Bay." 

             
"Was that your park . . . The Blue Orchid?" the Judge asked.  Willey and I nodded.

             
The Judge said, "Yeah, they broke into the ballgame to run the story.  The guys here at the bar were fit to be tied.  That was quite a show they put on."

             
"Do you think they'll be able to squash the find?" I asked.

             
"They can't squash it now," the Judge said.  "The cat's already out of the bag.  If it turns out to really be an Indian burial ground nobody will be able to put a shovel to it except the Archeologists."

             
I asked, "Can you give us any advice on how to find someone to authenticate the find?"

             
"There was an older man at the site with the students," the judge said.  "He must be a Professor at the college.  He'd know how to go about verifying the find."

             
"Why didn't I think of that?" I asked.

             
"You'll have to excuse Barney," Willey said.  "He went to night school and he can't think during the daytime."  The Judge thought that was pretty funny. 

             
"One other thing, Judge," I said.  "Will they throw us out of our houses if it really is an historic site?" 

             
The Judge rubbed his chin and thought for a few seconds.  "Well, that's a tough Question.  Those houses already exist.  They would be displacing a whole park full of people.  That would be kind of drastic, even for a burial ground.  That question would probably be resolved in court."

             
"Thanks, Judge," I said.  "We really appreciate your help." 

             
"Any time fellas.  Come back again."

             
"We might just take you up on that," I said.

             
"Always glad to help."

             
We got back into the Wrangler and headed toward the University of Tampa.  We had to find that Professor.  We got on 60 East and crossed Tampa Bay.  Then we headed up to West Kennedy.  When you first come upon U of Tampa you see Henry plant's Old Tampa Bay Hotel.  The enormous hotel was built a century ago by the railroad magnate.  It was the winter playground for the rich and famous at the turn of the last century.  It looks like something you would see in Saint Petersburg Square in Russia, all fancy brickwork and soaring towers with golden, onion shaped domes on top.  It's now part of the university, called the Henry Plant Museum.  A lot of tourists, coming upon it unawares in the heart of Tampa, think they've made a wrong turn and accidentally stumbled upon Disney World.

             
We parked at a meter and walked onto the campus.  We entered the admissions office and asked to see the Professor who was at the Indian burial site in Citrus Bay.  The young girl at the admissions office asked us to take a seat.  A few minutes later a distinguished looking older man with white hair came shuffling to meet us. He had just about the same head of hair as Willey had. 

             
"Hello gentlemen," he said.  "I'm Professor Crumbey.  I understand you have some Questions about the newly discovered Indian site at citrus bay.  I only have a few minutes between my summer classes, but I'll try to answer your questions."

             
"Thank you, Professor," I said.  "This gentleman and myself  live in the mobile home park where the site was discovered.  A developer is in the process of buying the park to build high rise condominiums there.  We were wondering if the artifacts were genuine, would that stop the developer from building on the site?"

             
"Oh, the artifacts are genuine alright," Professor Crumby said.  "I can attest to that just by looking at them.  We have already sent off a few pieces to be carbon dated.  That will tell us whether they came from the ancient Calusa tribe or the more recent Seminoles.  It will most likely be the Seminoles, because the Calusa have not been known to migrate farther north.  As to whether the developer can build on that site--absolutely not.  That ground is now an historic site protected by Florida law." 

             
Willey and I were smiling at this good news. 

             
Now came the tough question.  "Do you think the state will let us go on living there when it's an historic site?" I asked. 

             
The Professor looked pensive, "That's a difficult question," he said.  "It would be difficult to dislocate so many families, but if would also be difficult, if not impossible, to make it an historic site with all those people living there.  But if it's your homes your worried about, I can tell you that when the state takes land by eminent domain they must either pay the residents equal compensation, or provide them with a new location of similar value."  Willey and I were practically dancing with joy. 

             
"What do you think about the National Guard forcing everyone off the land?" I asked. 

             
The top of Professor Crumbey's head turned pink and his nostrils flared.  "That, gentlemen, is the beginning of a sad trend in this country, whereby an all powerful government is slowly taking away our rights as American citizens.  There was no need to bring the National Guard into that situation.  Something sinister was going on there, and I'm fairly sure it was political in nature.  Our politicians are slowly ripping our rights out of the constitution, and moving us into Socialism so they can control us.  It's all about power.  If we can't turn this situation around I fear for the younger generation."

             
"I couldn't agree with you more," I said.  "It's a frightening situation."

             
"Yes," Professor Crumby said.  "I look at those trusting young faces in my classroom every day and I pray that they will be able to keep their freedom."  Willey and I nodded in agreement and looked down at the floor.  There was nothing more to say.

             
"Thank you for your time, Professor," I said.  "We appreciate it." 

             
The Professor was still incensed about being thrown off the site.  "Those people are not going to intimidate me," he said.  "I will be back at that site tomorrow morning with my students.  We have permission from the park to excavate."

             
"Good for you," I said.  "Maybe we'll come by and take a look."

             
"Glad to have you, and good luck to you."  We thanked him and shook his hand.  Then we watched as he shuffled back to his own world.

             
"I can't believe it," Willey said.  "I thought it was mandatory these days for college Professors to have a ponytail and walk around with a copy of the communist manifesto in their hand." 

             
"He's from the old school," I said.  "He's the last of a dying breed."

             
We walked back to the Wrangler and headed back to the park.  We had decided to stay at McKnight's place overnight.  We were quiet on the way back, but we felt much better about our situation.  Now we had a fighting chance.  We called Mary and told her what was happening.  She was as happy as we were about the Professor coming back to the park.  We asked her to leave the side door to McKnight's place open again.  We were going to stay in the park overnight and watch whatever happened in the morning.  Mary thought it would be dangerous for us to stay in the park.  But since we were determined to do it, she made us promise to be careful and not take any chances.  We promised we'd be careful.  Then we called Sofie and she said the same thing that Mary said.  We promised
her
we would be careful, too.

             
Since we didn't want to enter the park before dark we drove back across the Courtney Campbell Causeway on 60 West toward Clearwater to kill some time.  I found a place to park on a side street and we walked up to the main drag.  I looked around for my friend, the homeless lady who likes to slap herself, but she was nowhere in sight.  Gulfview Boulevard was packed with people trying to escape the inland heat.  There was a decent breeze coming off the Gulf that made the humidity tolerable.  We found a restaurant right on the Boulevard where we could sit at a sort of breakfast bar and look out at the people going by on the sidewalk, and across the street by the Gulf of Mexico.  We ordered fish sandwiches and a couple of beers. The beer tasted better now that we were celebrating.  We ate and watched the parade of people going by.  Afterward, we crossed the street and walked down the sidewalk overlooking the beach. 
              "You know, Barney," Willey said.  "I can't figure why the people put up with politicians like Buckland.  They must know by now that he's crooked.  You'd think they'd vote him out of office."

             
I said, "When I was a reporter up north I figured that one out.  The people who campaign for these bums don't do it because they think their candidate is a good guy.  They do it because they want something--a state job for themselves, or a do nothing job on the taxpayer's back for their unemployable uncle, Fred--who can't read and picks his nose.  It's a flawed system, but so far, it's the only one we have.  But I agree with you about the politicians, most of them are a sad lot."

             
We found an empty bench to sit on down by the boat rides.  We watched the pirate with the eye patch swoop down on people.  By then the sun was setting, a bright blaze of crimson and peach over the horizon.  We decided to go back to the park.  We stopped at a fast food place along the way.  We picked up some burgers and fries, and coffee that we could heat up in the microwave for breakfast the next morning. 

             
Mary had left McKnight's side door open for us again and we settled in for the night.  We closed all the blinds and turned on the TV, but that was all the light we would risk--except for the bathroom, where we covered the small window in the shower with a piece of cardboard.  About ten o'clock I passed out on the couch. 

             
We woke up around 9:am, showered and shaved, and heated up our breakfast.  It tasted good, even the coffee.  Then we sat around and watched a mindless game show on TV.  I was watching the park entrance when the crew from U of Tampa rolled in around noon.  Willey and I cut through the back yards to the site where the students were excavating.  We were behind the houses and couldn't be seen from the road, so we were relaxed.

             
"Good morning, Professor," we said.

             
"Good morning to you too, gentlemen."  Actually, the Professor was the only gentleman there.  "We are taking part in an historic event in Florida's history," he said.  He even sounded like a Professor.

             
I was about to ask him a question about Florida law, when the sun strangely got brighter behind us.  I turned around and looked right into a TV camera.  The lights were blinding.

             
Willey turned around at the same time.  "Oh shit!" Willey whispered.  "We have to get these people to edit the film so we don't appear on the afternoon news."  The cameraman moved past us and focused on the dig site.  We moved out of the way.  I walked up to a young TV girl who was talking on a cell phone.  I waited politely until she finished her conversation.