Manpot's Tales of the Tropics (6 page)

Now just having "Mr. Dick's" and "Soft" in the same
title is a questionable marketing ploy...but that is what it
was...and still is.

Well...it seems LC's donkey either had a hankering
for one of "Mr. Dick's" finest soft confections...or he just wanted
to get rid of his rider...

The donkey decided to sideswipe "Mr. Dick's" truck
dumping LC unceremoniously in the street. Now LC's one tough
dude...but he was a-hurting. A trip to Peebles Hospital revealed
bumps, bruises and some serious road rash…and a tale for us all to
tell.

They decided to keep LC overnight and that's when
things got a little scary. At one point LC was awakened by the
cleaning lady. "Land Crab, Land Crab", she whispered in his sleepy
ear," The Donkey got you."

To say our buddy freaked out a little would be an
understatement.

He decided to make his escape...only to run headlong
into a three hundred pound nurse.

"Land Crab", she bellowed," get back to bed"

LC did...but didn’t sleep another wink. The fact he
had to beg for a pillow didn't help.

The fact the pillow had blood on it helped even
less.

"Turn it over then", said the nurse.

LC obeyed...

But at first light LC was out of the hospital...and
back in Brewer's Bay licking his wounds...

Of course LC was not done...He returned last year to
win the Carrot Bay donkey race...outright. But I do believe he paid
Mr. Dick handsomely to park his ice cream truck in the big parking
lot so he wouldn’t make a return visit to Peebles...

And then there was that mysterious "Santa Claus" who
showed up in Brewer's Bay atop another donkey to the delight of all
the kids...and grownups too of course.

Once again the "Mr. Dick's Soft Ice Cream" truck was
nowhere in sight.

Co-incidence??? I think not.

He was a talented guy who'd travelled the thirty
miles from his native Tortola to find work at a resort in St
Thomas…that's like heading from rural Kauai to Waikiki. But it was
fine ...for this young man knew that one day, when he'd saved a few
bucks, he'd head back to Tortola and to the piece of land he owned
on the beach in Cane Garden Bay and open his own little beach
bar.

In the meantime he was happy to tend bar at a resort
in the US Virgin Islands and create all his spectacular cocktails,
with names like "Painkiller" and "Bushwacker", for the "snowbirds"
who flock to the tropics in winter to escape the blizzards back
home.

He'd smile as he handed over his icy
concoctions...and then watch the tourists turn lobster red under
the tropical sun.

Of course he'd warn them...but usually his wise words
fell on deaf…and very sunburned...ears.

The season started to slow down and it was then our
young friend was approached by the manager of the resort. Seems the
place was owned by a large corporation which also had a big spread
up in Montana in the good old US of A. They were heading into their
high summer season and needed good help up there. Would our pal
like to work the summer in Montana?

Now this young island man had never been to the USA
and this seemed like the chance of a lifetime. Images of rolling
prairies, John Wayne and the Wild West galloped through his
brain...besides, he was told, several other local workers would be
there too.

And so it was, a few weeks later, that our gentle
island friend found himself in "Big Sky Country"...surrounded by
miles of greenery...pick up trucks and cowboys…and a long way from
the beach. But at least a few of the locals looked like John
Wayne.

But he was there to work and to experience something
completely different...and this was certainly that. Talk about a
tropical fish out of water!

He worked hard and finally had a day off. A few of
the other friends from the tropics had the day off too...so the
guys hung out...singing a few songs that reminded them of the home
they missed so very much...

"One Love" drifted on the prairie wind that day.

Now the guys didn’t know it...but the manager of the
Montana resort heard the guys singing...and he came up with an
idea. Why not bring a taste of the tropics…to cowboy country???

Next day a big sign was posted by the pool…" This
Sunday….by the pool...The Islanders"...

Well all the guys from the islands were thrilled.
Some down home music right here in Montana...maybe the band would
even do some Bob Marley.

To be honest these guys had heard enough songs about
old pickup trucks, broken hearts and lost dogs. They needed some
island tunes and here was a band going to play them. For the boys
from Latitude 18 it was a good day to be in Montana.

The day of the big event finally rolled around and
our bartender was really excited. Finally...as the day wore on...he
sought out the manager.

"What time are The Islanders coming on?" asked our
pal.

"Whenever you guys are ready," came the response.

"What," said our pal, dumbstruck" You mean...we are
the Islanders?"

"You're the only guys around here who look like
Islanders to me," came the gruff response, "now get out there and
sing."

Well, our pal rounded up the rest of the guys and
explained the predicament. A couple had guitars...one had a steel
drum and that was about it... But they put on a show...

The guests loved it...Here was a bunch of Caribbean
guys, barely more than kids, singing their hearts out about the
tropics…in the middle of Montana.

So "The Islanders" were born.

Every Sunday for the rest of the summer ' The
Islanders" played. The crowds got bigger and even some of the local
cowboys showed up to hear them. Bob Marley never knew it…but there
were a lot of folks in the Wild West hearing his songs that
year.

Well summer started to wind down and our pal was told
he should head back to St Thomas and prepare for his old bartending
job.

But he had really enjoyed singing and, after all, he
did have that piece of land right on the beach on Tortola's Cane
Garden Bay.

Instead of going back to St Thomas, he returned to
his native Tortola and...with the help of a few pals...built his
tiny beach bar.

The year was 1981 and "Quito's Gazebo" was born.

The bar had some interesting features…there was a
tree growing up the middle of it and the ants would parade up and
down to the amusement of the patrons.

Quito was the only member of the staff back then.
He'd pour some drinks and then pick up his guitar and play a few
tunes.

In 2006 Quito celebrated his 25th anniversary with
seven best selling albums behind him and a greatest hits CD in his
near future. I was honoured to write some words that will be
included on that album cover.

"The Gazebo" is now a legendary bar and restaurant in
the Caribbean and about ten times the size of that original little
beach bar. But Quito still picks up his guitar...playing solo on
Tuesdays and Thursdays...and with his band on Fridays and
Saturdays.

The band is called " The Edge", not " The Islanders"
but the roots of that wonderful music that wafts on the trade winds
out of Cane Garden Bay can be traced back to those Sunday
afternoons out by the pool…in Montana...

Happy 25th Quito!!!

I’ve never understood how the first part of “funeral”
can be “fun”…most of the ones I’ve (sadly) attended have been far
from a laugh riot. But sometimes there can be humour even in those
dark moments…and so it was the day of “Four Red Stripes and a
Funeral”...

My wife Candace, my buddy Dewey and I had only been
on Tortola for a few hours and we were having a cold one at my
local, Bomba’s Surfside Shack. Only in the islands could a place
like Bomba's exist ...a ramshackle drinking establishment with a
sand floor and "nouveau junk" furnishings ...and that's being kind.
But you've just got to love a place like that.

So we were hiding from the afternoon tropical sun
when a car screeched to a halt ...Out jumped a longtime island
buddy of mine with a grave look on his face.

“My brother died,” said my friend,” and the funeral’s
tomorrow”.

I told him how very sorry I was…although I’d never
met his brother…a man who went by the well deserved moniker “Big
Leo”...

“I’d like you to come,” he added. I told him all we
had were island clothes ...shorts and, at best, a silk aloha
shirt…hardly funeral attire.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, “please come”...

So the next day we headed into Road Town to the
little church near the old prison. It was very hot and we were way
too early, so we walked into a nearby cool bar. Four Red Stripes
later it was time to leave for the church...

By the time we arrived the church was overflowing
with mourners and the area in front was jammed. There were so many
dark .suits and Ray Bans it looked like a “Blues Brothers”
convention. Think we stood out??

Anyway we joined the others outside as the stirring
music and singing flowed from the church. The sun beat down and the
singing went on and on. Many sniffled into their handkerchiefs and
the poignancy of it all was hard to miss. This certainly was sad
...but “Big Leo” was being sent off in style.

Finally the singing stopped and it was time, as is
Caribbean tradition, for the pallbearers to carry “Big Leo’s”
coffin around the church and then outside for everyone to pay their
last respects.

Now as “Big Leo” was a large man (some said six five
and three hundred pounds) he had some very, eh hefty, gentlemen
carrying him on his last journey.

Everything was fine ‘til they reached the front door
to bring "Big Leo" outside. That old church doorway wasn’t made to
accommodate “Big Leo” and the six big guys carrying him. They
huffed and puffed and then started turning the coffin on to its
side to try to slide the Big Guy through.

I caught Candace’s eye ...she caught Dewey’s eye and
we all had that same thought ...”Big Leo” was about to roll right
out of that coffin and down the steps into Main Street, Road Town.
Call it “Gallows humour” ...but we all started to lose it
...burying our faces as we guffawed at the thought of what might
happen next.

Our fellow mourners were very sympathetic…assuming we
were overcome with grief they comforted us ...That didn’t help the
situation.

Finally they wrangled Leo, safely through the doorway
and up to the outside mourners...But then they headed back into the
church…for a replay of the whole scenario. That was more than we
could take ...between hysterical sobs we bade our farewells and
fled the church…

I hope “Big Leo” can forgive us but I must say
...when I go I really wouldn’t mind hearing a few good laughs from
the crowd ...and if I can still be the one providing them ...so
much the better!