Scott Fagan's Mem.wa?

De Barracks Yad Bay An Beach Club

 It jus so happen dat one day roun de bay dere by de Barracks yad a big truck come an dump out a truck load a san. Wha! Yeh meboy, (I se to meself) now yu talking boy, lemme go lay doun in it. No sooner said dan done an I was de fus man dare.

Boy, ah lay back an cross me leg an crass up me han dem behine me head like ah  comtemplating de  clouds in de clear blue sky. De nex second, ah jump up ana run back home to de head a pave street for me Muddah towel ana umbrella fo style, den ah grab up a can a sardine, two French bread ana red soda ana fly back to de beautiful new san at wha I kno gon soon be “De Barracks Yad Bay an Beach Club” Yeh meboy, ah se to meself now yu talking now yu talking.

 By de time ah reach back, three o fo touris had done fin de spot, but ah tro doun me self right in de middle ah dem, put an me shades ana open me sardine.

Jus den a big hard face man se “Hey Buckra, wha de hell yu tink yu doin, yu can’ see we come tu mix up concrete an cement?” Ah se “wha? Yu crazy? Wha yu commin’ to de beach tu mix up concrete and cement” De man se “Is you is de one who crazy, who de hell tell you dis is a beach, we makin’ a watahfront fo  bigtruck cou pass here” Ah se “wha? Is YOU is de one who crazy, look de beautiful blue watah de, look de san here, look de people in de middle. We here in de Barracks Yad waitin’ bocoups an many years plus fo somebody to bring de san fo de beach. Man de people dem  been laydin doun in de mud full a crab hole an rock stone an badein’ in de watah  wha de bottom fulla broke shell an beer can. De chrirren dem billin san calsel outtah mud an don’ talk abou when de gut runnin and de nightsoil commin’ doun, den dey makin mud pie outta dat!

 No man, we waitin’ two hundred years an mo for dis san tu come (an fo somebody to plug up de gut) We ain’ wan no concrete and cement fo de beach, how de people dem gon lay doun on concrete and cement?, why yu wan tu have to jump up wid yu coal pot an yu fry fish and yu mabi an yu blanket an everyting, everytime some schupid muddah skunk ina bigtruck want tu pass. Yu crazy? No man, bring mo san! Dis is de place right here me boy, in fac we should exten de beach all de way from Wes Indian dock to Cha Cha Ta…ah.. ah mean French Toun!

 Yu kno de beach belongs to de people dem and dat way every day will be like Christmas Mahnin fo de whole ah Charlotte Amalia me boy. Man sellin fraco an jumbi bead lef an right, woman sellin pate an benye by de poun. Touris frum all ovah de place commin to see de most beautiful town in de wurl, wid de bigges an de bes and de most beautiful beach in de wurl, rite in de middle ait. An de people dem will own de whole ting!. Man ah tell yu bring mo san! Bring mo san!

Book 1. Isla Grande. 5 Continued

In “La Isla Grande”, the upside of the downside, was always the kindness of strangers.

Which is not to say that all strangers were kind, nor to suggest that all kindness came from strangers either, but life has flung us all in a great tumble barrel of circumstance and situation and so sometimes, you just never know.

 For example…Howard had a friend from his soldierin’ days, who was himself still in the Army and stationed in Puerto Rico. The friend “Morris” would visit our pad from tine to time. Morris was a great looking, fine and enthusiastic fellow, He had light brown skin that set off his electric “blue green” or “aquamarine” eyes perfectly, and a spirit full of the most wonderful “joi de ve”.

 When Morris knocked at the door, all of our spirits would rise. He always brought a bottle for Howard and Mud, and probably slipped them a a few dollars for groceries as well. With Morris, every other word was  funny or kind, and he swept through the place like a happy tornado. However, there was one recurring behavior that had a really upsetting and ultimately, saddening effect on me.

For reasons that I still don’t understand, Morris, on his way out the door, would ALWAYS promise that the next time he came he would bring me a bicycle.

 It happened that at that particular time there was nothing in the world that I wanted more than a bicycle, and I believed him. And of course, he never brought the bicycle.. Never explained, never apologized, and never varied, “Next time I come, I’m going to bring you a bicycle.”

At the time, It was like some cruel and confusing joke. More recently, I’ve begun to view it as some kind of clinical experiment.

1. 1.     Promise #1 unkept= deep-dissapointment
2. 2.     Promise #2 unkept= lesser deep-dissapointment
3. 3.     Promise #3 unkept= disappointment and wondering
4. 4.     Promise #4 unkept= self-pity and… what’s wrong why me?
5. 5.     Promise #5 unkept= anger and wondering what’s wrong with him?
6. 6.     Promise #6 unkept= wondering and anger, why doesn’t he stop?
7. 7.     Promise #7 unkept= Confused for life, what the heck did it mean?

 Yo no se.

Or as Doc Pomus often said about life, love, and the music business, “s’cwazy Scottie, s’cwazy!”…Continued