Mountain Man and City Girl

 (This entire 17-part story can be found in the “travel” category.)

After about three months in St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands, repairing homes destroyed by Hurricane Hugo, our workload backed off to five days a week, eight hours a day.  It gave me plenty of extra time to expand my horizons.  To me, that partly meant more jobs.

I had already begun tutoring Willie’s oldest son, Nathan, a lovable 8 or 9-year old.  Like Willie, he had that infectious smile that endears them to everyone.  I got paid, of course, but thoroughly enjoyed educating this youngster that had a thirst for knowledge.  He had never seen snow, never seen a pine tree or pine needles.  Try explaining what they’re like to an inquisitive young mind that had no reference point.

Soon, I was bringing library books to our tutoring sessions, so once the school work was completed, we had bonus time to explore new horizons.  I started getting more students, beginning with Nathan’s 6-year old sister.  Then a boy who lived in a rickety house up a litter-strewn alley, followed by another brother and sister.  Before I knew it, I had five young minds to help shape.  It was challenging, and quite rewarding spiritually.

That occupied my time from 3:30 to around dinner time three days a week.  I was learning as much about their culture as they were learning their 3 R’s.  But still, I had one goal unfinished in St. Thomas.  I came here to be a waiter.  I had to give it a shot.

Along the waterfront was a second floor, open-air Mexican restaurant.  I ate there once and thought it looked like a fun place to work.  So, needless to say, I stopped in to try to pick up a couple nights waiting on tables.  I was quickly hired.  I met alot of interesting people there and since the restaurant closed at 10pm, it didn’t affect my getting to the construction foreman job by 7am.

My education on the Caribbean way of life was on-going.  All the kids wore uniforms to school, no matter which school they attended.  High school basketball games, to my astonishment, were played outdoors.  Yes, outdoors.  There were no indoor gymnasiums.  Where else can you have a basketball game postponed due to an afternoon thundershower?  Boxing was big there, and Emil Griffith was their local hero.  Boxing matches, always SRO, were held in the infield of baseball stdiums.

The locals loved their music.  Reggae music greeted you on every street.  Steel bands were a family affair, with three generations sometimes playing side by side.  Red beans and rice were a favorite meal, especially with a side dish of fried plantains.  It was such an interesting culture.  It opened my eyes to the diversity of our planet’s people.

As winter passed to spring, the urge to head back to the United States crept up amongst each of us.  I felt like I’d grown five years in about six months or so.  My awareness was elevated, my understanding of others multiplied.  Life in St. Thomas was so different from my life in the US, yet each held a special place in my heart.

So I made my decision to leave.  My plan was to hitch a ride on a boat, hopefully to Belize.  From there I’d travel north through Mexico to Texas.  To that end, I filled out a bunch of 3×5 cards asking for a ride.  I placed them in a half dozen marinas, then waited for the phone to ring.  I was ready to roll the dice again, seeking another adventure!

- Mountain Man

(This entire 17-part story can be found in the “travel” category.) 

Life in St.Thomas, US Virgin Islands afforded us plenty of time to enjoy the sights.  One night a week I would cook dinner – red beans and rice – at our house and we’d eat out on the deck and enjoy a calm night of watching the stars and the harbor.  The other six nights of the week, we went out and partied!

Blake, Aaron, Doug, and myself had a ball exploring the different bars and restaurants.  There were plenty of other “continentals” we met, including a bunch of utility crews from Alabama and Mississippi that had been sent over, trucks and all, to help restore the island after the destruction caused by Hurricane Hugo.  The camaraderie was great and it brought lifelong friendships.

Sundays, our day off, were usually spent at Coki Beach.  This was a typical beautiful, narrow Caribbean beach, located at the opposite end of St. Thomas.  I would normally hitchhike over there about 9am and swim and lay on the beach.  Aaron and Doug would grab a bus later and show up by noon.  We’d spend the rest of the winter day enjoying the 90 degree water and alternating taking trips to the island vendor a hundred yards away who sold ice cold Heinekens for two bucks apiece.

Blake went back to the states after a couple months, so Doug and Aaron gave up their apartment and moved it with me.  It saved them on rent by having an extra person to share expenses, and my place was much nicer.  Our landlord, the little old guy nearly 90 years old, also owned a home on St. John, which along with St. Croix made up the US Virgin Islands.

He needed repairs done on that house, so for awhile I would have Aaron and Doug drop me off at the ferry on Saturday afternoon, then I’d take the seven mile boat ride to St. John.  Sunday morning, I’d be outside by 6am doing repairs.  Aaron and Doug would get off the ferry at 10am, then we’d spend the rest of the day exploring St. John.  We had use of the landlord’s jeep, so we drove way up into the mountains, checking out nature trails, old sugar plantations, and the local scene.  St. John, with just 6,000 inhabitants, is the most beautiful of the Virgin Islands.  The other two islands have about 50,000 residents each.

Life was almost a dream.  The four-foot long iguanas sitting 40 feet up in trees, the dolphins, the huge sea turtles, Megan’s Bay, the beaches, the splendid oceanview homes and estates, the sailboats and yachts and cruise ships, and the hustle and bustle of an island rebuilding after a hurricane made life serendipitous.

But there was a dark side to the Virgin Islands.  Crime.  I know I’m generalizing, maybe even stereotyping, but a large segment of the male population did not work.  It was the women that carried the load, did the tourist-related jobs.  The women dressed up and went to work everyday to make money to feed and clothe their family.  A much smaller percentage of men had gainful employment.

This led to problems with alcohol abuse and drug abuse.  Especially crack.  The crack problem was near epidemic.  No wonder every first floor window in the entire Caribbean seems to have bars over it.  Break-ins were rampant, a sure sign of desperate drug addicts.  We let a local guy use our bathroom once.  After he left, our watches were all gone.  Unbelievably, he denied it!

Aaron, Doug, and Blake each took their turns getting robbed at knifepoint or gunpoint on the streets, sometimes even in daylight.  I never got robbed, which can probably be attributed to the fact that I was over 15 years older than them, looked a bit rougher (okay, a lot), and didn’t wear designer sunglasses and clothes like they did.  I wasn’t a target, they were.

Inevitably, crime is the reason most continentals eventually leave the US Virgin Islands, or anywhere in the Caribbean for that matter.  After more than a half year in St. Thomas, it was enough to send me packing, just like everyone else.

- Mountain Man

 (This entire 17-part story can be found in the “travel” category.)

It was easy to quickly settle into a routine in St. Thomas.  The first 40 jobs we had with Willie’s construction company were all putting roofs on houses.  These unfortunate folks had open sky above, and every time it rained it poured into their houses.  To take care of everyone ASAP, we would rough frame a temporary roof, then cover it with those big blue tarps.

Lumber was in short supply, with plywood impossible to get.  So the best we could do was get some 2×4′s and 2×6′s and nail enough of them over the top of the house to hold the tarp.  Working six days a week, 10 hours a day, we had everyone closed in within two weeks.

A few days after starting the job, the French guy who was the foreman had a blow-up with Willie.  All I know is that Willie showed up at the job I was doing, pulled me aside, and asked me to become the new foreman.  Wow.  Five days into the job I was replacing the French guy who hired me.  Fate, huh?

A couple days later, Blake and I were hanging out in the town square one evening when two 21-year old “continentals” stopped to ask directions.  It turned out that Aaron and Doug were taking off a few semesters from the University of Minnesota.  “You guys looking for work?”, I asked.  “Well, yeah,” Aaron replied.  The next morning they began working for Willie.

As foreman, my life just became easier.  We now had 14 workers, plus myself.  That allowed me to put Aaron and Doug with one seven-man crew and Blake with the other.  The local guys needed motivators – or was it my spies? – to keep them working when I wasn’t on sight.  I drove the small pickup truck that had in the near past picked me up hitchhiking.  Now it was mine to use in the day to shuffle the guys from job to job and bring them materials.

Once we had the 40 homes under cover, it was time to actually build new roofs.  The rest of each home was concrete or block – because of hurricanes and termites - but the roofs were wood covered by rubber roofing material.  A gutter system ran rainwater into a cistern (sort of a closed-in basement) where it would serve as the home’s potable water for drinking and cleaning.  So sloping and building the roof and gutter system just right was important.

In the US Virgin Islands, the lumber companies don’t have delivery trucks.  Instead, a dozen guys with trucks of various sizes and descriptions sat under a tree playing cards until someone needed a load of supplies moved.  They’d throw a price at you, then negotiate, and finally a deal would be struck.  It was free enterprise at its best.

I went into the lumber company as we neared the new phase of actually building the roofs and ordered $9,000 worth of plywood, 2×6′s and 2×8′s, nails, rolls of rubber roofing, and guttering.  Then I hired a truck and we pulled up to the supply door.  I handed the worker my receipt.  “We don’t have any of this except the nails and gutter,” he calmly said in that laid-back Caribbean manner.

I exploded.  “You mean, you guys just took my $9,000 and you don’t even have the stuff?”, I asked in disbelief.  “It’ll be coming on the supply ship Thursday morning.  Come back then,” he stated, still not the least bit concerned or apologetic.  Thursday 7am came and I was there with a driver and truck, again.  “Sorry, the ship came but we didn’t get the materials we ordered.  Someone else got to them first,” a different laid-back employee stated.

I was disheartened knowing that so many families were counting on us to rebuild their roofs.  I found out that the next ship with our supplies was due in Saturday morning.  I quickly devised a plan.

On Saturday morning, I took the six largest, toughest natives on our crew.  One was named King, and he was 6-foot-6 and 275 pounds.  Another weighed 400 pounds.  I pulled up to the dock right next to the ship and implemented my plan.  I marched up the gangplank, my crew of rough characters on my heels.  I showed my receipt for the materials and announced that we were taking our stuff.  We didn’t wait for the shipmates to agree or debate.  We started passing the lumber and supplies over the side of the ship into our big truck. 

In 20 minutes, we were on our way with a truck full of building materials.  Who says the spirit of Blackbeard the Pirate doesn’t live on?

- Mountain Man