As Barefoot and I sat at the old roadside park with a view of the old Bahia Honda bridge in the background, a storm was rolling in, with its darkening sky producing an angled rain hitting the side glass of the old work van, we reminised about our ole buddy Jerol, after having managed to knock over a glass of wine that was sitting on the dash board, I watched it drain down the long since been used defroster outlet, like a scupper at the rear of a boat.
The wine flowed by and caught just the corner of my note book that was resting there, and now I find the stained corners of jerolds memorial , a newspaper clipping that was between the pages, is now bearing a winemark.
so I have thought to include this in the American work Mule site, as a send off for Jerol into cyberspace, and with a toast to you Jerol and the portion of wine you missed that is now staining my notebook.
Gerald Wayne Moree:
Gerald Wayne Moree, 58 of Big Pine Key Fl. and Lexington N.c. died on Monday, Jan 9 2008 Moree was born on Jan 21 1949. A.K.A. Fluffy or Scoot worked at Paradise Petroleum when not otherwise engaged.
Towards the end of March about five years ago Scoot and his long time friend Barefoot trundled down to the end of Barry Ave. on Little Torch Key. Hearing the tattered rattle trap stop and go silent. I peered out the jalousie windowed door between a couple of missing panes, and watched as Barefoot ascended the stairs, wearing his typical attire of a muscle shirt and shorts, sans shoes. Barefoot says”JEROLS” taking his boat across to Havana ya wanna go?” After pausing for a brief moment in contemplation I agreed.
Gerald as The captain of his ship steered us flawlessly from Big Pine Key through and past a thousand basking sharks with there dorsal fins breaking the surface their bodies like weathervanes turned into the flow of the Gulfstream. Past the big iron buoy, we slid into Marina Hemingway.
During the clearing process Gerald was wearing a gray sweat stained t-shirt with an exterminators logo that read BUG-AWAY .
The official announces Boog-ah-whey! is this the name of your vessel sir?”
At the same time in a nearby area a nearly hysterical American woman is resounding to another authority about how she had sailed across to Cuba with her boyfriend, and her intention was to teach english, to help out the Cuban people, but that her boyfriend had run off with a chica, and here she was stuck, looking for her knight in shining armor to give her a ride back across the mighty river that is within and ocean.
Enter Gerald, and crew, the three musketeers, each of us sporting a sunburn, ill shaven with windblown hairdos, Our leader with his one good eye askew towards the heavens, and several digits missing from each hand made his gallant offer to return the American Princess to her homeland, Upon our return, not one word was spoken in her decline at Geralds offer.
There are a few more things I should like to say about you dear Gerald before I close in this your a bit different obituary.
You served your country in Vietnam a witness to and part of atrocities, every night you remembered faces as you slept with one hand on your sidearm beneath your pillow. Thank you for sharing your stories about going to bible college as well.
The tales of delivering farm equipment to Nicaragua, and the time you climbed out of the overloaded aircraft wreckage in Jamaica, rising like a phoenix from the ashes.
It was fascinating to hear about the months you spent with natives in the Yucatan after being thrown up on a reef in a squall, losing your vessel. and Hearing the numerous other hilarious to hardcorestorys about the times and the characters you had come to know, here in the Keys and other places on this planet, that is twinkling at you now.
you dared to live where some of us have only dreamt.
p.s. He sure did talk about his grand babies a lot! In loving memory.
YOUR BUDDY.