Nov. 4, 2001

................Some where between Kissimme and Orlando International Airport......

What is it with me and Florida?  More precisely: Me and CARS in Florida?  It’s almost a magical

thing.  Gosh, I hope it’s not Magikical.  But then I’m not one to believe in spells and Witchcraft as it might

apply to me personally.

If you’re on a computer scroll back to the first letter Cathy and I wrote from Florida over at the Uno

site; we got stuck on I-95 and had to wait for hours to get a new Dollar Rental car (Dollar served us well, no

ill comments at all.) But it doesn’t begin there, folks.  The very beginning was all the way back to 1980. 

Mike, Jimmy and (definitely) Chickie will recall Dawn’s hubby Sal from Poor Peter’s and of the Sal, Sal

Everyone’s Pal comic fame.  Sal and I were closest of friends back then.   Artie was living away  in

California, Jimmy and Mike and I were just starting our friendship and although I was a popular guy, only a

select few like Sal hung with me. But Sal lived in Fort Lauderdale, Fl.  His dad was a huge irrigation

developer - that’s like being Donald Trump in NY.  Sal, the only son and heir, wanted to hang with all of us at

Poor Peters - and eventually married a Poor Pete Sweetie - so he worked with Dad all week and flew up to us

on Friday evenings and hung till Sunday night.  I had more money then than I do now - I was drowning in it

between  having a good hot dog concession, the stone cutting biz, a great little tech writing deal, and Ed Val

and I had ADstone going strong (the only time it ever did go strong!) and I was collecting rent from all the

Poor Peter drunks who rented rooms at my house in Islip. So, being “The White Knight Who Only Came Out

At Night” (man, does anyone remember those crazy days?? Was right before my pool shark “Quiet Joey

Tomb Days” and right after Patty kicked me out days.)  Anyway, I decided to fly back to Florida with Sal one

particular week, hang with him after working hours and return the following Friday. If I’m not mistaken,

Jimmy was suppose to come along too - not sure. Well, as most know, Sal died while walking  traumatized

away from a car he spilled in one of Florida’s well known irrigation trenches.  They’re everywhere and all are

death traps. They hug the road sides thorughout the state and carry all kinds of vermon away from the

residential areas.  Doreen almost got eaten by an alligator once near Cape Carnavial.  She saw it rise out of

the trench and went running to photograph it - thank the stars a cop materialized from out of nowhere to save

her!

Several years later, Michele and I traveled to the Orlando area. What a whirl wind romance and a

whirl wind experience she was, huh?  Talk about magic, that relationship was nothing less. Too bad it

degenerated into that other kind of magic with a big, horrible K in place of the C. Not spooky, just “too bad.”

I forget where we stayed and what rental we had, yet I do remember just pulling onto the Bee-Line

Expressway (the direct route to NASA) when the car just died.  We walked over 9 miles back to our room

because no one would stop to help a white man with a black gal - not even 2 patrol cars!

Many years later while I was hanging with the unflapable Doreen, we were on Kirk Road in a rented

Caravan.  It was her first trip to the Orlando area and, of course, I wanted to make it a memorable one for

her. As we all know, Doreen has the innocent heart of a child and nothing on earth is just mundane -

everything is a wonder.  So here we are driving down Kirk.  As we come over Route 4 two great towers rise

on the right - they were the Hilton Towers then now they are  Radisson Towers - and Universal Studios

blooms across the entire landscape on the left.  When Dorie and I were here Universal didn’t have that huge

entrance way it now has, so you did see all of the park then (before Adventure Island and City Walk were

built.)  I mention to Doreen that when I was married to Denise, she and I once stayed at a hotel just behind

the towers and that The Wizard’s Land once stood just to the right filled with magic mirrors and those

dizzying mirrored houses  - now long gone.  Doreen was all eyes and ears when suddenly - bang! the Caravan

just stops dead. Right between the towers and the entrance of Universal Studios.  Blocking the entrance to the

park.  Embarrassed but helpless we grabbed all our possessions and headed for the towers.  We eventually got

a new rental from Avis and drove past a long line of cars, buses and trucks awaiting to get into the park.

Then, of course, was Cathy and my long, hot wait somewhere along I-95.

Oh, but wait!  There’s more!  Wouldn’t ya know? 

One thing I have to admit about all these car problems is that - except for poor Sal - every time I was

stuck, it was an adventure rather than a real problem.  As far as I can tell Cathy is the high priestess of

adventure. Nothing is a hassle, it’s always an adventure.  Just ask little PJ.  Nothing seems impossible when

she is in the mix.  I hope that elixir  enchants me forever.  

So it’s last Saturday night.  Cathy and our friends Bill and Diane over in Orlando (near Alafaya)

decide I’m going to drive Cathy over to their place then we’d all dine in the city. From our house in

Kissimmee to Alafaya is about a 45 minute drive - and a very, very scenic one during evening hours. Orlando

is a world class beauty even as most people see it, that being from Route 4 which winds pass most of the

world’s most renowned parks. Still even better is to drive along Route 408 (it’s a toll road but worth the

dollar) which snakes through Orlando.  Once at its heart, taking any side street makes you want to get out of

the car and walk - head raised and eyes open.  Especially at night! 

We’re driving on 408.  I’m watching traffic but wish I could follow the evening skyline.  There were

two reasons I couldn’t.  The first and obvious was the traffic. The second was that I had come from an eye

doctor’s appointment and had pupil expander in my eyes.  I could barely see at all - and headlights were

murder!  But a lil’ thing like being blind wasn’t going to stop me from taking Cathy to Bill and Di’s (so Cathy

figured.) There was some thing which could - Cathy noticed that the Battery indicator gauge was showing

that the alternator was NOT recharging the battery!  And it started to show as the lights began to dim. 

I remembered Tim Radigan telling me once when he was in the same jam that a battery can last 45

minutes from the time the alternator goes. Of course, he was on Long Island (home base) and we had no idea

how long that indicator was trying to tell us the power was pouring out faster than  juice from a freshly

squeezed Florida grapefruit. Cathy got very shaken.  She was outwardly frightened.  

I was just blind.  

As anyone who knows me will testify, I’m only happily excited when I’m lost, and I know Orlando

and Florida better than I know New York (a lot better.)  Jimmy and before him, Denise Ramo and before her

Artie and I would try to get ourselves lost - what an impossible thing to do on Long Island! it’s possible to do

around here, but I haven’t had the pleasure as yet. Cathy, on the other hand, doesn’t know the territory and

hates uncertainty; fears getting lost. An ice cold fear.  Cathy was asking how long the battery would last.  “No

idea.” I replied.  “I’m sure we’ll get home.”  I lied.  “Our biggest trouble is that I can’t see!”

I turned off 408 to get on one of those glorious metropolitian streets, Semoran Road which has tons

of traffic lights along with everything else the world has to offer such as auto part stores, gas stations and

PHONES.  But Cathy was too afraid to stop, she wanted home - pronto!  I knew we weren’t going to make it

unless I took the shortest route possible.  Worse, there are no short routes from there.  The shortest was to

take Boggy Creek Road.

Boggy Creek Road is the local expressway from Orlando and, specifically, the airport.  If you’ve been

here - and I know all of you have - the first thing you find when leaving the airport on your way to the

wonderful world of Disney is that it costs you a lot in nickel and dime tolls.  Fortunately for us residents we

have a back road with no tolls and takes an hour or more off the trip to Kissimme as opposed to going the

road most traveled.  You can drive from the airport to our house in 20 to 25 minutes.  That back road is

Boggy Creek Road.  Best yet, Boggy Creek Road ends just one (long) block from our house.  But there is a

catch........... it is all a one lane, dark boggy creek.

Still it is the shortest route, so I headed directly for the airport.  We made it through the airport fine

but began to lose power as we entered some construction a mile or so before Boggy Creek Road.  To make

matters worse, I couldn’t see a thing.  There were no lights at all save the blinding lights from oncoming

traffic and a damn motorcycle riding our tail as if on purpose.  The road was heavily fortified with cones and

construction indicators, twists and turns and arrows pointing off into the darkened nowhere.  During one such

turn, Cathy shrieked and the tone of her fright chilled me to the bone.  I had to settle her and end the ordeal.

The car forced the decision on us as it died.  I stirred it under the over pass of Route 417.  We had a

walk and a half ahead of us.

Anyone who has ever walked Florida’s back roads knows the countless dangers afoot.  Alligators are

not really a concern in this area of the state unless you’re in a swampy area - like the boggy creek area.  And

for the most part, those creatures are seldom seen cause they feed usually AT NIGHT!  I wasn’t telling any

of this to Cathy, as you could imagine.  Yet she is well aware of all kinds of little critters that roam the grass

looking for a morsel of food or just a droplet of sweat to quench their thirst.  And the sudden drop-offs along

the side of all our roads down here - remember Sal?  Besides the native frets, here we are walking along

Boggy Creek Road’s single lane filled with locals trying to catch a flight or returning from dropping or

picking up visitors - and all barreling through the dark anxious to run over anyone in their path - what the

hell?  no one will find the bodies till day light. Not to mention Floridian weather.  It rains here more often than

not.  The only reason it’s called the Sunshine State is because even while it rains, the sun still shines - but not

at night.  And not for those crazy Floridian drivers who can’t steer staright on dry pavement!

After an hour’s walk a couple of angry dogs pop out of no where to confront Cathy who was walking

about 10 paces in front of me.  Boggy Creek.  Darkness.  Traffic back and forth.  Alligators lurking in the

shadows and we get two dogs!?!?!  Well, who’s afraid of dogs.  Not Cathy, that’s for sure. I warn her and

scoot across to the other side of the road.  I’m never one to trust an animal. 

We make light of the scary stroll by comparing it to Mike’s great walk to Babylon and back to Bay

Shore.  At least he was drunk!

Not long after we huff and puff our way into a Circle K and called a cab.  We’re warm, dry and

patting ourselves on the back for making it alive.  20 minutes later a cab pulls up.  Just as we shut the doors

and tell this big, fat guy who looked like Andy Divine where to take us, a turret of rain comes down.

I know it’s not a clear photo of the view looking out through the front window of the cab, but, yes

that’s pouring rain.  Best yet: just as we pulled up to our driveway, it stopped.  

You’d think that would be the greatest adventure, right?  Well, hold on, there’s more to conjure up.  

A bit of sorcery creeps into this J.R.R.Tolkien tale to produce the spell of this next revelation.  As

soon as Cath and I enter the house, I get on the phone to get a tow truck.  I call the biggest ad among the

yellow pages.  $75 from there to here.  They pick up and dump the Chevy Barretta on our front lawn.  I try to

bargain but no deal - they got some kind of “rotating” deal going with the police or some such thingie.  So I

ask if the guy on the phone can recommend a cheaper tow.   “Sure, try Magic Towing. 407-847-4593”

 I dial and a strong, young voice answers.  He’ll do it for $45 and drop the car off at Chevy - where

we have a current account.  “Come on over and bring me the keys, I’m just around the corner.”

Now, this happens to be unmentioned but very topical:  last Thursday I stopped in Apopoka (of 

national Little League Champ fame) on the way to the Hypnotist to get a tank of gas.  No sooner than I left

the gas station (the cheapest one around, $1.02) the car started knocking and bucking like a rodeo bull.  A

bad tank of gas, curses!  So I drove the next hour to Mt. Dora and two hours back to Kissimmee blurping,

choking, kicking and knocking all the way.  That’s why we decided to take the Chevy Barretta to Alafaya.  So

now we have to buck and knock a few block over the canal to Magic Towing.  

Me and Cars in Florida.

A handsome tall  38 year old black fellow opens the door of Magic Towing and as he fills out his

paper work and we all joke about the evening.  He asks Cathy’s name: Catherine Blom. He happens to ask

Cathy where she originates from.  She says “Queens’ Village.”

 “Me too.  I lived off Hollis Ave and attended PS 34.”

I don’t have to tell you that is Cathy’s old school.  As I write this we’re still trying to put it all

together but it’s all zeroing in on the discovery that this gent’s parents are living in the old Blom residence.

I promised Mom that I’d send her an image of the raised garden I built outside the front door.  The

first image is a view from the front door.  The second from the driveway, right up on the garden.  I plan on

constructing at least 2 more across the front lawn, maybe one with a pond and falls.  Raised gardens are my

favorite and usually are the easiest to maintain; plants love drainage!

We’ll see ya’ll in a week or so.....

Cathy and Joe