Swimming with
the Dolphins

Section 2

April 6, 1920:  After our swim I apologized to Chad again. He became a real regular guy after that. He and I spent plenty of time in our boat even if he didn’t like fishing. Late one afternoon while we were walking on the beach he said: “I’m going to Harvard even though I said it might be Yale. All my male family members are Harvard trained lawyers. I’d be killed if I don’t go. Father is in the firm of Weber, Croker and & Harriman. He wants me to work there. Grandpa started in that firm, left and started Hudson & Hartman. He still practices when he is in New York. I’d rather be in his firm. He and Gladys, his second wife, go up to Saratoga much of the summer.”

I smiled thinking he was confiding in me. I began to think we could become real friends. He pulled me closer as he threw his arm over my shoulder and continued, “I grew up in Huntington, Long Island, do you know where it is?” I nodded affirmatively liking the feeling of his sweaty elbow bend around my neck. “I spent most of my summers at camp in the Adirondacks. This is my first trip to Florida. What about you?”

“Mine too. My brother persuaded my mother and father to let us take this trip. I suspect they knew he was going not matter what they said. He convinced them to let me come along. They eventually said ‘yes’.”

“Peter is a he-man. He has a killer upper body. Does he workout?”

“I don’t think so. He is just built that way.”

“Did he ever get shot in the war?”

“I don’t think so, but he never talks about it to me. It must have been really terrible.”

“He and Mr. Chandler seem to really be getting on. I am only doing the fishing thing to please my grandfather. When are you going back?”

“I promised I’d be back late next week.” We kept walking toward Blind Pass. We came upon James and Hillborn’s camp site. They had rigged up a tarp from the tree limbs and covered the ground with pine needles. That’s where they put their bedding. We found them stretched out in the shade sound asleep. As we got closer James opened one eye, “What,cha,want?”

We shrugged, “Nothing, just out for a walk.”

“Sit, “he snapped, “Want somethun to quench yar tongue.” We hesitated, looked at each other and finally squatted.

James reached over for a brown jug. He handed it to Chad who handed it to me. We both knew that it was hooch. I didn’t want James to know that I was scared of moonshine. I heard stories about people dying drinking the stuff. I courageously took the first sip. It was a string of fire all the way down my throat. I winced. James laughed. Chad had his turn. He took a swing and had the same reaction. Hillborn was awake and joined us.

We got talking about hunting crocodiles in the swamps. James then Hillborn told one story after another. I had no idea if any of what they told us was true. After about an hour I decided I had had enough. I stood up and promptly fell down. James jumped up to steady me as I managed to stay upright. I was so tired. The rest of that evening is a blur. Peter told me that when I saw Misser Jones cooking a snapper with its eyes open I turned and headed for the woods where I left everything that was in my stomach.

I was never so sick. I couldn’t sleep and couldn’t walk around. Chad was not in quite such bad shape. We were a sorrowful pair. Peter told me that Mr. Chandler had strong words with James about what they had done. The next morning I had a terrible headache. I swore that I would never drink that stuff again.

Saturday Chad and I decided to explore the shell piles south of Blind Pass rather than go fishing. James dropped us off, including Peter, who decided to join us at the last moment. We walked across the inlet carrying our shoes. The tide was low. Once on the beach the shells cut into the bottoms of our feet. We put our shoes on and started southward on the beach. We had a box to collect the shells.

Peter and I collected every imaginable shell – big ones, little ones, colorful ones. We enjoyed stooping and gently pulling the broken shell pieces away hoping to find a treasure. We tossed everything but perfect ones away.

During the morning when we stopped for a break Peter calmly said, “Godammit, Rob, I have decided to stay in Florida. There’s not much to do at home until school starts. I’ll get a job; maybe travel around. I’m sure as hell going to Key West. I still have all the money I came with. I will stay busy.”

I responded, “Chad and I have decided to take the same train up north. I suspected you might stay longer. That means I have to be the one to deliver the news to mother and father.”

“That’s right, my boy.” As usual Peter was concentrating on himself and not thinking about me. After stopping to pee Chad caught up and we decided to go for a swim. Naked we slipped into the surf. I noticed a dolphin close to shore. Then I saw a second one. We moved slowly into the deeper water and the dolphins came closer. I was apprehensive but stood still with my toes just barely reaching the bottom. Peter gasped in a loud whisper, “Shit, it touched me… He did it again.” I laid my hand on the surface and a flipper bumped it. I pulled back momentary and the soft, sleek battleship gray body brushed my leg. I was scared and excited all at the same time.

Peter motioned me toward him. Chad was just five yards on the other side of Peter. We started to slowly swimming out and noticed that there were three of the slippery mammals swimming behind us. They came up underneath and one pushed Peter’s butt with his stubby nose. Peter laughed and reached out to touch the flipper. We grew less apprehensive with these graceful creatures that played with us. Chad reached for the dorsal fin of one our new friends. He caught it and was pulled along with his butt bouncing along the top of the waves.

Peter gave it a try and after several attempts got a long ride. I was last but hitched onto a big fellow with a big scar on his back. He seemed to pull me close as we skipped through the surf. After several more rides the threesome suddenly swam away flipping their tails high above the waves.

We swam back closer to shore. Each of us was talking about the experience of riding the dolphins. Chad shot a fist full of water toward Peter. I pushed him and that led to an all out water war. Peter’s dick was a stiff rod as he chased me down the beach. Just then James and the others in the flatboat came around the point. With our hands in front of our dicks as we raced back wet and naked to our clothes.

“What’s for dinner?” I spoke to the boat load. “It’s our, or at least my, last night, in camp. Mr. Chandler, you assured me we’d be back in Ft. Myers on April 10 to catch my train. I want to make sure I was back at school on time.”

“Boat leaves first thing in the mornin’.” After organizing our gear Chad and I walked to the campfire. Misser Jones had fixed fried bananas; fresh mangoes he had found on the island. The dolphin fish was smothered in tomatoes and onions.

I exclaimed, “A feast in the middle of the wilderness.” We ate quietly until Mr. Chandler turned the conversation to the food in France. He told us that he had spent time there when he was growing up in Spain. He had traveled to Lyon and had exceptional food. I could see Peter’s eyes quickly filling with tears.

Out of the blue Peter said, “It was right after we had that meal near Verdun that Steve got sick. I miss him. I wish he was here with us.”

Mr. Chandler did not let the opportunity pass, “Peter, where did you have the meal?”

“I remember we had hitched a ride on a farmer’s goddamn truck into Clermont-en-Argonne. There had been shelling but the town square was still intact. Steve and I jumped off the truck and walked across the square. There were three empty tables with red and white checked table clothes.” He stifled a sigh. “I remember a ray of light hit those tables. We both knew that’s where we would eat. A sweet, plump wife smiled wearily and said ‘Bonsoir’.”

“Bonsoir, pouvons-nous diner maintenant?” I asked.

“Oui,” she said. Her husband brought us a small carafe of red wine. “We spoke no further and enjoyed the marvels of her petite kitchen in the middle of a war. Steve and I talked about what it would be like when we got home. We discussed how the wealth of the United States and other countries needed to be more fairly distributed. It did not seem fair to us that the guys we were fighting had much to return to.” The conversation seemed to be making Mr. Chandler and Mr. Hudson uneasy. Neither one said anything to challenge Peter. He took a drink of wine and continued.

“That was like July, the last summer before the cease fire. The fighting had slowed but hadn’t stopped. That night Steve and I shared a room in the little hotel above the restaurant. In the middle of the night the door opened and four Frenchmen stripped us naked and beat the shit out of us. They hurt Steve so badly that he couldn’t return to action and died on the hospital ship crossing the Atlantic.” Peter was crying. Mr. Chandler moved over and sat close to him draping his arm around Peter’s shoulder. No one asked questions.

“I really miss Steve. He had planned to be an engineer for Westinghouse in Pittsburgh. He wanted to travel all over the world bringing power to people who didn’t have it. We had big plans…” He was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Did you see any of your other friends get wounded or killed?” Mr. Chandler spoke softly.

“Yes, it was goddamn terrible,” Peter screamed.

“Can you tell us about it? What happened?”

Peter stopped crying and rather matter of fact said, “A few weeks earlier than my night with Steve we were pinned down some in a goddamn trench near a bombed out farmhouse. The rain had been falling for three days. Everyone was wet to the fucking bone with prune skin fingers hardly able to pull a trigger. The guys were on edge. I couldn’t understand why we weren’t moving out. Everyone was completely still. I remember the quiet – no fucking gun fire.”

Peter’s voice became so soft that we could barely hear him. He had transformed back to the French battlefield. He took a deep breath, “Charge! We scrambled up the ladder against side of the deep trench to confront machine gun fire. Immediately they got my buddy, Bert, in the face and the chest. He fell back and knocked me back into the trench.” Peter was sobbing, “I sat there in the pool of muck holding Bert. I couldn’t stop his bleeding. His face turned whiter and whiter. He breathed heavily and then stopped breathing. I closed his eyes with my muddy fingers. I said a pray for him.” Suddenly Peter stopped and after a long pause he said, “Other than Steve, he was the only person I knew really well. He’s gone, too.”

Mr. Chandler quietly spoke, “Peter, would you like to walk on the beach?”

Peter got up and lifted Mr. Chandler from his seat. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulder. No one spoke and one by one we retreated into the night.

When Peter came into the tent it was early dawn. “What happened?” I slurred.

“Nothing, a lot of crying. Shut up and go to sleep.”

After he got into bed I got up to a cool, gray morning. It was our last morning and I wanted to take a swim but decided to walk up the beach giving the sun a chance to break through the cloud wall. Marcus startled me by emerging from the vegetation. He walked my direction, stopped and waited. I hesitated then walked toward him.

When I was close he said softly, “Thank ya Rob.” He had always called me “Mister Rob” before so I tried not to show my surprise. “I knows I’s a nigger but you guys – Chad, Peter and you – was nice to me and I ‘preciate it. Yous made me feel good. I had a real good time – sorry yous have to leave.” We walked on but Marcus kept looking back concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, but Mister Chandler don’t like me talk’n to the guest. He told me.”

“Marcus, what do you do when you aren’t taking people fishing?

“I’s work cleaning fields for houses and farms. I’s try’n real hard to finish high school so I get a better job. That takes money and I don’t have much time for school. I wan’ to be a teacher. I know I shouldn’t ask but could you help me.”

“How? I leave for Philadelphia. That’s along way from here.” I felt something between us. I knew he probably got in trouble with Mr. Chandler for helping us with the prank. “I’ll try.”

“I dream of teachin’ Negro children so they can become doctors and own their own stores. I love to read and want to give that love to the children.” I wondered how he could conceive of such a dream in his torn brown pants and terrible English. But I said, “Let me think about it.”

We ran into the sun streaked water. He was clutching tightly to my hand. His touch was apprehensive. We walked into the water up to our waists and I dove in. He tried to follow my lead and flopped on his chest. He came up sputtering but smiling. I reached out and steadied him. I really did like Marcus and knew that I had to figure out some way to give him some encouragement to reach his dream. We walked out of the water his smooth black butt next to my not quite so white one. Laughing, he said, “Next time you see me I’ll know how to swum.”

We agreed not to walk together any more. We agreed there was no reason to anger Mr. Chandler. It irritated me but Marcus did not want to cause trouble for Misser Jones.

“I’ll write letters from Philadelphia sometimes. How do I send them to you?” His facial expression told me he didn’t know what I meant. “I can’t help you if I can’t write to you. Philadelphia is a long way from here.” I explained that I would address my letters to him in care of General Delivery, Ft. Myers Post Office. “You will have to go to the post office and ask if there are letters there addressed to you. Don’t expect a letter too often. Check about every two weeks. You should buy some paper, pencils and envelopes. Then you can write me back. Don’t forget to put a stamp on the letter. You buy those at the post office.”

“I never got a letter before.”

Sheepishly I said, “I can’t send you a letter because I don’t know your whole name. What is it?”

“Marcus John Paul Jones,” he called as he disappeared into the woods. I didn’t see him again until we were loading the launch. Standing around having coffee it was clear that something had happened between Peter and Mr. Chandler. They looked at each other differently than before. We struck the beach tent and carried all our gear to the boat. We pulled away about noon between intermittent raindrops. The battleship gray sky grew darker as we slowly motored toward town. No one said much. The sky got blacker and the clouds in the west were boiling. As we pulled up to Mr. Chandler’s dock the water began to fall in sheets pelting the top of the canopy. We secured the side curtains. We sat quietly as the others Soo, Misser Jones, James and Hillborn huddled under a small tarp. Marcus was with us.

That night we ate a delicious Mrs. Mason dinner. There were piles of her delicious fried chicken, orange and grapefruit in a salad, fried bananas and a pie made of limes. Each of us wanted a second piece. Mr. Chandler did not speak to me and rarely looked my direction. I was happy to be excused. After dinner Chad and I stood on the front porch listening to the raindrops hit the tin roof. We were saving our goodbyes until morning when he said, “I’m supposed to be here three more days but I’m going with you. I love my grandparents but I would rather have the companionship on the trip north.”

After the Hudsons left Peter and I went upstairs. Shortly Mr. Chandler stood in our doorway. I think he thought I might try to steal Peter from him. I must have smiled slightly. He spoke, “What were you and Chad scheming?”

His question irritated me but I politely answered, “Chad is planning to ride back to Philadelphia with me rather than stay for a few more days. I will like having the company.”

He seemed relieved and said, “It’ll be more fun for both you.” He stood with us as we undressed and got into bed. Even though he had seen Peter and I naked many times on Captiva he didn’t seemed to tire watching our young bodies.

Next morning I quietly packed my things. Peter was asleep. I went downstairs to get a cup of Mrs. Mason’s chicory coffee and found Mr. Chandler sitting on the front porch. As I walked onto the porch he drawled, “Certainly better than Miser Jones’ coffee. Good mornin’ Rob. Come sit down.” He paused and took a slow sip as I rested in the puffed cushions of the big wicker chair. I listened politely, “Rob, you gotta be careful about bein’ too friendly with the Negroes. They’re different from us.”

“Mr. Chandler, Marcus, asked for a little help so he could graduate. Don’t you think he should be able to graduate from high school?” I really didn’t care if he answered the question because I was boiling inside.

He continued, “The Negro race is happier work’n than learn’n. We’re all better off not letting ‘im set their sites too high. They’ll only be disappointed when they fail in school and everything they do.” The more he talked the more sure I was going to try everything I could to help Marcus. I really didn’t know what or how I could do it but I was bound to try.

At the station Peter and I reviewed what I would tell mother and father. Mr. Chandler seemed to have loosened up. He generously patted me on the back several times and repeatedly invited me back to his house. I was uneasy leaving Peter with Mr. Chandler. But I knew Peter was his own person. I still didn’t feel right.

Chad and I left for home on Wednesday afternoon. But because of connections we had to stay overnight in Tampa so we could board the Gulf Coast Limited scheduled at 9:30a, Thursday, April 9, 1920. We sat facing each other. We slipped the window down and sat quietly looking out as the train slowly crawled across the river on the railroad trestle. The sun broke through. We regretted leaving but were fortified with two bottles of Havana Gold rum, a departure gift from Mr. Chandler.

***

July 16, 1920:  I waited until now to write the following account of the return trip from Ft. Myers. I certainly hope my parents don’t find this journal. Anyway Chad Hudson and I left Florida on April 9th to return to school. We said ‘Goodbye’ to Chad’s grandparents, Mr. Chandler and Peter. I could see Marcus by the corner of the station giving us a smile and a wave. He did not want Mr. Chandler to see him. The train left for Tampa where we would change trains for the long trip to Philadelphia and New York. We had to stay overnight in Tampa. When we came down on the steamer Captain Draper described the part of town where people go to party. That is where the problem began.

By the time we got to Tampa Chad and I were well on our way to finishing the one bottle of the rum. We were feeling the effects. We checked our bags at the train station and ate dinner at Fred Harvey’s. We found a taxi driver to take us to the Ybor Hotel . It really wasn’t a hotel but more of a speak easy-restaurant, night club and entertainment house. When we entered we could see that the clientele was not white but more brown and black except for a few sailors. We should have gotten back in the cab and returned to the station. We didn’t.

We were warmly greeted by the hostess. Chad stood close to me. We were in a fancy bordello but didn’t know quite what to do. I had been at Ms. Margarite’s in Ft. Myers but the Willard was a different scale. Heavy red velvet drapes hung leaden over the entrance to the living room. The girls were lounging around in sheer negligees sitting provocatively on the laps of patrons. A Victoria played. One of the girls brought us a drink that we didn’t ask for and then asked for $5.00 for each drink. We reluctantly paid. She beckoned us to follow her into a smoky back room filled with chairs and table with a brightly lit small stage. We were led in by our hostess to a table near the stage. Cigar and cigarette smoke were suffocating. A big Black woman with huge breasts was escorted onto the stage by two muscle bound guys wearing only a small pouch covering their privates. The singer crooned in a sexy, breathy voice as the boys seductively gyrated their hips. I was trying to figure out a way to leave when two beautiful brown girls came up and sat at our table. They gently grabbed our hands caressing them and before long each girl had us following her up a dimly lit stairs. My heart was about to jump out of my chest. Chad tried to turn around but was greeted from behind by a mammoth fellow with arms the size of watermelons. We were in trouble but had to play along or get hurt.

We did as directed and went together into the same room where the girls undressed us under the watchful eye of watermelon man. I know we only had one drink was I was totally drunk and willingly had sex with one of the girls. Chad doing the same with the other girl in the same bed. I don’t remember the sex but do remember waking up later draped across Chad’s butt. The girls were gone. We were greeted by our ‘guardian’ and another massive fellow. They told us to pay up and get on our way. After stumbling around neither Chad nor I could find our wallets or our clothes except our underwear. The men began to rough us up but we were rescued by the Madame. She had a sinister smile and said, “Boys since you can’t pay you will have to work it off.” She threw us two ball slings like we had seen earlier. We were directed to put them on. Our white butts highlighted by the black jocks were a big hit when they pushed us on stage.

The yelling and jeering started immediately. The piano player played and we danced the Charleston until I thought our legs were going to fall off. Someone yelled, “Kiss him, kiss him” which grew into a din of yelling. Finally did give each other a peck on the lips. That was good enough and our guardians pushed us together in a forced embrace. The crowd was wildly yelling. Eventually, we were thrown out the backdoor with only pants and a shirt just before daybreak. We had no money for a taxi. Without speaking to each other we walked as quickly and quietly toward the train station.

Once inside the station we retrieved our luggage from the storage room. Inside the toilet Chad finally spoke, “Thank God we weren’t hurt. That will teach me to go looking for fun in the wrong places.” Shortly the Limited was boarded and we headed north. Chad and I spoke briefly about last evening on the train and were glad that we weren’t damaged more than we were. We agreed to keep the story to ourselves. I hugged him in a brotherly way when I got off the train in Philadelphia. Chad went on to New York City. I don’t know if he spoke about the evening but I know I didn’t.

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