An old joke is that when the Army had a base at the Naples Airport in WWII something landed on the runway and a mechanic put 30 gallons in it before he realized it was a swamp mosquito. When the swamps were up close and personal, this story could've been true. Almost.
Except for Everglades City and a other remote areas, mosquitoes today are a mere inconvenience. In the days before the swamps were drained they were intolerable.
To try to fight them, spray planes and the bug trucks were used. A bug truck was a pickup fitted with a device that mixed diesel fuel and bug spray together, converted it to smoke, and blew it out the back. Find a bug truck and you'd see a mob of kids running in the cloud of toxins behind the sprayer. Strangely, I can't recall anyone getting sick from this insanity.
Mike Gideon, a longtime friend and retired CCSO Deputy, recalled that, as a child living in Everglades City, he had to suit up to go out to play. The gear included a long sleeve shirt, long trousers, hat, and a bandanna worn bandit style over the mouth. Properly attired, he could bear the onslaught of the vicious swamp skeeters. Not much fun in the oppressive sub-tropical heat.
Marco Island was infected with not only skeeters, but sand gnats--billions of them. They flew in any open mouth, nested in your ears, and gnawed on your body. Called No-see-ems, they were hard to find. . . until they bit you.
Working as a cop wasn't a lotta fun. The cars had no AC, so you patrolled with the windows down. Once you got out of the car it was worse. I recall making traffic stops and wiping the skeeters off my arms, leaving them covered in blood from the squashed critters. Many a ticket was abandonded and the driver told to move on because you just couldn't take it any longer.
There was some law enforcement benefit. Escaped prisoners were regularly found by the roadway after a short spell in the swamps. They begged to go back to jail--or, on occasion, the hospital for a transfusion.
Another buddy, and retired NPD cop Dave Dampier, reminds me that nobody begged to go back to the Paw Paw Patch. The Paw Paw Patch was the original city jail. It was located close to the 3rd St So area. With no glass in the windows, prisoners could be heard slapping and cursing the little vampires all night long, yelling, Cale, let me out of here. These damn skeeters are killin' me.
(Kale Jones was Chief at the time)
Except for Everglades City and a other remote areas, mosquitoes today are a mere inconvenience. In the days before the swamps were drained they were intolerable.
To try to fight them, spray planes and the bug trucks were used. A bug truck was a pickup fitted with a device that mixed diesel fuel and bug spray together, converted it to smoke, and blew it out the back. Find a bug truck and you'd see a mob of kids running in the cloud of toxins behind the sprayer. Strangely, I can't recall anyone getting sick from this insanity.
Mike Gideon, a longtime friend and retired CCSO Deputy, recalled that, as a child living in Everglades City, he had to suit up to go out to play. The gear included a long sleeve shirt, long trousers, hat, and a bandanna worn bandit style over the mouth. Properly attired, he could bear the onslaught of the vicious swamp skeeters. Not much fun in the oppressive sub-tropical heat.
Marco Island was infected with not only skeeters, but sand gnats--billions of them. They flew in any open mouth, nested in your ears, and gnawed on your body. Called No-see-ems, they were hard to find. . . until they bit you.
Working as a cop wasn't a lotta fun. The cars had no AC, so you patrolled with the windows down. Once you got out of the car it was worse. I recall making traffic stops and wiping the skeeters off my arms, leaving them covered in blood from the squashed critters. Many a ticket was abandonded and the driver told to move on because you just couldn't take it any longer.
There was some law enforcement benefit. Escaped prisoners were regularly found by the roadway after a short spell in the swamps. They begged to go back to jail--or, on occasion, the hospital for a transfusion.
Another buddy, and retired NPD cop Dave Dampier, reminds me that nobody begged to go back to the Paw Paw Patch. The Paw Paw Patch was the original city jail. It was located close to the 3rd St So area. With no glass in the windows, prisoners could be heard slapping and cursing the little vampires all night long, yelling, Cale, let me out of here. These damn skeeters are killin' me.
(Kale Jones was Chief at the time)
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