During the first week I lived in Naples, I got involved with Swamp Buggy Days. It was 1956 and, having taken the five minutes necessary to see the town, I was wondering just why my Dad had decided to move here. There was nothing. Maybe a couple thousand folks, tops. Two traffic lights.
When evening came, I moved with dejection to the solace of an ungentlemanly bar on the East Trail called The 41 Club. I was nursing a beer I'd never seen before or since. It was called Old Dutch Ale and the bottle seemed to be made of clay.
When evening came, I moved with dejection to the solace of an ungentlemanly bar on the East Trail called The 41 Club. I was nursing a beer I'd never seen before or since. It was called Old Dutch Ale and the bottle seemed to be made of clay.
I was wondering if I should risk gaging down another when the Hank Williams on the juke box was overwhelmed by the entrance of three bearded, rowdy men. They proceeded to question each bar patron, soon coming to me. "Where's your badge?" One asked me.
"Don't have one," I said, wondering why he though I was a cop.
"Don't mean that kind. Your Swamp Buggy Badge."
I just looked at him, having no idea what a Swamp Buggy Badge was.
"You don't have a beard, so you have to have a badge," he explained. "If not, you're gonna have to go to jail."
What the hell was going on.
"Okay, then," my interrogator said, taking me by the arm, "let's go to jail."
Before I knew what was happening, I was taken outside and placed in an all-bar jail cell on wheels, being towed by a pickup truck. There were three others in there with me, all drinking beers from a case on the floor, and having, a grand time.
When we got underway, one of the other prisoners explained what was going on. During the weeks before Swamp Buggy Race Day, all adult men were required to either grow a beard or pay one dollar for a Swamp Buggy badge sold by the JayCees. It was a popular Naples tradition, the money going to charity.
After I realized what was going on and relaxed, it turned out be a great evening. We bounced along to every bar in town, collecting badge-less and beardless errants, all the while being supplied with an endless supply of beer. When the bars closed at two, we were released, by now as rowdy as our jailers and drunker than Hogan's Goat. It was an introduction to Naples I'll never forget.
Somewhere over the years, the tradition has died. No beards. No badges. Since the Bush Patrol gents put you in the jail using whatever force was necessary, I suspect some sleazy lawyer sued and ruined it.
We're the less for it.
Somewhere over the years, the tradition has died. No beards. No badges. Since the Bush Patrol gents put you in the jail using whatever force was necessary, I suspect some sleazy lawyer sued and ruined it.
We're the less for it.
No comments:
Post a Comment