Randy White - Everglades

She stood and held me by both arms, looking into my eyes. “The point is, pal, I’m worried about your health. Maybe something’s wrong with you. Maybe you need to see a doctor; get a physical. Something. Or start working out with me again. Probably both. And you need to do it soon, because it’s getting harder and harder to be your friend. ”

I said, “That sounds like an ultimatum.”

“In a way, it is. I care too much. I’ve got too much respect for you to watch you go down the shitter. If you’re dead set on doing it to yourself, don’t expect the people who love you to stand around and watch. It’s too painful.”

I turned and poured coffee into a brace of Navy-issue mugs, then sat across from her in the booth. I felt tired and empty and disgusted with myself. I said, “Read the paper. Tell me if there’s anything interesting going on out there in the real world. After that, let’s jog down Tarpon Bay Road to the beach and go for a swim.”

She sighed, momentarily relieved, her blue eyes brim ming again. “If there’s anything you want to tell me, you can. What’s wrong with you?”

“A short run and a short swim,” I said. “That’s enough for starters.”

Dewey said, “It’s in the paper this morning about the earthquake. I heard the checkout clerk talking about it at Bailey’s when I stopped to get a banana and yogurt.”

She turned the newspaper’s local section toward me so I could read the small headline: EARTHQUAKE? SCIENTISTS INVESTIGATING.

“The clerk said that on Sanibel and Captiva, the only ones who felt it live on the beach. Or on boats. What about you?”

“I felt something. So’d Joann, Rhonda and the rest of the liveaboards. In that way, it makes sense. Water’s a better conductor than air.”

“Well, at my house, I didn’t feel a damn thing-but then, I was on the phone fighting with Walda around six, so pissed off I wouldn’t’a felt it if the ceiling caved in.”

Surprised, and pleased that we’d been provided an interesting diversion, I took the paper from her and read parts of the story aloud.

Yes, I was wrong about earthquakes in Florida. Seismographic experts from the University of Florida are investigating the source of three or more earth tremors that were reported yesterday afternoon by South Florida residents from the Everglades to Captiva. According to seismologist Dr. Smith Douglas, the University of Florida maintains a seismograph network with stations in Gainesville, at the Everglades Beard Research Station and at Oscar Shearer State Park near Sarasota. “We’ll be checking our data, and working with the National Earthquake Information Center in Denver to determine the origin of the tremors,” Dr. Douglas said. “It’s certainly possible it could have been a small earthquake. According to the Florida Geologic Survey of 1983, Florida’s had approximately thirty earthquakes or ‘events’ that date as far back as 1727. This could be another.”

I stopped reading, took a gulp of my coffee and said to Dewey. “I grew up here and never heard anyone ever mention earthquakes.”

“Live and learn,” she said. “It’s kind of interesting.”

Yeah, it was.

I continued reading: According to the National Earthquake Information Center in Denver, Florida is mistakenly considered “earthquake free,” yet several quakes have occurred here. One of Florida’s most violent earthquakes occurred in 1879. In St. Augustine, in the northeastern part of the state, walls were shaken down and articles were thrown from shelves. The tremor was strong at Daytona Beach and Tampa, where residents reported a trembling motion, preceded by a rumbling sound. Two shocks occurred, each lasting 30 seconds, and were felt as far south as Punta Rassa and Bonita Springs. In January 1880, Cuba was the center of two strong earthquakes that sent severe shock waves through the town of Key West. The tremors occurred at 11 p.m. on January 22 and at 4 a.m. on the 23rd. Many buildings were thrown down and some people were killed. In August 1886, the next serious tremor experienced by Floridians had its epicenter at Charleston, South Carolina. The shock was felt throughout northern Florida, ringing church bells in cities and villages in the northern half of the state. In recent history, southwest Florida experienced minor quakes in July 1930 and December 1940 that were felt from Fort Myers to the Everglades. In November 1948 an earth tremor caused jars to break and windows to rattle in Lee and Collier counties. Residents reported that the apparent earthquake was accompanied by sounds like distant, heavy explosions. According to anecdotal stories, however, the deadly Mississippi River Valley earthquakes of 1811-12 rumbled through the American South, and may have caused the most powerful tremors ever experienced in Florida. The anecdotal information comes from Florida’s Anglo pioneers, and some Native Americans, both Seminole and Miccosukee. Usually referred to as the New Madrid (Missouri) earthquakes, they rank as the most powerful and deadly in U.S. history. The area damaged by the New Madrid quakes was three times larger than that of the 1964 Alaskan earthquake, and ten times more violent than the infamous 1906 San Francisco earthquake. As described by one survivor of the New Madrid quakes: “The ground began to rise and fall, bending trees until their branches intertwined and opened deep cracks in the ground. Large areas of land were uplifted. Larger areas sank and were covered with water. Huge waves on the Mississippi River overwhelmed many boats and washed others high on the shore. Mountains caved and collapsed into the river.” The New Madrid earthquakes traumatized people throughout the South. In his journal, George Heinrich Crist, a Kentucky farmer, wrote: “There was a great shaking of the earth this morning-all of us knocked out of bed. The roar I thought would leave us deaf if we lived. All you could hear was screams from people and animals. It was the worst thing that I have ever witnessed. “In a storm you can see the sky and it shows dark clouds and you know that you might get strong winds, but with this you can not see anything but a house that just lays in a pile on the ground. “A lot of people thinks that the devil has come here. Some thinks that this is the beginning of the world coming to a end.”

When I stopped reading, Dewey took the paper from me. Folding it, she seemed subdued and reflective, as she said, “Sooner or later, I guess we all experience an earthquake or two. It’s inevitable.”

I said, “Yeah. Inevitable.” Then I said, “Let’s go run.”

Twenty minutes later, I was standing a little more than two miles from the shell road that leads to Dinkin’s Bay Marina, bent at the waist, hands on knees, my T-shirt soaked with sweat and gasping for oxygen.

Dewey stood beside me patiently, not sweating and not breathing much faster than normal. “Sorry, Doc. Maybe I was pushing a little hard. I’ll slow the pace way down.”

Her kindness hurt me far worse than her characteristic sarcasm.

“How long’s it been since the last time you ran?”

I had to clear my throat to form words. “Eight months,” I croaked. “A year.”

“Oh my God, no wonder. Maybe we should just walk. Have a nice relaxing stroll, then get you back to the house.”

She said it sincerely. Like she was talking to her decrepit old father. chapter twenty-three

On Wednesday, April 16th, three days before an associate and friends reported Frank DeAntoni and Sally Carmel Minster as missing, the wide-bodied former wrestler called me on his cell phone just to talk, he said, but also to ask a favor.

Because my answering machine has a recording that suggests callers try me at the marina’s number, that’s where he found me.

I was sitting on the stool behind the glass counter next to the cash register where Mack, the owner and manager of Dinkin’s Bay, holds court and keeps an eye on the money. Mack’s originally from New Zealand; a Kiwi who loves cold cash even more than he loves cold Steinlager.