Working with Michael Whalton was never boring.
He was one of those incomparable people whose efforts in the 1980s left a lasting imprint — who played a major role in shaping events that still help define contemporary Key West.
During the era when the island was evolving into a tourism destination, his Key West Festivals company was renowned for producing special events. By the time I became Michael’s writer/publicist and unofficial assistant, he had been the director of Fantasy Fest, Key West’s masking and costuming extravaganza; helped develop the Conch Republic Independence Celebration; and conceived and directed Hemingway Days — honoring literary legend and former Key West resident Ernest Hemingway — and its look-alike contest at Sloppy Joe’s Bar.
(In one of those stranger-than-fiction moments that sometimes happen on the island, Ernest Hemingway’s brother Leicester wandered into Sloppy Joe’s before the first look-alike contest and asked Michael if he could compete. Michael gently suggested that, since competing wouldn’t be quite fair, Leicester instead could judge the contest.)
Despite his never-ending responsibilities, Michael had a quintessentially casual working style. Unless he was transporting large items like cartons of festival programs, his preferred mode of transportation was a dilapidated bike. Wearing his trademark faded jeans and T-shirt, he zipped around town overseeing every aspect of event preparations.
Sometimes, however, the pace got too frantic and his normally boundless energy flagged. That’s when I’d find him stretched out on the floor of his office, eyes closed and arms folded on his chest, recharging his batteries with an impromptu nap.
My job then was to hush any visitors who barged in, keep them from tripping over Michael’s recumbent body, and explain that he wasn’t dead — just sleeping.
As whatever festival we were working on drew near, the office grew more and more cluttered. Piles of raffle items, stacks of brochures, contest prizes and mountains of notes and invoices lay everywhere in seeming disarray.
Once, as I scoured the office for a misplaced invoice, Michael suggested I look for it “under the cat.” Realizing he was serious, I warily approached the neighborhood feline that was napping on a wide windowsill in his office.
Sure enough, the cat was lying on the invoice. After brief negotiations and an edible bribe, he graciously allowed me to take it.
Then there was the time I helped Michael host the opening reception for a Hemingway Days writers’ conference. It was held at the lovely oceanfront Louie’s Backyard restaurant and bar, where cocktails flowed freely and the conference’s literary luminaries mingled with awed attendees.
Eventually the gathering’s VIP presenter, an iconic Southern writer, approached me with his long-suffering wife trailing behind him. I had already dodged him repeatedly, because he was very drunk and about as appealing as an aging walrus.
This time there was no escape. In a piercing voice heard by the entire crowd, the VIP announced to his wife that he had chosen me to share their suite that night.
His meaning was unmistakable. I sputtered a horrified denial, shaking my head and blushing bright red, but his wife didn’t even seem surprised. With a faint apology, she dragged him away.
No, working with Michael Whalton was never boring. Too soon, however, it came to an end.
In 1994, Michael and his wife Susan Hawkens moved from Key West to a farm they owned in West Virginia. But Michael left behind an enduring legacy: festivals that continue to this day, under the leadership of people he trained and inspired — including me.
And even now, whenever I misplace important papers, I still check to see if they might be under the cat.
