By Carol Shaughnessy
When I came to Key West in the late 1970s, I was a naïve 20-year-old Minnesota girl. I flew down to the exotic unknown island to meet my boyfriend John, who had friends here, and to thaw out after a frigid midwestern winter.
John had to make a stop in New York, so we flew separately. Upon landing, I emerged from a tiny Air Sunshine plane (dubbed “Air Sometimes” because of its erratic schedule) into a third-world airport and bright white sun.
The taxis outside the airport were startlingly pink, and palm trees were everywhere. I gawked out the cab window until we reached a wood-frame house on Newton Street, home of John’s friend Wally, where we would stay.
After paying the cab driver, I jumped out eagerly, ran to the porch and knocked on the screen door.
Moments later, a cloud of pot smoke as thick as a Minnesota blizzard wafted through the screen. When it eventually cleared, a long-haired guy with a bushy beard was revealed.
“Hey there,” he said, eyes slightly glazed.
“You must be Wally,” I chirped. “I’m Carol, John’s friend from Minnesota. Is he here yet?”
Wally looked at me for a long, hazy moment.
“John?” he repeated. “Hey, how’s he doing? I haven’t heard from him in six months!”
Apparently John hadn’t told Wally we were coming — OR that we were staying with him. But with the easygoing acceptance of the era, Wally quickly decided any friend of John’s was OK with him. His spare room was all mine, he said, until John showed up — or until I figured out what I wanted to do next.
John didn’t show up — until two years later.
But within 48 hours, I knew what I wanted to do next: spend the rest of my life in Key West.
The late ’70s and early ’80s were a fascinating time on the island — a time when one local mayor water-skied to Cuba on a single ski just to prove he could; when pot smuggling was considered more of a hobby than a crime; when seemingly half the populace was under investigation by the DEA; when Key West seceded from the Union and became the independent Conch Republic.
In those days, shrimpers in white rubber boots ruled the waterfront, fighting for their honor (or whatever) in dingy downtown bars. Homes that today stand pastel and pristine were neglected, their unpainted exteriors held together by little more than termite spit. Duval Street was so empty on summer afternoons that dogs drowsed on the blacktop.
Key West at that time was a magnet for adventurers — whether they were illicitly importing unnamed substances, heading for Colombia on assignment for Esquire magazine, or seeking 17th-century shipwreck treasure. There was a seductive, almost dangerous appeal about the tiny island at the end of the road.
It was also the site of an unaccountable literary renaissance. Notable writers Phil Caputo, Tomas Sanchez, Tom McGuane, Jim Harrison and even Hunter S. Thompson were in residence, soaking up sun, inspiration and cocktails (among other items) in equal measure. And a young Jimmy Buffett played gigs in local bars, singing songs that would one day be known to millions.
To me, it was flat-out irresistible.
Not long after my arrival, I was unofficially adopted by a pack of colorful characters whose passion for Key West was as big as the island itself — and who were gracious enough to share their stories with a naïve Minnesota girl.
Eventually I realized they had made an unspoken bargain with me. They would share their lifestyle and the stories of it. I would be responsible for preserving those stories, and the spirit of Key West’s renegade days, however I could.
This column is written in the spirit of that bargain and will appear every other week. Come along for a reminiscent ride — and discover Key West “back in the day.”
Carol Shaughnessy came to Key West in the late 1970s and admits to loving it with a passion that sometimes defies common sense. A longtime writer and publicist, she authored the book “Diving into Glory,” worked in Keys public relations for 26 years, and is currently freelancing and collaborating on nonfiction shipwreck books. Her new Keys Weekly column, “Key West Back in the Day,” will explore the wild island times of the ’70s and ’80s, and the people and places who made the island what it is. Contact Carol at carolkeywest@gmail.com.
