Before Key West earned its reputation as a must-visit tourism destination, there was a waterfront bar and restaurant that locals made their own — the Half Shell Raw Bar. It came by its “salty” name honestly, as it was located beside the working shrimp docks in a little enclave called Lands End Village at the foot of Margaret Street.
Many of us stopped at the Half Shell regularly for a drink and a plate of fresh-off-the-boat steamed shrimp. The shrimpers who delivered the catch, strutting in their unofficial uniform of well-worn jeans and high white rubber boots, were the kings of the waterfront.
And the queen? For most of Half Shell’s clientele, it was a super-talented singer named Elayne Culpepper.
Elayne discovered the Florida Keys in 1975 and shortly thereafter decided to stay. Her first Keys job was tending bar at the Big Pine Inn. Although she had trained as a dancer and acted in musical theater in her native New Jersey, she had never sung professionally.
That changed one night in 1976 at the old Gold Coast Lounge on Flagler Avenue. Ron Hatfield was playing guitar, and Elayne found herself onstage singing “Silver Threads and Golden Needles.” Shortly after she finished the ballad, Ron asked her to join his band.
Elayne sang with Ron’s Big Coppitt Cowboys for the next five years. Old-time Key West residents (including me) still talk nostalgically about the Cowboys’ gigs at the Half Shell, where her trademarks were “Blue Bayou” and a shining a cappella version of “Colorado.”
I’ll never forget sitting at the bar with my pirate boyfriend, sipping vodka and soda in the heat of the late afternoon, completely mesmerized by her soaring voice as she wove her way through the longing lyrics of “Colorado.”
The song might have been made famous by Linda Ronstadt, but Elayne’s version could stop servers in their tracks and bring sea-hardened shrimpers to tears.
A while later, Elayne moved on to a new life. But the Half Shell remained, an unashamedly funky hangout known for its generous drinks, no-nonsense atmosphere and fresh seafood.
By the mid-1980s, Jimmy Buffett had opened his original Margaritaville Store just across the Lands End Village parking lot from the bar. I was lucky enough to be part of the store’s startup team, and quite often around noon, I’d stroll over to the Half Shell for an order of smoked fish — my favorite “working lunch” in those days.
You never knew who you might see in the open-air spot, with its picnic tables for diners and its oyster shuckers working at warp speed. Charter fishing captains, commercial fishermen and shrimpers mingled with outlaw writers, thirsty Margaritaville shoppers and a few visitors eager to experience “the real Key West.”
Often a handful of treasure divers were there as well — identifiable by their dark tanned skin, hair bleached nearly white by saltwater and sun, and centuries-old Spanish coins hanging from cords or chains around their necks. Known as “Key West dog tags,” the coins were badges of honor, tangible trophies the divers earned during their exhaustive search for the sunken 1622 galleons Nuestra Señora de Atocha and Santa Margarita.
Docked not far from the Half Shell was a decrepit replica Spanish galleon dubbed the Golden Doubloon, the headquarters and office of Mel Fisher, the charismatic head of the treasure search. His crews rarely had much money to spend, but they could spin tales of adventure that held listeners spellbound.
Some of them still frequent the Half Shell today. So do I, and other old-timers who enjoy the familiar comfort evoked by its largely unchanged atmosphere. The shrimpers are gone and it’s been decades since Elayne Culpepper sang there, but the memories remain — and they feel good.
