Behaving Badly in Paradise: my brief stay on Useppa

                   You probably haven’t heard of Useppa Island.  It’s a private, exclusive, ferociously expensive club on a small island next to Sanibel and Captiva Island just off Florida’s Gulf Coast.  Useppa used to be a Navy dump, but never mind.

Click to Enlarge.  Note the Hedge Fund Manager Yachts.

                 As their online brochure says, “we invite the world’s most exclusive travellers. . .”  I’d just finished Takeover my big business novel. And while the proofs were at the printers, managed to wangle an invitation to this hidey hole for the super-rich. 

                I was not a good guest.  The first night, at a cocktail party, I got entangled in a heated argument with the guest of honor about the then recent shooting in the back of some suspected Irish terrorists on the streets of Gibralter.  Her deceased husband was the British Admiral who had given the order to shoot  to kill on sight.  She was not amused by my argument that we have courts for judgment.  And that public executions were gangster acts.  She argued that it was the guerrillas who set the rules.  I said, etc. etc. 

British Dowager Look-Alike

                She was gracious about it, and told our hosts she enjoyed our debate, coming from a country which thrived on debate.

               I vowed to be a better, less obstreperous guest. Not fuck up any more cocktail parties.  And the next morning, I was playing tennis with a gent who asked what I did for a living.  "I’m a novelist," I said proudly.  "Just finished a book called Takeover.  Killed a couple dozen CEOs and I really enjoyed that."

                 “I am a CEO,” he said through gritted teeth.

                 I vowed to be a better, less obstreperous guest.  Not fuck up any more tennis games.  And the next morning I was playing tennis with a well groomed gent who asked what I did for a living.  "Just finished writing a book called Takeover.  The villain is a hedge fund manager."

Hedge Fund Manager

                  “I am a hedge fund manager he said through gritted teeth.

                    “Great,” I said.  “Where do you live?”

Bobby Kennedy in Harlem

       
          

                 I kept looking for the magic scene but maybe it was never filmed.  TLC had a two hour long documentary The Kennedys, Home Movies last night, narrated by Stockard Channing.  And it was powerful, seeing so much promise and tragedy condensed into two hours.  

             Bill Murphy was there and saw it, so this is his story, and I’d like for him to come claim it.  He was a beginning copywriter at JWT, like me, in those Mad Men days and we were friends in the same creative group.  Bill heard Bobby Kennedy was coming to speak in Harlem so he got on t he subway and went to look for himself.

                 When he got out at 125th street, he found a big crowd around Bobby.  A white man in a sea of black faces.  It was Kennedy’s first visit to Harlem and his speech was not going well. The crowd was silent, skeptical.  Kennedy’s flat nasal New England tones sounded alien, wrong, like what the hell did he know about Harlem?

                     So Kennedy said, “would you like to sing a song?”  "Anybody want to sing a song?" No response.  Bobby Kennedy was a brave man.  There was no band, of course, and no music to sing to.  He sang, “WE SHALL OVERCOME.” his tuneless New England voice sailed right past the crowd.  He sang the second line, “WE SHALL OVERCOME.”  No response.  He persevered, “WE SHALL OVERCOME SOMEDAY AY AY AY AYYY.”

                   Murphy had the suspicion that this could turn ugly.  The crowd was not buying a white man singing their song on their street.

              “DEEP IN MY HEART, I DO BELIEVE.  THAT WE SHALL OVERCOME ONE DAY.”  Nothing.  Except a few murmurs.  

               Incredibly Bobby Kennedy started the second verse.  “WE’LL WALK HAND IN HAND.” Nothing, no response.  He sang the second line, “WE’LL WALK HAND IN HAND,” and a couple of voices joined in. By the time he got to the end of the verse the whole crowd was singing with all their heart, recognizing a great heart was there on their street that afternoon.

              You can’t help but think, this would have been a better, different country if they hadn’t shot Jack and Bobby and Martin Luther King.   

 

               His words sound antique now, too naive for prime time.  But at the time, they promised that the America we learned about in school was true.:

              "This is a generous and compassionate country, that's what I want a country to stand for, not bias, not laws, not disorder, but compassion and love and peace. That's what this country should stand for and that's what I intend to do." RFK