Like many of you I can remember specific holidays from my youth, particularly Christmas Eves and Christmas Days as well as notable holidays later in life. I especially remember the Thanksgiving Eve in 2004 when I drove from Key West with my then real estate broker to look at trailers on Big Coppitt Key.
I picked her up at her condo shortly around 5:00 PM. It was still daylight, but I recall the skies were gray and sad. That's unusual for Key West because our skies are normally sunny until near sunset when they explode with color. But on that day they were gray. As we drove up the Overseas Highway she told me about this man from her church who owned several business in Key West and several trailers which he rented out on Big Coppitt Key which is located about five miles east of Key West. He was thinking about selling his trailers and wanted an opinion of value. She wanted his business. I have no real idea why she wanted me to go along, but I did.
We drove up US 1 to a bar where the owner was waiting for us. I recall we followed him down various roads looking at four or five trailers. They were all immobile mobile homes - the wheels were removed. Each place probably dated back to the 1960s of 1970s. There was no measurable difference between them except age and the size of the lot upon which they sat. The lots were the only thing of value. And he owned the lots.
The last trailer is etched in my memory. It was dark when we got to the final trailer. He knocked on the metal door. The woman tenant opened it. She had a cigarette in hand. He explained who we were and why we were there. She waived us inside as she moved to the far side of the kitchen where she grabbed her drink. She didn't care why we were there. She didn't care about anything as far as I could tell. Her oldest son was frying hamburgers. A little one minute movie played out in my mind as I walked quickly from room to room. I remember the smells of the frying meat competing with the lingering odor of mama's cigarettes and the noise created by the meat as it was being destroyed in that too hot skillet while the TV blared and mama spewed out nonsense from her drunken mouth. I moved as quickly as I could to get out of this place.
The last room I looked in was occupied by a younger boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old. He was laying on top of his bed trying to read a book or magazine. There was a small lamp on the night stand or table next to him. I remember the light was so dim. I felt I had invaded this kid's space and left. God, I felt so sorry for that kid who had to live in that hell hole with his cigarette smoking and rum guzzling mother who was too lazy to cook a meal for her kids. I couldn't imagine what their Thanksgiving Day would be like. I was as down as down could get when I walked out of that place.
Eleven months later Hurricane Wilma caused catastrophic damage to Big Coppitt Key where most of the mobile homes became uninhabitable due to severe wind and water damage.
Key West was damaged by Wilma as well. I don't recall when it was that I thought about that boy. In that room. In that hell hole. I am sure he didn't drown or anything like that. But I thought what another indignity for him to have to live through. That trailer must have been destroyed.
Thirteen years have passed since that Thanksgiving Eve. I hope that boy made it out of that living situation okay. I understand why some people end up as criminals and why others end up as successes. I wonder which he became.
