The Jolly Boyz

By Robert Lansford

This is the story of five young elementary school boys who are drawn into a basketball tournament by their school principal with no hope of winning. When a star player from a local high school team volunteers to coach the boys, miracles happen and the boys win the contest against all odds. An everlasting bond of fraternity is then formed and named The Jolly Boyz. This pledge of togetherness takes the young men through the youthful years of development, through high school, then college, reunions, marriages and culminating in a celebration cruise to the Caribbean. On an afternoon of great promise, the five members of the Jolly Boyz together with their wives and girlfriends, set sail from Tampa Bay. Right away however, they encounter an abandoned boat adrift in the Gulf of Mexico and things begin to get complex. Personality traits within the group, emerge together with memories of by gone days, testing the alliance. As the group gathers the resolve to overcome their differences, their bond grows stronger, developing into a pledge of re-commitment by each member of the Jolly Boyz to honor their vows of
fidelity to their fraternity brothers, their wives and to life itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479795871

Robert Lansford

Robert Lansford is a retired engineer, retired sporting goods store proprietor, and retired government employee. Much to his dismay, he found idle retirement boring and no fun. His latest post retirement vocation was working with FEMA/SBA in disaster assistance. The adversity he encountered, carried with it, the seeds of greater concern for the unfortunate. He is a former USAF pilot and Little League president, not that they have any common ground except that both are dangerous. For media inquiries, appearances, or other publicity — please contact: Ellen Green — [e-mail]

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Copyright © 2013 by Robert F. Lansford.

ISBN:  Softcover   978-1-4797-9586-4

             Ebook         978-1-4797-9587-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

Prolouge: Love, Loyalty And Friendship

Chapter One: The Ghost Ship

Chapter Two: The Jolly Boyz One By One

Chapter Three: The Beginning

Chapter Four: The Jolly Boyz In Their Teen Years

Chapter Five: The Jolly Boyz In High School

Chapter Six: The Jolly Boyz Marriages

Chapter Seven: The Jolly Boyz Adult Years

Chapter Eight: The Hhs 20Th Reunion

Chapter Nine: The Loki

Chapter Ten: The Loki At Sea

Chapter Eleven: Recipes And Decorating

Chapter Twelve: The Moment Resumes

Epilog:

This script is dedicated to the three men and two women most influential in my life:

To Jesse: I can only imagine how it must have felt to be a ten year old boy standing behind a peanut field plow horse, watching with envy as the school bus traveled down that lonely dirt road by the family farm in Plaines, Georgia. You had such a hunger for knowledge, but the opportunity of a school education was denied past the fourth grade, this because of the economic times of the early 1930’s. I place an indictment of child exploitation squarely on the shoulders of my grandparents for sanctioning such a trade… an education for another field hand. How dare them! When he didn’t till the family fields, Jesse was hired out by neighboring farms, sunup to sundown, at fifty cents a day to plow their fields. Eventually, that zest for knowledge and a thirst for a higher intellectual curiosity about the world as he knew it to be, forced Jesse to leave home at age sixteen, seeking a frontier somewhere beyond the family farm. Even though handicapped by a fourth grade education, he damn near conquered the world anyway.

Dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever.

To Michael: Though eight years younger, this is my big brother, a steadying hand in the stormy sea of life. On my register of heroes, you are quite high on my list.

To Laura: This is my daughter, my sweetheart and the source of admiration seldom equaled by any other father. She has a Masters Degree in psychology and not only is she a good listener but will at the same time, analyze why you say what you do. She has a lot on her plate… soccer practice and games for two girls, t-ball practice and games for her son, dance recitals, swim meets and most importantly… being a Mom and a wife. She is a Guidance Councilor at a local high school and is a state certified property appraiser. All this and she never spills a drop.

To Frank: This is my son. All dads naturally brag about their sons, citing numerous stellar accomplishments and deeds. With these inherited inalienable bragging rights, dads most often embellish any and all of these performances to super human levels. This is done with an unconditional love and a dream for their future that would make the ordinary appear ordained. This is natural and expected. The only difference is, I brag about fact, pure and simple.

To Linda: You keep me keeping on!

PROLOUGE

LOVE, LOYALTY AND FRIENDSHIP

The greatest example of love throughout all humankind and the animal kingdom is a mother’s commitment to her young. It is totally unconditional and is neither earned nor inherited. It simply is. Mothers inherently will defend against all threats, real or imaginary, large or small, with no regard to the size or strength of the perpetrator imposing the threat.

As a former Little League president, I know this to be totally accurate. Nothing can match a mother’s scorn for an umpire, or the league president, whose son or daughter was just called out on strikes.

An added form of love is friendship. It exists on several levels, from casual politeness, with no real commitment, to a fraternal brotherly or sisterly bond, a connection that encompasses loyalty and love often enforced by a pledge of assurance. While this has strength and durability, it is frequently subjected to stresses that bend and will sometime cause structural cracks. These stresses are caused by many variables such as money, position and pride. But invariably, the root of all friendship problems will involve a woman.

My father was a long time road salesman. On his business card was a slogan… Nothing happens until somebody sells something. It can also be said that in society, that… Nothing happens until a woman walks by… slowly.

This is a story of friendship, fraternity and several women who walk by… slowly."

Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest to the Jolly Boyz.

CHAPTER ONE

THE GHOST SHIP

A modest, but somewhat gentle breeze blew in from the southeast, traversing across a calm and rolling surf, somewhere in the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico, 15 miles due west of Naples and the west coast of Florida… and three miles beyond the Coast Guard’s mythical 12 mile limit. The early predawn winds were influenced by a large high pressure area that had become stationary off the eastern coastline of the Sunshine State. Its clockwise rotation was bringing warm moist air up from the Caribbean Sea and spilling it into the gulf waters. As a result, a misty fog had started to form along the west coast of the peninsula, destined to move outward toward the Loki and away from the white sugar sand western beaches. The mist grew steadily thicker and was threatening to envelope the luxury yacht and its crew of ten. Though posing no immediate danger to navigation for the Loki and its array of electronics, the setting had become somewhat eerie, as the visibility was growing less and less.

The mist, though peaceful and tranquil, offered a certain degree of calmness to the scene, but Captain Ray Keller had his attention focused somewhere else. Off the port bow and beyond the range of clear view, loomed a mysterious vagueness with the potential situation for serious danger that sometimes partnered with the unknown. A flashing beacon was turning on and off in a repeating sequence, in what appeared to be a coded message. The thick fog created an indistinct curtain, an opaque shield, offering no hint of what the object might be, that was emitting the signal. Indeed, the light blinked systematically, on then off, spelling out the international Morse code distress signal that Captain Ray readily recognized… it was a SOS. Dot, dot, dot, dash, dash, dash, dot, dot, dot. The object or entity sending the message was in some kind of trouble and calling for help.

Why are we slowing down? Carson Wright asked as he stepped from the stairs onto the top deck. Fog too thick?

Well, it’s always better to operate within your range of visibility, but I slowed us down mainly because of that flashing light, Ray answered, pointing off to his left and into the thick mist. He trained the ship’s search light in the direction of the beacon, but it revealed nothing more than a whitish gray vapor.

What is it? Carson queried again.

Well, the radar screen indicates something… bigger than a dingy but not nearly as large as us, he replied. My concern though is the message… that’s a SOS. Somebody’s in trouble.

Ray eased the Loki forward, keeping his hand on the throttle in case a quick reversal was needed. Finally, an image began to emerge. A medium sized fishing trawler appeared to be dead in the water. Its shadowy image was silhouetted against the pale gray mist formation. The bow and stern lights were illuminated as were the red and green navigational lights. Atop the roof in the mid-ship area, the flashing light continued its monotonous message as though seeking a reply from any who would respond.

Captain Ray peered through his binoculars, carefully surveying the mysterious and blurred scene. There were no signs of any crewmen in sight. One lifeboat, hung snuggly on the port side davit, was tightly bound in its perch. The davit on the starboard side was empty, giving evidence that the trawler crew had been in danger and perhaps had abandoned the old fishing boat. If the old vessel was sinking or had some other kind of problem, the crew may have preferred to take their chances in a lifeboat. There were no visible signs of life or any other indication of distress aboard the vessel. Atop the flag staff was a blue and white checkered flag. Underneath was a flag with horizontal stripes of blue, white, red, white and blue. Clearly, the vessel was transmitting a call for help with its flags and flasher.

Turning twenty degrees starboard, Captain Ray announced to Carson and the awakening Kyle and Jimmy as they stepped onto the main deck. We will attempt to render aid.

I hope remotely, Carson quipped. This looks a trifle spooky to me.

You just being a good guy Ray? Why are we messing with a ghostly ship out in the middle of nowhere? Kyle Thomas asked with a little irritation.

It’s maritime law, Jimmy Dyle answered the query. You must respond to a boat’s mayday call.

Ray turned the wheel clockwise as he held steady and throttled back the engines to 1500 RPM and disengaged the props. Next, he turned the radio to channel 16 and listened for any voice distress call. There was none. He turned to channel 70 and listened. As before, there was silence. Afterward, he rechecked the radar screen. There was no indication of any ship nearby. He clicked it to the 50 mile range. There was traffic to the north and south, but nothing closer than 25 miles. Where is the lifeboat?

Everyone on their toes, Ray alerted the crew of four other men and five women, three of whom were wives, one a long term relationship and one still very much in the early stages. Everyone was awake and on deck, wide eyed and curious. Hangovers from last night’s boozing, had totally disappeared.

This looks a bit spooky all right. Something about it really smells. Hey guys… Scan the horizon for any other lights or boats… especially small ones. Something our radar would not easily pick up. That lifeboat is out there somewhere.

As the Loki crewmembers looked out on the open water vista, Ray checked the GPS display, then picked up the radio microphone and pushed the transmit button.

Mayday… Mayday… Mayday… This is the Loki. Giving aid to a stranded vessel. Position is 25 degrees 30 minutes north, 84 degrees 20 minutes west. Mayday… Mayday… Mayday.

The ageing trawler continued to stand helpless in the morning mist, a wounded sailor of many bygone campaigns. It was riding low in the water, the side rails just mere inches above the threatening gulf. The old boat appeared to be at the point of going under.

The Loki eased forward, preparing to stand at bay. The luxury yacht dwarfed the smaller fishing rig. As they approached, Ray repeated the mayday message twice more.

What do you think Ray? Dean Chambers asked as he stood at the rail squinting for some visual recognition of its distress.

I donno… I don’t see any indication of life… no crew… nothing other than the distress signal light. That’s strange… Ray replied.

The Loki again eased forward before coming to a full stop, some fifty yards short of the stranded boat. Captain Ray pushed the starboard engine throttle forward, while pulling the port engine throttle back into reverse, creating a slight turn to port.

Using an amplified bull horn, he called out to the boat, Ahoy the trawler! What’s the nature of your emergency?

There was no reply… no sound of any sort coming from the vessel. All was silent. All was eerily silent… perhaps, too silent.

Get the dingy in the water, Ray called out. Let’s get a party together and board her. He turned to and fro. Who wants to go for a ride?

Do you think it’s safe? Jimmy asked. Looks sort of eerie to me.

Dean, Jimmy and me, Ray said and then added, Dean, look in the drawer at the lower level control panel and get out the Glock 9mm pistol and the pistol flare gun. I don’t think we’ll need the pistol, but I’d rather have it… just in case we do. He then turned Carson. Look after the ladies, if any come out to see what is going on, make them stay in the galley area. It might be best if they were out of sight. Kyle, come topside and man the controls. Look for anything popping up on the radar screen.

Jimmy and Dean were in the dingy. It rocked back and forth in the light chop. They held it close with lanyards awaiting Ray to board. And had the small outboard engine running. He finally came down from the top deck and scampered over the side and into the small water craft.

Pop off one of the flares, Ray instructed Dean, Straight up is what we want.

Dean held the pistol flare gun in his outstretched hand, pointing it straight up and squinting his eyes, he pulled the trigger. The gun exploded with a soft pop and a streak of light raced into the air resembling an Independence Day fire works. Seconds later, about fifty feet above the water, it detonated sending a burst of brilliant yellowish light into the foggy air. After a few seconds of hang time, the flare slowly began to float back to the water. The light cast an amplified eeriness of eccentricity to an already creepy and ghostly scene. The old trawler was illuminated by the brightness and began to look refreshed with a new spark of life.

Let’s go! Ray shouted.

Jimmy eased the throttle forward and the small engine responded with the sound of more rpm’s. The little craft eased ahead on a course directed at the ill fated boat. As they approached the old trawler, signs of deferred maintenance abounded. What paint was left on the old wooden hull, was peeling and discolored. Streaks of rust and marina stains ran vertically from the deck to the water line. The old boat had seen many years of sea duty… perhaps too many.

Approaching from the stern, the three man exploration team saw for the first time the name of the boat. Sea Duce? Dean asked openly, "I venture to say, it has been some time since this boat was involved in any kind of seduction.

Easy, Ray cautioned as he reached out to grasp a stern cleat and with a sailor’s finesse, quickly secured a rope around the metal tie down. Just as swiftly, he bounded over the stern rail and onto the deck of the distressed vessel. Dean and Jimmy rapidly followed.

The three men stood motionless, assessing the scene. Right away they detected that the engines were running, but there was no thrust from the props. The bilge outflow just above the water line belched and coughed as it expelled a gush of grimy gulf water. At this point, everything, even though dingy, dirty and grimy, appeared to be normal… except there was still no evidence of life… anywhere.

I would not want to be on this rickety old boat for any length of time even 100 yards from shore… much less 15 miles! Dean observed as he looked around.

Hey… look! Jimmy said with a start, pointing toward some paper trash on the deck. The old greenish paper had washed against the starboard side. It appeared to be wet and was stuck to the wood deck. Upon closer observation, the trash turned out to be several $100 bills. Jimmy began to retrieve some of the bills.

Let that go for now, Ray cautioned. We can do that later. I’ll check the helm. Dean, how about looking below decks? Jimmy, check the bow area.

Five minutes later, the three men reassembled on the aft deck.

Nothing forward, Jimmy reported.

Same below, Dean echoed. Nothing but dirty old rags that used to be clothes. Nothing I would want to touch!

Fuel tanks are right at empty, Ray reported. The engines will shut down soon. There’s no other sign of life… except for a few outdated navigational charts with this approximate position being noted. I’m guessing this old boat has been here a few times before, but with the instruments on board, they were damn lucky to have reached this exact spot.

What about the money? Jimmy asked. There’s about a thousand dollars here.

I’m guessing whoever left here, did so in a hurry, Ray offered.

Drug deal? Dean guessed in the form of a question.

Maybe, Ray answered. We got the boat, but $1000 isn’t the deal out here in the middle of the gulf and we got no drugs. It just doesn’t add up.

Could be the drugs are still here, Jimmy surmised. Let’s search again.

I’m not sure we want to find any drugs, Dean warned. This could become very dangerous.

Well, let’s look once more, Ray said. And then, get the hell out of here.

The three men separated as before, but this time each did a more thorough job of observing. Both Jimmy and Dean touched objects they had been reluctant to move the first time around. Still there were no revelations of unusual activity. Jimmy was moving back to the aft deck, when he stopped and looked again at some of the old deck stains.

Hey guys, he called out, I think some of these stains on the deck is blood. It looks as though someone tried to wash it away.

Dean leaned over to get a closer look. I believe you’re right Jimmy. This is blood all right. Something other than a tea party happened here.

Ray stepped forward to look and said, Maybe that explains this.

Dean and Jimmy looked at the Captain. In his outstretched hand as a large duffle bag with the top zipper opened. He was inviting them to look inside.

It’s full of $100 bills! Jimmy exclaimed.

Holy Moly! Dean yelped.

Guys, we seem to be right in the middle of a transaction, Ray warned. I don’t believe we want to be one of the players. We better get the hell out of here!

Quickly, the three scurried back to the dingy, which Jimmy hurriedly started. In mere moments, they were en-route in a return trip to the Loki. This time at a faster clip than the original trip over, aided somewhat by the futile efforts of a frantic Dean, who had secured an oar and was attempting to add some additional power to the outboard engine. The strange site had amused the spectators of the Loki, all of whom were now on deck, to the point that they had broke out in very audible laughter.

It was only after the dingy was secured and the ship underway, that Captain Ray noticed the duffle bag… its zipper gapping open. It suddenly gathered the attention of everyone as they gasped at the site of so much money.

He glanced back at the old trawler, sitting mutely and silently on the water, bobbing gently in the calm wave action. There was a story here, but not one he desired to pursue. The sound of the engines was still audible, but only barely. The bilge exhaust coughed in an irregular pattern, spitting out water that had accumulated below decks.

Then without warning, the engines stammered, belched and went silent. After less than a minute passed, there was a loud and horrific explosion enveloping the old boat in a giant fireball. Then, just seconds later, the concussion from the blast sent a wave of hot air striking Ray and the rest of the party flush on their faces.

The crew of the Loki stood as though frozen in place, mesmerized by the blast and keenly aware that this was not a staged movie set. This was real life, played out in prime time with no stunt doubles or theatrical props. This was live and in full color.

The fire ball from the explosion of the old trawler had sent a cushion of hot air in all directions. The Loki itself rocked gently to starboard, but rapidly recovered by becoming upright again and once more on the move. Its new heading was due south. Its renewed destination was for a second time… Nassau in the Bahamas.

Ray tugged the duffle bag to the big galley table and spilled the contents on the shiny solid surface. One hundred dollar bills, all bound by a narrow paper wrapper, so many that some spilled off the table and onto the deck. Ten sets of daunted eyes stared at the sight of so much money. Ten mouths gaped open and in harmony sang out a chorus of Wow!

Dean reached out and took one of the packets. He quickly counted the bills.

Fifty bills, he said, tossing the pack back onto the table.

That’s five thousand dollars in each bundle! Carson proclaimed in a low shout. How many bundles do we have?

Ten minutes later they had arranged the money in stacks of ten and with ten sets of eager hands, quickly counted out fifty piles. The money was not new, for it had wrinkles and tiny folds indicating some degree of circulation.

Five hundred packs times $10,000… holey moley, that’s two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Kyle called out in admiration of the sum.

Try two and a half million, Ray corrected. He reached out and touched the pile of money. Damn! What we have here is two and a half million dollars… and one hellva big problem!

Problem? Jimmy asked. What kind of problem?

This money belongs to somebody, Ray explained. And I’m quite sure they will want it back… all of it!

Are the bills marked? Julie asked.

They don’t appear to be, responded Carson, as he thumbed through a stack of the bills. The serial numbers are not consecutive and these bills have been in circulation. A black light would show up any iridescent markings

Then, why is there a problem if we just kept the money? asked Carla as she looked over Ray’s shoulder.

Well, as far as anyone knows, Julie voiced her opinion, This money went down with the old ship.

True enough, Dean echoed the opinion. Carson, you’re the lawyer. What do you say? he asked.

Actually boys and girls, he began and issued a coy smile. In my view as a member of the Florida Bar Association, this is in fact, a salvage operation. That being said, a judge would look for three requirements that must be met. One, the property must be in peril. Two, the services must be rendered voluntarily. And three, the salvage must be successful in whole or in part. As to one, the explosion meets the peril issue. Two, we did this deed quite voluntarily and three, the salvage must be successful in whole or in part, because we have the money. Now, there are several factors to be considered by a court judge in determining the value of the salvage award, in whole or in part. Some of these factors include the difficulty of the operation, in our case it was minor. The risk factor involved to the salvage crew, which was life or death. The degree of danger to which the property was exposed, which was major. The value of the property saved, which was of course the monetary amount in the bag and lastly, any potential for environmental impact, which in this instance was minimal. Normally, it would be rare for the salvage award to be greater than 50 percent of the value of the property. More often, the salvage award amounts to 10 percent of the value of the property. The court would be burdened by proof of the actual value of the salvage, by proof that there was indeed a salvage at all and finally if this was a drug operation, all value is automatically forfeited to the US Government. But there in lies one final burden for the court… there is no proof of a drug deal. You might say the case was full of holes and sank.

Do you give answers like that in court? Dean asked with a frown across his forehead.

Sometimes longer, Carson retorted. That money belongs to the salvage company… which in this case happens to be… us!

Then we can keep this money? Carla asked excitedly.

Actually, yes, Carson advised. "Marine salvage is the process