Tropical Holiday

By G.E. STEARNS

Travel to a beautiful but dangerous tropical island located in the heart of the hurricane belt. Cruise there with Mick Holiday on a classic wooden yacht. Visit lovely Cayo Buccan, found beyond the edge of most nautical charts. Navigate past the treacherous rocks of La Puta Reef. Explore this remote land of pristine sandy beaches, coconut palms and mystery. Join in the search for the fabulous buried treasure of legendary pirate Edgardo Cabron.

Consider the political fortunes of Arnold Frogstone and his shaky science. Venture beyond the Lion Gates. Go fishing with him in the face of Hurricane Chula. Discover the secret of an ancient porcelain vase. Take an advanced course by Professor Milton Piltdown. Visit the Bad Dog Saloon with Martin Sargon for a cold beverage. Enjoy camping down in the Florida Keys and visit Key West. Have your picture taken with Ace Canola at the Southernmost Point. Receive the latest meteorological forecasts from the original Weather Ace. It is time to go on a Holiday.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Medium Productions
• Release date: Jun 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9780962678066

Book preview

MICK HOLIDAY

Iguanas ran along the pilings in the hot tropical sun, as Mick Holiday walked down an old concrete pier. He passed several expensive yachts tied up at the docks. Some of the boats had for sale signs in the cabin windows. Many of the yachts were covered in chalky white bird droppings. A few hungry pelicans floated in the water next to the dock, as Mick looked at the boats and considered the nautical selection.

There were sailboats, trawlers, skiffs, sport fishermen and even a row of houseboats. A large white egret stood silently on the roof of a cabin cruiser. But there were no classic wooden yachts here at the marina. A welcome breeze out of the south blew through the harbor and rippled the water.

Mick had been looking to buy some kind of boat or yacht for several months now. It had been a casual search for sure. Yet to discover a boat that he really wanted to own, Holiday kept on visiting the harbors and docks. His search for classic varnished yachts made of mahogany and teak had produced mixed results. The fiberglass and contemporary designs were more prevalent. That and a couple of old wooden wrecks, that he ran into down on the Miami River. Made out of wood, yes. Hurricane survivors no doubt, but rather unsuitable for restoration.

And most of the boats that Mick looked at here today were little better. Not a classic yacht among them. But he would not give up. Mick was planning on cruising the tropical blue Caribbean waters. It had become a sort of dream of his lately, really more in the daydream and planning stages. And while he did not really expect to find a likely vessel for sale here at the wharf, Holiday still enjoyed looking at the boats and walking around the waterfront in the Florida sunshine.

A pack of green iguanas scattered as a shrimp boat arrived, cruising in past the concrete pier and pilings. Pelicans followed the shrimper. Mick reached the end of the dock and turned around. Several iguanas returned. Noisy seagulls soon arrived to greet the fishing boats, now coming into the harbor.

The fishing boats all pulled in to tie up over at the commercial docks. Pelicans soon fought over fish parts, as the fishermen cleaned their catches and dumped the remains into the grimy water next to the pier. Seagulls hovered overhead as Holiday walked past a few more boats and then returned to the parking lot.

Mick had reached a plateau in his middle aged life where he was wealthy enough to not have to work at a regular job, not for money anyway. He enjoyed work at times, so long as it was neither toxic nor in the employ of others. These days he just wanted to take it easy, cruise the islands in a classic yacht and enjoy all of the good times to be found in the tropics.

The people and salesmen that he would meet here at these docks and marinas seemed to regard him as another eccentric loser, probably with an old boat to work on. He did little to try and alter that impression. Typically, Mick was wearing shorts, a sun visor and t-shirts with the sleeves cut off. Usually he was either barefoot or wearing sandals. Today he was visiting the boat docks, so he was wearing a pair of topsiders.

Holiday returned to his old Mercedes Benz sedan sitting over in the back corner of the parking lot. A couple of feral cats raced out from under the car, as Mick walked across the lot.

To the untrained eye, Holiday may have looked just a little questionable, not counter culture really, but not the yacht club crowd either. While some of the boat salesmen may have looked at him skeptically, Mick could no doubt afford to buy any yacht in the harbor. He walked over to his car and got inside.

Not too many knew that Mick Holiday’s given name was Michael Stanton Holiday and that his father had been the legendary Lanton Stanton Holiday, founder and CEO of the giant aerospace corporation, L.S. Holiday Enterprises.

During the post World War II American industrial and economic juggernaut, L.S. ‘Buck’ Holiday, the old man, had taken a small machine shop in Long Beach, California, then methodically added as many tooling, grinding and fabrication machines as he could obtain into his growing factory. With a shrewd and industrious vision of the future, Buck Holiday systematically built the business into the Holiday Tool Company and eventually the industrial mega corporation, L.S. Holiday Enterprises.

Starting with little more than a few Brown & Sharpe automatic screw machines, a half-dozen Bridgeport and Milwaukee milling machines, a LeBlond turret lathe and a contract with the Boeing Company to make eyebolts, a key component of the fuel lacing system on the Boeing B-52 bomber, the business grew rapidly.

Then, Holiday added a new industrial facility. The aerospace contracts began to pour in. Another building, then a big contract with Lockheed. L.S. Holiday Enterprises went on to produce sophisticated parts and assemblies for numerous Douglas Aircraft and Howard Hughes programs. Then, several highly classified projects for the U.S. Air Force. Buck Holiday soon grew to be a major player in the industry.

Mick Holiday, however, never shared his father’s enthusiasm for working endlessly in the aerospace industry. After a while, Mick traveled on. First, down to the Florida Keys, where he lived in Key West for a time. Next, he lived on a remote acreage in central Nevada at a new-age hippie sort of compound. In time though, Mick grew tired of the communal way of life.

For the next few years, Mick traveled throughout the Caribbean and learned to enjoy the tropical lifestyle. He did manage to hold on to most of the capital, investments and properties he had inherited, following the deaths of his parents in a tragic airplane accident.

As time went on the money continued to pour into the bank accounts and investments. With his long hair, sandals and shorts, Holiday was an unlikely looking millionaire. He looked like just another one of the endless supply of beach people who kept showing up on the south Florida coast. From time to time, people hearing his last name would make a comparison to the old Wild West Doc Holliday. But looking into the mirror, Mick Holiday failed to see the resemblance.

. . . . . . . . . .

Buck Holiday, the industrialist, was the very picture of a capitalist. Buck was a careful man who rarely made mistakes. Other than his final flying fiasco, Buck Holiday had acquired his many millions of dollars in a flawless progression of mistake free investments and entrepreneurial successes.

The only really bad business miscalculation that Buck ever made was his attempt to acquire an at-the-time futuristic proprietary product, which he planned to develop for mass distribution. Holiday had correctly predicted the large population shift to the southwest American sunbelt.

Relying on bad business advice, Buck Holiday invested heavily, too heavily, into an ill-fated and exorbitantly expensive solar powered air conditioning project. Buck generously placed Larry Holiday Jr. at the head of the Project. And while the Holiday Enterprises engineers were ultimately able to develop and construct a few of the prototype Holiday air units, Buck Holiday was roundly criticized by all of his major investors.

Some of his investors had suggested that Buck had finally lost touch with reality. Others had gone so far as to compare Holiday with the dinosaur. And while the accountants at L.S. Holiday Enterprises were eventually able to take some tax write-off on the substantial losses, each of the Holiday air units produced would go on to cost the company over several million dollars.

In the end, even Buck himself may have seen his solar powered air conditioning venture as just too futuristic when the final price tag was way too high for any realistic mass market sales. When the U.S. Government refused to consider buying them, the solar air conditioning project nearly bankrupted the Holiday Air Division of L.S. Holiday Enterprises. Buck took the criticism in stride and characteristically marched on, even though this one business mistake would cost him dearly. And, for the first time, people began to publically doubt Buck Holiday.

Stubbornly, Buck had two of his massive working prototype Holiday air units hauled down to Palm Springs, where he hooked them up and used the solar Holiday air units to cool his poolside villa and cabana. When the economy fell on hard times and the aerospace and government contracts finally began to dry up, Buck Holiday, in a surprise and timely move sold the entire business.

Buck felt that he had now earned his well-deserved golden years in the sun, playing golf with celebrities and lounging by the pool, with his attractive wife Barbara at his side, bringing him drinks and hors d’oeuvers.

Mick Holiday was typically either out of State or out of the Country, when the old man was operating his industrial behemoth at full blast. Mick managed to keep in touch via postcards, birthday cards, Christmas gift packages and infrequent visits to one of the country estates that Buck Holiday would buy and sell from time to time. Mick wasn’t all that surprised to learn that the old man was finally selling the entire business and moving to the desert. It sounded like a good idea.

Buck Holiday and his fashionable wife Barbara would soon be able to drive through Rancho Mirage in his new Bentley convertible and buy expensive artwork in Palm Desert at the El Paseo shops and boutiques. Now, Buck could finally take the time to learn how to play golf and drive around the golf courses and tournaments in his new custom golf cart.

Everything was looking good for the flight down to Palm Springs. Buck planned to fly his classic Learjet 24B jet airplane down to the Palm Springs Airport by himself. Living the dream, Buck would personally pilot his own private jet to his luxurious desert villa. Buck Holiday was on top of the world.

Then the airplane crash. Buck Holiday, who had formerly been a top pilot, suffered an inexplicable error in flying judgment. Holiday, in a hurry to reach the Palm Springs Airport, flew his vintage Learjet 24B business jet, piloted by himself, with stylish wife Barbara and her new prize poodle Tuffy, into a dense fogbank. Still doing well over 200 knots airspeed, Buck piled the classic Learjet right into the side of Mt. San Jacinto.

There was very little left of Buck Holiday that could be identified. Even less of Barbara to be buried. But their remains, such as they were, received top quality cremation at great expense. Then the Holidays were lovingly prepared for final rest at the very exclusive Canyon Lawn Cemetery in Rancho Mirage.

Tuffy the poodle, who had been rolled up in an expensive alpaca blanket for the last hour of the flight to keep him from yipping, survived the plane crash. Still wrapped in the alpaca blanket, the prize poodle bounced off the dashboard and outside through the broken cabin window before the resulting fireball consumed the Learjet. Tuffy made a run for the tree line. He might have made it all the way to Cabazon, except for crossing paths with a large hungry mountain lion.

The big cat, who lived in a nearby cave, had been surviving on a meager diet of scrawny rabbits and chipmunks when he could catch them, all winter. The cougar had seen Buck Holiday’s Learjet go down and had initially kept his distance. He saw the poodle jump out of the window and escape from the airplane crash, then run beyond the nearest stand of pine trees. The big puma loped over to the trees to investigate.

When Tuffy first saw the tawny brown cougar, the brave poodle stood his ground and got off a couple of somewhat threatening barks. The cougar looked amused, swished his long tail and moved closer. Then Tuffy tried to run for it. But he was no match for the awesome speed and power of a hungry mountain lion. The cougar pounced and quickly dispatched the outmatched show dog. After lunch, the big mountain cat dragged the prize poodle’s remains back to his secluded hillside cave.

At the Holiday’s widely attended Funeral and Memorial Services, Buck’s final flying miscalculations were generally overlooked. He was eulogized as a shark of the first water and widely acknowledged as a great man by all who had known him.

Despite the economic setbacks suffered by L.S. Holiday Enterprises in the final years, the Holiday’s estate was still considerable by any measure. After all of the government estate taxes and all the attorneys were paid, Larry Holiday, Jr. and Mick Holiday inherited very large amounts of capital and property.

Larry lost most of his inheritance money in a series of imprudent stock market investments, as a self-styled day trader. With that and a growing drug habit, he went through several million dollars in rather short order. Still, in a rare lucid moment, Larry had the foresight to purchase a condominium in Maui. The former scion retired to a life of excesses.

The money didn’t really change Mick Holiday all that much. He bought a car, then a small luxury motor home. But the purchases made by Mick were modest, when compared to Larry’s extravagances. Eventually though, he decided to look for a parcel of real estate to purchase. Somewhere in Florida, something on the water. A place with a dock. Then, Mick Holiday would look for a suitable yacht to acquire.

. . . . . . . . . .

Mick lived in a condominium apartment in West Palm Beach for a while, as he tried to get his life sorted out. Expensive yachts and any estate property acquisitions would require adequate research and planning. Renting the condo in West Palm gave him a little space, some time while he considered the options.

He liked to sit outside on the patio at night and listen to talk radio shows. Following the advice of one famous radio show nutritional guru, Mick was now trying to avoid eating most types of meat, specifically the meat from any type of mammal. The radio guru said that the DNA of mammals, mammals from all over the world, was over 98 percent identical and to eat it was a form of societal cannibalism. Reptiles and lizards were also out.

He soon learned that most of the corn crops grown now had genetically modified seeds. This had been accomplished as a kind of conspiracy by the greedy multi-national chemical corporations. Not a strict vegetarian however, Mick still dined on chicken and fish. As the radio guru had pointed out, chickens were birds, with different DNA and fish weren’t mammals either.

Of course Mick had grown up in a good and proper American family. Meat and potatoes, ice cream and apple pie on occasion for dessert. Growing up in this environment, a younger Micky Holiday had devoured countless steaks at family barbeques. Buck Holiday, the old man, had always pointed out that a steak was ‘real man food.’ On Sundays, the family would enjoy prime rib, steaks and roasts. Buck Holiday would refer to his prime rib oven roast as ‘roast beast.’ But sometime in between Buck Holiday piling his classic Learjet into the side of Mt. San Jacinto and the present, Mick had lost his taste for barbequed steaks.

Enjoying beer was still one of his dietary downfalls. But Mick would become thirsty, often during the late night radio shows and justify his addiction to the amber beverage by suggesting that every one of the beers was actually 97 percent distilled water. During his travels to Mexico and other countries, beer and bottled water were all that Holiday would drink.

Another late night radio talk show guru suggested that wine was one of the best possible sources of beneficial antioxidants, with an extremely long shelf life. It was part of the European diet. Before long, Mick found himself enjoying more of the wine, primarily of the cabernet sauvignon variety. He bought a couple of cases of Napa Valley wines, a Coppola label and a case of Italian wine. He would have something to drink when the disaster arrived. Mick Holiday would not go thirsty.

Mick had first gotten the idea of stockpiling emergency supplies from a television show about hurricane preparedness. Ace Canola, on the Weather Channel, had run several video clips of extensive hurricane destruction, then stressed the absolute importance of having a hurricane survival kit. The Weather Channel show faded to a commercial, but not before Ace Canola promised to return after the break with some more all-important information about survival.

Mick stayed tuned during the station break, sitting through several annoying commercials until the Weather Channel show came back on. After showing several scenes of big ocean waves and massive hurricane destruction, Ace Canola finally returned to the screen trying to promote interest in his proposed new television show called the Amazing Weather Ace.

Today, Ace was wearing a fresh black t-shirt and had temporarily put on an expensive set of weather goggles with blue lenses. He was showing boxes of emergency hurricane supplies. Canola’s survival kit featured bags of white rice and beans, cans of soup, chili, hot sauce, beef jerky, spam, two extra large bags of potato chips and a flashlight with batteries.

The weather ace offered up more cans of chili and spam. Two cases of Publix soft drinks and a six pack of Red Bull energy drinks.

These emergency supply items would be all of your basic healthy food groups, the ones with a long shelf life, suggested the weather ace, while smiling into the camera.

Folks, this stuff will keep your alive in a hurricane, when things go from bad to worse.

But there was no wine. Except for the Red Bull and soft drinks, Ace Canola’s emergency hurricane survival kit only featured water and Tang to drink. The weather ace went on to point out that the astronauts drank Tang, then swallowed a cup of it on live television to show that it was safe to drink.

Ace had originally considered adding a case of wine to his hurricane survival kit. But the executives at the Weather Channel had nixed the idea right off of Ace’s emergency survival kit list. One of them had smirked that drunks in a hurricane was a bad idea. Another joked about having Canola take a drug test. Ace Canola soon dropped the entire idea.

Mick Holiday’s hurricane survival kit did have wine however. He bought another case of wine for his emergency kit, a cabernet sauvignon that he picked up at Big Daddy’s Liquor Mart. Mick continued listening to the late night talk radio shows and drinking the wine. And Mick kept eating the barbequed chicken and fish, no mammals though. Mick Holiday was no cannibal.

WEATHER ACE

The television was on and tuned to the Weather Channel. Ace Canola, the weather ace, was talking about hurricanes. Since the weather outside was currently sunny and mild, the weather ace was droning on-and-on about a previous big hurricane that he had personally experienced in Bermuda.

That bad boy of a tropical storm started out more like what we meteorologists, in the biz, like to call a fish storm, stated the weather ace. The reflection of his cameraman, Jimmy Slidell, also appeared on the television screen in the lenses of Ace Canola’s weather goggles.

A fish storm? inquired cameraman Jimmy Slidell, right on cue, otherwise staying out of the live weather shot.

Yes, Jimmy … a fish storm, explained Ace Canola. The kind of storm that stays well out to sea. Out there with the fishes.

What kind of fishes? innocently inquired Slidell, who was secretly jealous of the weather ace, wanted his job and was trying to screw up Ace’s show, in subtle ways.

All fish. I don’t know, replied the weather ace.

All fish? What about whales?

Yeah, I guess so, Jimmy, answered the weather ace. Fine weather for kite flying, but not good for much else.

Hey, hey, responded cameraman Jimmy Slidell, dishing up a fake laugh, while trying to edge a little closer into the live weather broadcast. But whales are not really fish, you know. Whales are mammals, Ace, pointed out the cameraman.

Ace Canola ignored Slidell and smiled into the camera.

But it turned into one hell of a storm, reminisced the weather ace, as the Weather Channel television picture dissolved into a series of annoying commercials.

Mick Holiday turned off the television set and headed back out to the lanai patio at his West Palm Beach condo with a radio and a cold bottle of cabernet sauvignon, to another pleasant breezy and warm evening in south Florida. Holiday turned on the radio to the smooth jazz channel and enjoyed a glass of the cabernet.

Tropical birds flew over the patio. Mick could first hear the sound of wings through the night sky, then looked up to see a large formation of white birds flying right overhead. Egrets, flapping west toward the everglades.

. . . . . . . . . .

Ace Canola liked to think of himself as lucky. Ace had come down from Cleveland in an l970 Volkswagen Beetle with nothing and had been lucky enough to land a choice weather reporting job at the newly opened Weather Channel Miami branch office. It was a situation of being in the right place at the right time. Timing and being willing to report on some pretty dicey storms. Live reporting from out on the edge was what Ace liked to specialize in. The results of motivation, determination and hard work had gotten Ace on television. But now he was just trying to hold on to his job.

At one time, Canola had a full head of hair that he wore in various styles, while breaking into the weather business. At times, the weather ace favored a pompadour style, or sometimes long and shaggy. His polls indicated that women viewers preferred the pompadour, so he soon wore it that way every time Ace got a television spot on the local forecast.

In truth, Ace could already notice some hair loss, which he attributed to the hair spray products he had used to achieve the glossy pomp. But Ace covered up the thinning places with another spray-on product, for his television show. The weather ace would have gone on this way for some time, except for problems that developed during live television hurricane coverage. After that there would be no more pompadours.

The event that took his hair was ironically the same place where Ace Canola really made his bones. Ace had felt that he was characteristically lucky when he