Thanksgiving 1969 - Part Two

So it's right around Thanksgiving, we've had a big rain and Ethel is planning a big party.

Now the road into Lillie Maho was narrow, steep, rocky and required four wheel drive/low transfer, even on a good day. After most any kind rain it turned into a slick, muddy track that was near impossible to traverse. But we had to get out. We had a business to run, not to mention the fact that my sister, Erva, had to get to her job. So first thing in the morning Mom and Erva went over the hill and cleared the road of the big rocks the hillside has thrown up, and the tree limbs that have blown down. They also filled in, with rocks, the deep ruts the rain had made. Inotherwords, they made the road passable.

At that time there were no telephones out our way. But we did have two-way radio. Telephone calls could be patched in and we could talk to people anywhere in the world. The only draw-back is that anyone who had a radio could hear your conversation.

Thus is was that while Mom was working in the office she overheard a radio phone call between Ethel and a dinner guest who was concerned about getting to her place. After all there'd been a big rain and some roads were washed out. Was the road into Maho passable?

To which Ethel replied, "Well, those people down there got out."

That infuriated Mom. Those people indeed! Like we were lepers or something. Like we were nobodies or were of some inferior class of people whose name was never to be mentioned, untouchables. She stewed and fumed over it all day. By the time Erva got home from work Mom was ready, she had a plan. The Original Rotten Kid was in full swing.

"Come on, kids!" she said. Me, Erva and her best friend Gene, piled into the jeep. Mom wrestled with the steering wheel and we skidded and skated our way over the hill until we got to the "main" road though it too was just another dirt track.

Then we turned around and headed back over the hill into Maho. While Mom drove, Erva, Gene and I followed behind unfilling the ruts, and putting back every bolder and tree limb that had been removed. Inotherwords, we made the road impassible. It was a wonderfully muddy job.

It meant that Ethel's guests would be met with barriers and would have to decide if they wanted to clear the road and get muddy, park their jeep and walk slip/sliding over the hill and get muddy, or turn around and go home.

If I recall, the next day there were noises on the squawk box (that's what we called the radio/telephone) about how difficult it had been to get to the party and Ethel was furious not understanding how it could have happened because she was sure "those people" had gotten out.

Oh we were terrible and still laugh about it to this day!

Grammy, (Erva Hartwell Boulon Thorp) February, 1963 at the gates to Ethel McCully's house which Ethel called, "Island Fancy."

Grammy was a bit Art Deco in her tastes. She wore large jewelry and liked bright clothes as can easily been seen here. I don't know of too many women who could wear a solid red jumpsuit (and shoes) and pull it off, but it goes so well with her beautiful silver hair.

Thanksgiving 1969 - Part One

Directly up the hill from our guest house at Lillie Maho, lived a woman named Ethel McCully. She was a legend in her own mind, someone who acted as if she had been on the island longer than any other white person. This of course was hardly true. She built her home in the early '50s whereas my grandparents had been on St. John since the 1920s.  None the less, Ethel made herself out to be quite the character, which wasn't difficult since she'd been an ambulance driver during World War I and was the author of three mystery novels. She was a tiny little old woman, rather wrinkly and wizened, who clung too long to trying to look young. The hibiscus she wore in her wig was an idea she stole from my grandmother. (Grammy's hair was all her own.) Her bright red lipstick tended to bleed around the edges of her lips and her heavily rouged cheeks made her look somewhat clownish. 

Photo by Peter Ernst


These eccentricities were not annoying, but her peacocks were. She had anywhere from six to twelve of the birds. Large males, with magnificent tails, strutted around accompanied by an entourage of peahens. She let them wander in and out of her house where they left presents on her tiled floors. But worse, they often flew down the hill and landed our roofs where they pooped and were a general nuisance.  And one must remember we collected rainwater off our roofs for drinking, cooking and bathing. Equally, if not more, annoying was the noise they made. Often times in movies that have a tropical setting, or ladies in long dresses are strolling through an English garden, one can hear a peacock yelling in the distant background. I suppose someone thinks it's romantic, shades of India and Rudyard Kipling don't you know. But let me tell you, when they live right next to you, their yelling is anything but romantic. It is a loud, ugly noise that sounds like a woman screaming, "HELP!" 


When asked if I can imitate an animal, I say yes, I can scream just like a peacock! (It's true.)


We had a touchy relationship with Ethel. She came down quite often to have cocktails at our open bar and would insinuate herself among our guests, playing the hostess, acting like the queen bee, and generally stomping all over our territory. She was a nosy busybody we put up with and didn't particularly like.


Every Thanksgiving Ethel held a big dinner party to which she invited all the local color. We, of course were never invited. But that didn't bother us because we had guests for whom we put on a big lovely spread.  


Then, in 1969 a few days before the Big Day,  it rained, and it rained, and it rained some more and we had a flood. 


Come back tomorrow for part two!

The Rotten Kid and Banned Book Week

Remember, this is Banned Book Week. Read a banned book.  I look over the ALA list of banned books every year and discover something new each time. This year I was surprised to learn that  The Call of the Wild by Jack London was banned in Italy and Yugoslavia in 1929 and burned in Nazi bonfires in1933. This book holds a special place in my heart as it is the first book that made me cry and taught me how powerful words can be. I wrote about it here.


(We now return to our regularly scheduled program.)

***

My mother affectionately called me The Rotten Kid. Of course I blamed her for setting a good example. You can read about a couple of her childhood exploits here.

When I was 17 or 18 a family came to stay at our guest house at Lillie Maho on St. John. There were five kids. Two girls and three boys. The girls slept with their parents in one of the units, while the boys slept in one of two "overflow" rooms we called the Bunk Rooms. I slept in the Bunk Room right next to the boys and could heard them talk.

One of two cabins at Lillie Maho. Each cabin had two independent units with bath and kitchenette.

Now these boys were not little kids. The oldest was at least my age, the youngest maybe 11 or 12. You'd think three boys together would be a recipe for adventure. But these guys were total wusses. They were afraid of sleeping by themselves. They were afraid of the night noises. They were afraid of the bugs. Despite having mosquito nets they were afraid they would get eaten alive and/or catch some terrible tropical disease.

I listened to them for several nights as they complained. They hated St. John and being at the guest house. No hot water, no TV, no phones, no radio. Nothing to do. Too much sand. Too much salt water. And all the bugs! Flying and creeping things all over the place.

Then one night one of them said something about "that girl" in the other room that ticked me off.  Something had to be done.

At one time there had been a door between the rooms that was boarded over with a sheet of plywood. There was a space of about six inches between the floor and the bottom of the plywood.

I decided to give those boys something to be really frightened of.

When the lights went out in both rooms I stuck my hand through the space at the bottom of the door. I felt around, knowing that one of the beds was up against the wall which divided our rooms. I knew the foot of the bed was close to the door. I felt around until I got a hold of a corner of a sheet and slowly...very slowly, I began to pull.

There was an uproar when the boy in that bed started to feel his covers being pulled off. 

"Something's pulling my sheet!"

Lights went on. Explorations were made around the bed. I had long since removed my hand and was sitting with my back to the wall trying to keep from laughing out loud.

Eventually the lights were turned off. They convinced each other it had only been the one kid's imagination. 

But they didn't know, I was The Rotten Kid. I waited. After they were all settle down and dosing back off to sleep, I did it again. I pulled on the sheet.

"It's happening again! Something's pulling on my sheet!"

There were sounds of near hysteria. There was a scramble for the light switch. there were more useless explorations and a discussion about what was pulling the sheet. A rat was the most logical explanation. Horrors! A rat!

Satisfied that I had thoroughly demoralized those three scaredy-cat teen-aged boys I went back to bed quite satisfied with myself.

I'm sure they slept an unquiet sleep...with the light on.

The next day extra cots were moved into the unit so the boys could sleep with their parents and sisters. I no longer had to hear their whiny complaints.

Score one (or maybe three) for The Rotten Kid.


Ever pulled any stunts, played any harmless tricks?

The Valiant Land Crab - Part One

(If you haven't seen a land crab before click here for a charming picture.)

This is the true story of an adventurous land crab. It happened at our guest house at Lille Maho.

The Valiant Land Crab

Once upon a time there was a land crab. If he had a name, he didn't tell me, but I'm thinking it may have been something like Lancelot or Percival or Galahad. I think for this story I shall call him Percival, because it sounds like perseverance which he certainly had.

Once upon a time there was a land crab named Percival. He was a curious land crab who left his nice wet home, a hole in the ground in the mangrove swamp, to go exploring. His travels took him many places and he saw many things.

But eventually he grew tired of wandering and headed back home.

That's when he got lost and stumbled upon human habitation.

Percival had been warned by his family and friends to stay away from humans.

"If they catch you they will eat you," was the exact phrase they used.

Now Percival could smell and feel and taste the swamp with his gills. He knew if he could somehow get around or past these human dwellings he'd be able to find his way home by scent alone.

But there was no way around these human dwellings. He realized he was going to have to go through them. Percival thought long and hard about what he was going to do. He thought so long and hard that day turned into night. That's when he saw it, a light.

Percival crept towards the light and lo and behold he discovered an opening into the human dwelling!

He thought, "If I climb through this opening maybe I'll find a way through." He thought this because he had been told by his family and friends that human dwellings have many ways to enter and exit.

"A veritable and terrible maze of in-ways and out-ways," they said. "Not at all proper, like us, with a single door into each of our homes. If you enter, you will never get out. And if they catch you they will eat you."

But Percival had no choice. The only way to go was to go by way of this mysteriously lit in-way.

(Stay tuned for Part Two)

Lille Maho

Our guest house at Lille Maho was at the end of nowhere. For many years there were two ways to get to the the place. Either by boat or walk over the hill from Big Maho, a goodly steep hike of about a quarter of a mile.

In this postcard picture there are three white dots on the hill across the water. Those were over-looks, places where tour buses stopped and tourists took pictures. When guests were arriving we often met them in Cruz Bay with our jeep. When we got to that second gap we'd take out an air horn and blast it towards the beach. The noise of the horn slid across the water and we could hear it, a signal for us to get in the dingy and row around the point to Big Maho to pick up guests and/or luggage and row back. Guests sometimes chose to walk over the hill while we rowed the luggage around. Sometimes we had to make two trips, one for the guests one for their luggage.


Sometimes our guests arrived by "charter" boat from St. Thomas or Cruz Bay. In this picture it looks like luggage is being unloaded. The jeep on the beach is the one I learned to drive in. It jumped out of second and barely had reverse. Eventually it was relegated to hauling any and all supplies from the beach up the hill to the cottages and our small commissary. We called it The Elevator.

We offered simplicity and isolation. We had electricity, but no telephones, TV, or hot water. We had two cottages. This is the Lower Cottage, also a postcard picture. They were duplexes. Each side had a bedroom, bathroom, kitchenette and porch. The "wall" dividing the porch was also a door. If a large group or family rented the whole cottage, they had access to both sides. Along with the two cottages we had a small apartment call the Crow's Nest and two bunkrooms that were mostly used by families; simply a place for their kids to sleep.

For a while my grandmother cooked dinners for her guests. But eventually it was total self-sufficiency. Guests brought their own food and cooked their own meals. We made sure they had clean sheets and towels. We also had a small commissary offering the bare necessities; condiments, canned beans and vegetables, evaporated milk.... In the chest freezer they could find hamburger and chicken. Guests were allowed to keep a tab of what they took, it was all done on the honor system.

This is where I had my fabulous donkey Yeknod. You can read about her here.

Eventually we had a road bulldozed into the place, a steep and, when in rained, treacherously muddy slide that required a certain amount of fearlessness to navigate. As Dad taught us, you put the jeep in low low (four wheel drive) put it in first gear, floored it and pointed it where you wanted to go.

All of this is setting the scene for my next post. The story of an adventurous land crab.

Stay tuned.