and property owners, several of them pledging a few hundred each for the project. The crux was getting some of the Tourism Board’s lucrative budget. But as it turned out, in return for their as-yet unconfirmed contribution of a whopping $22,000, I had to sell my soul. I begrudgingly agreed to also produce a video travel brochure for the islands. As a serious journalist, I consider this an onerous assignment. Any hack with a video camera and a half-ass editing system can produce that kind of garbage – but I figure after I win a hatful of awards for my documentary, I can shed the loser label. Operating on verbal approval, I recklessly move ahead.
As a rookie freelancer, however, there were a number of pitfalls I hadn’t counted on. Everyone in the islands is afflicted by "soon come mon" syndrome. That classic Jamaican phrase implies you just show up when you show up, do or not do, finish when you finish. A lot of stuff usually happens in between. Unfortunately, “soon come mon” is highly contagious – and I had found myself slowing down more and more, not really caring much anymore when or how I finished the doc, working more and more as a divemaster for pennies, shooting cheap “postcard” dives for tourists. My free hotel room at the Cecelia Hotel is currently a gift based on my friendship with its owners, Cecil and Celia.
I read more of the badly-written article. Anything which appears in this rag must be taken with a gigantic grain of salt, as its editor, D. L. Raushe, is highly opinionated and a dubiously trained archaeologist. But at least his opinions lean toward historical preservation, which are compatible with my mindset. Before the bombing, the team had only been able to say that a few old pieces of wood carbon-date to at least the early 1500s, making it the oldest European shipwreck ever discovered in the Western Hemisphere. That opens the possibility that the scanty remains could be Christopher Columbus’s caravel Nina, lost during the Admiral’s maiden New World voyage, now disintegrating somewhere, home to fish, corals and eels.
As it should be. Impermanence is reality. I sip my club soda, breathe impermanence in, out. Actually, I would prefer a rum-and-orange, but I have recently given up the demon alcohol, having ascertained after a series of near-catastrophes that I possess an addictive personality. An outpatient stint at a South Florida re-hab center only destroyed my enjoyment of indulging in booze, not the actual impetus to use it. Addiction is trapped in your genes. You have to re-direct the obsessive nature, hopefully toward something more constructive. It seems that my new obsession is Mike, or maybe simply sex, a fact I am loathe to admit.
I remember my first job as a TV reporter. I had been assigned for the umpteenth time to shoot one of those detestable “reporter involvement” fluff pieces. In this case I was to conduct a search for the city’s best hamburger, even though my distinctly unenlightened News Director knew I was a devout vegetarian. We argued heatedly after the late news behind closed doors, me leaning over his desk, right into his face, close enough for us both to exchange vodka vapors from the hootch we’d been swilling during the broadcast. Screaming at him that this was my last fast food journalism assignment, that from now on I would only cover meaningful stories. After cleaning out my desk that night, I threw my letter of resignation on his desk, capped with the phrase, “You want fries with that?”
Near the end of the article is the obligatory quote from Governor George Thorn, British crown-appointed head of this scattered archipelago. "This is most disturbing news," he states blandly. "We have anxiously awaited further proof that this site is indeed the resting place for the world's most famous ship, and as such would no doubt bring in thousands of tourists to boost our economy's mainstay. Now a band of hooligans may have destroyed such hopes."
The Governor has personal reasons to be a tourism booster. He’s rumored to have invested heavily in the proposed Highpoint Resort project on Grand Turk, a fact he tries to play down among the locals, who call themselves “Belongers”. According to island law, only Belongers can own controlling interest in any business or piece of land here, but 49% ownership in a lucrative deal like this is almost as good. Highpoint, if approved by the island government, will be the most prestigious,