A different kind of Community, March, 1975: Grassy Key, FL

Shortly after exiting the surf, from my foreseen nude swim, I wrapped a towel around me and went over to a large circle that held the central campfire for this beach commune. It almost had the feeling a downtown area of a small city. It was the area that newcomers would head to first upon arriving. It was here too that information would be dispersed and small business conducted. As a way of introduction, I took out a can of tobacco and rolling papers and set them on one of the huge logs that ringed the fireplace. I figured that sharing was the desired behavior for a community that seemed to lack resources. It worked and I was welcomed as some folks immediately set upon my offer. This behavior turned out to be commonplace, in that sharing was conducted almost on a religious level. Before the end of my first day here, another carload of folks showed up. Out stepped Terry, who I had met in Jackson Square in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. He dragged along Jennifer, Candy, and Roberta, Or, more to the point they dragged him along, since it was they who had a vehicle. We all spent that first evening near the central fire and slept scattered around on the ground except a couple of the woman reclined in their vehicle.
Just like in a city, after folks had landed downtown, they would eventually migrate to the suburbs. Here it meant setting up a site a distance up or down the shore or back in the mangrove bushes. I moved with Terry and the bunch he arrived with about a hundred yards away from downtown and we set up two tents. Along the shoreline other suburban outposts were established, most had beach frontage. Some were in tents, others in home made shelters of plastic tarps, and yet others in vehicles. There seemed to be a steady commerce of our slight resources mostly conducted in the downtown area. Work consisted of gathering food, water, tobacco, occasional other treats. Folks were resourceful in gleaning nature’s bounty. It seemed extreme, but some people would hitch to Homestead and sell blood for cash to purchase items not readily available in nature‘s store. We were able to carry out this endeavor without having ownership of the land. As yet, the trespassing laws were not enforceable without an owner’s complaint. The land we were staying on was of indeterminate ownership. The story was this beach was part of an estate that fell into no hands when heirs did not step forward. Apparently, it had been in this limbo for several years. As a bunch who did not desire to own land, we took advantage and found home. Rumor had it that an abandoned mansion in Marathon served the same purpose and offered an in town shelter for city folk.
It was a colorful bunch assembled together practicing the principles of sharing, caring and loving one another. It seemed I had finally found a group of people that were living up to some wide held religious values that had been preached but I never witnessed being lived. Together, we held this must resemble Paradise. In the meantime our numbers increased with folks who had left the struggle to survive in a winter when many brothers and sisters living elsewhere were suffering in a potent economic downturn. There was Gypsy, a young woman from California who nightly would travel into town and use her wiles to obtain a few drinks, a pack of tobacco, a sometimes small amount of cash. She often returned late at night and rouse everyone by shouting for her dog she always left behind. We put up with obtrusiveness because of her sharing community minded spirit. There was Phil, who seemed quite aloof, and preferred staying in an abandoned vehicle that even if it had an engine would not be drivable. Phil shared his living space with a collection of returnable bottles. He spent his time fishing and seemed to return daily with a nice catch, and a few more bottles gleaned from the beach. Every Sunday, Hector would show up with a host of Cuban immigrants. He would throw a large party in celebration of the beach he landed upon entering this country after crossing the Florida Straights in a small boat. He expressed genuine interest sharing with those less fortunate and understood the life style of those who preferred the path of the Beach Bum. Were it possible, I envisioned staying on this beach until living in Paradise engulfed the whole world. It remained to be determined how long that would take or how long my vigil would last.
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