Island Time: what a concept. There is a select group of people that think that island time is really cool: new arrivals, snowbirds, vacationers. For regular folks it's business as usual in the Keys. Indeed "island time" is a pain in the backside for someone trying to hold down a decent job in the Keys. The problem with "island time" is that it only applies in places where people really don't give a damn whether or not things happen at all, never mind to a schedule. In the Keys "island time"doesn't exist because like it or not this place isn't some Caribbean Island, it's the United States, a place where We Get Things Done.
Snowbirds love to describe life in the Keys as laid back, and that's hardly surprising. The golden years they call them, a time of reflection and ease after a life of working to provide for everyone else in the family...They flock to the Keys to enjoy winters at last snow free and warm. They get up nice and early, a lifelong habit, and take their morning constitutionals exchanging pleasantries as they meet outside my window, waking me from a sound sleep. They clog the aisles in the supermarket remarking on how nice it is to meet again "down here," the vaguely defined area south of Up North. They write passionate letters to the Editor about the homeless clogging the beaches, the lack of parking and bad mannered neighbors and their dogs. Issues they will forget about and leave unresolved for next year, because come April they pack their SUVs and RVs for the trek North.
Tourists love island time. They fly in for a week of sun and fun and immediately adopt the notion that nothing matters, mon. They are in excellent spirits as they cast off their parkas and expose their lily white limbs to the locals' pained gaze. They get into the Caribbean spirit instantly, making lifelong friends of the bartenders, drinking enough to fool themselves into imagining they too could cast off their formal lives and become "beach bums," like all the much admired raggedly dressed locals...Key West- where dreams come true.
Take the ferry out to your week long dream home, cruise Duval on a rented bicycle, no worries. Well, not for a week anyway. The problem is of course that time does matter, especially when something goes a little awry and the dream vacation becomes just one more issue to be dealt with. People who call the police department are rather less on island time when they need to report lost or stolen property, or one more drunken brawl. I can only imagine an island time 9-1-1 conversation: "Key West 9-1-1...""My boyfriend beat me up. He's drunk..."
"I'm sorry to hear that sir. However I'm having a lunch break right now. But we'll be happy to get back to you in a bit..."
Yes, that would go over like a lead balloon I'm sure. Island time doesn't stand the test of time in the real world and it sure doesn't apply in our dispatch center: 
Frankly I am no fan of island time, I enjoy punctuality, I think it is polite, and my pleasure in living here is measured by yardsticks other than my ability to avoid getting anything done. My least favorite place to encounter island time is on the highway. People with nowhere particular to go love to dawdle and you'd think their mothers would have taught them enough good manners to pull over and let pass the wild eyed locals late for their second or third jobs. On those days when I am dawdling I do just that so I like to think I set a good example...I know the views are fabulous, not least because I never tire of them but there are tons of places to pull over and admire them from Flagler's old bridges which make excellent viewing or fishing platforms. There just aren't that many opportunities to pass (legally) especially if there is lots of oncoming traffic, as happens in winter.
Island time is a fiction, as much as the widely touted notions that Key West is tropical, or located in the Caribbean, but even a curmudgeon like me has to admit that it is a cheerful fiction, perhaps even a desirable one. I don't get too stressed normally if I get stuck behind a chatty cashier in the check out line, or two cars parked in the street with their occupants chatting up a storm. I'm luckier than most in that even though I actually live and work here I enjoy plenty of time off, as evidenced by this blog, and I like to take my island time on my porch enjoying the view across the salt marshes under the ever present sun. I also do appreciate the fact that people come to Key West's sub-tropical climate to throw off their cares for a short while only, though I get to live here year round includingall through hurricane season. I practice "island time" in the privacy of my own 6,000 square feet of Paradise (courtesy of Wells Fargo Bank):
It's an alluring image for many people, coconuts, Conchs and coladas. Too bad the values that make island time impossible to enact, hard work, dedication and persistence, are the very values that earn them enough money to spend time down here at all. A tropical paradox.
Frankly I am no fan of island time, I enjoy punctuality, I think it is polite, and my pleasure in living here is measured by yardsticks other than my ability to avoid getting anything done. My least favorite place to encounter island time is on the highway. People with nowhere particular to go love to dawdle and you'd think their mothers would have taught them enough good manners to pull over and let pass the wild eyed locals late for their second or third jobs. On those days when I am dawdling I do just that so I like to think I set a good example...I know the views are fabulous, not least because I never tire of them but there are tons of places to pull over and admire them from Flagler's old bridges which make excellent viewing or fishing platforms. There just aren't that many opportunities to pass (legally) especially if there is lots of oncoming traffic, as happens in winter.Island time is a fiction, as much as the widely touted notions that Key West is tropical, or located in the Caribbean, but even a curmudgeon like me has to admit that it is a cheerful fiction, perhaps even a desirable one. I don't get too stressed normally if I get stuck behind a chatty cashier in the check out line, or two cars parked in the street with their occupants chatting up a storm. I'm luckier than most in that even though I actually live and work here I enjoy plenty of time off, as evidenced by this blog, and I like to take my island time on my porch enjoying the view across the salt marshes under the ever present sun. I also do appreciate the fact that people come to Key West's sub-tropical climate to throw off their cares for a short while only, though I get to live here year round includingall through hurricane season. I practice "island time" in the privacy of my own 6,000 square feet of Paradise (courtesy of Wells Fargo Bank):It's an alluring image for many people, coconuts, Conchs and coladas. Too bad the values that make island time impossible to enact, hard work, dedication and persistence, are the very values that earn them enough money to spend time down here at all. A tropical paradox. 
Basically I stood at the intersections between Eaton and Southard Streets and clicked my pocket Canon SX100 camera.
And there they were, bicycles in motion and not. Riders riding and everyone enjoying relaxed locomotion in a city suddenly filled with cars:
As I strolled I caught shots of people not only riding, but locking...
...unlocking...
...window shopping...
...and quite possibly hauling their loot home:
Baskets, unglamorous and functional are popular in a city where bicycles are more than a hobby:
Not everyone rides for utility though. I've seen a few of these low riders around, and I'm still trying to figure wherein lies the pleasure of riding with your backside scraping the ground.
A fancy paint job anyone understands:
Any way you look at them, as useful or decorative bicycles just look right in downtown Key West:
I'm not sure why but Richard A Heyman is only tentatively memorialized as America's first openly gay mayor. I suppose it's possible there was some other person someplace else across the fruited plain who was out of the closet and elected mayor prior to 1983, but no one has stepped forward to make the claim so it seems safe enough to award the title to Heyman, then a resident at Whalton Lane, off the 900 block of Duval, a place that nowadays is an unremarkable alley:
Heyman served in the days before the Internet became popular so there isn't much information about him. From what I can gather Heyman was an affable guy, well liked enough to knock a Conch off the pedestal for the top job, which must have been a shock to the not-yet-ready-for-gay-prime time crowd in the city. It seems quite a crowd gathered at Heyman's home for the announcement of his candidacy, but his home has been relabeled in line with uniform street numbering in the city. I cannot be sure but I think Number 1 Whalton Lane should have been around here: 
Though in the proper tradition of American political notables and their legends it might have been more suitable for Heyman to have lived in this picturesque garden shed, Key West's answer to the log cabin of political myth making: 
And that which looks at first glance like an antidote to fencing neighbors in, is actually a genuflection to another Key West claimed literary icon:
Well, yes much better to name oneself after a man of literary action, a bull runner, a drinker and a serial spouse. Poor old Richard Heyman can hardly compete can he? All we've got to remember him by is the sewage treatment plant on Fleming Key, photographed here from high atop the Parking Garage, as Fleming is now a super secret Navy base and inaccessible to simple history buffs like you and me:
I was forgetting because Heyman died in the 1990's of AIDS related pneumonia there is one other place he is remembered, other than his extremely valuable if unglamorous devotion to clean sewage. That is at the Aids Memorial at White Street Pier, from whose website I found this photo of his inscription:
I wonder if the kid I spotted moving his belongings into the lane has any notion that America's first gay mayor lived here, campaigned from here and celebrated his win here. I didn't interrupt him to ask and perhaps he would have surprised me had I had the nerve.
Whalton Lane is marked as far as I could see, not by a plaque to Heyman but by crass commercialism, a sandal shop gets a nice big oval, temporarily enhanced by the presence of a green Triumph Bonneville: 
There is currently a movie making the rounds with lots of Oscar buzz, "Milk" celebrating the life and marking the assassination of Harvey Milk elected to the City and County of San Francisco Board of Supervisors at the same time as Heyman was elected to the Key West City Commission. I've heard rumors that there may one day be a documentary made about Richard Heyman but for now Sean Penn takes the title role in the Milk biography, coming soon to the Tropic Cinema:
And as the lives of these two pioneers come briefly into view it is an odd notion to me that gays can't come out of the closet after all this time, except in small pockets of the country, like Key West and San Francisco's Castro district among others. I tried to convince my young gay colleague at work that he might want to see the movie to learn how it used to be, but he shrugged: "Its about old people," he said, reminding me that history is a much undervalued subject in America.
Then there is Dan Bateman a much respected (with reason) motorcycle riding instructor. His skills were called into question by this tree thing so he had to take on the Great Christmas Tree Challenge, and being the competitive soul he is, he had to one up Steve of Scooter in the Sticks. So he did:
A night time walk around the old West Martello Tower; this I should have done for my birthday last Halloween...Though looking through the front gate, and pointing the camera that way shows something that resembles those gardens of old Savannah made famous in the movies: 
Key West has two of the eight Martello Towers built in the United States in imitation of a fortress designed by the British in the 19th century. Though they were originally designed as coastal defences Key West's western brick tower is now used for more pacific purposes:
The East Martello Tower is next to the airport and is in much better shape. It houses a museum (that merits it's own essay of course) and offers rooftop views across the Straits of Florida- though you still can't see godless communists in Havana from there! The West Martello Tower is fairly decrepit owing to the presence nearby of Fort Zachary Taylor. 
It seems bored artillerymen in the fort used the West Martello for target practice, hence it's state of chic disrepair. The garden club makes the most of it:
Those arches are on the street side of the tower, and they are sometimes used as shelter by "local subjects," however there were no little bundles of joy snoring underneath the arches the morning I was out walking around. The West Martello is actually part of Higgs Beach, the Monroe County Park located on the south side of Key West:
The waters against the seawall are pretty shallow but there is plenty of sand so this is a real beach. The tower also overlooks the water, and the White Street Pier:
And next to the tower they built a monument to the African Slaves, rescued from a slave ship by the US Navy and more or less abandoned on the beach in Key West until they sent to Liberia to start a new life.
In researching the towers I did find out a bit about the history of Martello Towers in general, of which I saw a few along the coast of England when I was a child . It seems that during the British invasion of Corsica at the end of the 18th century a British Naval officer liked the look of the round Genoese Tower defending Point Mortella in Corsica. So when he brought the idea back to Britain for use as a coastal defence he unhappily managed to misspell the name, hence Martello, which it so happens in Italian (the native language of Corsica) means hammer. And when the US military saw Martello Towers constructed in Canada they got the idea to do the same on the US East and Gulf Coasts. I see some of the Martello's architectural roots incorporated into the Key West police station too:
Very symbolic I'm sure.