I am in Florida. I wish I could put aside my biases, prejudices, and false superiority. I might, however, have read too much Dave Barry or paid too much attention to Florida weird on the standup circuit. I feel itchy, uncomfortable under my skin. I have had three experiences in Florida, each unique, and those also color my approaches to this state.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On first arrival, it feels a little like an oversized Cape Cod. There is a unique Cape Cod culture that is embedded, especially in Massachusetts, but it bleeds into Rhode Island and Connecticut, not so much New York as it has Long Island as its pressure valve. Florida also has its own culture, but I would say cultures reflecting stronger native but also a distinct transplant cores that contains more than just northern snowbirds. The Cape has Plymouth Rock at its base. Florida has St. Augustine. At the tip of its curl, the Cape has Provincetown – different rules apply that far from the State House and that far into the ocean. Florida has Key West. Again, far, far from the State House and way, way in the ocean. I arrive influenced by both Cape and Florida fanatics and detractors.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Among my experiences, the first was boot camp. When I enlisted, it was cold November in the north. The Navy recruiter said he could make my entry into the service at boot camp in Orlando. Fine with me. It was not Great Lakes, Illinois, on Lake Michigan in winter. Boot camp though is not a fair measure of a place. We were inside the fence, marched around, dreaming of escape when, in ranks, we sneaked a peek up to the sky upon hearing a plane approaching the nearby airport. We graduated in late March wearing dress blues, really black, on an awfully windy day, hot as blazes. Why a double-breasted woolen jacket, trousers, and black shoes in hot 80-plus degrees? It was still the Zumwalt years, and the Navy had yet to reinstate crackerjacks for junior enlisted \u2014 the classic uniform with thirteen-button pants and a blouse with a cape-like collar. The day after graduation, Sea World had free access for any military member in uniform and, I think, their guests. We were repeatedly told, \u201cEven if you are of age, you will not be served beer, and your guests can\u2019t get a beer for you either. Remember that. You could be arrested\u201d At that time, the drinking age in Florida was 18, and the ABC stores had drive-in windows in back and would mix cocktails in go-cups. I wonder if after thirteen weeks these orders were taken as they had not been on arrival.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On arrival as recruits, we were collected from the airport by a bus at what felt close to dawn after spending sleepless hours by baggage claim as late flights arrived, depositing more new recruits and then more delays. It was really just to mess with us. Arriving at the base, we shuffled off the bus, and were shouted at to stand on yellow footprints, really boot outlines. We discovered we had just learned how to place our feet at 45-degree angles. \u201cAttention!\u201d screamed the DI. We marched shuffled to a large hall. Two sets of rows of rough tables ran across the width of the room, each with a back lip to prevent items falling off the back. Long tables stood in the aisle between the ranks of tables running across the room. On the row tables, there were large cardboard boxes and a marking pen. We were to first mark the cardboard box with our name and address. Then we were to empty whatever kit we had brought and whatever was in our pockets onto the tables. Long prior to check-in, recruiters gave us instructions on what we could bring and what we could not. Basically, bring nothing but a two-blade disposable razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, and toothpaste. Oh, you can also bring a Bible if you like, and a lighter, but not matches. As the roomful of recruits began the process, staff roamed the tables, confiscating and putting on the center tables any contraband \u2014 comic books, nunchucks, knives of all descriptions, knuckle dusters, black jacks, porn, bottles of Axe aftershave, cans of antiperspirant, pin-up calendars, paperbacks, and anything that was mysterious, especially those items that caused a covey of the senior enlisted managing us. Of course, there was one kid who brought a baggie \u2014 not only was the contraband confiscated, but he was escorted out. The quickest end to a Navy career I have ever seen.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Next step, still not dawn, we marched sloppily over to the uniform shop, a warehouse with stations dispensing the basic uniform issue. Then with a staggering pile of clothing, we marched back to the earlier room. The center aisle tables were clean, contraband-free. At each place, there was a sheet with instructions on how to label our clothes. We took one set of uniforms, a blue chambray shirt, with our last name printed above the left pocket, a pair of blue jeans, with our last name printed above the right rear pocket. We were identified coming and going. One set of underwear\u2014 jockeys and a round-neck t-shirt\u2014was also identified. Then we changed. Our discarded civilian clothes, shoes, and any personal items like a travel bag went into the cardboard box. Sealed, they were piled at the back of the room. Then we set to naming our sea bag with the same marker we had identified our first issue and our personal box. Suddenly, we were ordered to put all our uniforms into the sea bag. We were moving out. A scramble. Some packed their bags. Some just stuffed them. Called out into companies, we lugged our bags to our barracks. Lined up in alphabetical order. Counting off in pairs \u2014one, two; one, two; one, two \u2014 we decided who got the upper and who the lower bunk. We got to make out beds. Finally, lights out. It seemed like dawn outside. Maybe sleep. BOOM! The classic trash can thrown the length of the line of bunks woke us up. \u201cGet up, you cunts. That\u2019s right. Cunts\u2014 Civilians Under Naval Training.\u201d Thirteen weeks later, now knowing how to march, how to pass in review, we graduated. Eager to discover what we had missed in our isolation, but also primed to try to share stories of an experience even we were challenged to process. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Boot camp was not a Florida experience. That was to come soon as many of us stayed for basic electronics training. All the electronic specialties: electronic technicians, missile techs, crypto, or fire control techs crossed to the other side of the base to attend their first training school before their specialty of \u201cA\u201d school. This school was self-paced. And to incentivize us, if we were 25% ahead, we could have a three-day weekend by not attending Fridays. By then, we knew how to play the game; you wanted to be as close to 25% as possible to extend your time in Florida as long as you could, but not drop below 25% and lose Fridays free. To balance those of us on the 25% line were the one or two whose girlfriend lived near their next station \u2014 they charged ahead, threw away their free Friday. They didn\u2019t need incentivizing; getting out of Florida was a prize enough. We lived in the junior enlisted barracks. We could have cars. We had no watches or duties other than going to school. Now, Florida was ours to explore if you could escape the exploitation just outside the gates. Car dealers with no down payments, bars with two-fers before 5 p.m. if you could make it, payday lenders, bingo parlors that attracted beautiful Asian women, and then the strip clubs with very young girls who charmed more than one of my free-Friday classmates. For some, exploration ended two blocks from Gate One. For those who made launch velocity, it was generally the beaches. Daytona or Cocoa Beach were favorites. We were sailors. We were the pride of America. We were god\u2019s gift to girls. Or so we thought. The tourism councils had not gone into overdrive. Disney World was just the Magic Kingdom. EPCOT, MGM, and the exotic rides with more appeal to adults were yet to come. Alligator farms were roadside attractions and part of the Florida weirdness. Bike Week in Daytona was still haphazard. America in Florida was also not quite as cocksure – the Apollo program had ended and the era of hero astronauts with it; the bad taste of Vietnam lingered; the gas crisis and checking odd\/even plates ingrained (the masking mandates of my youth). The Florida of today, with Governor DeSantis rescinding Disney\u2019s quasi-political control of its land, with Janet Reno\u2019s repatriation of Elian in contrast to Trump\u2019s ICE raids, and with the state holding sway in national elections with hanging chads and late night reporting from the further time zone of the Panhandle, was not even glimpsed in our experience. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I am in Florida. I wish I could put aside my biases, prejudices, and false superiority. I might, however, have read too much Dave Barry or paid too much attention to Florida weird on the standup circuit. I feel itchy, uncomfortable under my skin. I have had three experiences in Florida, each unique, and those […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-487","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/487","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=487"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/487\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":492,"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/487\/revisions\/492"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=487"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=487"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/omp.space\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=487"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}