SEBRING, FLORIDA

SEBRING FLORIDA

By Duncan 

Let me think about how and why this stop is important. 

If you have been following along, you know I have been on a road trip that started in Indianapolis, including London, North Carolina, Jacksonville, Hollywood, North Fort Myers, and Cape Coral. I'm headed to Sebring, Florida, for my next adventure. 

My first marriage ended in the late 1980s. The details might be interesting to some, but what would finger-pointing solve? All the fingers would point at me, and my actions were why I found myself single again. 

I decided to give marriage another try. It's interesting wading through the needs, wants, and desires of a woman who wants her marriage ceremony to be special. I have to ask myself, isn’t that true for all women? 

We were married. One afternoon, I returned to our apartment and found my blushing bride on the floor with the wedding proofs from the photographer on the living room floor. She was crying, and she was very unhappy with the pictures. 

I tried consoling her by saying, "Honey, they are good, fine, great." 

She was having none of it. "You take better pictures than this guy." 

I was an amateur photographer with a black-and-white dark room. Yes, I was using film back then. Digital cameras did not exist at that point. I would take pictures, head to the dark room, and give my black-and-white prints away as a gift. It was my hobby. 

It didn't dawn on me that she was serious until she came home one afternoon and said, 

"We're in the wedding photography business. I've been talking to a girl at work who needs a photographer. I told her we could photograph her wedding."  

This was a huge surprise to me. I had no idea how to photograph a wedding, what to charge, or what camera equipment I would need. The day came, and I was a nervous wreck. 

After the ceremony, I took my film to the drugstore and waited for the results. I was not impressed with my work. I slipped the photographs into an inexpensive wedding album and presented them to the bride. 

The bride loved them, Mom was happy, and everyone was delighted—except me. I couldn’t believe they all liked the pictures. I needed help; I had another wedding to shoot. 

I searched for information about Professional Photographers. I noticed a group called The Professional Photographers of Indianapolis meeting monthly at a nearby hotel. I decided to attend the meeting, even though I would likely not be allowed to participate.  

I walked down the hotel corridor and found a convention room full of people standing around talking with drinks in their hands. I stood in the doorway, frozen in fear. 

A woman in the middle of the room looked up and noticed me at the double doors. She walked to me and asked, 

"Can I help you? What are you looking for?" 

"I was looking for the Professional Photographers meeting." 

"You would be in the right place. Are you a professional photographer?" 

"No, I'm an amateur and need help photographing weddings." 

"Have you photographed a wedding?" 

"Yes, just one."

"Did you get paid?" 

"Yes."

"Then you are a professional. What is your name?"

This woman grabbed my arm. "My name is Nancy Bailey; come sit next to me. We need to talk." 

Everything I know about "professional wedding photography" has come from Nancy over the last thirty years. She is considered a total professional throughout Indiana and the United States. She judges contests and speaks to groups all the time. I'm honored to call her my friend. 

Nancy Bailey - Professional Photographer

So, when Nancy found out I was going to be in Florida, she said, "You are stopping by Sebring and having lunch with me, right?" 

And how could I refuse a request like that? 

As expected, the trip from Cape Coral took a little over two hours. I arrived in Sebring, which is in the middle of Florida. I pulled into Haammock Estates, looking for her home. 

I needed some clarification about the housing addition. They spell the Retirement Village two different ways: HAAMMOCK and HAMMOCK. Everything in town is spelled Hammock. Hammock Park, Hammock Street. So, I can only assume the sign company  “Larry, Larry, and Darryl Sign Company” installed the sign. I can only imagine the questions at the HOA monthly meeting.  

I found the entrance to the addition and drove down the street to find the address. Nancy was outside waiting for me to arrive. The first thing she did was introduce me to her neighbors.

Next-door neighbor Phil. 

Next-door neighbor Carolyn, 

Alan, and Nancy Bailey-Pratt. 

On the front porch of Phil and Carolyn’s home. 

A quick tour of the Baily-Pratt home gave me a little look at their lifestyle. 

The kitchen at the Pratt home. 

Then, it was time for lunch. Nancy decided to take me to what is considered the historic section of Sebring. Sebring was founded by George Sebring, an Ohio industrialist, in 1912.  

Archival records indicate that George Sebring’s “Circle Plan” for the downtown area was based on the design of Heliopolis, an ancient Egyptian city. George’s idea was that all roads should radiate from the center of the community. 

Which has the same street layout as Washington D.C., and Indianapolis. So, it was off to the downtown area of Sebring. The population of Sebring is about 12,000 people. That small-town feel makes you slow down and enjoy life. 

We ended up at Dee’s Place, which has been in business for more than 22 years. It’s a small breakfast restaurant that serves breakfast and lunch and closes at 2:00 PM.

Dee Andrew - owner Dee’s Place - Sebring, Florida

Lacey was our waitress. 

Lacey told us that Dee Andrews keeps a low profile. I asked how it all started. Lacey said when Dee was 14 years old, she worked for a woman named Paige Brooker. 

“I guess she saw something in me and taught me all the important things about the restaurant business.” 

Dee managed the restaurant when she was a high school senior. Then, when Dee stopped working for Paige Brooker, she worked at another restaurant. In 1992, Dee decided she could run her restaurant and opened Dee’s Place. 

Dee Andress 

When asked what she likes about running a restaurant, Dee quickly says, “I like the people. You know, you have good days and bad days, but the people are what makes it work.” 

Dee said, “If you are called to do it, do it. Give it a try because you’ll never know if it was meant to be if you don’t try.”  

NANCY BAILEY-PRATT, DUNCAN - Lunch, Dee’s Place, Sebring. 

This is an interesting story, much like my own with Nancy. If I had not shot that first wedding with blind faith, I could have pulled it off, and then, knowing I needed help, I would have never attended a professional photographer's meeting and met Nancy. 

When I think of the people who have given me a boost and shared information and knowledge, I would not be the guy I am today. Let’s call it the circle of life. If you have been there and done that and are asked to mentor, do it! 

You end up with some great friends.

 HOLLYWOOD 

By Duncan

There was a time when I wanted to be a part of “Hollywood.” 

AMERICAN ACADEMY OF DRAMATIC ARTS - NEW YORK CITY

After high school, I studied to be an actor in New York City. Well-meaning family members decided that my future was show business. My next stop is the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York City. 

In my life, doors open and doors close. After graduation, I began my quest for my place on the Broadway stage. Audition after audition is the name of the game. I  stand on a stage looking out into a dark Broadway theater. The voice in the dark repeatedly says,  

“Thank you.” 

Which means I’m not good enough, experienced enough, old enough, tall enough, or enough. Then again, no one knows what the play is about when we stand before the people putting on the show. Or the type of person they are looking for. The audition is always a crap shoot. What a way to make a living.  

At one audition, I was asked to come to the front of the stage. A face came out of the dark theater, and I went down on one knee to get closer to the man. This has never happened to me. I was full of expectation.    

“We would love to put you in our show, but your draft classification will likely pull you away from us, and it will be too expensive to replace you. Can I make a suggestion? Get your military out of the way and come back.” 

These are my first encouraging words in professional show business. I could be on the Broadway stage. The Vietnam War was in full swing. How often will I hear the word “BUT” in my life?  

I remember walking out of the audition thinking, I can do this. Then again, I can’t. I was stuck. I didn’t realize the auditions asked if I had my military out of the way. Some asked, and others were not interested in me, so it didn’t matter. The Academy didn’t warn me about Robert Burns 1785. What did he write? 

“The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”   

Doors open and close in my life. I just had a big door slam shut in my face. Plan B. I didn’t have a plan B. I checked out of my room, boarded a Grayhound bus, and returned to Indianapolis. I was leaving what I thought would be my life, fully intending to return and conquer. 

My 19-hour bus ride back to Indianapolis gave me time to run all the possibilities to make New York happen. 

Once home and away from the hustle and bustle of New York, I found Indianapolis boring. I wanted to get back on the bus and return. But, the reality of life was the war. I had to be a part of it whether I wanted to be or not. I had to get this obligation over with. How to stay alive. I had four choices. The Army, Navy, Marine Corps, or the Air Force. I was betting my life on this decision. 

While in the Air Force, I began writing to a woman. And once I was discharged from the Air Force, I was ready to head back to New York. 

“New York, Broadway? How long do you think I’m going to wait?” 

I had given six years of my life to what I wanted to be. And now, I’m facing another “door.” The path to my dreams is going “Awry” again. Another person is telling me what I can and can not do with my life. 

Hollywood … as the title suggests, is supposed to be about my road trip to Hollywood, Florida. 

I have been invited to share some time with a motorcycle Pal, Steven Garrity, while he vacations in Hollywood, Florida. 

If you have been following along, I have several requests from friends to stop by if I’m in the neighborhood. I’ve stopped at New London, North Carolina, and Jacksonville, Florida. I now head to Hollywood, North Fort Myers, Cape Coral, Sebring, and Tampa Florida. 

As I head down the east coast of Florida, I find myself on I-95. If you have not driven I-95, I will simply say it’s a “race track.” You must tighten your seatbelt and hang on to the wheel with both hands. Hollywood is a few miles north of Miami. 

Mr. Garrity and I have known each other for a long time. How did our friendship start? 

I was the manager of a mortgage loan operation in Greenwood, Indiana. One of the gals in the office came to my door and said, “There’s a guy here who wants to see you?” 

“Who is he? Is he a salesman?” 

“I don’t know his name, but he looks like a salesman.” 

“Okay, give a few minutes and send him back.” 

Mr. Garrity came into my office like a bull in a China shop. He was confident, bold, and big. He was selling beepers. The little electronic device was worn on the belt. 

It would send a phone number to alert me that I needed to call the number on the display. Mr. Garrity was excellent at his sales presentation. And he asked for the order. I was impressed. 

“How long have you been working for this company,” I asked. 

He was a little taken aback when I asked how much money he made. He seemed to lose his confidence. He stumbled and he-hawed and didn’t want to give me an answer, which I respected. It was none of my business. Bordering on rude. I then asked him, 

“Do you want to continue selling beepers, or do you want to make some real money?”

Needless to say. He said, “Tell me more.” 

DUNCAN - STEVEN GARRITY - 1986 

He became my top salesperson, and we enjoyed a stable working relationship for years. Doors closed again, and the mortgage market went down the tubes. My company made huge mistakes in selling loans on the open market, and my employer went bankrupt. (Remember 16% mortgages?) When you have nineteen million dollars of 7% mortgages in a 16% market, you will take a loss when you sell them. 

We all scattered like cockroaches under the woodwork and ended up in different environments. Garrity and I continued to keep in touch, and over the years, we still enjoy lunch and a drink from time to time. Remembering the good. Who wants to talk about the bad times? 

Steve loves the Hollywood, Florida area and invited me for a night or two if I was close. After my stop in Jacksonville, I headed down I-95 to Hollywood to check out what Mr. Garrity calls gracious living. 

He was renting a resort-style room for a week. It was obvious Steve loves the action on the beach. The pictures he sent me of near-naked women were like the mouths flying around the candle flame. He knew I couldn’t resist the eye candy walking and lying on the beach. I thought, why not stop by and check it out?

I realized I had a five-hour drive ahead of me. I would be arriving about seven or eight at night. I don’t like driving at night, as some of you know. 

Anyway, after several attempts to find this plush location in Hollywood, Mr. Garrity Finally noticed my “Mean Yellow” on Highway 1-A and waved me to a parking spot. I grabbed my overnight bag and entered the resort and the room. 

It was obvious to me that this was a one-bedroom unit. And with bedsheets on the three-seat couch in the living area, I assumed that meant I would be bedding down on a hide-a-bed. Wow, I hadn’t counted on a hide-a-bed.  

STEVEN GARRITY: 

It was time to grab a bite to eat. We walked a block or two behind the resort and found Florio’s, a Pizza Joint. It was about 8:30, and they closed at 9:00.  They had a few pieces of pizza left under a hot lamp, which would be our supper. 

The pizza was acceptable. Thin crust under a heat lamp for an hour or longer? Yes, acceptable.  When you're hungry, almost anything is “acceptable.” Obviously, we were not in an area of Hollywood with many restaurants. 

STEVEN GARRITY 

After we had pizza, we returned to the room and sat around the kitchen table. There was a chill in the air, and being outside in the wind was uncomfortable. 

This is different from the Florida weather that I remember. I pulled a bottle of The Famous Grouse Scotch out of my bag. The glassware was limited, and I had to pour my golden liquid into a coffee cup. We began to talk. Mr. Garrity lives in Martinsville, about 40 minutes south of Indianapolis. We discussed homes, money, women, politics, and who knows what else we discussed. If I told you everything we discussed, I would embarrass Steve and me.  

There is a song on Pandora that sums up the condition of Steven Garrity. The music, Wives and Lovers, goes something like this: 

Hey, little girl,

Comb your hair, fix your make-up.

Soon he will open the door.

Don't think because

There's a ring on your finger,

You needn't try anymore

Day after day,

There are girls at the office,

And men will always be men.

Don't send him off

With your hair still in curlers.

You may not see him again. 

For wives should always be lovers, too.

Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you.

I'm warning you …

The song was written in 1963 by Hal David when there was a different culture than we have today. 

It’s always interesting to talk about women over a cup of Scotch. I prefer a Waterford Crystal Tumbler with crushed ice merging into my taste experience. However, I have had stale pizza and a coffee cup of Scotch in Hollywood. Do I sound elitist? I need to accept my good fortune. And stop complaining, don’t I? 

It was time to hit the hay and get a good night’s sleep. We pulled the couch pillows off the couch and began pulling the bed up and out of its frame. The mattress in the hide-a-bed was not very thick. I made the bed as best I could. The lights went out, and I undressed and lay back on the mattress. All of a sudden, I felt a metal bar under my back. I moved left and moved right. 

This was going to be impossible to sleep on tonight. I turned sideways on the bed and drew my feet and legs close to my body. I must have fallen asleep because Steve took a picture of me sleeping on the couch.

It was a very uncomfortable night on the hide-a-bed. I woke the next morning and knew I could not endure another night's sleep on this contraption. There comes a point when you have to accept reality. This arrangement will be a one-night stand for me.  

How does one tell your friend that one night is enough? It’s painful to think about spilling the beans. I took a shower in the bathroom and noticed little to no counter space in the bath. The best thing to do is tell Steve I will leave about noon. He, of course, went to management and asked about other rooms that might be available.  

I wish he hadn't approached management or maintenance. I knew I needed to leave and continue my road trip. I want to keep Steve as a Close and Personal friend. I had hit the emotional wall. I knew it was useless to try and continue. If I stay, it will be a challenge. I need to move along. 

 At about noon, I packed my bag, walked across Highway 1-A, and started my vehicle. Steve was standing alone on the sidewalk. I grabbed my cell phone and took a picture. I hated that is moment was not going to work. But, as I have said in this post, “Doors open and doors close.”

LONDON

 LONDON 

By Duncan 

I’ve been on a road trip. This time, instead of a “Three Day Road Trip,” I decided on a two-week road trip. 

So, I return with lots of stories. Some interesting and some not so interesting. You will, of course, decide which is which. Let me begin by telling you how this two-week extravaganza all started. 

I received a text from an old motorcycle buddy (Rodney “Digital” Myers) who texted me and said … 

“Why is it that you have lunch with everyone else except me?” 

“Rodney, I’ll have lunch with you; where are you?” 

“London.”

“London? London where?” 

“New London, North Carolina.” 

(By the way, folks, I have not been on a Honda Gold Wing motorcycle since 2008.) 

Of course, the first thing that entered my mind was, You want me to drive from Indianapolis to North Carolina to have lunch with you? I asked Google how many miles it was to New London, North Carolina. Google says six hundred miles or about ten hours. 

 

Now, anyone in their right mind would say, “Hey, that’s too far to go for lunch.” But before I open my mouth, I need a little more information. I looked at the population of New London. Needless to say, I have never heard of New London, North Carolina. I’ve heard of Charlotte, Asheville with the Biltmore Home, Huntsville, and Chapel Hill. The population of New London is 641 people. No wonder I have never heard of New London. 

I went on streets and maps and looked around New London. There are lots of churches and a couple of gas stations. I didn’t see any restaurants except a bait shop. My right eyebrow raised slightly. Hum? Where do we have lunch? The bait shop? So I texted Rodney back and asked, 

“Excuse me, Dig, if I come to New London, where do we “do” lunch?” 

“We would need to go to Mount Gilead, a few miles away. Oh, Duncan, we live in the Bible Belt down here, and most restaurants are closed on Sundays. Do you know what day you are planning on coming?”

What day am I planning on coming? I haven’t decided if I’m diving ten hours to have lunch in New London yet, or at all. Rodney is already cocked and loaded for me to visit him, but not on a Sunday! Not on a Sunday? Holy cow, my door is wide open to visit my Personal and Very Close Friend. What to do? What to do? 

Gosh, I haven’t thought about the Bible Belt in years. It’s only a vague memory of my youth when a few restaurants in Indianapolis were closed on Sunday. Being schooled by God-fearing Baptist parents, it was (SOP) standard operating procedure that they believed restaurants and businesses should close on the Sabbath. You know, God created the world in six days and on the seventh, he rested.  

Rodney also threw out another caveat, “There is a hotel down here called the Badin Inn. Established in 1913. I know the owner, and we are close friends. I can get you the room that Maye West slept in when she came to town. Of course, my first reaction was … “Is it the same bed?” I don't know when Maye West slept at the Badin Inn. One can only hope they change the mattress from time to time. Yes, I know, I’m being cynical.   

The idea that I could sleep in the same room as “Why don’t you come up and see sometime” and “When I’m good I’m very good, when I’m bad, I’m even better” is hard to resist. So, I decided to put the trip on my bucket list. I can only hope God will forgive me for what I’m thinking. Yes, I know Jimmy Carter said, “If you think it, you have done it”

Things happen in my life without me even thinking about it. In the next couple of months, all of a sudden, I had additional invitations to Jacksonville, Hollywood, North Fort Myers, Cape Coral, Sebring, and Tampa, Florida. All of the invitations are for late January and early February. With Indiana being “Indiana.” I decided to escape Indiana's dull, cold, and overcast skies. I then decided to combine all the invitations and make it an experience. So, I will be traveling to North Carolina and Florida for the next couple of posts/stories. 

One of the pleasures for me is being on the road by myself. I can stop wherever and whenever I want. I don’t know about you, but I enjoy a morning Micky-Dee egg muffin and a cup of Joe. I have come to realize that McDonalds doesn’t offer breakfast all day like they used to. If you show up at McDonalds after 10:30, the odds are they are going to tell you, “We are servicing lunch now.” Which can be a bummer if you have your taste buds set for an egg muffin. I stopped in Cambridge, Indiana, at about 9:30 in the morning, a few miles west of Richmond, Indiana, on Highway 70. I wanted to ensure my experience started with an egg muffin before it got too late. It’s the little pleasures of life.   

In the early afternoon, I pulled over and took a moment. I ordered a vanilla milkshake at a different McDonalds. I had been on the road for about six hours and decided to take a break from the super slab and think. 

I had breakfast with my son Scott the day before I started this trip, and we enjoyed a three-hour conversation at a Bob Evans restaurant in Indy. He was telling me he wanted to move to South Carolina. Much to my surprise, he has already purchased five acres of land and plans to build. He loves the moss in the trees, the climate, and the whole feel of South Carolina. The kids/grandkids are out of the house and on their own, and it’s just the two of them. So, now it’s their turn to do what pleases them.   

 

As I enjoyed my vanilla shake, I remembered when I was sitting on the ninth floor of a resort in Pompano Beach, Florida. I thought to myself back then, “Why can’t I live like this all the time?” And so, it came to pass. I focused on the goal, and the goal became a reality. I enjoyed living in North Fort Myers with my father for five years. And then, my Dad (George) passed in 2018, and I decided to head back to what I consider home. And now my son is doing the same thing. Focus on a goal and expect the best out of life. 

Of course, the fun part of any motor trip is getting out of the car, sitting in the dining room, and watching other people. I try to figure out what the person sitting on the other side of the room is all about. What do they do for a living? Do they have a family? How old are they, and why are they wearing the clothes they are wearing? And, of course, everyone had a cell phone in their hands. Even me when I took the picture below. 

Yes, I asked the man sitting by himself a question. I wasn’t sure where I had pulled off the road. I walked up to the man and asked if he knew the area. He said that he did. I explained I was on a motor trip and wasn’t sure where I had stopped. He said, “You are close to South Charleston, West Virginia. Where do you want to go?”   

I told him I was headed to New London, North Carolina. He looked at me with a puzzled look and I knew that there was no point in trying to explain New London. I thanked him for his information and headed for the “Mean Yellow.” 

I made a big mistake. Instead of stopping right before it got dark, I made a reservation in Albemarle, North Carolina. Albemarle is about ten miles south of New London. Since I hit that moose in Montana late at night, I tend not to want to drive in areas I don’t know. 

To get to the motel, I must drive in the dark for a couple of hours. The roads in this part of North Carolina are two lanes with many trees on each side. That means a deer can come out of nowhere, and I could find myself with a passenger in my front seat. I really wanted to stop driving at dusk and find a motel, but I had made the damn reservation. “Note to self. Don’t make a reservation; get off the road at dusk. Wherever you are.”   

I finally got to the Best Western, Albemarle, North Carolina. There was no one at the front desk. Only a sign that told me to phone the number on the paper. I waited in the lobby for a few minutes, and no one was anywhere to be found. I called the number, and a woman answered and said she would be there in a few minutes. She came down a long hall to the front desk. She said she was in the laundry room washing bed linen. So, I assume management requires the desk staff to do the laundry, too. Interesting. I’m sure it’s hard to find good people in these small towns. 

Let’s end this story here. I will explain the morning routine at the Best Western in the next post.