Wildman from the Gulf of Mexico

Over the years, there have been individuals that have truly been unforgettable. On many occasions, celebrity status will certainly contribute to lasting memory or impactful situations, but this episode of the Beach Boy Chronicles reaches out from the depths and the open expanse of the Gulf of Mexico to bring home a story of a frantic figure and mariner on a mission. This is a true chronicle of how crossing a vast gulf of open water alone can change a Dr. Jekyll into a Mister Hyde.

Our episode begins by turning back the pages of time to when the condominiums and dock system of Pier 81 were the docks and expansive waterfront restaurant that was once O’Shea’s.

It was full summer when the Wildman man arrived and for any who were working or visiting the O’Shea’s docks that day, the sudden appearance of a ramshackle and almost derelict vessel stopped everyone in their tracks.

The boat that was still afloat had once been a wonderful sailing machine, but those years were from a bygone era. What remained was a worn-out shell of the past held together by habit and the haphazard repairs of a thousand storms. A single mast rose high over the rust bleeding sides and the mildewed stains of the old trimaran and the shredded remains of tattered sails gave another testament to the obvious desperation that was somehow still floating. With a sudden crab-like movement apparent beneath a palm thatched and shaded cockpit, the old boat responded to command and began creeping toward the docks under the power of an ancient but tiny outboard motor that was pouring out smoke like the steam engine from The African Queen.

As soon as the ancient and battered boat nudged roughly against the pristine white docks, there was a dramatic contrast between a well-kept and modern Marco and the dockhands that were watching when the Wildman jumped ashore.

Like the sails on his boat, the Wildman’s clothes were worn-out rags that were tattered. His frazzled grey hair and beard appeared to be the same long length and matted together. His once white complexion was sunburned, blackened, and wrinkled, and his darting blue eyes and instinctive crab-like movements were a window into his every occurring thought.

When he landed on the docks, he paused for only a second, as a reluctant decision seemed to require a dock line to tether his ark. After his lifeline was quickly wrapped around a cleat, he sprang to the nearest water faucet, dropped to his knees, and opened the valve. After a seemingly solid minute, he rose after drinking, wiped his whiskers with a backhand and strode with alarming intent over to one of the amazed islanders that were watching.

The bystander who was attacked was a regular dockhand watching the arrival while smoking a cigarette. With lighting fast action, the Wildman was up to the smoker in a second and snatched the lit cigarette out of the man’s lips. The aforementioned smoker jumped back startled, as did every other onlooker, as the Mister Hyde figure sucked the cigarette down to his fingertips, then exhaled the smoke, and flicked the butt toward the group that were watching.

“I needed that,” was the first words that we heard, “Been at sea for over a month,” he croaked with a raspy rattle.

The Wildman paused to stroke his whiskers as the ten people who were gathered and watching waited for more.

“Left from Belize more than a month ago - anybody got any food or whisky?” The wild eyes were searching. “Been eating raw fish I caught on the way. Even tried a couple of barnacles off the hull. I ran out of supplies two weeks ago. Ran out of water until it rained a couple of nights ago. Ran out of tequila about halfway - after that there must have been a few days I can’t remember.”

The group of onlookers parted as a waiter from O’Shea’s dining room appeared with a cheeseburger, pickle, and French fries on a dinner plate with a cloth napkin. When the plate was snatched away on sight, the audience jumped back again, and the Wildman devoured the food. The elegant napkin fell and rested beside horned bare feet with long yellow toenails. The Wildman was finished in seconds and then dropped the empty plate to the dock boards. After the sound of the broken plate resonated among the onlookers, Mister Hyde licked his fingers and chopped at the greasy whiskers covering his teeth and surrounding his mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the Wildman suddenly snarled. “I was like you.”

The darting eyes were once again searching. “You could be me. Crossing open water can change a man. I was a doctor - had a medical practice. I was fed up. Lawyers got after me. I had to get away.”

Everyone on the dock that day was soul searching and studying the mariner that was now a Wildman. It was clear to all who were watching - none of us had ever seen anything like what was on the docks before us.

“I sailed over years ago - been living on that coast for years. Don’t need a license to be a doctor in a jungle, just need to say you are one.”

The eyes were once again on the move and penetrating every face that was watching.

One of the older dockhands stepped forward, “We called the customs agents for you,” the dockhand explained to the Wildman. “This is the official dock to register with the US. Customs when entering Marco Island waters form a foreign country.”

After a few seconds of silence, the Wildman, who was a deep-water mariner and a modern-day Mister Hyde, rushed crab-like across the docks, scrambled aboard his ancient ark, and fired his smoking outboard into life. He was untied in seconds and vanished with the current. The Wildman from the Gulf was later seen in Goodland.   

Tom Williams is Marco Islander. He is the author of two books: Lost and Found and Surrounded by Thunder—the Story of Darrell Loan and the Rocket men. Both books are available on Kindle and Nook.