Velociworld

A FISH TALE

Here is a picture I've been meaning to post for some time:



That is me and my brothers and the old man with, by my count, 49 king mackerel, an estimable day's catch by any standard.

A bit of background: in July of '69 the Senator took the family to Titusville to visit my aunt, and to watch the first moon launch. The Apollo 11 shot was quite memorable, what with the newshounds, cameramen, celebrities, politicos, and hangers on milling in abundance. We, of course, had ensconced ourselves at Smitty's Motel for the viewing, so there were no starlets nuzzling the Velocitot in unbridled lust, but still. It was a memorable thang anyway.

The next day the boys took off for Islamorada for two days of fishing. Full disclosure: I am the geek on the far left, in plaid long trou and Beatle boots (picture quality too poor to see). As I recall we had been almost skunked the day before with Captain Brown, saved only by a red snapper the Senator caught. I caught an excellent case of sunburn of the thighs, however, hence the long pants. The Beatle boots? Who knows. I probably had an excellent pair of Keds somewhere, but insisted on wearing the bootlets. I was into the White Album at the time.

And so we landed the kingfish as fast as that poor bastard of a mate could rebait and recast for two hours. What a fucking school of fish.

Then we scrambled back up to Bluffton to watch Armstrong take his historic steps on the moon.

My kids will have no such memories, unless they consider their old man sloshing his drink whilst yelling at the television that CBS News is full of crimps, spungs, and feebs a fond memory.

But perhaps, after all, that is enough.