May 16, 2001 – A hundred or so St. Thomas folks were frolicking in the waves, soaking up sun and otherwise enjoying themselves at the beach Saturday, greeting old friends and catching up on news as parasailors drifted beneath a colorful canopy and calypso strains provided background from the nearby poolside bar.
But wait! The sand was tan, not white, and strewn with smelly seaweed. And stretching away to left and right along the beach were 20-story hotel and condominium towers.
St. Thomas it was not.
But it was as close as many of the more than 400 people gathered on Singer Island in Florida's Palm Beach County last weekend will get to their former home this year.
The occasion was the sixth annual Bacchanal, a weekend reunion of ex-St. Thomas residents held around Carnival time somewhere in Florida each year.
This year's Bacchanaleros came from as far away as San Diego and St. Thomas itself — impressive despite the record set by attendees from New Zealand a few years back. Those arriving direct from The Rock this time:
– John and Dolores Jowers, who used it as an excuse to visit their son, Steven, and his wife, Annette, who live in Fort Lauderdale (or vice versa).
– Dale and Deborah Hamilton, who stopped en route to Washington, D.C. She set up a University of the Virgin Islands table in the hotel lobby in the hope of attracting not only students but donors.
– Val Kuffel.
– And Nicky "Mighty Whitey" Russell, without whom Bacchanal would be … well, without Nicky Russell, which to date is unheard of.
Who had what to say
"What's great about Bacchanal is everybody hugs you," Karen Sheperd Mozzo said, arms extended for an embrace. Mozzo, who made a seven-hour drive from Beaufort, S.C., with her husband, Roger, and their two sons, Matthew and Eric, to attend, explained: "None of that Southern air-kiss-kiss stuff, a real St. Thomian bear-hug that envelopes you."
Jim and Ellie Samuels, who now live in New Smyrna Beach, recalled old times with a tableful of friends including Joe Potter, who now calls Century Village home and was there with his daughter, Tommye Canton, now of Miramar. One Carnival, Jim related, "we built a float at my house. It was really ornate, with sand piled up on the truck bed and a kiddie pool with water as the sea." Problem was, the house was at the end of a cul-de-sac on Crown Mountain. By the time they got the float out of the cul-de-sac and down the steeply curving road to town, Jim said with a laugh, "Sand gone. Wah-tuh gone. We had to go by the sandfill and shovel on some more sand."
Just as she used to do at arty events on St. Thomas, Mitzi Henne was selling paintings and prints, with husband Harvey hovering nearby.
David Puritz, in trademark blue baseball cap, digitized the images of dozens of attendees on his palm-size Nikon (and provided the one with this story).
Talking face to face took precedence over the other kind of conversation so much in evidence at many social gatherings. Precious few souls were to be seen with cell-phones at their ears. The 135-room Canopy Palms resort was fully booked, with spill-over to two other hotels next door. Attendees living in the area commuted from home, and others stayed with family or friends.
Friday evening was mainly meet and greet around the bar, and nobody rushed to get up next morning. All day Saturday, the bar was open and a volleyball net was set up on the beach, but the main order of business was limin' until "Mighty Whitey" started singing and emcee-ing by the bar in mid-afternoon. Cruzan Rum banners hung in the courtyard and a complimentary rum punch bar was set up inside, but most of the customers forking over $5 a drink (beer included) at the pool bar apparently weren't aware of it.
Ronnie and Lisa Glick were there weaving palm-frond hats. He learned the craft in the 1970s from a guy from Michigan when they were on a boat together in the Florida keys, then taught it to his wife, whom he met 10 years ago. They've never been to St. Thomas, but they work the resorts, festivals and corporate parties of south Florida and have pretty much seen it all. So the Bacchanaleros can take it as far-from-faint praise when Ronnie says "These are good people, real good people."
St. Thomas mode, mood and melee
The pig roast and pah-ty looked a lot like any evening out on St. Thomas. Some attendees were "island elegant" — the women in little black dresses and sequined tops, a few dapper dudes actually wearing ties. Others sported cut-offs, T's, tropical print shirts or just coverups over their swimsuits. If there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was that Impulse, the three-piece reggae band out of Sarasota that had won raves the year before (under the name of Brothers of Intent), lived up to expectations, and then some.
The best-attended nostalgia trip came around 9 p.m. Saturday when the planning committee held an impromptu trivia contest while the band took a break. The objective was to give away a couple dozen Cruzan T-shirts and four-packs of mini-bottles of fruit-flavored rums. Among the 50 or so people gathered around, some actually did know where the Trampoline was, what beach you stepped on to get to Voodoo Bay, and how many steps there are on the 99 Steps.
And for those who might think folks weren't having fun, let the record show that the bar was still open at 4 a.m.
Sue Tully of nearby Lake Worth chaired this year's committee, aided by her Antilles School-days chum Anne Lawrence Wray of Deerfield Beach (who organized the first two events, in a Fort Lauderdale park), Peggy and Dee Wesley of West Palm Beach, and Pat Deery of Miami.
Ron Morrisette, technically a St. John ex, helped run Bacchanal 2000 on a barrier island off Sarasota, where he lives. "I've been to all six, and for central location, this one is the best," he said. But it came in for some criticism, too. Several of the previous year's attendees said they had gotten more Bacchanal for their buck in 2000. Registration was $40 for adults then and $25 for children under 12. That included Friday and Saturday night buffets plus a couple of anytime drink tickets and the commemorative T-shirt. This year, tickets were $50 for anyone over the age of 6 and covered only the shirt, "entertainment" and the pig roast, which came with your choice of iced tea or water. And the cash bar was out of Heineken and Coors Light by tea-time.
There was discussion of getting more organized for the next Bacchanal — some folks saying a not-for-profit corporation should be formed, or at least that, just for the record, there should be an accounting of funds collected and funds expended.
Others tended to see that as impractical, given the nature of the beast. To them, it makes perfect sense that Tully said she would not be able to give the Source exact figures on how many people attended or where they came from. "I have no idea," she said late Saturday afternoon. "These are typical St. Thomians. A lot of them just showed up." The one statistic she did have was that "we had about 377 T-shirts, and they totally sold out."
Where Bacchanal goes from here, in either sense, is not the 2001 committee's problem, man. Bacchanal 2002 will be held in Jacksonville, home of onetime Main Street jewelry shop owner Rui Costa, who won cheers when he volunteered to lead the effort.
Issuing the standard plea for help from one and all Saturday night, Costa said he had already made one arrangement for next year: "Impulse has agreed to play."
