My friend, Bobby Howe, denied he associated me on cases and shared fees because of my legal skills he so often needed. Instead, he insisted it was just so we could have fun together. It was in that same spirit, I invited Bobby to accompany me on a trip to Grenada I was making the trip on behalf of a client who’d purchased 220 acres of beachfront property on the island and wanted me to attend a Caribbean Basin Economic Development Program sponsored by the Reagan Administration after it invaded the island.
Off we flew to Grenada and, while I was stuck listening to mind numbing lectures in the conference room of the hotel where the meeting was being held, Bobby enjoyed himself making friends and running up an astronomical tab at the beach front bar. He met a Frenchman and his girlfriend attending the conference who expressed an interest in the property and felt like he was earning his keep by arranging a private tour of the property for his new friends .
Bobby assured me he’d taken care of everything, but that little voice in back of my head was already telling me I should know better. It took me about ten seconds to realize Frenchman and his girlfriend had no intention of buying anything and were just looking for a free adventure. Oh, they were fixin’ to get one but had no idea what they were getting themselves into.
The trip began in a beat-up old minivan owned by the derelict brother-in-law of a bartender Bobby befriended at the hotel. We loaded up and held on for dear life as the maniac driver careened over Granada’s hilly coast road to an old plantation located a couple of miles down the coast from the property. We were all relieved to be out of the deathtrap van but soon realized the death-defying part of the trip was just beginning.
I have to assume the boat and captain were another referral to a relative by Bobby’s bartender friend. The boat was a twenty-foot wooden boat that had to be at least fifty years old and had an equally old, beat up out board motor with red plastic gas can plugged into it. The boat was brightly colored in whatever mismatched, leftover paint the owner could beg, borrow, or steal. The owner was every bit as old as his boat, but he’d been baked in the Caribbean sun for so many years it was hard to tell exactly how old he was. I immediately noticed the complete lack of ant lifesavers or safety gear. Only Bobby could have talked us all into the boat but he did and, before anybody could change their mind, he helped the owner push the boat out to sea. Our trepidation rose as the water reached within five inches of the gunwale. The ride out through the breakers took years off our lives.
Once we hit open water, we all exhaled an enormous sigh of relief. Bobby sat at the back laughing with our captain who as relieved as we were we’d made it through. It was smooth sailing from there until it was time to head back into the property riding the surf all the way up onto the beach. We all scampered out of the boat as fast as we could thankful to be safely standing on the white sand of the property’s secluded beach. The property truly was spectacular. It encompassed an entire undeveloped cove with high ground extending out on either side and a small undeveloped island. Petit Trou, nestled off one side. Palm trees lined the pristine beach, and it wasn’t long before we all forget the harrowing ride it took to get there. Of course, Bobby became such a hero for taking us all on such an amazing adventure, none of us minded the trip back to the hotel.
That night was the highlight of the conference, a private party at the residence of the American ambassador. I don’t know how many millions of dollars someone has to donate to get the posting but it’s worth every penny. The newly renovated colonial residence was beautiful, but the party was being held on the manicured lawn stretching down the hillside from the residence to a breathtaking view out to sea. There was a brick pathway surrounded by flowering tropical plants that led from the residence to a sitting area down by the overlook.
I lost track of Bobby while I tried to socialize with the ambassador and invited guests. It didn’t take long to find him when the time for the party to end approached. All I had to do was follow the laughter down the garden path. There he was, surrounded by Grenada’s upper class and a smattering receiving a lesson on how to drink the island’s prized 110 proof rum. The natives showed Bobby how they take a shot and quickly wash it down with a tall glass of water presumably to keep their heads from exploding, Bobby was encouraging the locals to show him how him one more time how to master the technique to hilarious laughter. When I told him it was time to go, it took another twenty minutes for him to say goodbye to all his newfound friends who were every bit as tipsy as he was.
I was frankly surprised he was able to make it back up the garden path up to the residence in his condition. He gushed the whole way about how much fun he’d been having at the party. As we excited through the front door of the Ambassador’s residence, a stunningly beautiful woman dressed in her floral island finery, complete with matching tignon, stopped Bobby to say, “Oh, Mr. Howe, you should move down here to practice law in Grenad full time.” Bobby asked, “What kind of law would I be able to practice here?” And the woman replied in all seriousness, “Banking.”
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