scaupus
Hero Member
Sunday morning I went down to Pier Park, arriving about 8:30am. Pier park is in the area below 5th Street, the southern end of Miami Beach. Interesting story about that area; Carl Fisher and his pal John Collins, two midwesterners, originally developed Miami Beach back in the 20's, along with the Lummus brothers. Fisher and Collins owned all the land north of 5th street, and the Lummus brothers owned the land south of 5th St. Fisher and Collins had deed restrictions prohibiting property sales to Jews or Syrians, meaning Arabs. The Lummus brothers owned the land south of 5th Street and they did sell to Jews. That area became known as South Beach. North of 5th. street, Jews were not welcome. Hotels advertised that they were for "Gentiles Only". One hotel actually spelled it out in the terrazzo of the hotel lobby steps reading, "No dogs, N--g--rs, or Jews." Another popular promotional line was "Rooms with ocean views, not Jews."
Floridian: 'No dogs, no blacks, no Jews'
By the time I came to know South Beach in the mid-to-late 60's, it was all poor, elderly, retired Jews from the Northeast, most of them speaking Yiddish to one another, and living in seedy, old hotels. Today...they're all dead. Also gone are the Marielitos (Cubans that arrived in the 1981 boatlift ) that replaced the dying, old Jews in the 1980's. Now, the little residential hotels are renovated or replaced by new construction, very pricey, and the whole of it is dominated by huge high rise condos along the shoreline, home to a very wealthy international set. Today, the term "South Beach" encompasses the entire Deco hotel district up to 21st street , and the Jewish character of South Beach has long disappeared.
Back at the beach, I found out that the sand at Pier Park Beach was literally not from around here, it is very fine quartz, not shell, and where it was wet, it was hard packed and not easy to dig my big scoop down into. I was also troubled by quite a lot of trash: tabs and bottlecaps., bad news for my Garretts PI.
While I was struggling with this ornery beach, a middle-aged South American woman, possibly Venezuelan was watching me with intense interest. She was visiting the beach with her family which included one tall, exceptionally gorgeous young woman wearing a gauzy white dress and posing for pictures like a true beauty queen contestant, I smiled at the woman watching me, and she apologized for not speaking English. I assured her I spoke Spanish, and she asked me whether I was finding shells with my machine. I told her that sadly, no, it only found metal. We laughed.
At 9am, the free parking ended, and I had to either feed the meter or leave. It was funny, because everybody had to come back and feed the master meter at the same time. I watched an amazing young, svelt blond I'd seen on the beach trot past me to the meter. That's what I'm talkin' about. The lithe young blond not withstanding, Pier Park was not to my liking this morning, so I decided to leave. As I was leaving I saw an attractive young couple unloading scuba equipment. I thought they seemed a little self-conscious about their little expedition as I watched them. I drove north on Ocean Blvd and parked at about 14th Street, where the art deco hotels line Ocean Drive across from Lummus Park. This is the iconic "South Beach" we see on TV. It was a bit of a trek down to the water from the Ocean Drive street parking.
A crew was setting up a huge tent and carnival rides on the beach; a sign said "White Party", an AIDS benefit. I walked through that area and saw the water; the swell was only about a foot, and the tide was falling. This part of the beach didn't give me any sort of a vibe so once again, I migrated north, to the 21st Street park. Here is a nice big parking lot, and it's a bit closer to the water. It felt better to me. The batteries in my PI were about dead, so I took my Spectrum Eagle with me. In beach mode, it behaves pretty well on Miami Beach, even on the wet sand. I was finding coins, but ignoring the many zincolns. There was very little trash other than the Zincolns at this beach.
I spied two men carrying their metal detectors on their shoulders, walking south towards me. I'd never seen anyone walk along carrying their machines like hunting rifles. We greeted one another in a very friendly fashion. Their names were Louis and Alex, they were locals, one from the Roads, one from Coral Gables, Louis, in his sixties, was a Cuban caballero, very bald, still carrying a little of the old country formality and gentility with him. Alex seemed entirely American, casual, but well-groomed, a professional or executive no doubt, probably in his late forties, but still sporting most of his curly hair. They both had Teknetics machines, a Gamma 6000 and a Gamma 3000, I think. They'd arrived at 6:30, and it was now about 11, and they were pooped, which is why they were carrying their machines. They'd found a lot of coins. Louis said he was interested in getting a Tesoro Sand shark. I mentioned I had a Sand shark for sale, but he didn't rise to the bait, I guess he wasn't ready to buy yet. Our conversation turned to water detecting since the water was calm for the first time in many days. Our talk convinced me I should go back to my car, change the batteries in my PI, and get in the water.
When I started swinging the Seahunter again, I was surprised that it no longer made a loud squeal at the end of each swing. It was quiet and responsive, a real dream. Had that squeal been caused by the old batteries? I'm not sure yet, but I will figure this out.
I tried working the water, but the drop-off was steep just a couple yards in, and the bottom was like quicksand. There were targets in that loose stuff, but it was time consuming to get them, the surf constantly moving everything including me. I could have gone further out, but I had my phone and wallet in my shirt pocket. I had put them in a freezer ziplock, which I'd heard was pretty dunk-proof, but I found I was too paranoid to really let it get submerged. I decided I could work a lot more targets on the firm sand just beyond the waterline, so that's where I went back to. I should have had the Eagle for that, but I wasn't going back to the car again.
Pretty soon, I saw another character walking south, and he wasn't swinging his machine, either. He was far scruffier than the previous two hobbyists, and we instantly felt the affinity of two old hippie types encountering each other after decades wandering in the desert of American commercial life.
His name was Larry G---, and he was from Flagler Beach, doing a bit of detecting while his wife and daughter shopped. "You're the only other person detecting I've seen out here all morning!" he exclaimed in amazement. He was thin, bearded, narrow-faced, in his fifties, and he still had a lot of hair, which was average length. His contagious smile and laid-back manner was reminiscent of Chong (from Cheech and Chong fame). His T-shirt was a map extravagantly inscribed with scores or maybe hundreds of location names in Greek. He had a White's PI Pro machine.
Turns out Larry didn't have a computer (though his wife did), a facebook page or even a cel phone. He did have a Skype handle, so we exchanged our skype id's. His family is from Delta Junction, Alaska, a big clan up there in a small interior town, 83 miles from Fairbanks.
He pulled a laminated photo out of his pocket, of a table loaded with hundreds of pieces of gold jewelry. He'd met an old guy in his 80's up on the Treasure Coast, he wasn't sure he remembered the name correctly, and now I'm not sure if I remember what he said correctly either, but I think the last name was something like Heath. The old man had given him that photo, and he carried it around as inspiration. This reminded me of an old turkey hunter I'd met in the Big Cypress Swamp when I was a youngster. He traveled the country every spring, following the receding winter north, starting in South Florida's Big Cypress Swamp, which has the nation's earliest spring gobbler season of course. He used only his legs and a bicycle to get around in the swamp, while almost everyone else (but me) raced by him in their swamp buggies. But he always killed his limit of turkeys, and he taught me enough that I killed my first turkey up in Green Swamp a couple weeks later. He seemed to have endless endurance riding that old single speed bike, I couldn't keep up. I couldn't keep up with bike hunters my own age, either, but this old fella was about 70, so it was even more embarassing with him. He was a wildlife painter and he gave me a small photo of one his paintings of a buck, which I still have. It's a darn good painting, though he didn't think so.
When Larry and I finally parted company. we'd talked for quite a while, so I had only another 45 minutes. I didn't find anything good, though there were a couple of topless young ladies to compensate. There was one other fellow I met worth mentioning, because he told me how he had once met the legendary Harry Fink on this beach. This was the first I'd heard about Harry. Apparently,he's pulled many pounds of gold out of the Gold Coast in the last 40 years. I did learn an interesting clue from this fella about how Harry finds so much gold. But, that's a tale for another day.
Floridian: 'No dogs, no blacks, no Jews'
By the time I came to know South Beach in the mid-to-late 60's, it was all poor, elderly, retired Jews from the Northeast, most of them speaking Yiddish to one another, and living in seedy, old hotels. Today...they're all dead. Also gone are the Marielitos (Cubans that arrived in the 1981 boatlift ) that replaced the dying, old Jews in the 1980's. Now, the little residential hotels are renovated or replaced by new construction, very pricey, and the whole of it is dominated by huge high rise condos along the shoreline, home to a very wealthy international set. Today, the term "South Beach" encompasses the entire Deco hotel district up to 21st street , and the Jewish character of South Beach has long disappeared.
Back at the beach, I found out that the sand at Pier Park Beach was literally not from around here, it is very fine quartz, not shell, and where it was wet, it was hard packed and not easy to dig my big scoop down into. I was also troubled by quite a lot of trash: tabs and bottlecaps., bad news for my Garretts PI.
While I was struggling with this ornery beach, a middle-aged South American woman, possibly Venezuelan was watching me with intense interest. She was visiting the beach with her family which included one tall, exceptionally gorgeous young woman wearing a gauzy white dress and posing for pictures like a true beauty queen contestant, I smiled at the woman watching me, and she apologized for not speaking English. I assured her I spoke Spanish, and she asked me whether I was finding shells with my machine. I told her that sadly, no, it only found metal. We laughed.
At 9am, the free parking ended, and I had to either feed the meter or leave. It was funny, because everybody had to come back and feed the master meter at the same time. I watched an amazing young, svelt blond I'd seen on the beach trot past me to the meter. That's what I'm talkin' about. The lithe young blond not withstanding, Pier Park was not to my liking this morning, so I decided to leave. As I was leaving I saw an attractive young couple unloading scuba equipment. I thought they seemed a little self-conscious about their little expedition as I watched them. I drove north on Ocean Blvd and parked at about 14th Street, where the art deco hotels line Ocean Drive across from Lummus Park. This is the iconic "South Beach" we see on TV. It was a bit of a trek down to the water from the Ocean Drive street parking.
A crew was setting up a huge tent and carnival rides on the beach; a sign said "White Party", an AIDS benefit. I walked through that area and saw the water; the swell was only about a foot, and the tide was falling. This part of the beach didn't give me any sort of a vibe so once again, I migrated north, to the 21st Street park. Here is a nice big parking lot, and it's a bit closer to the water. It felt better to me. The batteries in my PI were about dead, so I took my Spectrum Eagle with me. In beach mode, it behaves pretty well on Miami Beach, even on the wet sand. I was finding coins, but ignoring the many zincolns. There was very little trash other than the Zincolns at this beach.
I spied two men carrying their metal detectors on their shoulders, walking south towards me. I'd never seen anyone walk along carrying their machines like hunting rifles. We greeted one another in a very friendly fashion. Their names were Louis and Alex, they were locals, one from the Roads, one from Coral Gables, Louis, in his sixties, was a Cuban caballero, very bald, still carrying a little of the old country formality and gentility with him. Alex seemed entirely American, casual, but well-groomed, a professional or executive no doubt, probably in his late forties, but still sporting most of his curly hair. They both had Teknetics machines, a Gamma 6000 and a Gamma 3000, I think. They'd arrived at 6:30, and it was now about 11, and they were pooped, which is why they were carrying their machines. They'd found a lot of coins. Louis said he was interested in getting a Tesoro Sand shark. I mentioned I had a Sand shark for sale, but he didn't rise to the bait, I guess he wasn't ready to buy yet. Our conversation turned to water detecting since the water was calm for the first time in many days. Our talk convinced me I should go back to my car, change the batteries in my PI, and get in the water.
When I started swinging the Seahunter again, I was surprised that it no longer made a loud squeal at the end of each swing. It was quiet and responsive, a real dream. Had that squeal been caused by the old batteries? I'm not sure yet, but I will figure this out.
I tried working the water, but the drop-off was steep just a couple yards in, and the bottom was like quicksand. There were targets in that loose stuff, but it was time consuming to get them, the surf constantly moving everything including me. I could have gone further out, but I had my phone and wallet in my shirt pocket. I had put them in a freezer ziplock, which I'd heard was pretty dunk-proof, but I found I was too paranoid to really let it get submerged. I decided I could work a lot more targets on the firm sand just beyond the waterline, so that's where I went back to. I should have had the Eagle for that, but I wasn't going back to the car again.
Pretty soon, I saw another character walking south, and he wasn't swinging his machine, either. He was far scruffier than the previous two hobbyists, and we instantly felt the affinity of two old hippie types encountering each other after decades wandering in the desert of American commercial life.
His name was Larry G---, and he was from Flagler Beach, doing a bit of detecting while his wife and daughter shopped. "You're the only other person detecting I've seen out here all morning!" he exclaimed in amazement. He was thin, bearded, narrow-faced, in his fifties, and he still had a lot of hair, which was average length. His contagious smile and laid-back manner was reminiscent of Chong (from Cheech and Chong fame). His T-shirt was a map extravagantly inscribed with scores or maybe hundreds of location names in Greek. He had a White's PI Pro machine.
Turns out Larry didn't have a computer (though his wife did), a facebook page or even a cel phone. He did have a Skype handle, so we exchanged our skype id's. His family is from Delta Junction, Alaska, a big clan up there in a small interior town, 83 miles from Fairbanks.
He pulled a laminated photo out of his pocket, of a table loaded with hundreds of pieces of gold jewelry. He'd met an old guy in his 80's up on the Treasure Coast, he wasn't sure he remembered the name correctly, and now I'm not sure if I remember what he said correctly either, but I think the last name was something like Heath. The old man had given him that photo, and he carried it around as inspiration. This reminded me of an old turkey hunter I'd met in the Big Cypress Swamp when I was a youngster. He traveled the country every spring, following the receding winter north, starting in South Florida's Big Cypress Swamp, which has the nation's earliest spring gobbler season of course. He used only his legs and a bicycle to get around in the swamp, while almost everyone else (but me) raced by him in their swamp buggies. But he always killed his limit of turkeys, and he taught me enough that I killed my first turkey up in Green Swamp a couple weeks later. He seemed to have endless endurance riding that old single speed bike, I couldn't keep up. I couldn't keep up with bike hunters my own age, either, but this old fella was about 70, so it was even more embarassing with him. He was a wildlife painter and he gave me a small photo of one his paintings of a buck, which I still have. It's a darn good painting, though he didn't think so.
When Larry and I finally parted company. we'd talked for quite a while, so I had only another 45 minutes. I didn't find anything good, though there were a couple of topless young ladies to compensate. There was one other fellow I met worth mentioning, because he told me how he had once met the legendary Harry Fink on this beach. This was the first I'd heard about Harry. Apparently,he's pulled many pounds of gold out of the Gold Coast in the last 40 years. I did learn an interesting clue from this fella about how Harry finds so much gold. But, that's a tale for another day.
