The mostly-true story of how Peaches' Records and Tapes was built, from one of the contractors point of view. Written as a fictional story but 99 percent is true.
December 15, 2011
I was thinking that it must be unusually cool for mid December in Yulle, Florida, but the breeze that was blowing down the runway had the warm smell of the Atlantic Ocean.. You could hear the clanking sound of a loose metal panel blowing in the wind from one of the 5 hanger buildings that remained on the dilapidated airstrip that I was sure was once a bustling drug runners terminal in the late '70's or early '80's.
The high pitched sound of a small dirt bike pulled my attention back to the road that was my entrance to the island from the bridge. A small boy that looked to be 15 approached at high speed with his long California surfer type hair blowing from around his helmet as he slid from side to side in the sandy dirt and coral on the road in front of me. When he slid to a stop, throwing coral and sand against my legs, he snarled at me from his dirt stained face, pulling off his goggles while cursing, “who the hell are you...and what the hell do you want?” “ You must be lost.” All the while adjusting his cut-off leather jump suit and spitting on to the dirt in front of me.
“Listen, kid. In a couple off years you might scare the hell out of an old geriatric like myself. But right now you're just a smart ass punk that makes me smile and reminds me, of who obviously must be your father, Steve Hancock.”
“You know my pop?”, his mood swinging from menacing to friendly in a bat of his blue eyes as a smile began to emerge from the side of his crooked mouth. This kid is every bit the hound dog his father was, or still is, my mind wandered as I watched the kid spill his long blond hair from his bike helmet.
“We don't get many visitors to this island. What's your name?”
“My name is Jerry and I'm an old friend of....”
“You're Jerry Wooden aren't you?” He interrupted as his toothy grin now spread across his face.
“As a mater of fact I am. How do you know me?”
“Dad talks about you all the time. He's always telling my brother and me stories of the Peaches days.” “You guys must have had a blast back then.”
“Damn kid, you're making me feel older than I am. What's your name and where is your dad?”
Pointing to the sky, he said, “I'm Cody. Dad is making a 'chute run for some sport jumpers from the city. He'll be right down.”
I could barely hear a plane that was approaching from the sun in the direction of the ocean. I remembered that Steve supplemented his airplane habit by providing a platform for skydivers to jump from on occasion. What looked like a twin engined DC 31 touched down on the far end of the runway and quickly taxied toward us. I stood facing the plane, my mind awash with memories of my early 20's, now almost 40 years ago, as the prop wash blew my coat and hair. I'll be amazed if Steve goes for this, I thought to myself.