Save a little slice of ‘old Fort Walton Beach’
Image courtesy of Del Stone Jr.
This is a copy of an email I just sent to the Fort Walton Beach City Council:
My name is Del Stone Jr.
I consider Fort Walton Beach my home. I’ve lived in the city since 1964 and my mother’s family, the Readys, have lived in the city since the early 1930s.
I recently moved into Mom’s house on Elliott Point to help her, and to look after the house and property. She and Dad bought this house in 1969 and I grew up in it. My enduring memories of this neighborhood are of the “old Fort Walton Beach,” with its oversized lots, forests of live oaks and hickories, and its closeness to the water.
That closeness to the water is what made my life special. Prior to Elliott Point we lived in a neighborhood off Robinwood Drive, which was well inland. Once we moved to our current location my life took a new direction, one that included swimming, fishing, boating, or just contemplating existence from the peace and quiet of an undeveloped beach on Choctawhatchee Bay.
We were able to do that back in the ’70s and ’80s because Elliott Point offered numerous public accesses to the water. Our favorites were “The Point,” a public beach at the end of Hood Avenue, the launch ramp on Walkedge, and the bay access at the end of Bay Drive and Brooks Street. From there we could launch our john boats, swim across a lagoon or stroll the beach and swim.
Times have changed.
Most waterfront locations on Elliott Point are now blocked by docks and seawalls. The Point has shrunk to a fraction of what it once was, and if you stray beyond those narrow confines an angry homeowner will shake his fist and threaten to call the police. The boat ramp remains but the land across the lagoon has been developed. The beaches there are pretty much off-limits.
That leaves the water access at Bay Drive and Brooks Street.
I now hear the City of Fort Walton Beach might vacate the property at the request of the resident at 44 Bay Drive S.E. I am writing to urge that the city not take that action.
While I can understand the resident’s wish to own the property, the fact is that lot represents the last meaningful access to the water for ALL of Elliott Point. Without it, neighborhood residents will have no access to the beach apart from a sliver of land at Hood and the “park” at the end of Hollywood Boulevard, which is blocked by rip-rap.
The other lot in question, a pond that borders Brooks Street, is an established wetlands area. As such, it protects the quality of water in the bay, provides a repository for storm water, and offers a habitat for small animals and birds. It cannot simply be “filled in” without serious repercussions for the rest of the neighborhood.
Given the erosions in our quality of life due to overdevelopment, the city should, in my opinion, reverse that trend by allowing this tiny slice of property to remain public so that today’s children will be able to enjoy a small sample of the “old Fort Walton Beach” I took for granted in 1969.
Sincerely,
Del Stone Jr.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Workers begin the process of tearing down the Docie Bass Recreation Center at Ferry Park. Image courtesy of Del Stone Jr.
The gym at Ferry Park is going away and I’m a little sad about that.
I don’t fault the city for tearing it down. The building was old and lacked air conditioning. It cost a fortune to operate.
Still, there’s something to be said for neighborhood touchstones like gyms, taverns, grocery stores and restaurants. I think it has something to do with Ray Oldenburg’s “The Great Good Place.” Those “third places,” as Oldenburg put it — the first two being the home and the workplace — allow for public interaction on a more intimate level, thereby preserving democracy and fostering community involvement. America wouldn’t be the same without third places and they’re vanishing before our eyes, swallowed up by a sea of packaged, templated, franchised uniformity.
Once we went to Docie Bass where I threw a basketball at the basket and hoped I didn’t cold-cock somebody in the bleachers. I could not bounce a ball and run at the same time. To this day I don’t know how they do it. But it was a comfort seeing Docie Bass across the canal from the tennis courts, hearing the rubbery thump of basketballs and echoey shouts of kids sinking baskets.
Docie Bass was the first place I worked for money that didn’t involve a rake or a lawn mower. A neighbor who was involved in the city’s rec program needed help with the scoreboard and asked if I wanted the job. He would pay me 85 cents per game.
Knowing nothing about the rules of basketball, I foolishly agreed to this proposition.
What followed was a very steep learning curve in which I not only became schooled to a referee’s knowledge level but in the intricacies of the scoreboard itself. The scoreboard was a tricky proposition. You had to be very quick on the clock kill switch, especially as time was running out. If you didn’t stop the clock within a nanosecond of the ref’s whistle, you had a mob of angry guys in your face accusing you of rigging the game for the other team.
I enjoyed the youth leagues better. There weren’t many 12-year-olds who could take me down —well, maybe a couple. There wasn’t a lot of scoring in those games, so my scoring finger didn’t see much duty.
Confession: Over time, my objectivity as scorekeeper began to crack as I developed favorites. That’s not to say I did anything to help those teams, but I definitely enjoyed watching them.
One such team was the Chiefs. They were the underdog almost every time they played, but they had one standout who sometimes put them in a position to win – Ray Sansom.
Ray was a good athlete and I’ll wager he excelled at other sports, too. What stood out for me was that no matter how lopsided the score and how improbable the Chiefs’ prospects of winning, Ray always tried. You could see his determination. That quality served him well. I expect it still does.
I worked that job only one season and missed it the following year. I didn’t know it would be 36 years before I would set foot in that gym again.
The occasion was a roller derby match involving the Beach Brawl Sk8r Dolls and a visiting team. That Saturday night, crowds of us jammed into a stuffy, sweaty Docie Bass to cheer the Sk8r Dolls and our workmate, Robbyn Brooks. Those ladies had more collisions and pileups than NASCAR, but it was great fun and I walked out with a Sk8r Dolls T-shirt designed especially for me — it read “Old Man” on the back and my number was 100.
The gym seems forlorn now. Its doors are locked and electrical power is disconnected, the lines hanging impotently from the side of the building. Items that had been stored at the gym are stacked in the back. A spray-painted sign on the side indicates a sewer connection.
As of this writing it has not been demolished, but perhaps by the time you read this, it will be gone. It’ll be replaced by a park dedicated to the memory of Bud and Dorie Day.
For now, if you hold your head a certain way, you can almost hear the thumping bounce of a basketball and the excited shouts of neighborhood kids having the time of their lives.
Docie Bass was a third place for me and a lot of other people.
This column was published in the Wednesday, September 2, 2015 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
In 1964 the beach along Okaloosa Island was mostly free of condos and other buildings. This photo was taken from the Okaloosa Island fishing pier. Image courtesy of Del Stone Sr.
When it comes to the history of Fort Walton Beach, I have an unfair advantage.
Not only have I lived here a long time, but my mother’s family, the Readys, moved to the area in the 1930s. On lazy Sunday afternoons, after I’ve finished killing whatever plant it is I’m trying to grow in Mom’s yard, I sit on her front porch and listen to stories about the area’s early days.
Needless to say, life was dramatically different back then.
Mom’s family lived in a house that had electricity and a wood-burning stove but little else. The kitchen was a separate structure and water came from a well.
On laundry day, the kids would build a fire in the yard and boil their clothes in a large kettle, rinsing them three times in separate kettles. The water in that last kettle had to be free of soapy residue before the clothes could be hung up to dry.
To make money, Mom and her sister, my Aunt Wendy, delivered the Pensacola newspaper on foot. They also crabbed along the shores of Choctawhatchee Bay and Santa Rosa Sound, then cleaned the crabs and sold them to the Gulfview Hotel. Grandmom made pies and cakes and sold them to the Gulfview.
Eglin Parkway was a dirt road. Deer and livestock wandered the streets of Fort Walton Beach. A cypress forest stretched from the Ferry Park area south to U.S. Highway 98 in the vicinity of Perry Avenue. It was a popular hangout for rattlesnakes.
Meanwhile, up near Cinco Bayou, alligators basked along the shoreline. Grandmom admonished the kids not to go down there where those alligators were hanging around. But it was OK to go under the house to fetch eggs from the chickens that built nests there. Sometimes a rattlesnake helped itself to those eggs, too.
The Cinco Bayou bridge was made of wood planks. Mom said that when relatives from Alabama visited, you could hear their cars crossing the bridge because the tires made a racket. The kids would then stand by the road, waiting for the relatives to pass by.
The bridge to the island was what they called a “swing bridge.” When a tall boat sailed down Santa Rosa Sound, a bridge tender would lower traffic barriers, then swing the bridge 90 degrees so the boat could pass through. Imagine how that would affect traffic today!
Bad weather tended to catch them by surprise. Mom remembers walking dirt roads and seeing fish fall from the sky. The fish were still alive. Today we know the fish were sucked up by a waterspout, but back then there was no explanation for such an event. In 1936 a hurricane struck the area. They had no warning and knew it was a hurricane only when it continuously grew worse. My Uncle Jimmy spent the storm in a cottage on Okaloosa Island. Mom, Aunt Wendy and Grandmom stayed at their house in Cinco Bayou. They even brought the cow inside to ride out the storm.
Mom was a waitress at the bus station before going to work at the Tringas Theater. During World War II, she said, they passed around a collection jar among the audience members to raise money for armaments.
She met my dad when he was stationed at Eglin. Dad was a pilot, and Mom said he would buzz their house, causing Granddad to stomp outside and shake his fist at the sky. Dad once took Mom on a joyride and performed acrobatics; Mom was not amused.
Eventually growth would come to the area, with improved roads and bridges. More people moved to Fort Walton and Mom moved away, following Dad and his career in the Army Air Corps, then the U.S. Air Force. When it came time for Dad to retire, the family moved back to Fort Walton, and here we’ve been ever since.
As a longtime resident, I am not in favor of dirt roads and alligators sharing my swimming area. But at the same time, I’m not in favor of traffic jams and blocked beaches. I realize change is inevitable, but I wish it could be change we’ll all benefit from.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
My 1987 Nissan Pulsar is parked in front of my old townhouse, Unit 3F at 215 Hughes Avenue in Fort Walton Beach behind Uptown Station. I lived there 24 years. Image by Del Stone Jr.
I’m gone from the townhouse.
It was a sad moment. I spent the morning hauling boxes of books and photo albums from the upstairs bedroom, what was once my office where I wrote “Dead Heat,” “Black Tide” and “I Feed the Machine,” among many other works of fiction. I vacuumed the place, swept the floors, scrubbed the toilets and cleaned the oven.
When I moved to the townhouse, way back in June 1990, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. For the first time in my adult life I had central air and heat. A swimming pool. Wall-to-wall carpeting. A dishwasher! I didn’t use the dishwasher the first year I lived there. I was not accustomed to such luxury.
As I vacuumed, I studied the dimples in the carpet. Memories flooded in. There sat the love seat, where I sobbed when it finally sank in that Dad was dying. I lay on that love seat one night, praying for the telephone to ring as I died of a broken heart.
The sliding glass door still bore faint imprints of masking tape I used when Opal smashed ashore in October 1995. The upstairs toilet had a padded seat with a small tear from the cats using the toilet as a drinking fountain. I owned a set of barbells that left trenches in the carpet. One night, Chris and I lay next to those barbells and oohed and ahhhed as an electrical storm fizzled and popped outside.
My cats lived their entire lives at that townhouse and today as I cleaned I found a spot where Pavlov threw up when he was so sick he’d retired to a spot behind the TV, waiting for death.
I remember coming home on the night of Sept. 11, 2001, exhausted and horrified, and turning on HGTV because I could not stand to watch another building explode. I remember coming home one night in 1993 and finding a letter in the mailbox from Bantam Books, what I thought was a rejection of my story “The Googleplex Comes and Goes.” It was not a rejection. It was an acceptance. And after I finished whooping and hollering, I got in the car, drove to Whataburger, bought a chocolate milkshake, and drove around town at 1 in the morning, chair dancing to the radio and basking in a glow of relief and satisfaction. It was my first professional sale.
The townhouse was my shelter, my refuge. I stayed there during the awful days and nights of Opal and Ivan. I was there when the economy tanked in 2007, and when the 1990s became the 2000s and nobody knew what to call them. I moved to the townhouse when I was 35 and moved out when I was 59. You can’t live in a place for 24 years without some of it rubbing off on you, and some of you rubbing off on it.
I am not the same person I was in 1990. I hope I am better – smarter, wiser, more patient. But who knows?
As I vacuumed, I spotted something lying on the carpet. A cat claw. The cats, they were always chewing their nails. Maggie died in 2005. Pavlov in 2009. Yet here, on this day in 2015, I found something they left behind, a little piece of DNA that would mean nothing to nobody but me.
I finished cleaning the oven. I put the cleaning materials in the car, and cinched up the ties on a plastic bag of garbage for the long walk to the Dumpster. I was finished.
As I headed for the front door for the last time, I stopped in the hallway and looked back to the living room. I said, “Well, goodbye little house. I sure did love you. I sure did.”
And then I went outside, locked the door, and left.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Image courtesy of Del Stone Jr.
I give up.
I’m tired of the evil looks.
I’m tired of the snarky remarks.
I’m tired of the short end of the stick.
So I’m defecting to the other side.
I’m joining the opposition.
I am now pro-development.
Gosh, that feels better. No more underdog. No more David and Goliath. I’m hangin’ with the winners. I love the smell of asphalt in the morning.
But what can I, a lowly columnist, do to further the development of Northwest Florida?
I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I’ve decided my role can be that of promotions guy. Rah, rah, sis boom bah, they came, they saw, they put up a parking lot. I’m all that.
Here’s my first effort. Let me know what you think:
“Welcome to the Asphalt Coast – make that the Emerald Coast (old habits are hard to break) – home of the world’s most beautiful beaches – hey you! GET OUT OF THE WATER! It’s bubbling with fecal coliform bacteria! You want a hideous disease to remember your vacation? We have lots of T-shirt shops but not very many hospitals, and we certainly don’t have the health insurance agents to treat a mob of idiot tourists with raging earaches.
“Why not take a relaxing, soothing walk along the beach – whoa, buddy! Not THAT beach. THAT beach is private property! You walk on this PUBLIC beach, all hundred feet of it, with all the other thousands upon thousands of tourists. Just walk in circles and try not to step on anybody’s head.
“And don’t walk so close to the water, dummy! You wanna get run over by a Jet Ski? The insurance on those things is through the roof!
“After your day at the beach, try one of our fine restaurants – are you MAD? Don’t get in your car! You’re not going anywhere! U.S. Highway 98 is a parking lot all summer! Find a spot in the gridlock where three cars are lined up side-by-side, and just leap from one trunk to the next, OK?
“Looking for the nightlight? Feel free to sample our many fine entertainment establishments – well, um, yeah, those are strippers. And yeah, those are underage drinkers. And, er, yes, we do have more bars per capita than Tijuana, Mexico.
“While you’re here, you’ll want to marvel over the wonders of the deep blue sea. Most of them you can find washed up on the beach, or hanging from a hook at a dock next to some lawyer from Birmingham who’s having his picture taken. Try not to let them bite you.
“Also, be sure to tour downtown Fort Walton Beach, where the lovely new medians will beguile you with their Olde Worlde Charme. You may even want to stop and visit the many pool halls, abandoned shopping centers, and car title loan centers. Or just relax and sit back with a police sting operation on crack dealers.
“Please enjoy your stay here at the Emerald Coast, where we go by the motto, Your money or your life.
“And remember: All of this splendor is brought to you by FREE ENTERPRISE, where we’re always looking out for your interests, if there’s a buck in it for us. And if there isn’t, well, then you’re the ones who’d better look out!”
This column was published in the Aug. 4, 1999 Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .