The Briny Brotherhood

When is a trailer park worth one billion dollars? When it occupies forty-two oceanfront acres in one of America’s most expensive real-estate markets. The trailer park community of Briny Breezes Florida almost sold for one billion dollars in 2006 to a silent investment group. An eleventh hour decision to pull out of the transaction left those on the receiving end of a large payday wondering what happened. For years rumors have circulated that have included just about every scenario possible that might explain the investment groups’ behavior and their decision to walk away from one of the most expensive land purchases ever for a trailer park. This is the story of one of the rumors that gained traction over the years. ______________________________________This is a story of brotherhood. True brotherhood. The sort of camaraderie that you hear soldiers talk about when they are lying injured in a field hospital, trying desperately to make it back to the front line, feeling shame and guilt for abandoning their brothers. Policemen call it the “Blue code” or the “Blue wall.” The mob calls it “Omerta.” Regardless of name, ethnicity, organization, or purpose, a code exists among men who take responsibility for themselves and their actions. They clean up their own messes and they certainly don’t let outsiders play a role in their matters. They don’t talk about the code they just live by it. In every fraternal organization on the planet, presumably since the beginning of time, man has accepted into his culture a code that guides behavior. Describing the code is difficult, and the word brotherhood is the best approximation Noah Webster has to offer. If you try to define the code you quickly realize it’s more like a cloud than a clock. A clock is something tangible that you can touch and understand. You can see a cloud, but you can’t really touch it. You know it’s there but you can’t grab it. You can’t move it, and you certainly can’t stop it. And so the Briny Brotherhood was formed in south Florida among a group of strangers who liked to fish. Each of the members had lived the code for a significant part of their lives prior to meeting and becoming friends. It was in their blood. It was comforting. Some had been police officers, some military. Some grew up living by the code as a matter of survival. The brotherhood started innocently enough one day when two of the members were introduced at a Texaco gas station near the ocean. Vinny owned the gas station and Tye needed mechanical help with an engine. Over the years a select few members were added. There was no vote, not even a discussion about who should be added. They earned their way in over time by proving their mettle and by protecting the brotherhood. There were no overt signs of membership. No jackets or patches, no secret handshakes. In fact, if asked about the brotherhood some of the members would likely exclude members that others included, but the core was strong. Like a cloud, you knew it was there, you just couldn’t touch it, or move it, and it was hard for everyone to define the same way. But like all brotherhoods and for that matter fraternal organizations, they shared a common language which helped them identify members. Tye had a habit of calling everyone “Dumbass” and eventually had to number them. Dumbass one, dumbass two, etc..If you earned the moniker “Dumbass”, chances were good that you were considered part of the brotherhood. This is their story.