Manpot's Tales of the Tropics (2 page)

So how does a former tabloid journalist who's
relentlessly reported on the exploits and dire scandals involving
both these show business superstars end up in a one on one with
them???

Well it started through a truly sleazy contact in the
"adult" movie world who ingratiated himself to Michael and suddenly
found he was part of Michael's inner circle. Seems the late gloved
one ain't too smart when it comes to checking out who he allows
into that "inner circle".

I'm a prime example of that.

Well this "gentleman" told Michael he was a
"producer", but failed to mention his specialty was young men
engaged in...well you get the picture. It was at this time that
Michael's friendship with Marlon Brando flourished.

Marlon's son Miko had been a longtime bodyguard of
Michael's. Next thing you know, Wacko Jacko and The Oddfather are
best buds and Michael's saying he wants to shoot a documentary
about Marlon. Of course he turns to his in-house "producer" for
ideas. The man whose idea of plotline and dialogue is grunts and a
few four letter words was stymied. There was no way he could come
up with just what Michael needed and that could bust him.

He called me.

Now when a gay porn producer tells you he wants to
involve you in a show about Marlon Brando with Michael Jackson, you
have one reaction.

"You're full of shit," I told him.

Next day I left for London.

A few days later I was having dinner at my sister's
house outside England's capital city when the phone rang.

"It's for you," said my sister. On the line from
Miami, Florida was our "producer".

"Michael wants to talk to you about the Marlon
project," he said.

Before I could utter "Yeah, right" there was the
unmistakable voice of the man who changed the face of music with
"Billy Jean" and the moonwalk at Motown 25.

We sat in the second row that night and it's an event
I'll never forget.

Now here was Michael Jackson on the phone…with me…at
my sister's house in England.

Bizarre.

Michael hardly let me get a word in as he explained
what a genius Marlon was and how his talent should forever be
caught on tape. I suggested we shoot on location on Marlon's
private island in the South Pacific and then I got bolder.

"Maybe you could teach Marlon to moonwalk," I
said.

Michael giggled.

"Maybe Marlon could teach you to talk like the
Godfather," I said.

Michael giggled.

All this time my sister, Marian, had been standing by
the phone mouthing," Who is it?"

"Michael Jackson," I mouthed back.

"Yeah right", she mouthed.

"Just a second Michael," I said, "would you speak to
my sister for a moment?"

The look on her face was priceless and the next thing
I knew my sister and Michael were involved in a long conversation
about lost love and broken hearts.

Bizarre.

On my return to the States I put together the
proposal for the show, outlining the way it would evolve on camera.
It seemed to me no matter what we did we'd have a "must see freak
show". Through the "producer" the proposal was passed along to
Michael who "loved it"...I was assured. And so it came time for the
meeting.

On the set date I had to meet in the parking lot of a
Hollywood liquor store. At the appointed time a green Bentley sedan
swung into the lot with our "producer" behind the wheel. The car
was supposed to be auctioned for charity and Beyonce had signed the
headliner...

Bizarre.

We drove a short distance to the "Record Plant" and I
was ushered into a front office with my buddy Dewey who'd come
along for this strange trip. A black curtain was erected blocking
off the hallway and, within minutes, we could see some movement
behind it.

"Follow me", said the producer. Dewey and I followed
through the curtain and there was Michael's oh-so-blonde son Prince
playing with the bodyguard. Dewey was told to wait there while I
was led upstairs.

Sitting on the sofa, barefoot and at least one
hundred pounds overweight was the legendary Marlon Brando.

On the other side of the room Michael immediately
bounced out his seat with his hand extended. He wore a long sleeve
red shirt and maroon pants with gold braid down the side. They
looked like he'd slept in them.

But it was the face smiling sincerely at me just
inches away that made me stare. His hair was greasy and straggly,
his forehead was bumpy...as though someone had laid a bad coat of
putty over it. And then there was his nose...or the remains of
it.

From the bridge of his nose to the tip was badly
covered with flesh coloured Band Aids. It was as though he'd rushed
the whole makeup job himself. At the top of his nose you could
actually see tiny holes.

I must have stared intently but Michael didn’t seem
to notice.

"Meet Mr. Brando", he said in the most childlike
voice I have ever heard come out of a man in his mid 40's...

The mountain of a man unpropped his bare feet from
the coffee table and shook my hand. His son Miko sat beside
him...

I handed Marlon the proposal, although I'd been
assured he'd read it and approved it. Marlon read to first page,
threw it on the ground and announced:

"I don’t' do this f****** sh**. I don’t give a f***
about my innermost thoughts or what people think of me," he
raged.

I looked at Michael for backup...surely he'd jump in
and say " But Marlon you said you loved this."

Instead Michael covered his face and giggled like a
five year old.

From there the meeting took a rocket ride straight
into the Twilight Zone.

Marlon pranced around the room saying he wanted to
play congas (not bongos he insisted) in an African band.

Then he came up with his own proposal

"I want to do a five hour acting session that will
involve actors and criminals. I would dress up as a Scottish woman
with massive t****," he said as he danced round the room doing his
best imitation of the very person he'd just described.

I didn’t know whether to laugh...scream or run for
the door.

Marlon then informed me that acting goes back to the
cavemen and then impersonated a prehistoric caveman who'd thrown a
spear at a mammoth and scared his buddy!

I could not make this stuff up.

This went on for at least fifteen minutes and all
Michael did was giggle as though I was part of the biggest joke
he'd ever seen.

Suddenly in the middle of one of his diatribes Marlon
yelled "Bang!!"

"See I made you jump," he said laughing hysterically
at me.

It was around this time I knew I had to get out of
there before my brain exploded. If only I could have had a hidden
camera...but I was certain I'd be patted down. That footage would
be better than anything anyone has ever seen on late night TV

"I've got to go," said I after ninety minutes of
relentless madness...

"We'll talk again about the project," said Michael,
as though this had been a perfectly normal business meeting.

Marlon shook my hand and then wrapped a fatherly arm
around me. I have no idea what that meant.

I scooted for the door desperate to get home and
write down everything that had just happened. And that is what
happened...and even writing it, it does not seem possible.

Of course I never heard from Michael again. The
"Producer" fell out with Michael after the gloved one discovered
the truth. Now, like a legion of other folks, he lined up to sue
Michael.

So…when I think about my island buddies...Quito,
Kareem, Shadow, Bomba, Boots Fitzroy and a slew of others and then
I think about that meeting...well life in the islands just seems
ridiculously normal..

This tale was told to me over a Red Stripe or two by
the legendary Quito Rymer one night recently in beautiful Cane
Garden Bay, Tortola just as the sun was starting its daily
spectacular dive into the Atlantic behind the island of Jost Van
Dyke (named after a famous Dutch pirate).

Quito...is a singer, songwriter, artist, restaurateur
and all around great guy.

When Quito ran into Jimmy Buffett recently Jimmy told
him he was "the most famous unknown star in the Caribbean".

Jimmy even plays Quito's tunes before stepping
onstage at his concerts...something I witnessed with twenty
thousand other "Parrotheads" at the Hollywood Bowl a few years ago.
Not bad for a kid from a little island in the Caribbean.

I met Quito on my first ever trip to the British
Virgin Islands in 1984. Quito would serve behind the bar, "Quito's
Gazebo," nestled on the spectacular white sands of Cane Garden
Bay…and then pick up his guitar and play a few tunes. The trades
would blow through the gazebo carrying those sweet sounds out to
the half dozen yachts bobbing in the bay.

Times have changed...

Now the Gazebo is about ten times the size of the
original little beach bar...I even joked to my pal that he should
rename it "Quito's House of Blues". The bay is usually full of
boats and Quito now has a big friendly staff keeping the food and
booze flowing freely. Nowadays Quito only has to worry about
singing and not serving .But the music is still beautiful.

Tuesdays and Thursdays Quito plays acoustic...and
then rocks the Gazebo on Fridays and Saturdays with his band "The
Edge"

Next time you are in Cane Garden Bay drop by “Quito’s
Gazebo”, preferably when he’s playing, and introduce
yourself…you’ll never regret it and may find a good friend for
life...Anyway...here’s the tale he told me of…“Johnnie One
Nut”...

When Quito was a kid, Cane Garden Bay was a northern
outpost on Tortola…only reachable by donkey or boat and pretty much
its own world. Jimmy Buffett' wrote a famous song called "Coconut
Telegraph" about island gossip and message sending...but that's
just how Tortola's north shore had to operate.

Someone would shout down from the top of Mount Sage
to a house below and the message would be relayed down the
hillside, person to person, finally reaching the bay below. You can
just imagine how the finally delivered message differed from the
one that started fifteen hundred feet up the mountain!

In those days the village was populated by many
colourful characters…and one very ornery man.

Every day this man, we’ll call him "Johnnie", would
drink Callwood’s rum all day long. The oldest functioning rum
distillery in the Caribbean is still at the end of the bay and
still creates its powerful cane liquor. Smoking and women are still
forbidden inside for fear it will ruin the booze! The place is even
mentioned in Jimmy Buffett’s “Manana”….anyway Johnnie loved the
stuff way too much...

Thanks to a steady diet of Callwood's, by the end of
every day “Johnnie” would be deep in his cups. He’d stumble the
length of the bay yelling insults at everyone he came
across...especially at Quito and all the other kids playing on
their beach.

Finally he’d reach the far east end. There lived a
little dog in a cottage and he always saved the worst for last.

Every day the drunk would put his face right up to
the dog’s, breathing his rummy breath right at him...and yell. The
dog would stare at him and bark. That little dog put up with it for
three long years.

On one fateful day “Johnnie” completed his stumble
and confronted the dog. As he started his tirade the dog went
unusually quiet...he cocked his head to one side…then launched
himself straight at “Johnnie's” crotch. With one solid bite he
removed, cleanly, one of “Johnnie's"…eh...”crown jewels”...and spat
it on the ground...”Johnnie” looked down in horror and
disbelief...

Then, screaming with pain, ran right into the warm
ocean looking for relief...

Not a good idea.

The salt water hit the open wound...and “Johnnie” now
screamed so loud some say they heard him in Smuggler’s Cove at the
far west end of the island.

There was not much anyone could do to help
“Johnnie”...so they loaded him on a donkey and sent him on the
long, very bouncy trail, to Road Town to the only hospital on the
island. It was a very painful journey that lasted more than two
agonising hours.

It was a very subdued "Johnnie" who finally showed up
at Peebles Hospital in Road Town.

“Johnnie”...now “Johnnie One Nut”…was patched up and
sent home….and lived very quietly the rest of his days never ever
bothering another soul...especially that little dog at the other
end of the bay...

"Johnnie" is long gone from Cane Garden Bay. Now the
lovely bay is connected to the rest of the island by roads...roads
to still only to be driven by the bravest of the brave, because
they were built on those old donkey trails and are as steep as the
side of a house.

But the legend of "Johnnie One Nut" lives on in the
beachfront bars, down the beach at Callwood's, and is even passed
on to teens as a cautionary tale about drinking a little too much
rum...and being rude to our little four legged friends.