Saturday was one of those days the chamber people would have you believe Florida is always like. They tend to skip over the dog days of August or notice that those same dog days hang on forever into November.
But this was one of those mornings that screamed to hit the road, open the sun roof and head for the beaches. I’d seen an ad for a “Floridana’ show over in Gulfport, where there would be booths selling Florida memorbilia and that a few Florida Highwaymen would be making an appearance.
You know who the Highway me are. Originally they were a group of balck artists who made their living seliing paintings from road side stands mostly along the Florida east coast. For twenty books tourists could have one of their Florida landscapes to take back and hang over the fireplace.
Now the Highwaymen are hot. We’ve been trying to buy one of their paintings for about a year now. Usually we go over to Benedettos, an auction house in Pinellas County, where the Tuesday night auctions usually include two or three Highwaymen paintings.
I convinced the Frau to let me go as high as three hundred bucks the first time, until they opened the bidding for the first painting at $800 and it eventually sold for two thousand bucks.
Anyhow I figured that maybe in person the Highwaymen might not be so inclined at highway robbery and give me a deal.
Gulfport has always been on the funky, artisian side of St. Pete, although we noticed that the prices in the shops and restaurants could be Hye Park or higher.
The old Casino was the perfect venue for an event like this. I’m not sure why it is people who have grown up around here have this craving for kitsch. I’m not sure if it takes us back to a simpler time or whether we just have lousy taste.
Most of the vendors were wearing Hawaiian shirts and selling stuff that appeared to have been recovered from the Sunken Gardens gift shop. Nostalgia was rampant and I found myself fondling an old Howard Johnson’s placemat with Florida attractions on it.
There were three or four Highway on hand and after some perusing I saw the painting I wanted. It was a typical beach scene, with a few towering palms and the Gulf washing over a white sandy beach.
The artist, I think his name was Jacobs, was standing there.
“How much is this one?’’ I asked him and he smiled at my good taste and said he could let it go for forty-five.
“That’s a bargain price,’’ I said about the same time he realized how cheap I might be and he added he meant $4,500. “It comes with the frame,’’ he added.
I thanked him and went back over to see if I could swing a deal on the Howard Johnson’s placemat.