of standards devised by a past generation. This is the way things are, and the devil take the hindmost.
For example, Mrs. Bernard Castro likes her champagne at room temperature. This is one of the social facts of life in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Guests who prefer it chilled may add ice cubes. Most of the winter the Castros (who are very big in sofas) keep their yacht, the Southern Trail , tied up at the dock of Le Club International, which is the newest (some say the only) swinging place in Fort Lauderdale, and friends are always dropping in on Theresa Castro for a glass of warm champagne and a plate of pasta. Mrs. Castro keeps a freezer full of pasta on the yacht. Eddie Arcaro might come by, or Susan Hayward, or June Taylor (of the June Taylor Dancers), a mixed bag. Joe Namathâs houseboat is usually berthed just a couple of slips away from the Southern Trail (Namathâs houseboat has little slitty windows so you canât look in and see Joe, but Joe can look out and see you), and he and his friendsâhe has a lot of theseâmight pop over. At night the parties in and around the Clubâs dock get very loud, waking the herd of squirrel monkeys that nests in the trees, and causing the parrots to scream and complain. It is considered poor taste for a neighbor to complain.
The Southern Trail is one of the Castrosâ newest playthings, and is very much a part of the new Fort Lauderdale. Mrs. Castro loves to show it off to visitors, freezer and all. The staterooms, it goes without saying, are all furnished with Castro Convertibles. There is a big Castro Convertible in the grand saloon, upholstered in ranch mink. âIf youâve got it, flaunt it!â says Mrs. Castro with a big, happy smile. One end of this Convertible opens to reveal a bar, where the champagne is kept, and the other end converts into a stereophonic sound setup. The most ambitious Convertible in the saloon is a chair, a perfectly ordinary-looking overstuffed chair. At the press of a button, though, its back flings open and out comes an ironing board and, at the same time from under the seat an electric hair-dryer emerges. If she owns one of these chairs (âone of our newies,â Mrs. Castro explains) the housewife can do her ironing and dry her hair at the same time. Mrs. Castro passes out handfuls of brochures to her guests describing other kinds of Castro Convertibles. âAfter all,â she explains, âwe make this boat tax-deductible.â As soon as it is warm again up North, where the Castros have a big house on the North Shore of Long Island, Mrs. Castro and her friends cruise up the Intracoastal Waterway aboard the Southern Trail , drinking champagne, eating pasta, and playing gin rummy all the way.
Everybody agrees that Fort Lauderdale isnât what it used to be. But then what Fort Lauderdale is is something of a problem. It certainly isnât another Palm Beach, and it certainly isnât Miami. Socially speaking, it is somewhere about halfway between the two, which is just about where it is geographically. That is, people who admire Miami regard Fort Lauderdale as hopelessly stuffy, Early Goldwater Conservative, smugly snobby. Palm Beach, meanwhile, still clinging valiantly to the glitter of another era, refusing to admit that its chin is sagging, dismissed Fort Lauderdale long ago as garish, nouveau, tacky, and, as Palm Beach people have called it, âKansas-City-by-the-sea.â But for those who live there, and wouldnât live anywhere else, Fort Lauderdale has a style and a charm that are all its own.
For one thing, the place is booming. Its population has had a habit of doubling every five years, and Fort Lauderdale, barely fifty years old, is already a city of over 150,000 permanent residents. Physically and economically, its boosters say, it is the fastest-growing town in the United States, which may mean in the world. Land development is thename of the game if you are here to make a
For example, Mrs. Bernard Castro likes her champagne at room temperature. This is one of the social facts of life in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Guests who prefer it chilled may add ice cubes. Most of the winter the Castros (who are very big in sofas) keep their yacht, the Southern Trail , tied up at the dock of Le Club International, which is the newest (some say the only) swinging place in Fort Lauderdale, and friends are always dropping in on Theresa Castro for a glass of warm champagne and a plate of pasta. Mrs. Castro keeps a freezer full of pasta on the yacht. Eddie Arcaro might come by, or Susan Hayward, or June Taylor (of the June Taylor Dancers), a mixed bag. Joe Namathâs houseboat is usually berthed just a couple of slips away from the Southern Trail (Namathâs houseboat has little slitty windows so you canât look in and see Joe, but Joe can look out and see you), and he and his friendsâhe has a lot of theseâmight pop over. At night the parties in and around the Clubâs dock get very loud, waking the herd of squirrel monkeys that nests in the trees, and causing the parrots to scream and complain. It is considered poor taste for a neighbor to complain.
The Southern Trail is one of the Castrosâ newest playthings, and is very much a part of the new Fort Lauderdale. Mrs. Castro loves to show it off to visitors, freezer and all. The staterooms, it goes without saying, are all furnished with Castro Convertibles. There is a big Castro Convertible in the grand saloon, upholstered in ranch mink. âIf youâve got it, flaunt it!â says Mrs. Castro with a big, happy smile. One end of this Convertible opens to reveal a bar, where the champagne is kept, and the other end converts into a stereophonic sound setup. The most ambitious Convertible in the saloon is a chair, a perfectly ordinary-looking overstuffed chair. At the press of a button, though, its back flings open and out comes an ironing board and, at the same time from under the seat an electric hair-dryer emerges. If she owns one of these chairs (âone of our newies,â Mrs. Castro explains) the housewife can do her ironing and dry her hair at the same time. Mrs. Castro passes out handfuls of brochures to her guests describing other kinds of Castro Convertibles. âAfter all,â she explains, âwe make this boat tax-deductible.â As soon as it is warm again up North, where the Castros have a big house on the North Shore of Long Island, Mrs. Castro and her friends cruise up the Intracoastal Waterway aboard the Southern Trail , drinking champagne, eating pasta, and playing gin rummy all the way.
Everybody agrees that Fort Lauderdale isnât what it used to be. But then what Fort Lauderdale is is something of a problem. It certainly isnât another Palm Beach, and it certainly isnât Miami. Socially speaking, it is somewhere about halfway between the two, which is just about where it is geographically. That is, people who admire Miami regard Fort Lauderdale as hopelessly stuffy, Early Goldwater Conservative, smugly snobby. Palm Beach, meanwhile, still clinging valiantly to the glitter of another era, refusing to admit that its chin is sagging, dismissed Fort Lauderdale long ago as garish, nouveau, tacky, and, as Palm Beach people have called it, âKansas-City-by-the-sea.â But for those who live there, and wouldnât live anywhere else, Fort Lauderdale has a style and a charm that are all its own.
For one thing, the place is booming. Its population has had a habit of doubling every five years, and Fort Lauderdale, barely fifty years old, is already a city of over 150,000 permanent residents. Physically and economically, its boosters say, it is the fastest-growing town in the United States, which may mean in the world. Land development is thename of the game if you are here to make a
Similar Books
