Pete location and tell us your experience at Tripadvisor.New Fort Myers Apartments That Redefine LuxuryĪt Sanibel Straits, the exquisite and sun-drenched beauty of Fort Myers and nearby Sanibel Island are host to a breathtaking new apartment community destined to become the talk of the town. My brilliant partners, Marty and Brenda Harrity, Mark and Julie Marinello, would agree. By virtue of being here, you are a member of the same quirky, excellence-driven characters who staff this restaurant, and populate my novels. Look around, and welcome to the Doc Ford’s family. Now, many novels later, I have yet to cross the Sunshine Skyway without contemplating a parallel universe, and the cheery destiny of being part of St. National reviews, however, were enthusiastic, so I continued to chronicle the adventures of Doc, Tomlinson, and my marina pals, all of whom orbited freely around a semi-fictional “Dinkin’s Bay.” Sanibel Flats did nothing to threaten their anonymity. Each, in his way, was devoted to the obligations of friendship, family and their respective moral compass.īoth men attracted trouble. These were hard core tropic travelers decent men with senses of humor. It introduced a few (very few) readers to marine biologist Doc (Marion D.) Ford, and his unrepentant hipster pal, Tomlinson. But I still owned a typewriter.Īfter a year of hard work, my first novel, Sanibel Flats, was published.
Aside from a license to drive big boats, I wasn’t qualified to do anything useful. In the decade that followed, there were times that I regretted the decision. If I had, every small twist and turn in my life would have been forever changed. “I’ll give it some serious thought,” I said.
For me, an unknown writer with zero formal training, this was an incredible opportunity. Pete Times,” he reminded me.Īrrogance played no role. He crossed out some numbers, and added $10 a week.
On a slip of paper, Robert H., a perceptive man, wrote an offer, then read my reaction accurately. I was thrilled –but this was tarpon season. Robert H., a nice man, was dressed for tennis. I’d been guiding since the mid-1970s, but my secret goal was to become a fulltime writer. It was one of the finest newspapers in the nation. Pete Times had won umpteen Pulitzer Prizes. “Interested?”ĭarn right I was interested. “We’re looking for a columnist,” Robert H.
(We’ll call him Robert H.) He’d been impressed by an article I’d written for Rolling Stone’s new Outside Magazine. It was from the executive editor of The St. Keep reading.ĭuring tarpon season, 1980, when I was a fishing guide on Sanibel Island, I received a potentially life-changing phone call. Spiritual gibberish, you say? Well, maybe. If I believed in parallel universes, I might also believe that, through bumbling good luck, I was destined to become a member of this, one of Florida’s most vibrant and beautiful waterfront cities. Welcome to Doc Ford’s and the architectural marvel that is the new St.
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