I hope I have not been 'stirring the pot' too much, but I learned long ago that in the case of Errol Flynn, you just cannot trust what the media says. There have been rumors and legends and wild stories that after a time, were just took as truth where they very much were not. Sort of a case of 'if the shoe fits, wear it'. Or in Errol's case, 'If the story is outrageous enough, Errol must be responsible'.
Case in point: Errol's funeral. The L.A. Times said that security was so tight that Jack Oakie, (Errol's friend) was kept out of the funeral due to tight security. Read Tina'a posting of the L.A times piece on Errol's funeral. But here is a picture of Jack being one of the pall bearers!(He's on the left) A neat trick, eh?
This is why I question the fact that Patrice was at the funeral. The lady photographed beside Sean looks like Nora to me. Now I may in fact be 100% wrong, but I also may be 100% right.
This is why I would like verification from those who were actually there. I was not, but Rory and Deidre were. I will bow to their recollection, be I right or wrong.
I came upon this photo and have never seen it published before. It shows a tanned, and even sunburned loving couple enjoying life to it's fullest. It 's a shame we cannot save these moments forever. I think it is is a testament to lovers everywhere. And by the way, I think Errol was the luckiest man to ever walk the earth at that particular moment.
I have decided to let you in on some of my cherished Port Antonio photos and will post them from time to time to show you readers just how beautiful the area is, and maybe share a part of the world that Errol and I have fallen in love with. Now don't get me wrong, I am not comparing myself with Errol, but let me tell you, he had latched onto something good. and I admire his taste in not just women, but locales.
This chapter is about the marvelous Trident Castle, which is located just W. of the Blue Hole, about 6 miles from Port Antonio. I shamelessly bribed my way into the place some months ago and was very impressed, and I am not easily impressed. It is a palace of immense proportions, and I have never seen it's match in Jamaica. It was built by the same folks who built and run the Jamaica Palace Hotel just down the road.
The Castle was not there when Errol was roaming around the area, but I think he would have approved. For those who want to stay there, it is easily done: Just be prepared for the $5000.00 US Dollars per night fare. (with motorcar, meals, boat, and airplane available) Tom Cruise had just departed when I arrived to take these photos, and his picture resides on the grand piano.
The Castle is built on the cliffs and the view is, of course, first-class. A large pool is at the ready, as is a large, friendly staff. A party room, library, game room, and an immense gathering hall( just inside the front doors) are ready for just about anything. There is even a chapel on the grounds for the religious in the crowd. There are guard dogs to keep away the odd paparazzi that may wander onto the property.(always a plus!)
As a certain T.V. Host would say, "Champagne Wishes!"
Thank You, JOHN
P.S. I have some eye-popping video of this place and when I figure out how to put it on the blog, I will be more than happy to share it. The pitiful photos I provided just don't do it justice. It is really 'something else'! J.T. Check out the website too!
I thought I would tell you-all a nice story about a rafting trip myself and my wife Debbie took down the much heralded Rio Grande river in Jamaica. After all, there seems to be lots of pomp, history and romance connected with this excursion, never mind the 'Errol' aspect of it all.
I want to set a few things straight before we get into the meat of the subject. First of all, Errol did not invent this mode of transportation.(although he resurrected it and brought it back into fashion) The prize goes to Lorenzo Dow Baker who thought it would amuse his guests to see the process that the bananas went through to get from the upper-most reaches of the Mtn. plantations to a point where they could be loaded onto one of Baker's steamships to make the outrageous profits that kept the banana trade flourishing.( there are photos taken of folks rafting down the Rio Grande at the turn of the century)
On this particular trip, I decided to take Debbie my wife on a lavish trip starting at Negril and ending up at Port Antonio. This trip lasted a month. I wanted to show Debbie 'everything',(since she had never been to JA) so we went from one side of the island to the other. I was not planning to take the rafting trip at the outset because, having 'been there and done that', I thought it was just a little too "touristy", and being a tourist is like a dirty word in my vocabulary. As usual, I was dead wrong. I had never been on that trip and had my own pre-conceived notions. (wrong again) But when I saw Debbie's enthusiasm about the trip, I gave in.
Well, first off, it was cheaper than I thought at $35 US Dollars for both of us. Hmm, a good start. We then bundled into the taxi for the ride to Berriedale (which is a short drive from Port Antonio) for the starting point. The ride was breathtaking, with the Blue Mtn's in full regalia and lush jungle just eye-poppingly everywhere. We arrived at Berriedale where there is a dedicated cement staircase over the breakwater on both sides to ease the entry to the rafts. There we were introduced to our boat Capt. (Paul) and after settling in, we were off!
Now my first mistake was assuming that the trip would be shaded by tropical ferns, plants, etc. WRONG. The tropical vegetation ended at the waters edge and the tropical sun was brutal, especially after being reflected off the water. The stream was calm and cool though and a splash of cooling water was just what the Dr. ordered when it got too hot. You could see where the river was a raging torrent in the rainy season.(Fall and Spring) and downright life-threatening. We went in the winter, and actually spent Christmas in Port Antonio. (The 'dry' season) We were poled to what Errol called 'Lovers lane'(303.jpg) where, as the legend goes, the raft Capt. would take a break and a swim whilst the overheated couple would do their damnedest to make the earth move. Paul poled us around it but I guess the magic just wasn't there, so we continued on.
Debbie will kill me for revealing this, but about halfway through the trip, she said, "You know, this water is as pure as spring water. I think I'll take a sip" And before I could react, she had done just that. I shuddered to think of the potential 'bugs' in the sip, but I kept quiet. Well, lo and behold, about 5 minutes later, Debbie said, "I feel a little queasy" and then proceeded to projectile 'hurl' over the side. I tried to catch the fast action with my camera, (bastard that I am) but it was all over by then. Even to this day, it is still a touchy subject, and never fails to generate a grin, or more. (from me, that is.)
The rest of the trip was very scenic and calming, and the overall trip was one not to be overlooked. It took about 2 1/2 Hrs. and I'm glad I did it. If you go there, you would be very much amiss not to take advantage of the experience. I got away with a raging sunburn and a very good memory. Debbie thought she had died and gone to heaven though and still talks about it to this day. I most enjoyed the scenery.
At the end of the trip, we careened at a stopping off point where the taxi gathered the two hapless sun-burned tourists for the short ride back to the hotel for a brief shower and a long, long nap. Afterwards we look at the photos and Debbie thinks how romantic it was. I think of how sunburned my bald-spot got. Oh well, I never professed to be a romantic.
This link gives further proof, insight and commonalities associated with self-destruction, as in Errol's case who had all these traumatic experiences as described in this article. http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=425774831&blogId=462196385
I've managed to dredge up some photos of the Navy Island resort,the Admiralty Club at full swing, the interior of one of the cottages(with good friends) and even a copy of the brochure. These are all circa 1980 or so. It was called 'Vagabond Villa's at the time and the way you see it here it is how I will cherish it in my memory until the day I die. I hope you enjoy them. Note: The location of my "ghostly encounter" was(on IMG 0001) just before the 'bridge' across from 'orchid pond'. The interior photos of the cottage are of the 'Lookback House'. (so-called because when it was time to leave, you always looked back and wished you could stay)
I want to relay a true story that I originally told to Steve and Genene Randall (the authors of the 'Tassie Devil' website) some years back, and they were kind enough to post it on the site.
As I have said, I have been to traveling to Port Antonio since about 1979 and one of my favorite spots was the Admiralty Club at the now abandoned Navy Island resort. In those days, the place was a small paradise. There was a lovely little pocket sized beach on the W. side with a pier and a beach bar. You could dive off the pier, swim about 50 ft. and there the water became very shallow and there was a spot about 40 ft. in diameter where the water was only 3 or 4 inches deep with dazzling soft white coral sand underneath. You could lie down and feel the hot sun and cooling water at the same time. There were no waves larger than an inch or so and the view of the Blue Mountains in the distance was strikingly beautiful. I often said that was my most favorite place in the whole world.(And I have yet to find a better one.)
A man named Harry Eiler owned it and lived in one of the Polynesian style cottages with a lovely view of the Titchfield peninsula. The Club had an 'Errol Flynn Room' full of posters and memento's, and even rare photos of Errol at the first Port Antonio Blue Marlin Tournament. (I've never seen it anywhere else or since) The restaurant and bar were top notch and the view was also first-rate. I took some friends I had met who were from Edinburgh, Scotland (Aiden and Charlotta Daye) to lunch there, followed by a day at the beach and they were very impressed.
The next time I traveled there, everything had changed. The resort was closed down and a Hurricane had wreaked havoc on most everything. I walked up the stairs to the club to find the door wrenched open and walked in. It was heart breaking to see the Errol Flynn room stripped of all photos, trash strewn everywhere, windows broken, etc. Not wanting to see more, I left quickly and took the opportunity to try and find the 'Errol Flynn House' I had heard was on the E. side of the island. The road was still passable and I started walking.I took my time and looked into the now vacant cottages and marveled at the construction. They were basically large, round thatch-roofed huts with a telephone sized pole in the center holding up the roof. They measured about 30 ft. tall and 40 to 50 ft. in diameter. Partitions separated the living spaces and it looked like a very pleasant, spacious design.
I continued on, basically gawking like a regular tourist, not knowing what I was looking for but looking anyway. At this point I came upon what looked like an outdoor church with an alter and pews set in the grass, opposite there was an enormous cottonwood tree and a large grass covered field beyond. It was at this point that the most uncomfortable feeling came over me that I have ever had. It was a terror, a chill that went right up my spine. The fact that it was sunny and calm made it all the more terrifying. I then noticed that I did not hear any birds chirping or any other sound.(which was very unnatural in that part of the world.) I tried to shake it off and continue, but two steps into it another wave even more (much more) powerful hit me with an almost physical force and I stopped in my tracks. This time I was afraid, very afraid. I felt chilled. I could not see anything but something was RIGHT THERE. I think it was almost like cold Death or something damn near like it. The hair on my entire body felt as if it was on end, and there was nothing I could do about it. I remember the overwhelming feeling of 'helplessness' I had, even today. Now note that I am not a superstitious man and I'm used to being on my own so this was not at all normal. After being frozen in place for what seemed to be an eternity, I turned around very slowly and started walking back the way I came, slowly at first, then broke into a full run. I did not stop or look back until I was back at the Admiralty Club pier, out of breath, wild eyed, and looking ever which way.
I jumped in the water and swam to the mainland. (Where the Errol Flynn Marina is now) It was there I tried to get a little of my dignity back. I cursed myself for 'being afraid of nothing'(after all, I was a grown man of 23 yrs. and had been in plenty of 'close scrapes' and had come out O.K.) and gradually attempted to regain my swagger. The bad feeling seemed to fade and my heartbeat returned to something akin to normal. Later at the Scotia Inn were I was staying, I casually mentioned it to the lady of the house.(Miss Phyllis) I have never seen a black person turn gray before, but she did. She said the island was haunted and to never go there alone or at night. She was almost as afraid as I had been. She said the locals steer clear of the place for just that reason. I asked who the ghost was and she said many people think it is Errol Flynn's ghost. I don't know about that, but whatever it was, it was NOT friendly.
Many years later I read about Ricky Nelson encountering an'evil spirit' in Errol's house in L.A.(which he bought) and how it was also malevolent. I then read about how Errol had taken Beverly Aaland to Navy Island and swore an oath of marriage at the foot of a large cottonwood tree, circled the tree and then lay down in the soft grass and made love.(just months before his death) I kept this little secret to myself for years before telling the 'Tassie Devil' folks. Now I'm telling you. Maybe it was all in my head, or maybe I was on sacred ground, who knows? I have learned by painful example to trust my instincts and intuition and I believe if I had ignored it, that something terrible would have happened. What I felt that day was real, and nobody will ever convince me different. I do know that is the only time in my life anything like that has ever happened.(thank Christ!) I have since made the trip again and I had no ill feelings whatsoever but let me tell you, it took all the courage I could scrape together to walk past that same place, even years later. I wrote in my travel manuscript:" Now there are no ghosts on my island". That, I guess is a metaphor of sorts. One note though, even though I planned to, I cannot bring myself to stay the night there. After all, even a non-superstitious man has to draw the line somewhere!
I have been besieged with negative comments as to why Errol was not buried in Jamaica as was his wish. Most of the comments blame Patrice Wymore Flynn and think she had a plan for an 'evil last payback' of some sort to punish Errol for any and all wrongs that she thought Errol had dealt her. The real reason could be not further from the truth. Errol died in Vancouver, B.C. Canada. That very fact had everything to do with how the events turned out. First; the Canadian law follows British law, i.e. Anyone who loses their life in Canada who is a foreign national is subject to an autopsy.(for obvious reasons) That being done, the remains are lawfully shipped to the deceased lawful address, (this being Los Angeles County, CA. i.e Errol's legal residence) Errol's remains stayed at the Vancouver Morgue for two days until Errol's friend came to claim the body. The remains were then put on a train for the trip to L.A. That trip took four days in an unrefrigerated baggage car, at which it was turned over to the proper authorities.
The L.A.County Health Dept. then at some point filed an 'immediate burial writ' and the the remains were then buried at Forest lawn within 24-48 hours. Note that this was 1959 and the threat of Cholera and Typhoid Fever was a very real concern. The authorities did not care who it was, only that the public good was to be protected. The story that friends put several bottles of liquor in the coffin at the wake is simply not true. ( It made for good pulp press though) The fact is: Due to the circumstances, the L.A. coroner filed a "closed coffin" order and Errol was buried in that manner. Also, for Errol to be re-buried in Jamaica would have been a logistical nightmare. In L.A. County, a dis-internment order was almost impossible to get. (unless the asking party was the police) There had already been an autopsy (in Vancouver) and no foul play was suspected. Indeed, the results pointed to a massive heart attack, liver cirrosis, and a laundry list of other ailments.(In fact it seems incredible that he lived as long as he did.) To request it for any other reason would have involved a court hearing, etc, that most probably would have dragged on for months. Let's say for argument's sake that it was actually done: The coffin would have to be encased in a airtight container, shipped by boat or air plane to Kingston, JA where customs would have had the final say. Let me tell you,(as I have extensive experience in JA goings-on) Bringing a body into a country such as JA for re-burial would have been another nightmare. All kinds of health concerns would have delayed the transfer, and the coffin would have most likely sat in the air-freight warehouse at the Kingston airport for two or three months while the bureaucracy slowly ground on, and even then, it would be a 50-50 chance that the remains would have been accepted. Let's not forget that the Jamaican people are very superstitious.(and still are.) They call ghosts: 'Duppies' and believe that have great powers, and there is no 'Duppie so evil' as one who is denied his final resting place. This belief exists to this day.(even in 2010)
To put it all in perspective, Errol lived a great life, and when he died, the portion left behind was not Errol, but just a shell for a soul. (at least, that's how I see it) As for me, when I pass on, I don't care what they do with the body. Hell, get rid of it in the cheapest way possible! What has made me me, is gone to another place.
Also, I have heard that there is a rumor that Patrice sent yellow roses to Errol's grave as a 'spiteful last insult'. Patrice at that time was almost penniless, and only had the property in JA and was in no position to do anything. The truth is, Errol's friend Bud Abbott (of Abbott and Costello fame, and a close friend) called a local florist and ordered an enormous amount of roses to be sent to the grave site. The florist was short of red roses, but had a line on yellow roses and did not think it would matter, so that is what was sent, much to the later embarrassment of Mr. Abbott.
I have often said that there is nothing more bitter and chastising as the pure truth, and I believe this is yet one more example. I hope I have not turned away any readers. There is so much more good in Errol's life that remains to be written, and I intend to do it,(with you readers support.) Errol was, at his core, just a man, a human being with all the faults and warts we all carry. He was a great man in his own way, and to quote Shakespeare; "Here, was a Caesar, When comes another?" It is easy to think of him in Hollywood terms, but Hollywood is make-believe. Errol was the real thing. And rather than to hide his true feelings due to some 'political correctness',(a term coined by Josef Stalin) he was his own man and 'let it all hang out' and if you accepted it, fine, if not, you could go to hell. In my humble opinion, that is the attitude of a real man. That is what made him the legend that he was and still is. That, my friends, is how I view him and I admire him all the more for it.
