Music vet and New Times scribe Lee Zimmerman shares stories of memorable rock 'n' roll encounters that took place in our local environs. This week: The curse of Key West.
in terms of its penchant for partying. I saw this all up-close while having a hand in the grand opening of the Hard Rock Cafe's Key West restaurant -- the franchise's southernmost location in the continental U.S. -- on Duvall Street in 1996. We got to see all the sites --
the so-called Southern White House, the bars, the restaurants, the bars,
the hotel swimming pool, the bars, the local radio station (where I
scarfed up several discarded CDs), and oh, did I mention the bars? That
part of the excursion was all good fun, providing an after-hours respite
after struggling with the horrendous heat all day. Call it partying
with a purpose.
As promotions and public relations manager for Hard Rock Cafe in Miami's Bayside Marketplace, I was recruited due to the proximity. What I remember most is how damned hot it was in Key West in September, a month that's sweltering in our environs but particularly punishing due to the heat and humidity so far south. I was part of a three-person team that traipsed around the city in the weeks prior to the planned opening, meeting with community leaders, plotting out the logistics, and scoping out the circumstances in general. In truth, I mostly observed; the other two members of our team were buddies, and while they chatted and joked among themselves, I trailed behind and strode about breathlessly, always in anticipation of the next air-conditioned sanctuary. Unfortunately, the local AC rarely assuaged the unbearable heat.
I'm happy to say that that CEO is no longer in charge, and neither are any of those who carried out his edicts. The Seminole tribe now steers the Hard Rock domain, and I can once again don my Hard Rock leather jacket and wear it without any sense of remorse or antagonism.
Indeed, I'm feeling the love once again.