The island was ours, far from the cities, bordered by the Gulf of Mexico and ancient Estero Bay.

We were free. Settled among seven miles of sugar sand beach, palm and pine forests, waters full of fish and a population small enough to know each face, each name. It was the fifties and America was at piece, nowhere more so than on this skinny, dead-end island blessed with clean tropic breezes and the best of neighbors. A time before street lights and stop lights and highrise buildings and hucksters peddling fantasies of utopia.

Single moms were pioneering a fledgling business community, a few famous actors, athletes and aspiring authors were sheltering for privacy and a young family from norther Illinois was learning this strange new land required patience.

This is the island's memoir, who we were, how we lived in a time long since replaced by a crush of traffic, unabated development and overwhelmed by a government and tourist industry unwilling to slow the chaos. A time long before the island's soul vanished in the mutiny.