What with the disastrous end of the Wakulla II Project behind us I
thought
the time was ripe to follow up on some of the other more sinister
characters
in cave diving. You may recall my last interview with Mr. Bill.  Anyway,
it
seemed like a good idea to drop in on the Bill  and get the latest
download
regarding the “Other Side” of cave diving. Sort of like Gary Larson
interviewing local squirrels, deer and various farm animals for his “Far

Side” series.

It was a real nostalgic moment driving through Branford and making my
way on
up 27 to Mayo.  I passed Spring Systems on the right and thought
wistfully
of the grand old days when Arwin Carr  used to hold court with the likes
of
Fred (I didn’t steal Dustin’s sheep) Davis and other cave diving
luminaries.
It was just beginning to get dark when I made the right turn into the
rutted
dirt track which led into the Bill family mobil home. There was no
mistaking
where I was. The rusting 70s vintage Ford Pinto and the tumble down
corroded
K bottles left no doubt that I had returned once again to the capital of

alternative cave diving.  Sure enough the wheels of the tilting mobil
home
were long disappeared. Hopefully, I would soon be meeting with the
undisputed King of DIW (Doing it Wrong for those of you not up to speed
on
the latest techro nyms).

Mrs. Bill poked her head out the dilapidated screen door and scowled at
me
as I walked to the front.  Her porcine face and multilevel chin quivered

beneath the layers of pancake makeup, which appeared to have been
hastily
applied with a putty knife.  This somehow reminded me of a cheap pastry,
but
I had to try to be rational and disassociate the image of Mrs. Bill and
food
until the interview was over.  She squinted through the smoke plume of a
lit
cigarette dangling from her swollen lips and delivered what I gather was
the
standard Bill family greeting.

“What the hell you doin back here Major”?  “You know yeer a real asshole

sayin all them things about my Bill and tellin folks bout the bathroom
and
all”. “Bill, he said he was goin to kick your ass if he ever catchiz you

again snoopin round here”.

I told her that I was Robert Major’s twin brother Bob and that I hadn’t
written the article and knew nothing about her bathroom. This was
something
of a lie because I had heard that there was a plywood reinforced cracked

toilet seat somewhere in the Bill Home and if I recall I did not read
this
in the Enquirer.

Mrs. Bill accepted my explanation and beckoned me to come inside, which
I
did.  She turned her considerable bulk sideways and sort of waddled and
sidled through the rotten door frame into the familiar living area.  A
card
table, which doubled as a kitchen table, still bore the fresh remains of

several three and four piece fried chicken snacks. Someone had hungrily
gnawed every shred of edible grizzle and fat from the wing bones.  I
noticed
crumbs of dried breading and other unidentifiable food particles
adhering to
Mrs. Bill’s stained perpetual housecoat and thought to myself that,
among
other things, if Bill was a king this was truly the Queen of the take
out
dinner.

Just as I was musing over the Bill’s fly blown kitchen décor and the
intriguing gallery of faded neo rococo pastels thumbtacked to the living

room wall, Mr. Bill himself emerged from the shredded curtained portal,
doubling as the bedroom door.

“Whattya want this time Major” ? His butch cut head glowed red as he
sneered
at me.

I told him that I was writing an article for “DeepTech” and that I
planned
to feature him as the “Man of the Year” for his life long
accomplishments
and contributions to technical dive training.  In reality I planned to
feature him as something closer to the “Farm Animal of the Year”, but he

didn’t need to know that.

“ Mr. Bill”, I said.  “ I hear that you will be moving to Hudson Florida
and
joining forces with the world reknown Heinreth’s in a major technical
venture.” I sort of felt like I was tossing a can of rotten  bait into a

school of hungry mullet.  This made me think of what it would be like
tossing pieces of stale food to an open mouthed and ravenous Mrs. Bill.
I
had visions of her grabbing my head and demanding “Is that all?”. It
crossed
my mind that the possession of a Hersheys door mat candy bar could be
very a
dangerous act in the Bill household.

“Yessiree, we’d be taking the mobile home with us, if I hadn’t sold the
wheels to pay for them INATD “professional fees” to that Tom Mount fella

down in Miami. Me and Heinreth are openin up the Scuba West Institute of

Technical Diving and Invention.  We’ve acquired the mobil homes,
scooters,
rebreathers and barges left over from the Wakulla II project and we’ll
be
charging admission to view these gems. Sort of like the Smithzonian.


I thought this seemed a bit odd given that the Scuba West store already
looked like a museum or antique store, depending on your point of view.
Kind
of like the Ripley’s Believe It or Not of technical diving. With all
that
scrap piled in the empty lot next to the store it would make it
indistinguishable from all of the rest of the junk yards lining route 19

South. Well, I figured maybe they could offer fortune telling and
acupuncture to spice things up.

“We have also assembled a world class faculty of technical diving
experts
who will offer training that you just cain’t git no more.” “ Professors
Dooley, Oestriech and Heinreth will be giving seminars in gear rigging,
solo
diving and extended range deep air diving”.

Visions of Professor Dooley, adorned in cap and gown and lecturing from
a
podium on subjects such as underwater pornography did have a certain
appeal.
It made me wonder whether they would invite guest lecturers such as
“Section
Eight” and “Wayne (bondage and Discipline) Marshall who could give talks
on
the Theoretical Principles of Financial MisManagement of Diving
Organizations.

I asked him specifically about the leftover rebreathers.

“Boy it was a real bidding war on them Mk 5s, between us and them Youth
in
Asia folks. Seems the the Cis Lunar works reeel well for certain
specialized
applications.” “Looks like the Heinreth’s won’t have to spend their
double
wide  money on them Cis’s after all.”

I suddenly realized that I had scheduled an evening interview with
Jonathan
Lush and  bid the Bill’s a hasty farewell. I will be following up with
an
interview at Scuba West in the near future.  Stay tuned.

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