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Meeting Kathy
Kathy’s dad is with us from Saskatchewan, Canada. Bill is 84 and we are lucky he
can still visit us, as he has most years since we’ve been married. We lost
Betty, Kathy’s mom, over ten years ago.
We drove to the Piatti Locali restaurant in Danville in two vehicles - not
enough seat belts for all of us in one. Our daughter, Liz, drove our son, Scott,
and his girlfriend, Sylvia, in one car. I drove Bill and Kathy. It is her
birthday.
I remember when we met. It was the 4th of July 1975. I’d come into Belize City
from the ranch.
I’d been in Belize since October 1974, when I arrived with my family, Jay and
Jeannie, my sister Erin, and brothers Mike and Matt. I’d agreed to help them
relocate to Gold Button Ranch to work on Roy Carver’s 20,000 land development
project.
My family had rented a house in Belize City on A Street. Jeannie set up
housekeeping there so we had a place in the city.
Jeannie had met a number of people in the city including Jack and Eve Garden.
Jack was a retired RAF pilot and ran the USDA certified meat-packing plant, an
important asset to market beef production from the ranch.
Jeannie told me, “Pat, when I was at the Gardens, I met a really delightful,
young woman - Kathy Scott. She is a Canadian and works on the Canadian Aid
project to bring water and sewerage systems to Belize City. I think you’d like
her.”
I’d already seen Kathy’s photo on the cover of “Belize Magazine”. She was
featured in a story about the project and her role as the chief administrative
officer. She was twenty-three, very accomplished and professional, and extremely
attractive. I can see her face: short brown hair, bright eyes, glasses, and
pretty smile with a hint of mischief. I was interested in her.
I’d come into Belize City for the 4th of July. It was about 90 miles by dirt
roads from the ranch between San Felipe and August Pine Ridge, through the
villages to Orange Walk Town and then down the Northern Highway to Belize City.
When we first got there, it was a 3-4 hour bone-jarring ride that almost always
broke something on your vehicle.
Radio Belize, “the voice of the Caribbean Basin”, had been advertising for days,
“... Come on in to the party mon, it ‘gwin be the 4th of July and the Bellevue
Hotel and Bar ‘gwin have one big dance and celebration … Not just for the
Americans, it d’ be fo all de wan a party ...”
Jack Garden gave me a ride from the A street house to the Belle-Vue. Jack’s face
was dark, florid, almost purplish. He was still handsome – an ex-fighter pilot,
with a confident assured manner. We stopped at an intersection - no breeze,
sticky and humid, the rank, sweet smell of scotch filling the space, as he
metabolized it out through every pore of his body, as he had every day for
years.
Jack drove the yellow Morris Mini-Moke – a jeep-like, little, open-air vehicle
with canvas roof and roll-up side curtains - across Belize City, over the turn
bridge across the river and parked by the sea wall facing the harbor. It was
still hot and humid, but there was a stiff breeze coming in off the water.
Jack liked to say, “You can fall in love with a rich woman just as easy as a
poor one.” As near as I could tell, his wife Eve was not rich. She liked to read
the Ouija board at her parties.
I walked into the Bellevue and paused in the lobby entrance area, leaning
against the reception counter.
The music was blaring – rock, reggae, country and western, with a Belize local
take on all of them. The bar and dance floor were crowded with people for the
party.
The British had a 600-person garrison in Belize, out by the International
Airport, with Harrier jump jets to deter Guatemala’s territorial claim to
Belize. Lots of RAF guys were on the dance floor. The Harrier pilots were just
as you’d expect: young, brash, extremely confident guys.
I looked past the brightly lit lobby, into the dance floor. They had cleared the
tables from the dining room to make room for the dancing. It was packed. I see
young Belizean guys leaning against the far wall; some were hotel staff, others
just checking out the scene.
I spotted Kathy Scott. She was in an animated conversation with a dark-haired,
bearded man and a woman, with sandy-blond hair. They were gesturing, with lots
of facial expressions and body language between them.
“All right. I’m going to finally meet her. I’ll wait 'till there is a chance,
then ask her to dance”
Suddenly she turns from them and is walking toward me. I am watching to see
where she goes. She keeps walking right up to me.
“Hi, do you want to dance?” she asked.
I’m startled, “Sure.”
We walked out onto the dance floor and started dancing.
“I’m Pat Coyle. I know you’re Kathy Scott. I recognized you from your photo on
the cover of Belize Magazine. I was going to ask you to dance as soon as I got a
chance.”
She laughed, “ My friends, Marten Meadows and Christine Dixon, agreed we would
all stick together so I wouldn’t have to face the Harrier pilots hitting on me.
Then Christine said she was going to go dance with Marten, I needed to do
something. I saw you and thought you look safe, wholesome, like someone from a
Methodist Church camp, so I said 'go ahead. I’ll go ask that guy to dance'."
We talked. I said, “My mother said she’d met you and thought I’d like you.”
Kathy said, “ Jeannie is great, it is really nice to be able to talk to her.”
We talked and danced.
When the party was winding down, she said, “ I’ve got my car. I can drive you
home.”
Marten and Christine had gone their own ways so this worked fine. We walked out
of the Bellevue. The water lapped against the sea wall. The breeze came in
across the harbor, cooler now. The music trailed away into the Bellevue as we
walked to her car.
We talked as we drove back across the turn bridge and over to the A Street
house. It was late.
I said, “ Kathy, I am so glad I met you tonight. I’ve known of you for some time
and really wanted to meet you. I want to see you again. I’ll call you.”
“Good night, Pat. I’m glad I asked you to dance. Do call me.”
I did, again and again. We saw each other more and more, although when I ask her
about the transitional details, she says she doesn’t recall.
Later on, Kathy considered buying a VW Thing, so she could get up to the ranch
more often.
I said, “Wait, if you are thinking of that, don’t. That road will just tear it
up. Let’s partner on an airplane.”
We bought a used Cessna-172, an older one, the N number was N-2871U. A
high-wing, 4 seater, it cruised at 120 mph, with a range of about 4 hours with
reserve. Kathy had Lois Young, an attorney in Belize City, draw up papers so it
was clear in the event anything happened to us, that it didn’t just go to my
brother.
It changed our love life dramatically. With the plane, the trip from the ranch
to Belize City was 15-20 minutes. I could stay over and go up, in the morning,
to work.
We were in New Orleans, on one of our R&R breaks, sitting in a little room in
the French Quarter, overlooking a garden courtyard.
“Kathy,“ I said, “ All the people in our lives are going to be a lot more
comfortable if we are married. I know I have talked about the issues I have from
having been married before, but that just doesn’t matter. I love you and I want
to be with you. Marry me.“
I don’t recall just what you said, but the bottom line was yes. We called your
folks to let them know.
We flew the plane to Canada from Belize to be married in January of 1977. Flying
back to Belize, the paint fell off.
We stayed almost another year, leaving Belize in December of 1977. We re-entered
in Phoenix, back in the USA, then to Livermore in 1980.
Now a family with children grown into young adults, we are looking at
retirement.
I called her. I did, again and again. I do now. I will forever. I love you
Kathy.
Believe Love is Forever
Art Print
Moulton, Jo
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