PANAMA TOPICS – PANAMA PERTINENT

I’ve received a few e-mails requesting that I continue to post information pertaining to Panama.  I’ve receive an equal number that suggested I stay on topic; an author blog.

Here’s my solution.  I will continue to post PANAMA PERTINENT with the agreement that those of you seeking data or opinions regarding Panama will have to read information germane to my writing world.

As I review the blogs and chat rooms that pertain to panama, I’m seeing a lot of rental houses come on the market.  Prices range from $300 a month in David to $1200 a month in Boquete. 

Typical Panamanian housing is a low-roofed cement block home with tiled floors, suspended foam ceiling tiles and small kitchens.  Older homes have very few electrical outlets and their kitchens seldom have cupboards.  I have NEVER seen a pantry.

Laundry is usually a double deep sink outside with a clothesline somewhere in the yard or carport.

All the water in a typical Panamanian home is cold.  There are seldom hot water heaters or furnaces or any heat of any kind.  This is the tropics.  Those that live on the mountain need blankets and some kind of heater in the winter months (May thru Dec.) Those of us that live in the valley and close to the beach only need a fan.  I live in a Panamanian style home.  I built shelves, installed a special shower head(suicide shower) on my shower to get warm water, and have added a few breakers to the electrical box.  Otherwise I live like most everyone else in my neighborhood.  I have more fans than my neighbors and a slightly larger electrical bill each month because I have several computer running 24/7, the TV and 2 refers. My utilities are as follows: electricity-- $20-25.  Cable (including internet) -- $46.52.

New! Clara B. Ray reviewed Boomer

An Epic Western Adventure April 24, 2013

How I enjoyed reading this book "Boomer" by Robert Hatting! This is the feeling I like to have after I read books. I highly recommend this Western, especially for people who love a good old fashioned western style cowboy book.

Boomer was a well written story of a sheriff who befriended an orphaned Native American boy. It covered all the aspects of a western story, including: Outlaws, shootouts, saloon brawls & fun,...Rea

How I enjoyed reading this book "Boomer" by Robert Hatting! This is the feeling I like to have after I read books. I highly recommend this Western, especially for people who love a good old fashioned western style cowboy book.

Boomer was a well written story of a sheriff who befriended an orphaned Native American boy. It covered all the aspects of a western story, including: Outlaws, shootouts, saloon brawls & fun, quick justice at the end of a rope, and several swooning western romances.

The characters are bold, whether nice or ornery, the plot flows easily, and the last half kept me up late just to finish it. Boomer is an epic western adventure. Looking forward to reading more from this author.

 Water and garbage is included in my rent.  So is yard and shrub maintenance.  I live in a 2 br, 1 ba house on a corner lot.  My phone is a pre-pay cellular and I spend $20-30 a month. I have a housekeeper.  She comes once a week to clean my house, wash my clothes and change the bedding. I pay her $11 for her 4 hours of work.  All in all I spend very little to live comfortably. 

RESIDING IN PANAMA

A lot of my blog traffic is the result of people looking for information about Panama.  When they chase the URL’s they end up with my AUTOR’S BLOG. Sorry folks! I’m just an old writer living in paradise.  MURDER IN PANAMA is the title of my novel, not a headline.

Here’s a bone for those of you who are researching the possibility of moving to Panama. 

The first place to begin in any country – check with a good immigration lawyer.  Get the facts before you invest a lot of time and money in research or travel.

I’ve used Magalis Arruz Duncan.  Magalis is married to a retired Air Force officer, she was educated in the USA, speaks excellent English, and performs at the top shelf level.  She handled my pensionado process. The complicated process took less than 90 days and recently handled my conversion to a permanent residency; less than 60 days. She’s answered many questions from not only me but people I’ve referred to her. So if you’re looking to move to Panama for any reason.  Contact me and I’ll put you in touch with her.  My e-mail is on the blog.

MURDER IN PANAMA -- back story

Panama is not for the weak or timid souls.  This is a beautiful country but it’s also a dangerous place. All manners of peril exist just beyond the ‘next turn in the road.’  Since making Panama my adopted country, I’ve experienced pirates attempting to board my boat, a fistfight with a drunk in the public market, my home was looted – twice in the same year, I was attacked by two knife wielding robbers, and just a year ago I was in a fistfight with a couple of drunks at the local beach. 

Being a gringo in a Latin American country is dangerous.  Within the last three months, three North Americans have been murdered just in the province of Chiriquí.  On a weekly basis, two or three of the narco-gang members in Panama City are found murdered. 

All of these murders, the incidents that make the news plus the antics of some of my friends here and in other locals in Latin America, keep me constantly supplied with ideas and inspiration.  A few years ago  two couples (volunteers in the Peace Corp) fell in love while posted here in Chiriquí.  I observed and was pleased as their romance blossomed.  Both couple are now married and living in the states.  Their romances were also an inspiration for my story

The Diethelene Glycol poisoning deaths were still in the headlines so I decided to include that tragic truth into the story. (Actually they are still in the headlines – 2013)

This novel is a work of fiction but there are some truths included in this story. The two-hundred-thirty-seven deaths in Panama due to medicine manufactured with Diethylene Glycol is the truth. The spread of KPC (Klebsiella Pneumoniae Carbapenemases) in Panamanian Hospitals has killed one-hundred-seventeen folks -- at this writing (September, 2011) – that’s true! Just reporting the facts pertaining to the above atrocities justifies the title of my novel.

 

 

About a year before I began the novel, I learned of a gringo in Boquete who had cultivated a field of marijuana and was selling the illegal pot to not only other gringos but some Panamanians as well.  Surprise – surprise!  He was murdered. That was another point of inspiration for the story of Jimmy Hart and his crew of misfits.

Sue nodded, walked through the rancho, and entered the laundry room. Jimmy took his position in his hammock. “Okay, what’s happening, sport?” Jimmy asked.

Lowdown took the last sip of his beer, crunched the can and pitched into the garbage receptacle.

“Remember the pot growing gringo that was murdered up near Boquete last year?”

Jimmy tried to recall the name of the man but couldn’t. “Yeah, he received the ultimate cure for stupidity. They caught the killers, right?”

“His name was Bart Bartholomew. I was hired by his family to handle their affairs down here. His sister finally came down after the arrests were made. She took over and I was out of the loop. But being the curious sort, I kept up with the case. There were four teenagers involved; they admitted to being his dope distributors, but they denied killing Bart. None of them tested positive for gunshot residue, and the weapon was never found. The slug came from a .357.”

“That caliber is as common as white on rice,” Jimmy quipped.

“Not if it was fired from a Sig Sauer, model P229,” Lowdown stated.

Jimmy chuckled. “They found the weapon?”

“Yep, it was being brandished about by a thirteen year old kid trying to rob a tienda near the marina in Pedregal. The cops caught him in the act,” Lowell chuckled.

Jimmy held out his hand. Lowdown reached into his pocket and handed over a slip of paper in a zip top baggie. Jimmy stuffed the baggie in his shirt pocket. “I’ll run the numbers after the ladies go to bed,” Jimmy stated.

“Yeah, mate, let’s keep the seamier side of my life from the girls,” Lowdown suggested. “The less people know the better.”

Jimmy considered Lowdown’s new evidence. A Sig Sauer weapon was very unusual in Panama. The Panama National police were recently issued Glocks. Prior to that it was mostly a hodgepodge of hand-me-down weapons. No serious effort was made to regulate their weaponry. The Sig had to have been stolen from a gringo. It was a very expensive pistol.

MURDER IN PANAMA is the first of the series. (My Jimmy Hart series). REVOLUTION OF FOOLS is the second, and HART RULES is the third novel that rounds out this trilogy. I’ve truly enjoyed writing these novels because the mirror a lot of people and events I know firsthand.

Jimmy Hart, the main character in this series is an amalgamation of two warriors I’ve known plus my dad-- up close and personal.  One was a Marine, stationed at the Naval Communication Station on Guam. Glenn was a member (team leader) of their Overland-Sea-Rescue-Recon team. (Or something like that – 1961 was a long time ago, folks). The other warrior was a Navy SEAL I met while I was on assignment in Vietnam back in the mid-sixties.  Both guys were WAY beyond Special Forces. They were super calm, very intelligent, and very polite.  They were also extremely lethal.

Barry and I bumped into each other at the airport in San Francisco in 1977; we were on the same plane to Seattle.  We stayed in touch over the years.  I started the story just before Barry passed away four years ago at the age of 75.

A FROG-DOG-COG-LOG…BLOG?

My good friend Ray Samek and I go way back.  We were friends in High School.  We hunted and fished as well as played in a band together.  We stayed in touch over the years and I’m pleased to say he has read each of my novels.  Ray sent me a letter after reading my recent posts to my blog.  I asked him for permission to reprint a portion to refute those dopes that suggested I was stretching the truth in my back-stories.  My blood was still high and I was going to post Ray’s response as an authentication.  I cooled off later and decided to drop the issue and move on.  THEN, I received this latest letter from Ray… I was crying tears of laughter.  What a clever guy!! This is his response to my suggestion that he ‘join my blog’.

***

No problem with you posting an excerpt from my yesterday's email.
I am not sure how to join your blog and let others know about your scripts. I haven't got past emails to blogs yet. I caught a frog in my younger days but really don't know what a blog really is or how to post to one. My cardiologist says I have clog in my arteries but I think that is something else. I have a dog, cut up a log, been stuck in a bog, lost in the fog, replaced a cog, chased a hog and drank eggnog but never posted to a blog. I don't know if it is like taking a jog or really know what that means and what you do with one. I kind of sounds like something that might make pretty good bait.

Here’s an excerpt from a letter Ray wrote me yesterday:

***

Wow, I love the way your new blog looks. It really gives some background of your experiences that helps promote the fact that your books are based on some experiential reality. Otherwise one would not have a clue if they were just what you dreamt up on the crapper that morning or what. It really helps to get to know you, the author, and whether the book is really based on some reality or not.
If you don't realize it, your life is not like the average guy. I thought I have been an adventurer of sorts and have done a lot of things that the average citizen has only dreamed of...but your life's adventures are so far beyond mine and the average citizen's that people cannot fathom the depths of adventure and experiences that your stories are really based on. Your blog helps readers to get to know you and that you really have lived a life of adventure.

Thanks, Ray.  That really sums it up!

TRUE OR FALSE

A couple of blog readers have questioned the truthfulness and accuracy of my PARTNERS back story.  These readers see me as I am now; an old writer living in the tropics about as far away as one can get from the RIDE-ROPE-SHOOT action of my younger years.

Take a look at the cowboys on the fence in the old photo that heads my blog and my Face Book page. This was me and my friends in May of 1973.  Do I look tame? 

Left to right:  ROBERT HATTING, Bob Jacobsen, Nick Creason (the kid) Ted Creason, Ron Siler, Mert Hunking, Jack Hammack, Richard Rollins, Bill Erickson, Willis Wright, Dick Allen, and Jerry Koch.  Half of these guys are still alive; some read my work and my blog.  Each can attest that I was an action-adventure junkie and lived each day like it was my last. 

The photo I’ve included is that of Rick and me last October. The other photos are me doing me.  Rick still operates his ranch outside Tucson, AZ. He’s involved with more action in one day than most people see in a lifetime. We still get into trouble when we’re together. Perhaps that’s why I live abroad?

 

I guess the point I’m trying to make is this.  If you worked forty years for the post office or some giant corporation and your biggest thrill was a vacation to Disneyland, you’re naive and slightly stupid to doubt that the world also contains its adventurers and misfits. I’ve always been surrounded by the latter! 

BACK-STORIES are the truthful explanations of how and why a novel or screenplay was originated; the seeds of imagination. This will be my last posting on this matter.  Doubters should just pound sand!

PARTNERS – BACKSTORY

In 1981, my riding partner, Rick Dailey, and I learned that a Mexican bandit was crossing the border near Arivaca, AZ and raiding the ranches and outlying homesteads.  Rick’s grandparents lived near that small town and were concerned that they would be next. Their neighbor had been hit twice in a month; the latest, erlier that morning.  Rick and I volunteered to check it out.

Rick and I loaded our horses in the gooseneck trailer and drove to Arivaca.  We visited with Gramps and Granny and then saddled up and rode to their neighbors.  We scouted around and found the tracks of an unshod horse; the one the bandit had ridden.  We spoke with the neighbors and had a pretty good idea where to look. We were about to chase down the crook when a deputy sheriff arrived. He was a joke. When he found out what we were planning, he threatened to arrest us.  We laughed and just rode away.  He didn’t follow because there was no road; just a trail off through the high desert.

Looking back, I believe this Vega-Vega guy had been watching us all along.  We didn’t pay attention to his tracks and rode right into an ambush. His first shot hit the pommel of Rick’s Saddle.  It ricocheted past my ear.  I have no idea about his second shot. We both bailed off and looked for some cover.  I had my Winchester, Rick his pistol.  Had the shot been true and not deflected by the saddle horn, Rick would have been killed.  We fired in the general direction of the ambusher.  When no shots were fired in about ten minutes, we slipped back to our horses and returned to Gramps and Granny.  The cop was waiting for us and again threatened to arrest us for interfering with his duty. 

Rick wanted to pound him into the dust.  I felt the same way but used some of the legal jargon I had somewhere in my cranium to disarm the fool.  I reminded him that lawyers made a good living suing police for wrongdoings.  He backed down and took the arrest threat away.  He issued a personal treat, however.  I signaled Rick to keep quiet.  The deputy went away and we planned our next moves.  We were determined to get this Vega-Vega Bandit.

Here's a peek:

Slowly their adversary came toward them.  He kept them in his sight at all times, and was prepared shoot if either partner made a move toward his gun.  The man was alone.  He was Mexican, but his English was very good.  He still had the Spanish accent, but it was clear that he’d had some education.  He was bigger than most Mexicans were.  He wasn’t tall, standing around 5’8” but massive shoulders and a barrel chest made him appear formidable.  A broad grin crossed his face when he visually inventoried their camp.  He held the rifle on them and ordered each to lie face down in the sand.  RC didn’t respond as quickly as the bandit liked, so the Mexican fired toward him, and RC flung himself to the ground.

“I do not joke you, Señors.  I can kill you where you lie if you do not do as I say.”  He spat angrily.

    “What do you want?”  RC asked.

    “Everything you gringos own,” he laughed.

    Curtis could see the man out of the corner of his eye.  The bandit felt that he was safe from authority way out here.  He was casual but alert as he examined the items still left lying on the ground.  He found Curtis’ pistol and stuffed it into his waistband.  He wore camouflage trousers, surplus combat boots, and a long sleeved knit shirt.  He took his time saddling Curtis’ horse.  Not once did he allow either of his victims out of his sight.  When he attempted to put the saddle on the mule, he had a problem.  The ornery cuss never did like the feel of the packsaddle, and usually threw a fit when the britchen was put under his tail.  Rather than risk either RC or Curtis jumping him, the man ordered Curtis to do the task.  Curtis obliged, but contemplated every move to figure any way that he might have an opportunity to attack the robber.  The Mexican bandit never gave him a chance.  He stood away from Curtis and was able to cover them both with his rifle.  He enjoyed watching the mule taming.  Finally, with both horses and the mule loaded, the bandit ordered each man to empty their pockets and throw the contents to him.  Complying with his instructions, RC begrudgingly tossed the man his wallet, which contained over three hundred dollars in cash.  Curtis had to turn over the ounce of gold he had panned earlier in the morning as well as the hundred and fifty in his pockets.  The Mexican outlaw left the loose change in the sand and mounted RC’s big Grey gelding.  It was obvious to the partners that the thief was an experienced horseman.  He led the other horse and mule out of the arroyo and when he topped the ridge, snapped two shots in their direction to discourage any thoughts of pursuit.

Rick and I spent the night with his grandparents in Arivaca and set out the next day to track the bandit to wherever he might have holed up for the night.  We found where he’d cut and restrung the barbed wire fence that separated the US from Mexico.  We foolishly went on through. We rode for a mile into Mexico and then came upon a stream.  We discovered a cave near the stream.  The hoof prints and dung from his horse were all over the area.  The cave was evidently where he’d spent the night.  It appeared to be well used by wetbacks as well.  Disposable diapers suggested the cave had been recently used. 

While I poked around the cave, Rick scooped and filled a saddle bag with black sand he’d gathered from the stream bed.  He was always prospecting. We followed Vega’s trail a few miles further into Mexico.  We were wary of an ambush. One of us always scouted ahead; we leapfrogged into the uncharted territory.  I kept lobbying for us to turn back.  It seemed like the logical thing to do.  Rick was still peeved about the bullet that destroyed his saddle horn and almost took his life. 

We were so concerned about being ambushed again that neither of us had considered watching our back trail.  Trouble came to us from that direction.  Not from Vega-Vega but two other guys. (we couldn’t agree; Rick thought they were wannabe illegal’s -- I thought they were bandits)  One had a pistol, the other a rusty old butcher knife.  I was the closest to the pair when we turned around.  I spurred my horse into the guy with the knife and kicked him in the face as he fell to the ground.  Rick and his horse Guthrie rode down the guy with the pistol; he was running away.  The bandit tried a snap shot at Rick as he disappeared over a ridge. The shot missed but evidently hit the saddle bag full of sand; we found the slug later in the week when we panned that sand for gold dust.  A lot had leaked out of the bullet hole.  Rick swore it was the good stuff we lost.  We skirted the area around the cave and stream to avoid running into any other people.  They all seemed pissed at us…

Neither Rick nor I went back that cave or stream on the Mexico side of the border.  Nothing was heard from Vega-Vega. There was a rumor flitting around that two cowboys snuffed his ass. (I learned years later that Vega Vega had been captured in Hermisillo, Mexico and spent 10 years in prison.)    

I wrote the novel PARTNERS with some modified scenes that sorta-kinda depicted our real life encounter.  The book was published by an unknown publisher and was a huge failure. HUGE! I’d sold my ranch and was heavily invested in a weekly newspaper when the ‘blue lines’ were sent to me to proofread.  I didn’t even look at them and the book was published missing an entire chapter.  I rewrote it years later and it happened to be published at the same time the movie “Broke-Back Mountain” was being hyped.  It was a movie about two gay cowboys.  Everyone assumed PARTNERS WAS THE ROOT OF THAt STUPID MOVIE…another failure!  Damn!

BOOK COVER -- PARTNERS

Bill Moomey was kind enough to allow the use of this photo of his original painting for the cover of my Novel, PARTNERS.   He also gave me permission to several photos of other paintings.  They are dispersed throughout the novel.  Note: I was writing under a pseudonym while my dear mother was alive.  Now that she has passed, I write under my full name; Robert Wayne Hatting.