American Sailor: Marcus Miller

By Bob Reed

1970s Torremolinos. I once knew this guy in Ttown named Marcus Miller...

He was a white sailor from Alabama stationed in Rota; I don't know what he did for the navy. I also don't remember how I ever met him, but anyway we became "friends". Marcus was an unusual individual, bigger than life. He was a bar fighter, and while not much smaller than I, fortunately was convinced that I could kick his ass.

Sometimes in Tina's, if I was talking to, say, some Brit chick, and a boyfriend and his buddies might show up and say, "Oi, Yank, why don't you piss off and find another bird to chat up?" I would smile and "piss off", but later when Marcus showed up, I would point out the offending git and point out to Marcus what an asshole he was being. Next thing you knew, Marcus was spilling his drink on the Brit, or bumping into him real hard, and then you would see Marcus dragging the Brit by his shirt out the door to the street.

I would follow along to make sure that Marcus wasn't going to take the shitty end, or that he wouldn't kill the guy. I would step in and break it up if it started to turn bad; guys hitting each other over the head with exploding garbage bags full of chicken bones and napkins, made quite a scene!

Eventually Marcus rented a room in my Miramar Apt. Mostly he was on duty in Rota during the week but would come down to Ttown for the weekends. There was some American girl, "Monica?" renting the other room and he was in love.

One Friday night, I hear this awful banging on the front door. There was Marcus, all dirty and out of breath. He had caught a cab from Rota to Ttown, and when he got as far as Calle San Miguel, he bolted on the $50 fare and run down the street. The driver screamed for help from other cabbies in the queue and they all chased him down alleys and over roof tops but never caught him. Months later, Marcus was crossing a street in Rota, and who is the first car stopped at the light, but the cab driver. Marcus was court marshalled and broken down to private.

Marcus liked to walk to the Western end of the beach and take the elevator up to town. He thought it was free. The elevator operator tried to collect the 5 peseta fare over and over, but Marcus didn't speak Spanish. Eventually the operator demanding his 5pts in Spanish, pulled a pocket knife on Marcus, who proceeded to kick his ass and take his knife. He told me this story, wondering what had gone wrong.

Another time, Marcus arrived in town and being a long time since the apt deal, needed to get a hotel. As he was checking in, a Brit approached him and asked to borrow a 1,000 Pesetas cause he needed a deposit and didn't have any Spanish Money. Marcus gave it to him willingly, and asked that when he changed his money, he leave the 1,000P in his key box. Well, the Brit never did and later disappeared.

OK, so I knew this Argentinian guy named Alex who had a little coffee shop near the Nogalera, and who lived in Playamar. On passing, one day, I asked him how business was going? He says fine but this most awful thing had happened the other day. Some guy approached one of his clients having an espresso, and just kicked his ass, fists, teeth and bloody snot flying, knocked him down off his seat and proceeded to put the boots into him where the guy had to be carried off by ambulance. "Gee, how about that?!" I say.

A couple of days later, I bump into Marcus at the pool who happily tells me that just by luck he happened to run into the 'c**t' who had borrowed the 1,000 P and never paid it back. He said the guy was sitting down outside---back up against a window---having coffee at the Nogalera and the guy said he was on his way just that morning to leave the $ in Marcus' box. That's when he got his ass kicked.

Once, while Marcus was punching someone up outside Tina's. I was on duty at the door making sure nothing bad was going down. All of a sudden, I see a whole bunch of Guardia Civil running down the street with truncheons drawn. I head to the patio, hollering a warning to Marcus on the way. I locked myself into the lady's Bathroom, but the c**t, Tina, told the Guardia where I was. They knocked on the door and told me to come out. They rounded up Marcus, some Brits, and me, maybe 6 of us, and told us all to go out in single file through the crowded bar to the street with them behind.

I don't know if you remember that little bend in the wall in Tina's, but just as I passed it, I saw a seat was vacant and I just slid my ass into it. Everyone else filed by me, including the Guardia. They didn't even look my way. Kevin was watching me with big eyes and couldn't believe it, but never said anything. I took a different route home that night. Marcus was fined and released the next day.

The last time I saw Marcus was years later when he was in Spain looking for a substance to cut Coke with---like some kind of baby salts stuff---for some guys he was "working for". He told me he had been arrested and charged 30 times in the States for assault.