PointsSouth: Articles 2007

Tom Stock pedals his tricycle more than 2 miles every morning to his favorite bar, Gulfport on the Rocks. He chains his tricycle to a pole on Shore Boulevard South. The bar opens at 10 a.m. Stock arrives around the same time.

Stock, 63, rides his three-wheeler instead of driving a car, every day through Gulfport, Fla. Laced with eclectic decorations, this tricycle reflects Stock's life.

There's a plastic Texas license plate that reads "Lonestar." Stock grew up in San Antonio. There are half a dozen hairless doll heads impaled by the pole, leftovers of a failed money-making scheme.

There are also practical items in the wire basket on the back. An air pump should a tire blow a flat. A toolbox in case the chain falls off. A rusty 5-pound dumbbell, if someone gives Stock trouble.

And there are two American flags, blowing from a pole lashed to the back of the bike. Following him everywhere he goes. Stock fought in Vietnam as a young man, and he's been living his life as a patriot ever since.

He sits in the same spot every day. Away from the crowd, at a separate bar reserved for busy nights. Alone.

Tom Stock calls himself a loner, but he leaves his barstool when the mood strikes him. He jokes with the female bartenders and commiserates with other patrons. He's a stationary fixture most days, staring out the window, down the Gulfport Pier, where the American Flag stands sentry.

The flag is a source of comfort.

Stock drinks Busch beer from a can and plays the jukebox. He wears dark glasses, to protect his eyes after recent cataract surgery, and a dark green military jacket with the sleeves rolled up. On the back he has written in black permanent marker: "Death!!! To Al-Qaeda �Tom Stock."

Stock says the only thing he loves more than his country is Linda McCoy. When he was 15, he stitched a black tattoo of her name into his left bicep. At one time it was legible. Now it's a fuzzy black line.

Theirs is a convoluted love story. They married as teens in Texas. Vietnam happened and they divorced. She relocated to New York City, he to Gulfport. Both married other people, had children and divorced again. In 2001, they reunited with an unofficial marriage on the Gulfport pier under a waving flag.

"I couldn't be mad at her," Stock says, raising his sleeve to show his tattoo. "She's the love of my life."

With McCoy came the tricycle. She worried Stock would drink and drive, something he had been arrested for three times during his 35 years in Gulfport. His bad back made it hard to ride a standard bike. So she bought the adult-size tricycle. At first he balked. He thought he would look like a wimp. On a whim, he took it for a spin.

"I rode that thing, and I said 'God I love this,' " Stock says. "If anybody calls me a sissy, I'll do something the best I can."

Scars from "knife fights in San Antone" mar Stock's arms as he drinks in Gulfport On the Rocks. He still gets in an occasional bar fight. Stock has a scar above his right eye from falling down drunk outside few months back. Owner Sherrye Doucette cleaned his cut and shepherded him into a cab. (She would have preferred an ambulance but he refused.)

Stock pays for his beer with pension money. He was a linemen with Florida Power & Light Company. He rebuilt power lines in the Miami area after Hurricane Andrew.

Doucette sees a secret softer side. She bought Gulfport on the Rocks five years ago, and since then Stock has written her an entire manila folder full of poems. One piece is entitled a "Recipe for Redneck Gumbo." The ingredients include Tom Stock, 100 beers and eight bottles of wine.

"He's rough on the outside," she says. "He's a teddy bear on the inside."

Doucette has a sketch Stock drew with colored pencils. In the picture, Stock stands in front of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C. Doucette has it framed and plans to hang it in the bar soon. Stock has a spot picked out. He wants it across from his stool, just above the window he stares through.

"We don't ask him about the war," Doucette says. "He's still getting through that. He deals with it every day. That's part of the person he is."

Gulfport on the Rocks reeks of cigarette smoke at all times. Most of the barstools fill before noon. On Sundays, Doucette cooks a free buffet for her customers. Motorcycles line the front and NASCAR is on the television. The patrons give Stock space when he seems to need it. Doucette approaches him freely.

"Tommy, what about all those poems you've written me over the years?" she asks, putting an arm around him.

"What about all the money I've spent here?" he says. She walks off laughing. "Nice lady. I got to write her another poem." He takes a pull from his beer.

Stock has worn out two tricycles riding around, mostly to the bar. The first one rusted out. The back axel gave out on the second bike. He was on the far west side of town when it happened. He picked it up and he dragged it to the bar, distraught.

The bartender, Charlene Cupp, ordered him a $500 replacement with her Visa. The bike arrived the next day. Stock repaid Cupp, in cash, left her a $50 tip and took a victory lap.

"He rode it up and down here, all excited," Cupp says, pointing to the large aisle in the bar. "Everyone stood up and clapped. He about probably had a tear in his eye."

He rode it home and plucked the decorations off his broken trike -- the doll heads, the license plate, the flags -- placing them on his new ride.

The flag on the bike reminds him of the country he loves. The bike reminds him of the woman he loves. When he gets off his stool to ride home he leaves behind a mark, claiming his spot in this bar, in this world.

Carved into the wood, where his beer usually sits: "I luv Linda" and "Tom F--- Nam."