My friend Don first came to Fort Lauderdale for Spring Break sometime in the ’60s. Now, living in Boca, his annual tradition is to come to the Elbo Room for a nostalgic beer. I joined him on Friday, and we stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the traffic and the battalions of young people gathered on the beach
The clientele at the Elbo Room skewed much older. After we finished our beers, we took a stroll up A1A. The bars along the strip were packed exclusively with young men and women, one of whom wore a string bikini with a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. I began to feel very much out of place. But it was an entirely self-generated feeling; no one looked at me as if I didn’t belong because no one looked at me. More than out of place, I was invisible.
