Franz Wisner - Honeymoon with My Brother

HONEYMOON
with My Brother

A Memoir

FRANZ WISNER

St. Martins Griffin New York

HONEYMOON WITH MY BROTHER . Copyright 2005 by Franz Wisner. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Maps by Jeffrey L. Ward

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Wisner, Franz.

Honeymoon with my brother : a memoir / Franz Wisner.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-312-32090-6 (hc)

ISBN 0-312-34084-2 (pbk)

EAN 978-0-312-34084-1

1. Wisner, FranzTravel. 2. Wisner, Kurt OscarTravel. 3. BrothersUnited StatesBiography. 4. TravelersUnited StatesBiography. 5. BetrothalUnited States. 6. Man-woman relationshipsUnited States. I. Title.

CT275.W58479A3 2005

910.4dc22

2004056655

First Edition: February 2006

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For
LARUE BOCARDE DAULTON
1902-2002
and
KURT OSCAR WISNER
my brother, my hero, my new best friend

From the time I was dumped at the altar, this has been a female-dominated project. Thank God.

Justine Amodeo, the multitalented editor of Coast Magazine, inspired the title of this book and the decision to do it. Throughout the writing process, Alix Clyburn both pushed me to dig deeper and reined in my rambles, even while on her way to the hospital to give birth. Martha Adams served as cheerleader and facilitator extraordinaire, putting us in touch with the right people throughout the process. Huge thanks to them and their husbands, Chris, Jeff, and Alex (aka Al One through Al Four), respectively.

Kris Dahl and Catherine Brackey at International Creative Management were the first agents to embrace the story. They, along with Jud Laghi, guided us with wise counsel and patient replies to our rookie questions (You mean we cant just send publishers a couple columns?). Their colleagues Josie Freedman, Pamela Bruce, Michael McCarthy, Brian Sher, and Jon Huddle continued the ICM TLC.

None of this would have been possible had Diane Reverand of St. Martins Press not taken a chance on a couple vagabond brothers with an unusual tale. For her conviction, savvy edits, love and laughs, and foreign film recommendations, we remain enormously thankful. Thanks as well to John Murphy, publicity king, Gina Scarpa, Steve Snider, Susan Yang, Jim DiMiero, Gregg Sullivan, and the entire St. Martins team for their support.

Paul Campos, friend since Davis Parent Nursery School and premier arbiter of world football, Spinal Tap dialogue, and JT-isms, made many of our trips enjoyable and meaningful. Ben Johnson, who has helped me in countless situations before and since, hatched the idea of a brideless wedding and bailed me out at a time when I needed a bucket. The Orange County Registers Amy Wilson swapped e-mails with us for months in order to tell this story with her elegant prose. Rick Reiff of the Orange County Business Journal, John Flynn of the San Francisco Chronicle, and Craig Reem and Steve Churm of OC Metro all published my far-flung road missives and deserve our gratitude and a couple cold beers.

For their inspiration, more than theyll ever know or admit, muchos, muchos gracias to Larry Thomas, Jo Ann Taylor, Deborah, Lisa England, Lisa P., Angela D., and Celeste Signorino. For opening their homes and sharing their lives, tons o thanks to John and Lena Dawkins, Jonathan Terra, Iveta, Irina, the Mancera family, Charlotte, Ytzel Ponte, Tom Schaffer, Emma and Alejandro, Douglas (of course), the de Sa family of Rio, Rita, Pete, Seth, Liezl, Givenchy, Guta, the legendary Tom Knox, Alex and Ana Ana Ana Ana Ana (see, I told you I would). For privacy purposes, Ive changed some names in the text.

For nourishment, both edible and spiritual, and a hand along the way, hats off to Yucas, II Cappriccio, Jim Sachs and Puroast Coffee, DCide Records, Jesse Raben, Scott Garrison, Paul Kranhold, Loominocity, the Olsens, the celebrated Sea Ranch Crew and those there in spirit(s), Matt Welch (Wiz Three) and the closers at Carter VW/Saab, Natasha Schumacher, Big D, Jessica Johnson, Maria Miller, Mirka Jamniczky, Charmaine Craig, Renee Croce, Jennifer Temple, Michael Franti, Terry Heagney, the Benners, the Fureys, Saba Malak, Greg and Donna Lucas, the Baden-hausens, Karen Portik, Ed Ross, Jeff Kubiak, Jennifer Parker and Rudy Van Zyl, Eric Lochner, the Palmers, the Youngs, Libby Spears, Erin Mitchell, TIC, Governor Pete Wilson, Bob White and the Wilson Administration(s), Tom Tucker and the New Majority, Walkie Ray, Jason Luther, Debra Saunders, and my writing partner, Fritz.

Toward the end of the honeymoon, we were spoiled by the gracious hospitality of Patty Harper and the five-star staff at several Orient Express properties, including the Copacabana Palace, Westcliff Hotel in Johannesburg, Mount Nelson in Cape Town and their jaw-dropping safari camps in Botswana. Visit them all. Sincere thanks as well to Teddi Anderson and her colleagues at The Limtiaco Company for unveiling the island gems of Palau and Yap. Go there, too.

While we met them after the honeymoon, thanks to: Ayla, Kim, Laura and the ladies of Laura Davidson Public Relations, Larry Leamer, Marina Albert, and the vivacious Gin Greblo.

For adopting our baby and ushering it to the silver screen, obrigado to: Jimmy Miller, Julie Darmody, and George Gatins at Mosaic; Kevin Bisch; and Rachel OConnor, Doug Belgrad, Jonathan Kadin, and folks at Sony Pictures.

For making life bloom, a special thank you to Tracy Middendorf.

Last on our list, huge in our hearts, is our immediate familyJoyce and Bob Wisner, Doug and Lisa Menzmer, and our nieces, Elizabeth and Ellie. Heres to many more DEAs ahead.

HONEYMOON
with My Brother

Amid the pine tree windbreaks and foamy Pacific shore, Sea Ranch, California, is a wonderful place to be dumped. The wild lilac and ill-tempered sea lionstheyll distract your attention for at least a few minutes after the woman of your dreams leaves you at the altar. That, and a hell of a lot of booze.

My younger brother, Kurt, and I arrived early at the only dive bar in town, a place where the bartender would wince if he heard the words mojito or caipirinha. We gave the bearded keep twenty dollars in advance to keep the drinks flowing. He put a few more beers in the cooler and promised to take special care of the group that would soon gather for the evening. It was going to be a long and interesting night.

The century-old Gualala Hotel greets visitors with white pillars and an Old West porch. Close your eyes and imagine the thirsty cowboy tying his horse to the front rail. Open them and see tourists sitting around picnic tables in the dining room, devouring family-size bowls of minestrone soup. The hotels bar, with its knotty pine and boar-head decor, sits off the main entrance. It had one of those electric beer signs on the wall that morphed scenery from mountain to beach.

Kurt bought me a Budweiser and asked how I was doing. I didnt open up. I looked at his newly gray hair and thin face and realized I