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weapon nearby a club or a knife.   One night, he took a shower, after setting his club just outside the curtain where it was . handy.
    As he turned on the water, the basement went dark. Terrified, he raced to the light switch and flipped it back on. No sooner was he back in the shower than the basement went dark again. When Kevin came home, he found Scott waiting outside, his club held close.
    The “dark things” had frightened him, but he could never actually describe them. Kevin didn’t laugh at Scott. Whatever haunted him was real at least to him. Warren Putske had a lot of trust in Scott and gave him quite a bit of responsibility in carrying out big jobs for Hawaii Plant Life. Although Kevin was a good worker, he was, by his own evaluation, more of a “wild man” and Putske viewed him with a wary eye particularly after he rode a few times in the company truck when Kevin was at the wheel. Kevin drove a truck the way he pole vaultedthrottle wide open. When he got out alive, Putske vowed never to ride with Kevin again. Despite his unique personality, people had always liked Kevin Meyersbut for different reasons than why they liked Scott Scurlock. Scott mesmerized people where Kevin was as friendly and sincere as a puppy dog. Bill Pfiel, who had been one of his track coaches at the University of Hawaii, was also a tomato farmer. He had leased five acres of prime agricultural land and two houses on the north end of the island of Oahu. He knew that Kevin’s living arrangements were tenuous, and he offered the smaller house on his acreage to him for $270 a month. Even better, he said he would give Kevin the first four months free if he r painted the house and landscaped the hard-packed earth that surrounded it. Kevin grabbed the place, and he asked Scott if he wanted to go partners on the project.
    The house sat on the opposite end of the ranch from Pfiel’s place. It had a magnificent view of Waimea Bay and the salt breezes stirred the coconut palms so that they almost sang. The place would be nearly free if they both chipped in. No rent for four months, and then only $135 a piece. Pfiel loaned them a dump truck to move their belongings over to the farm. They gathered up bits and pieces of furniture, books, and personal belongings and moved onto the barren-looking spot. Things began to look up almost immediately. The men who thought of themselves as Thunderbolt and Light foot were about to embark on a lifestyle that any young man in his early twenties might aspire to. They were both handsome and smart and healthy and without a care in the world. Both of them were in peak condition. They were tanned, their hair and beards were thick and luxuriant. And they were still utterly fearless daredevils. They had no bonds no wives or children, no parents within five thousand miles. It was 1975, an era of adventure and free love for many young Americans, but for none as much as Kevin and Scott.
    They were on an endless vacation. “We had four rules we lived by, “ Kevin said, “See Beauty, Have a Blast, Do Good, and Be Free! “ The tomato farm grew whatever was in season, tomatoes, of course, and squash and green beans. Shark’s Cove and Waimea Bay were only a couple of minutes away. Bill Pfiel’s agreement with Kevin and Scott also included work in the fields for the mat minimum wage whenever they wanted to make a little extra money. They dubbed their end of the ranch “The Shire Plantation” after the Hobbit fantasy in The Lord f the Rings. Their life was as close to perfect as that of the fictional Hobbits whose homes were cottages surrounded by flowers and who lived in peace and harmony.   Hobbits never fought or argued, they farmed, ate six meals a day, and simply enjoyed life. “We had everything we might ever want, “ Kevin recalled.
    “We had The Shire, we didn’t have to work more than a couple of days a week unless we wanted to. Almost everything we needed to eat grew on the property, and somebody had a