A funny thing happened on the way to Tire Kingdom. On Veterans Day, the radio announced that our Gov. Charlie Crist was holding a press conference at the historic home of Marjory Stoneman Douglas in Coconut Grove.

Hearing this, my bare tires took a U-turn south to the little house on Stewart Avenue. There I saw a sea of people crowding the lawn where the Mother of the Everglades had once stood.

Wires and cables ran through the grass like snakes. A large black stage held cameramen aloft as they awaited their shots. The governor's lectern sat in front of the simple cottage where Douglas, the renowned writer and environmental activist, had lived for more than 70 years.

Flanking it was an easel holding a sign that said something like, The Everglades. It's not as bad as it used to be.

The only thing missing was the governor.

Official-looking people approached as I entered the yard. They must have mistaken me for someone important. After all, I was dressed like them, golf casual.

When I told them I was The Grove Guy, they quickly lost interest.

About half of the crowd seemed to be working for the governor.

The rest were media folks who had gathered around a middle-aged gentleman. As he solemnly spoke, they scribbled quickly on note pads. I looked over their shoulders to see what the heck they were writing.

It reminded me of trying to copy Judy Gokel's chemistry answers in high school. Why did she have to write so small? Was that the reason my eyes later got bad?

These reporters weren't any easier to copy. They wrote not only small but also in code, too messy to read.

Finally, I asked one young lady as she was backing out of the group, ``Who is this guy?''

She told me he was Robert Coker, the executive vice president of U.S. Sugar Corporation, one of many responsible for my ever-mounting dentist bills.

I took her spot holding a pen and paper so as to blend in.

I listened to Coker intently for what seemed to be an hour but was probably less than 10 seconds. He seemed to be saying, ``Sugar is good for you.''

I didn't need to hear that so I backed out and looked around for the governor.

I knew what he looked like, a tall, skinny dude with white hair.

I spoke to him briefly once at The Taurus where he was collecting beer steins by chugging a prodigious amount of brew.

(I just made the beer thing up. He was actually collecting a prodigious amount of money for his latest campaign. I like the beer story better but let me get back to reality).

When Douglas died in 1998, at age 108, she left her house to you, me and all other Floridians. The state hasn't done much with it since and has prohibited the public from visiting.

It seemed like a miracle that the front door was open when I stopped by. I guess they do that for governors.

I sauntered in hoping to be mistaken for the governor's brother or at least his valet.

I met Kimberly Good, the park ranger who lives there now.

Good keeps the house quite tidy. Her flat-screen TV sits on the shelf that once held many of Marjory's treasured books.

Thirty years ago a friend took me to the house to meet Douglas. She hated to cook and her excuse for a kitchen had a little more than a tea-heating hot plate.

Now there's a full kitchen with a new Formica counter.

I cut my tour short to see if Crist had arrived. A state official stepped up to the lectern to announce that the governor would be late. His plane was experiencing mechanical difficulty.

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