Dandy:  “Man greatly devoted to style and fashion.”

Lion:  “Brave or celebrated person.”

Dandelion:  “Wild plant with jagged leaves and a yellow flower.”

They appeared seemingly overnight, the tempestuous golden blooms.  Dandelions blossomed all over the normally neat patch of lawn in front of Starla Fortunato's ocean front motel, the Magnific Inn.  Starla Fortunato's motel was nestled amongst a sheaf of similarly constructed small lodging points that formed a sort of cartilage connecting Ft. Lauderdale with the misty berg of Lauderdale-by-the-Sea to the north.

Upon seeing the weedy spill engulfing her precisely tended green plot, Starla Fortunato became enraged.  In her dizzying fit of anger, she stormed over the lawn at dawn stomping on the resilient bloomers.  Her assault proved mostly to no avail because by breakfast time most of the taut stocked creeping plants remained, seeming to sneer at her.  As a consequence, to calm herself, Starla Fortunato puffed a marijuana cigarette to notch down her nerves, sitting on the small porch at the front of the motel.

At the time, Starla calmed herself with Mary Jane, Herbert Bubo shambled out of Unit “G” of the Magnific Inn, his home of 74 weeks, let to him at the rate of $262.50 every seven days.  Unit G, Herbert's home, was towards the rear of the narrow building that was the Magnific Inn.  Heading towards the front of the Motel, he passed by the doors to six other rooms nearly identical to his own, same for ascending letters of the alphabet marking a given space.

Walking with a noticeably irregular gait because Herbert's left foot was four inches longer than his right one, he sang a bit of the primary school-ish “Alphabet Song” (in reverse) as he passed by his neighbors' doors.

Herbert Bubo was somewhere in his forties, although he could not recall the exact year of his birth.  He stood tall, nearly six feet and a matching number of inches. Solidly built, Herbert had large, oddly jointed hands that looked peculiarly like a sizeable starfish when his fingers spread.

Herbert's eyes were colored the shade of a ripe avocado's creamy yellowish-green flesh.  At the center of his face was a bulbous nose surrounded to the sides by full, round and ruddy cheeks.  His chin was dimpled, firm and resolute.  His lips were full nearly always curled upward in a pleasant, placid smile.

As he walked Herbert Bubo tightly gripped ub to a greasy brown paper bag once emblazoned with bold red letters proclaiming “Winn-Dixie,” but since faded to a sickly pale pink.  The old, crumpled sack, like on all mornings, was empty.

Herbert rounded the corner of the motel, reaching the front of the building and the small lawn well dotted with quarter size yellow blossoms.  Dandelions in such abundance like those riddling the grass of the Magnific Inn were rarities near the Lauderdale shoreline.  Casting his gaze upon the growing golden tone carpeting, Herbert gasped in surprise and amazement, nearly dropping his well worn grocery bag.

Starla Fortunato, well into her soothing reefer heard Herbert Bubo's seemingly startled exclamation from her perch on the porch.  Starla, still clad in her bed clothes, quickly closed her robe over her fairly scanty night gown.  She snuffed out the barely burning joint in an ashtray overflowing with lipstick smeared cigarette butts.

About a decade older than Herbert Bubo, Starla Fortunato stood at five feet tall and weighed an uneasily carried 200 pounds.  She kept her hair irregularly died red resulting in a usual stripe of black mixed with grey running over the middle of her head.   On that morning, her hair still was haphazardly twisted in rollers, numerous untidy strands loose about her face.

“You all right, Herbert?” Starla called from the porch, her gravely, raspy voice getting her lodger's attention.

“Yeah, yeah,” he firmly replied, nodding his head like an obedient, compliant lad.  Herbert pointed at the lawn, at the bumper crop of dandelions.  “When did you plant these flowers, all these flowers Starla Fortunato?”

“Plant ‘em?” Starla grunted, then sneered.

“Uh-huh,” Herbert replied, continuing with his head bobbing.  “When did you plant all these beautiful flowers, Starla Fortunato?”  He spent a full lungs worth of air on the word “beautiful.”

“Flowers?” Starla snorted, fingering a couple of the rollers binding her hair.

“Uh-huh.  They're very, very beautiful, the flowers, Starla Fortunato.”

“They're not flowers, Herbert.  I didn't plant ‘em,” Starla retorted.  “They're ruining my lawn.”

“They're very beautiful.  The yellow is very, very pretty, Starla Fortunato.”

“They're weeds, Herbert,” snapped Starla.

Herbert giggled and bent over to look at the dandelions more closely.

“What're they called, the flowers, Starla Fortunato?”

Starla huffed out “dandelions” in reply.

Herbert straightened himself up, a broad smile radiating over his cherubic face.  “Dandy Lions,” he said, a dreamy quality to his voice.

“Weeds, Herbert,” Starla sternly crossed.  “Damn awful weeds.”

Herbert shuffled several steps in the direction of Starla and the porch, taking great care not to step on the lawn or the dandelions.

“Can I pick one of your pretty, pretty flowers, Starla Fortunato?”

“Pick one?”

“Uh-huh, Starla Fortunato.  Can I pick one of those beautiful flowers?”

“Pick one?” she groused.  “Pick ‘em all!”

Herbert squealed with delight.

“Oh Starla Fortunato . . . I could never ever pick all your pretty, pretty flowers,” Herbert shyly protested.

“Take ‘em all Herbert.  If you don't, I will,” sharply, Starla advised.

“I can't take all of your flowers, really I can't.”

“Take ‘em . . . all of ‘em.”

Herbert rocked from side to side, not speaking for several moments.  Finally, in a reverent tone, Herbert said:

“You know, Starla Fortunato . . . I could pick the flowers and put them in my bag.  I could put the Dandy Lions in my bag . . . I really could.”

Starla waived one of her hands over the small lawn and told Herbert to “Have at it.”

Starla rose from her chair, picked the meager remains of her marijuana cigarette from the messy ashtray and left the patio for her own apartment at the rear of the motel's manager's office.  Meantime, Herbert eased himself to his knees at the lawn's edge.  He leaned closer down to the ground, focusing his sights on one dandelion only.  His face poised but a couple of inches above the flossy blossom, Herbert squinted his eyes, tightening his lids nearly shut.  With his vision so narrowed and blurred a bit as well, the small bloom looked to him rather like a lion's face surrounded by a rich, fleecy mane.  The tiny budding weed reminded him of Hugo the Lion in a picture book he kept in his room, a primary reader given to Herbert by his father nearly forty years earlier.

“Dandy Lion,” Herbert whispered with clear delight, his face still hovering just above the plant.

He set his bag down at this side and slowly, gently took a hold of the dandelion's rubbery short stem, with delicate care he broke the stem from the plant and drew the freed flower upward, holding the yellow blossom high in his huge hand.  Kneeling as he remained, with the flower held aloft, Herbert looked rather like a humble monk lofting a consecrated host.

Moving to carefully place the cut flower into the secure confines of his bag, he unintentionally dropped the blossom to the grass when he caught sight of a thick white drop of liquid on his thumb at the broken end of the dandelion's end.  Startled by the mysterious milky fluid on his digit, Herbert jumped to his feet and backwards looking as if he was trying to dodge away from his very own hand.

“Starla Fortunato,” he screamed.  “Starla Fortunato!”

Within half a minute, Starla dashed back on the porch.  A frightened expression on his face, Herbert held up his hand so that Starla might see the strange white liquid on his thumb.  Although on the porch, Starla was able to make out what caused Herbert's state of consternation.

“Don't worry, Herbert,” she assured the man.  “That's just dandelion milk.  It won't hurt you.  Some fools even drink the stuff I hear.”

“Dandy Lion milk . . .” Herbert softly said, his arm relaxing.  He slowly wiped the spot of white liquid off on the leg of his trousers.  Seeing Herbert's expression again soften, lighten, Starla reentered the building.

Herbert continued picking the dandelions from out of the grass, one after another until the lawn was entirely green once more and his oily, old bag was filled with golden blossoms.  He finished his meticulous undertaking right at noon, making his way the to the motel's porch to show off his harvest to Starla Fortunato.  At the screen door into the manager's office beyond the porch he called out.

“Starla Fortunato!  Starla Fortunato!”

Starla plodded out from her apartment into the office, her hair still tucked up, more or less, in rollers.  She was dressed in a pair of baggy aqua shorts and a poor fitting, spaghetti strap shirt, white in color but with a large pea colored stain like a target over her round stomach.

“Look Starla Fortunato!”  Herbert hoisted the top of his blossom filled bag up to eye level.

Starla looked from the bag to the lawn and then to smiling Herbert.

“Well I'll be, Herbert.  What a great job you did.”

“I got all the very, very beautiful flowers, I got them all Starla Fortunato,” he enthused.

“It looks like you did.  Let me get you some money,” she offered.

“Money?” Herbert replied.  “No, no, Starla Fortunato you don't have to buy any flowers.  They're your flowers.  You can have as many of the very, very pretty flowers that you want, Starla Fortunato.”

A puzzled look crossed the woman's face until she figured through what her boarder intended.

“No, Herbert.”  She finally said.  “What I mean is I'll pay you for your work.”

“Work?” Herbert, confused asked.

Starla nodded.  “Sure Herbert.  Your work.  You know . . . your work in picking all those dandelions.”

Speaking solemnly Herbert told Starla he need not be paid for anything.

“All I want, Starla Fortunato, is to have one of the Dandy Lions.”

Starla laughed lightly.  “Well, my friend.  You picked ‘em all, you can keep ‘em all.”

“Oh thank you, thank you, Starla Fortunato,” Herbert gleefully gushed.

Putting her hands to her ample hips Starla offered Herbert lunch.

“It's the least I can do, Herbert, after you picking all of those dandelions.”

“Lunch?” Herbert asked, fidgeting on the porch.

“Sure.  It's just bologna sandwiches and tomato soup.”

Herbert's smile brightened even more.  “Tomato soup from a can?” he asked.

“Well, yeah.  Just plain old canned soup.”

“Oh my, Starla Fortunato.  That's my very, very favorite . . . tomato soup from a can.”

With a curious expression on her face, Starla invited Herbert inside and into the small combination living and dining room in her apartment.  She directed Herbert to a seat at the table for four, which he eagerly accepted, placing his treasured bag to his side.  In a few minutes, Starla ladled out soup and served up bologna and Swiss cheese sandwiches, cut diagonally at Herbert's request.

“So Herbert, tell me something about yourself,” Starla said, making conversation over their lunch.

“Well, Starla Fortunato, I really, really like the Dandy Lions,” he replied, slurping a spoonful of soup after he spoke.

Starla laughed at her earnest luncheon companion, quite in spite of herself.  “Well, Herbert, I'm glad you like them.  I'm just glad to be rid of them, at least for now.”

“They're very, very beautiful, Starla Fortunato.”  He raised what was left of one of the triangle shaped halves of his bologna sandwich.  “And, these sandwiches, Starla Fortunato, they're very, very good.”

“Well thanks, Herbert.  They're really nothing.”

“Oh no, Starla Fortunato, they're just very, very good.”

Once finished with the soup and sandwiches, Herbert profusely thanked his hostess and headed out of the apartment and motel office, down the street to an intersection where he hoped to catch a taxicab.  Herbert needed to go to the bank to deposit his monthly check.  With him he carried along the bag brimming with dandelions.  He kept his arm over the sack like a wary mother bird protecting a chick with her deft wing.

After Herbert spent about fifteen minutes on the corner trying to flag down a taxi, a cabbie finally pulled over to retrieve him.  Before taking the back seat, Herbert looked back and forth from the yellow painted auto to his crest topped bag of blossom's several times.  Climbing into the taxi, before the driver dutifully asked “where to?” Herbert exclaimed:

“Taxicab driver!  Taxicab Driver!  My Dandy Lions . . . my Dandy Lions – they're the same color as your car.  They're both pretty, pretty yellow.”

The cabbie nearly bald with but wisps of hair over his ears, paid no never mind to Herbert's color comparisons.

“Where to, Mack?” he asked, sounding every bit like a movie set extra purloined to Lauderdale to chauffer a taxi.

“My bank, my bank,” Herbert replied.  “I need to go to Sun Savings, downtown.  The big building.”

“Gotcha, Mack,” the cabbie replied, stuffing an unlit and soggy ended half smoked stogie in his mouth.  He tore out from the curb and headed west towards the city center and Herbert's destination.

Herbert rolled down the window, releasing a warm breeze into the musty automobile.  He turned his head so that the tip of his nose was just outside the car. 

He picked a single dandelion cutting out of his filled bag and held it up to the window.  He perched the bloom just above the window frame almost as if he was allowing the flower a vantage point to observe the out of doors.  Herbert turned his attention squarely to the wild flower, closely watching its narrow petals flutter in the springtime breeze.

“Want me to wait ‘fer ‘ya?” the cabbie, chewing his cigar half, asked Herbert.

Entranced by the small blossom in breeze's way, Herbert did not hear the driver speak.  The cabbie repeated the question, once more to no avail.

“Hey!”  The taxi driver hollered back over the seat at Herbert.

“Yes taxicab driver?” he replied.

“Want me to wait ‘fer ‘ya?”

“Wait for me?”

“Yeah, yeah Mack.  “Ya want me to wait ‘fer ‘ya at the bank?”

“No, no taxi cab driver.  You don't need to wait for me.”

A couple of minutes later, the cabbie pulled to the curb in front of the Sun Savings building.  Herbert tendered his fare and a reasonable tip.

“Here taxicab driver,” Herbert added after making his payment.  Herbert handed the cabbie one of his precious yellow cuttings.  The driver wrinkled his nose, looking at the blossom.

“It's for you, taxicab driver,” Herbert enthused.  “It's called a Dandy Lion.”

The cabbie gave Herbert a confused and perfunctory “Thanks, Mack.”  Herbert crawled from the taxi, the bag of blossoms in his clutch.  In his wake, on each passenger seat in the rear of the car, Herbert left a bright yellow dandelion for the next couple of fares.

Herbert entered the bank's lobby, waiting in line for an available teller.  Making his regular deposit, he made a gift of a dandelion to the young woman who tended to his business and account.

“Thank you Herbert,” she said, smiling.  “It's pretty.”

“Yes, Miss Bank Lady.  It's very, very pretty.”  Herbert inhaled deeply before announcing “It's called a Dandy Lion!”

Herbert left the building, walking out to the comfort of the early afternoon Floridian sun.  His usual and easy smile remained on his lips, the bag of dandelions tucked safely under his arm.

He walked a few blocks until he reached a small island of green, a small park place nestled between the rises of downtown office buildings.  A couple of girls in pastel colored seasonal smocks, kept preoccupied with a gay game of jacks.  A matronly woman, with hair pulled to a gray bun, sat dutiful guard over the youngsters on a bench behind where the girls played.

Two nuns, habit clad which was a rarity in Florida of the 1990s took another bench in the narrow park, each enjoying a plump, ripe apricot.  The two nuns, about the age of the gray-haired nanny, chatted amiably, one of the two wearing an especially contemporary pair of sunglasses.

Upon entering the petit green space, Herbert walked down the trim brick pathway until he reached the seated sisters.

“Hello Catholic nuns,” he directly greeting in a cheery tone.

“Good afternoon,” the sister sans sun shades replied, raising her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun, looking for a moment to Herbert as if she saluted.

Herbert extracted his bag from under his arm and held it out to the nuns as if in presentation.

“See my flowers, Catholic nuns?” he asked of them.

“Yes,” the first sister replied, keeping her sun-blocking hand in place.

“We do,” her companion on the bench chimed in.

“They're called Dandy Lions,” Herbert proudly boasted.

“Why yes,” the nun in sunglasses responded.  “So they are indeed.  Dandelions.”

“I picked them, just this morning.  They're very, very beautiful.”

“Why yes, so they are,” the same sister rejoined.

“You know,” the nun at seeming salute interjected, more closely inspecting the sack of blossoms.  “They are quite pretty.”

“Very, very pretty, Catholic nun,” Herbert concurred.

Herbert reached into his bag and pulled out six dandelions, handing three to each of the nuns.

“These are for you, Catholic nuns.”

“My gracious,” the saluting nun smiled.  “Thank you so much.”

“Why yes,” the other sister joined.  “Thank you so much.  We shall put these dandelions in a vase . . .”

“And,” the nun shielding her bare eyes interjected.  “We'll put the vase on the altar in our chapel at our convent.”

Hearing this news, Herbert's eyes opened wide and an astonished expression engulfed his face.

“My Dandy Lions'll be right near Jesus!” he exclaimed.

The nun donning sunglasses assured him that the simple blooms would be close to the Lord.  “Right up on his altar,” she remarked.

Well satisfied by the news from the sisters, Herbert bid them so long and ventured a bit further down the brick walkway over near the nanny and her two giggling charges, intent on their round of jacks.  Because the park place was small, the nanny heard nearly all of Herbert's exchange with the sisters.  The usually dour, sometimes sour woman wore a wisp of a smile on her own lips as the happy looking man shifted towards her bench.

“You do have quite a bag of dandelions,” the nanny said to Herbert, after which she turned to the playing children.  Margaret . . . Kathleen . . . you both look at the nice man's bag filled with dandelions.”

At once the girls stopped their game, the tiny rubber ball that guided their sets of jacks bouncing a few times off onto the grass at the edge of the walkway.  They scrambled to their feet, Herbert lowering his bag so that they could easily see inside.  The girls were most impressed with Herbert's collection of wild yellow blossoms.

“They're called Dandy Lions,” Herbert beamed, something like a pleased and proud papa presenting his own prized daughter to new comers.

“They're neat,” one of the girls stated.

“They are,” the other quickly agreed.

As with the nuns, who looked down the path watching Herbert delight in his blossoms, Herbert gave each girl and even the nanny three of his dandelions a piece.

Herbert soon left the park and idled around downtown Ft. Lauderdale, eventually reaching Las Olas, the quaint boulevard lined with tiny shops and bistros that sliced west to east through the heart of Ft. Lauderdale.  He strolled down the sidewalk, heading east towards the ocean, ambling through visitors on holiday and other folk meandering about the Las Olas strip.  Many of the people Herbert encountered on Las Olas carried slick, thick shopping bags with the names of ritzy shops imprinted in gold lettering.  Herbert remained most satisfied with, indeed proud of his ratty worn sack filled with golden tone blooms.  He gave away another baker's dozen of the blooms to passersby.

Late in the afternoon, Herbert walked past Hamburger Hamlet, an upscale burger joint on the boulevard that was quiet in the lag time between the lunch rush and the crew of elder folk who would begin alighting at the place for early suppers.  Walking on the sidewalk abutting the restaurant's alfresco spot, Herbert caught the lingering scent of braised burgers flamed earlier for luncheon diners.  His stomach growled, the rumble bringing him to a sudden stop directly in front of the eatery.

A waitress leaned up against a pillar in the patio dining area.  She looked over towards Herbert as he stared across the patio, through the door and into the restaurant itself.  The same simple content smile Herbert carried with him throughout the day remained.

“We've great burgers,” the waitress volunteered, hoisting herself off the post.  “Really good.”

“I really, really like hamburgers . . . I really, really do.”

“Ours are the best,” the waitress proclaimed.   “In all of Ft. Lauderdale.”

Looking astounded, Herbert asked:  “You've got the best burgers in Ft. Lauderdale?”

“Yep we do,” she confirmed with steely confidence.

“Can I bring my bag with me?” he asked.

“Well I suspect so,” she replied.  “Unless a'course, you got some worms in there.”  She laughed at her own remark.

Herbert looked puzzled.  He titled the sack so that the waitress could gain a glance inside.  “No Miss Restaurant Lady.  There are no worms in here.  Only very, very pretty flowers.”

With a gracious gesture, the waitress said “Well, then, a'course.  Come on in.”

Herbert asked if he might be able to sit outside on the patio, to which the waitress responded “a'course.”  In short speed, the waitress returned with a menu and a tall glass of iced water.

“You take a look at that,” she said, pointing at the menu.  “I'll be back in a few minutes and you'll tell me what you'd like.”

Before she moved off, Herbert stated he wanted a hamburger.

“Because you've got the best hamburgers in Ft. Lauderdale, Miss Restaurant Lady.”

“Well a'course we do,” she confirmed.  “But we got all kinds a'burgers.”

Baffled by the waitress's remark, Herbert scratched his head.  Seeing this, the waitress said:

“You know, I suspect you'd right like a burger regular.”

“A hamburger regular, Miss Restaurant Lady?” he asked.

“Yep.  I suspect you'd like one.  It's got mustard and ketchup and some pickles,” she said.

“And a bun, Miss Restaurant Lady?” asked Herbert expectantly.

The waitress broke into a broad smile.  “Yep, a'course.  I'll rustle up a bun for you too.”

When the waitress departed the table, Herbert stuck three of his thick fingers into the water glass.  Removing his fingers, he flicked the collected moisture onto the dandelions in his bag.  He repeated the process again and again until he drained about half his glass of water in that plodding manner.

A quarter of an hour later, the waitress returned with his meal which Herbert happily ate.

When the waitress brought the tab to the table after Herbert finished his meal, he immediately paid up and tipped.  Right as he placed the last dollar bill on the payment tray, the waitress returned to his table.

“Was it all good?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss Restaurant Lady.  The hamburger was very, very delicious.”

He reached into his bag, pulled out three dandelions and handed them to the waitress.

“Well thank you, sir,” she said, accepting the blooms. 

“They're called Dandy Lions,” Herbert explained.  “And they're very, very beautiful.”

The waitress held the three blossoms aloft, the afternoon sun glinting off the slight petals.

“Why yes, I suspect these are right beautiful.”

Leaving the restaurant, Herbert walked to the corner of the block, eventually managing to successfully hale a taxicab.  He rode to the beach, where Las Olas intersected with Highway A1A.  He left behind dandelions with the cabbie and a couple more on the back seat of the auto as he did earlier in the day.

Herbert spent a good hour walking barefoot in the sand, passing out dandelions, most of the buds going to curious but oddly pleased tourists to the shore.  At half past seven o'clock, Herbert returned to the busy thoroughfare fronting the beach and the coast, flagged a cab and returned home to the Magnific Inn, once again leaving three blooms in his wake, one personally with the bemused driver.

Starla Fortunato sat on her porch, smoking a menthol cigarette, the rollers removed from her faded dyed hair. 

“Hello Herbert,” Starla called out as he walked up the sidewalk after disembarking from the taxi.

“Hello Starla Fortunato,” he happily replied.  “Thank you again Starla Fortunato, for all the very, very beautiful flowers.”

The woman chucked.  “My pleasure.”

Herbert walked only as far as the point where the sidewalk connected with the porch.  He tilted his old paper sack in the direction of Starla Fortunato so that she readily could see inside.

“Look Starla Fortunato,” he directed, gently, “look in my bag, Starla Fortunato.”

She did so, expecting to see the green and yellow salad of dandelions her tenant diligently harvested that morning.

“What the . . .” she started.  “Where are all the dandelions, Herbert?”

The greasy paper bag, so worn and tattered, was empty but for a solitary dandelion lying at the bottom.

Beaming brightly, Herbert boasted “I still have one Dandy Lion, Starla Fortunato.  And it's very, very beautiful.”

Herbert bid goodnight to Starla Fortunato and walked back along the side of the Magnific Inn, passing by units “A” through “F” on his way home to “G.”  He sang the “Alphabet Song” (in the regular course) as he passed his neighbors' doors.

Arriving home, Herbert made himself dinner, a tuna salad sandwich and a grapefruit, sliced up.  After a while, he retired and went to bed.  On the night stand, next to his bed, he set a small glass filled with water.  Inside the glass floated a solitary, golden Dandy Lion.