Sen Allie-Allison Petrus did, indeed, discuss retirement at the press conference he held Monday morning in the Senate chambers. But his focus was not on the controversial government employees retirement bill before the Legislature. It was on himself.
"I've always been an advocate of term limits, since I began serving in 1994," Petrus said, "and I think it's time for my exit from public service."
Noting that he has been working toward a master of business administration degree at the Univrsity of the Virgin Islands as a part-time student, he said he is setting his sights now on a role in the private sector.
But Petrus also said New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani's announcement over the weekend that for health reasons he was dropping out of the U.S. Senate race in the state of New York affected his decision. "As Giuliani said, ‘Politics isn't everything.'" Petrus said. "There's a world of opportunities out there, and I don't want to look back on my life with any regrets."
Petrus noted that on two occasions he proposed legislation limiting the terms of senators, "and, of course, they failed." He said senators staying in office beyond their useful years usually enter a "period of diminishing usefulness" wherein "they become good politicians and terrible policymakers."
He characterized a politician as "one who disengages the brain and uses the emotions" and a policymaker as one who "addresses the issues using numbers and facts."
"I am a terrible politician and an excellent policymaker," Petrus said. He cited among his accomplishments in the Legislature the passage of bills dealing with sex offenders, vocational education, food cooperatives, protection for retired Government Employees Retirement Service members, acceptance of medical insurance by pharmacy and laboratory service providers, recreational facilities in multifamily housing developments and autonomy for the hospitals.
With a smile, he deflected questions about the politically charged retirement bill currently before the Senate — which the news media had anticipated would be the focus of his press conference. He said the measure, which includes provision for senators to retire at full pay after 12 years in office, is in the hands of the Government Operations Committee.
He expressed hope that the 24th Legislature will "encourage outside investment" in the territory.
He thanked all of his colleagues as well as wife, Beverly, for their support. He said his wife approves of his decision — "in fact, she'll probably be throwing a party later today."
Calling the 23rd Legislature the most "productive and cohesive I've worked with," Petrus said with a grin that one of the things he will miss in the Senate chambers is the verbal sparring, "especially with Sen. Bryan."
Petrus got a standing ovation from all of the other senators present — Gregory Bennerson, Lorraine Berry, Donald "Ducks" Cole, Roosevelt David, Adlah "Fonsie" Donastorg, Judy Gomez, George Goodwin, David Jones, Almando "Rocky" Liburd and Vargrave Richards.

Sen Allie-Allison Petrus did, indeed, discuss retirement at the press conference he held Monday morning in the Senate chambers. But his focus was not on the controversial government employees retirement bill before the Legislature. It was on himself.
"I've always been an advocate of term limits, since I began serving in 1994," Petrus said, "and I think it's time for my exit from public service."
Noting that he has been working toward a master of business administration degree at the Univrsity of the Virgin Islands as a part-time student, he said he is setting his sights now on a role in the private sector.
But Petrus also said New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani's announcement over the weekend that for health reasons he was dropping out of the U.S. Senate race in the state of New York affected his decision. "As Giuliani said, ‘Politics isn't everything.'" Petrus said. "There's a world of opportunities out there, and I don't want to look back on my life with any regrets."
Petrus noted that on two occasions he proposed legislation limiting the terms of senators, "and, of course, they failed." He said senators staying in office beyond their useful years usually enter a "period of diminishing usefulness" wherein "they become good politicians and terrible policymakers."
He characterized a politician as "one who disengages the brain and uses the emotions" and a policymaker as one who "addresses the issues using numbers and facts."
"I am a terrible politician and an excellent policymaker," Petrus said. He cited among his accomplishments in the Legislature the passage of bills dealing with sex offenders, vocational education, food cooperatives, protection for retired Government Employees Retirement Service members, acceptance of medical insurance by pharmacy and laboratory service providers, recreational facilities in multifamily housing developments and autonomy for the hospitals.
With a smile, he deflected questions about the politically charged retirement bill currently before the Senate — which the news media had anticipated would be the focus of his press conference. He said the measure, which includes provision for senators to retire at full pay after 12 years in office, is in the hands of the Government Operations Committee.
He expressed hope that the 24th Legislature will "encourage outside investment" in the territory.
He thanked all of his colleagues as well as wife, Beverly, for their support. He said his wife approves of his decision — "in fact, she'll probably be throwing a party later today."
Calling the 23rd Legislature the most "productive and cohesive I've worked with," Petrus said with a grin that one of the things he will miss in the Senate chambers is the verbal sparring, "especially with Sen. Bryan."
Petrus got a standing ovation from all of the other senators present — Gregory Bennerson, Lorraine Berry, Donald "Ducks" Cole, Roosevelt David, Adlah "Fonsie" Donastorg, Judy Gomez, George Goodwin, David Jones, Almando "Rocky" Liburd and Vargrave Richards.

More than a hundred cars left the Tutu Park Mall parking lot Saturday looking a lot spiffier than when they arrived, as associates of the Renaissance Grand Beach Resort held their first car wash, for a good cause.
The day-long event was part of the resort's Associates Appreciation Week activities, which traditionally include a community service project, according to Nancy Schneider, events management director.
Schneider excitedly reported the outcome, an unofficial figure of about $1,300 that will go to purchase supplies for the Nana-Baby Children's Home and the Roy L. Schneider Hospital children's ward. "We really don't have it totaled yet," Schneider said. But at with $7 a wash or $10 for a wash and a vacuum, she figured that's about $8.50 per car on average, although some folks just donated dollars without a wash.
The associates — or employees — were out early Saturday wearing blue and white Renaissance T-shirts, directing cars from the main road into the washing station they had set up, supplied with cleaning materials from Western Auto, water from Dadlie's Trucking & Water Delivery, and drinks from Bellows International.
The cleaning crew included everyone from a Renaissance associate's schoolchild up to and including the resort's brand-new general manager, David Yamada, who appeared to be having a fine time and confirmed that this was a "hands-on" approach to his new position.
Joyce Smith, Renaissance executive secretary, was hard at work in jeans, T-shirt and a perky straw hat. Helping her wipe down cars and encourage customers was Monique Walters, the hotel's wedding director. With the colorful T-shirts, sparkling shines and a bright sunny day despite predictions the day before of heavy rains, the whole operation had the air of a well-run business. Schneider said it could well become an annual event.

If you're looking for a little taste of Old St. Thomas with a very today flavor, go to the "head of Pave Street" — actually to a café bearing that name that is situated at the east end of Norre Gade, which was once called Pave Street because it was the first paved street on the island.
This fact and many others come to light as Terrylyn Smock excitedly talks about her new restaurant, which opened a few weeks ago. The interior of the small café is bathed in soft pastels with white tablecloths, comfortable chairs she painted herself, local artwork and what closely resembles a 19th Century West Indian pie cabinet.
"I found it at an antique shop and went home and kept thinking about it that night," she says of the piece of furniture, "and I realized the café just had to have it." The cabinet's pastel blue color sets the room off, even though it's not really filled with pies.
However, good things to eat abound on the eclectic menu. Smock says her goal was to offer something different from the usual West Indian "double starches" and to introduce a new concept to the neighborhood, a healthier and lighter menu. Which she has, sort of.
That's if you ignore the breakfast offerings of peach Melba brandied waffles covered in whipped cream and raspberry sauce, and biscuits and gravy. She makes up for these indulgences at lunch, though, with light salads, pita breads and soups. And there's espresso and cappuccino all day long.
Smock was an attorney with the Government Employees Retirement System before quitting a few years ago. After that, she says, she tossed around ideas for a new career, "something different," while meantime running a household with her husband, attorney Henry Smock, and two children, now 12 and 14 years old.
"I wanted to do something to contribute to the community," she says, "and I kept coming back to this neighborhood" — right behind the U.S. District Court building and within shouting distance of the Territorial Court complex.
Actually, she says, she had already decided to open a restaurant before she settled on the location. She first looked around Rothschild Francis "Market" Square but found real estate too expensive and the ambience lacking.
Upper Norre Gade, or Pave Street, beckoned to her — and it seemed an ideal location. "There's so much history here, and it's an area that could use a little gentrification," she says. In the 1700s, she says, the area was known as "the lagoon," as it was a protected harbor where boats hid during storms.
After taking a good look at what for years had been the Fanfare Flowers shop, she decided it was the site for her, although it was occupied by another flower and gift concern. Smock talked to the tenant, who told her the owner "definitely didn't want food in the location."
She smiles, recalling the conversation. "Well, let me to talk to the owner," she replied. Although tiny in stature, the lady can be very big on determination, and, voila! — the food, the location, the café.
She enlisted the help of her children, Michael and Rebecca, and several of their schoolmates in the early renovation work, tempting them with a "real demolition opportunity." They hacked away, eliminating a wall and creating more space, salvaging the wood they removed. Then she brought in a carpenter, who told her the wood was "too old, not good" to use. Smock says she replied, "It'll be fine. I want the old." Now, the pastel green counter reflects her decision and keeps the West Indian decor.
One thing in the neighborhood that has little to do with local history should be a boost to her business: the imposing new Theodore Tunick & Co. building with its three floors of office space above nearby Beltjen Road. Another main sources of clientele, of course, is the legal community from the nearby federal and local courts.
Attorney Lori Gilmore was, in fact, having breakfast as the interview for this story proceeded. She commended Smock on the inviting decor, which even includes a nook for a tete a tete or perhaps, less romantically, a deposition.
And soon to be added is a back patio. "I already have the umbrellas," Smock says. The café is open from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday through Friday.

Editor's note: The following letter, dated May 18 and addressed to St. Thomas-St. John Chamber of Commerce president John deJongh Jr. and St. Thomas-St. John Hotel and Tourism Association president Richard Doumeng, was circulated by Sen. Cole's office to the news media on May 19.
Gentlemen:
The fact is, the attraction of hosting events aboard cruise ships fascinates local groups and non-profit organizations and is slowly becoming a disadvantage to land-based hotels, bars and restaurants. Various groups and non-profit organizations are contributing to a growing trend of holding paid luncheons, seminars or other formal activities aboard cruise ships docked at The West Indian Company dock. I believe the impact of this trend should represent a looming threat to allied members in your organizations' food and beverage industry.
As this practice slowly develops into a pattern, I cannot casually sit and not make a statement as an erosion of commerce to local land-based businesses quietly shifts to cruise ship entertainment facilities. The cruise lines are now essentially competing against land-based facilities that provide the same services. Revenues to local tax-paying businesses and the livelihood of bartenders, waiters and waitresses are threatened when fund-raising and other leisure activities are steered away from local establishments and into a cruise industry that is historically against any move to levy any fees on its local operation.
My criticism of this practice should not be viewed as "bashing the cruise ship industry," [but] instead as an incentive for hotels, restaurants and bars to guard against the attack on their business by outside forces. With the islands' dwindling economy, local establishments should wake up and take notice.
Sen. Donald "Ducks" Cole
St. Thomas

Regularly scheduled bus service resumed over the weekend on St. John as the system worked its way through a series of mechanical and scheduling problems.
Vitran St. John operations manager Donna Roberts said laid-off St. John drivers, working limited hours on standby, have been helping to get buses rolling for the first run of the day from Salt Pond at 5 a.m. Only one of the St. Thomas drivers assigned to the morning shift stayed on St. John overnight as required in order to report for work on time.
"One St. Thomas driver stayed over, one St. Thomas driver called in sick, one is under stress," Roberts said. "One St. Thomas driver never drove on St. John before. They've only been as far as the Cruz Bay dock for the Fourth of July."
Last week, Roberts encountered numerous surprises as she took on the task of putting a new crew to work on a reduced schedule utilizing two buses. By Thursday, mechanical problems and the lack of a mechanic on island to deal with them had both buses out of service for the day.
By Friday, Vitran drivers on St. Thomas said they were willing to comply with a mid- week directive from Public Works Commissioner Harold Thompson Jr. postponing all scheduled vacation leave, despite union objections, and there was again bus service on St. John.
Roberts said she expects the service cuts will produce a drop in fare box revenues. "I'm losing customers and revenues," she said, "but I won't know how much until Monday when I'll be adding up the revenues."
She's pretty sure that a number of former St. John Vitran regulars have simply given up on bus service and are opting to drive their cars into traffic-crowded Cruz Bay instead of parking along the bus routes and taking public transit to town.

The Executive Committee of the Crucian X-Mas Festival will be meeting on Thursday May 25 at 6 p.m. at Gertrude’s Restuarant to adopt the calendar of events for 2000-2001.
All members of the executive committee are encouraged to attend this important meeting. Committee assignments will be finalized also.

They may call him "C.G." up in Texas and he may wear a white, 10-gallon Stetson on his head and cowboy boots on his feet, but Celvin G. Walwyn’s heart will always be on St. Croix.
In the meantime, though, the Crucian-kid-turned-Texas-lawman has his focus set on one thing: becoming sheriff of Wharton County, Texas, population 45,000. And like most things Texan, Wharton County is big. St. Croix’s 85 square miles (albeit with about with a slightly larger population) could be dropped into Wharton 10 times with a bit of room to spare.
With an accent somewhere between Crucian kallaloo and Texas chili and punctuated by hearty guffaws, Walwyn says that in the 20 years since he left St. Croix for Texas, he’s taken to the Lone Star State and its people –- and vice versa. So much so that he married a Wharton native, Antoinette Dickerson-Walwyn.
He says the idea of a West Indian "outsider" running for sheriff in a predominantly Caucasian county 45 miles southwest of Houston doesn’t matter.
"They don’t see me as an outsider," the 42-year-old Walwyn says. "I crossed that barrier a long time ago. I have white supporters, Mexican and black. It’s not about race, it’s about qualifications."
The stereotypical Texas, he says, "is changing, slowly changing."
Walwyn’s rise, however, has been anything but slow. Born to Kittitian parents, young C.G. grew up on St. Croix. He credits several people on the Big Island –- Pastor Spencer Walwyn, Vivian Bennerson, Claudette Petersen and Joe Perez, to name a few –- and the V.I. Police Department Citizens' Police Academy and pre-cadet program for laying a strong foundation on which he has built his law-enforcement career.
In need of a "change" in 1980, Walwyn, then 22, says he took what he learned on St. Croix and headed to "the Big H" — Houston — where "one thing has led to another." He started out working as a claims investigator for an international insurance company, then moved on to become a police officer. His first cop job was in Kendleton, a tiny village about 40 miles (and that's a drop in the bucket in Texas) southwest of Houston. He also served a stint there as the interim police chief.
Walwyn then headed to Florida, where he worked as a sheriff’s deputy around Orlando. Since 1991, he has been a deputy sheriff in Harris County, which consists mainly of Houston and its suburbs.
In Houston, with its 10,000-strong West Indian population, Walwyn has honed his policing skills, Texas-Caribbean style. He’s been a member of Houston's Caribbean Gang Task Force and had done some security work at the only reggae club in the city. It’s at the club that his Texan veneer gives way to his island core.
"When the kids start talking crap, I start talking Crucian," he says. "It has its effect. I’m still a Crucian at heart. I can speak like that when I have to."
Still, it can come as a surprise, especially when Walwyn’s got his $125, standard-issue Stetson perched on his head like a West Indian John Wayne.
"As a matter of fact," he says with a laugh, "the hat is a legitimate part of my uniform. Two of them — straw in the summer and felt in the winter."
Naturally, they are good-guy white hats.
At the moment, Walwyn is looking at the coming November election with his heart still plugged into the past but an eye on the future.
"I’m a Crucian because I grew up on St. Croix," he says. "I represent the Virgin Islands everywhere I go."

They may call him "C.G." up in Texas and he may wear a white, 10-gallon Stetson on his head and cowboy boots on his feet, but Celvin G. Walwyn’s heart will always be on St. Croix.
In the meantime, though, the Crucian-kid-turned-Texas-lawman has his focus set on one thing: becoming sheriff of Wharton County, Texas, population 45,000. And like most things Texan, Wharton County is big. St. Croix’s 85 square miles (albeit with about with a slightly larger population) could be dropped into Wharton 10 times with a bit of room to spare.
With an accent somewhere between Crucian kallaloo and Texas chili and punctuated by hearty guffaws, Walwyn says that in the 20 years since he left St. Croix for Texas, he’s taken to the Lone Star State and its people –- and vice versa. So much so that he married a Wharton native, Antoinette Dickerson-Walwyn.
He says the idea of a West Indian "outsider" running for sheriff in a predominantly Caucasian county 45 miles southwest of Houston doesn’t matter.
"They don’t see me as an outsider," the 42-year-old Walwyn says. "I crossed that barrier a long time ago. I have white supporters, Mexican and black. It’s not about race, it’s about qualifications."
The stereotypical Texas, he says, "is changing, slowly changing."
Walwyn’s rise, however, has been anything but slow. Born to Kittitian parents, young C.G. grew up on St. Croix. He credits several people on the Big Island –- Pastor Spencer Walwyn, Vivian Bennerson, Claudette Petersen and Joe Perez, to name a few –- and the V.I. Police Department Citizens' Police Academy and pre-cadet program for laying a strong foundation on which he has built his law-enforcement career.
In need of a "change" in 1980, Walwyn, then 22, says he took what he learned on St. Croix and headed to "the Big H" — Houston — where "one thing has led to another." He started out working as a claims investigator for an international insurance company, then moved on to become a police officer. His first cop job was in Kendleton, a tiny village about 40 miles (and that's a drop in the bucket in Texas) southwest of Houston. He also served a stint there as the interim police chief.
Walwyn then headed to Florida, where he worked as a sheriff’s deputy around Orlando. Since 1991, he has been a deputy sheriff in Harris County, which consists mainly of Houston and its suburbs.
In Houston, with its 10,000-strong West Indian population, Walwyn has honed his policing skills, Texas-Caribbean style. He’s been a member of Houston's Caribbean Gang Task Force and had done some security work at the only reggae club in the city. It’s at the club that his Texan veneer gives way to his island core.
"When the kids start talking crap, I start talking Crucian," he says. "It has its effect. I’m still a Crucian at heart. I can speak like that when I have to."
Still, it can come as a surprise, especially when Walwyn’s got his $125, standard-issue Stetson perched on his head like a West Indian John Wayne.
"As a matter of fact," he says with a laugh, "the hat is a legitimate part of my uniform. Two of them — straw in the summer and felt in the winter."
Naturally, they are good-guy white hats.
At the moment, Walwyn is looking at the coming November election with his heart still plugged into the past but an eye on the future.
"I’m a Crucian because I grew up on St. Croix," he says. "I represent the Virgin Islands everywhere I go."

They may call him "C.G." up in Texas and he may wear a white, 10-gallon Stetson on his head and cowboy boots on his feet, but Celvin G. Walwyn’s heart will always be on St. Croix.
In the meantime, though, the Crucian-kid-turned-Texas-lawman has his focus set on one thing: becoming sheriff of Wharton County, Texas, population 45,000. And like most things Texan, Wharton County is big. St. Croix’s 85 square miles (albeit with about with a slightly larger population) could be dropped into Wharton 10 times with a bit of room to spare.
With an accent somewhere between Crucian kallaloo and Texas chili and punctuated by hearty guffaws, Walwyn says that in the 20 years since he left St. Croix for Texas, he’s taken to the Lone Star State and its people –- and vice versa. So much so that he married a Wharton native, Antoinette Dickerson-Walwyn.
He says the idea of a West Indian "outsider" running for sheriff in a predominantly Caucasian county 45 miles southwest of Houston doesn’t matter.
"They don’t see me as an outsider," the 42-year-old Walwyn says. "I crossed that barrier a long time ago. I have white supporters, Mexican and black. It’s not about race, it’s about qualifications."
The stereotypical Texas, he says, "is changing, slowly changing."
Walwyn’s rise, however, has been anything but slow. Born to Kittitian parents, young C.G. grew up on St. Croix. He credits several people on the Big Island –- Pastor Spencer Walwyn, Vivian Bennerson, Claudette Petersen and Joe Perez, to name a few –- and the V.I. Police Department Citizens' Police Academy and pre-cadet program for laying a strong foundation on which he has built his law-enforcement career.
In need of a "change" in 1980, Walwyn, then 22, says he took what he learned on St. Croix and headed to "the Big H" — Houston — where "one thing has led to another." He started out working as a claims investigator for an international insurance company, then moved on to become a police officer. His first cop job was in Kendleton, a tiny village about 40 miles (and that's a drop in the bucket in Texas) southwest of Houston. He also served a stint there as the interim police chief.
Walwyn then headed to Florida, where he worked as a sheriff’s deputy around Orlando. Since 1991, he has been a deputy sheriff in Harris County, which consists mainly of Houston and its suburbs.
In Houston, with its 10,000-strong West Indian population, Walwyn has honed his policing skills, Texas-Caribbean style. He’s been a member of Houston's Caribbean Gang Task Force and had done some security work at the only reggae club in the city. It’s at the club that his Texan veneer gives way to his island core.
"When the kids start talking crap, I start talking Crucian," he says. "It has its effect. I’m still a Crucian at heart. I can speak like that when I have to."
Still, it can come as a surprise, especially when Walwyn’s got his $125, standard-issue Stetson perched on his head like a West Indian John Wayne.
"As a matter of fact," he says with a laugh, "the hat is a legitimate part of my uniform. Two of them — straw in the summer and felt in the winter."
Naturally, they are good-guy white hats.
At the moment, Walwyn is looking at the coming November election with his heart still plugged into the past but an eye on the future.
"I’m a Crucian because I grew up on St. Croix," he says. "I represent the Virgin Islands everywhere I go."