In the 1960's, Tennessee Ernie Ford recorded a hit song called "Big Bad John". A story about a coal miner, "a mountain of man" who remained trapped in a mine explosion as his co-workers scrambled to safety, the song reminded many of Ron "Doc" Doctor. Doc's massive bulk was only outweighed by his big heart. A congenial personality was only disrupted if you made him mad, as many drunks sometimes did in Jil Adams' chain of neighborhood bars. Doc was cordial, polite, and gentle to a point - but if he was goaded into it, he could 'bounce' a drunken bar patron like a shiny quarter on a tautly-stretched sheet of rubber. Everyone knew: don't piss Doc off; it might be the last time you piss anybody off!
As Doc boarded his bright lime-green 55-passenger bus in Cocoa Beach, Florida, it was obvious that he was taking his new mission seriously. Those who would be deceived by his mild-mannered demeanor would be in for a big surprise if they, too, failed to recognize how serious Doc was about accomplishing his goal.
His first stop was at the Florida State House, where he was scheduled to meet with several of Florida's top legislators in an effort to try and prevent a bill, now languishing in the House, from being passed that would outlaw all gaming devices in private clubs, bars, taverns and restaurants. Doc had assembled a broad range of lawyers, civil rights experts, and common everyday citizens to support his efforts. As he wheeled this huge bus up the Florida Interstate, Doc silently rehearsed his arguments, trying to prepare for any and all objections that the lawmakers might make. Passengers on the bus discussed their options, strategies, and ideas as the bus lumbered along. Hours later the bus arrived at its destination; all the members of the entourage took a few minutes to freshen up before they disembarked. To no one's real surprise, the legislators were not "available" as they'd promised they would be; instead, there was one lowly administrative assistant who somberly delivered a stale written "statement" expressing regret and - pretty much, in affect - telling Doc to go screw himself.
Considering the mood of the country - and considering Doc's size and temperament - it was a risky move. To say the least, it pissed Doc off.
Immediately, Doc hooked up the satellite equipment which was outfitted to the bus, and hastily arranged for a "press conference" to be televised nationwide, live from Tallahassee, via satellite from St. Kitts broadcasting central. O.U.T.R.A.G.E. was outraged; Doc was enraged. Florida legislators were about to be exposed to the entire nation as elected officials who didn't take their responsibilities as public servants too seriously. As cameras focused on Doctor's coal-black hair and beard, viewers couldn't help but see the redness of Doc's wrath in his face. "This ain't gonna work," he said bluntly, "if state legislators don't believe it's important to the revitalization or our nation." Doc's 'speech' was short and to the point.
Within an hour after he spoke, phone banks in St. Kitts, and phone lines at the Florida Staehouse, were overwhelmed with calls. Citizens were demanding that Florida's lawmakers meet publicly with Doctor's entourage immediately. Within two hours after the press conference, legislators humbly appeared before a battery of television cameras in a quickly-arranged conference area to listen to the O.U.T.L.A.W. party proposals, and earnestly take them under advisement. It would set the tone for the remainder of Doctor's nation-wide tour. Politicians realized that Ron Doctor was not a force to be ignored - he, indeed, was a force to be reckoned with.