STRANGER THAN FICTION: KEEPING PEOPLE'S BUTTS AND OTHER ITEMS OFF THE BEACHES

Apparently Pensacola Beach resembles a giant ashtray to some folks.

My momma raised me better.

She taught me that littering was wrong. When my sister accidentally let a napkin fly out the car window, Mom pulled over and made her pick it up. Mom told us that God didn't appreciate it when people messed up his beautiful Earth, and he'd catch up with those who did.

So I'm not sure why I started tossing the occasional gum wrapper out the window. Back when I was smoking, the occasional cigarette butt went flying, too. My teeth may have been yellow, but my car wasn't going to stink like cigarette butts, gosh darn it!

I never got as bad as those pickup drivers who view their entire truck bed as a giant ashtray. Ever been behind one of those guys? You end up with burger wrappers, soda cups and heaven knows what else flying at you. It's like driving in a blizzard.

But, admittedly, I had a problem. That's all changed. With Smokey Bear as my witness, I'll never throw another foreign item out my car window again. Not even a banana peel, which I used to justify by saying, "The birds'll eat it. Really!"

I have the Great Coastal Cleanup to thank for my rebirth. It was a morning spent in the unforgiving Florida sun picking up cigarette butts, gum wrappers, soda bottles and latex birth-control devices in various colors.

The organizers pitted various news organizations against each other to see which ones could drum up the most participation. The Other Half's competitive spirit got the best of him, so we were on the beach bright and early with three other newspaper people. Not one person from the television station was there. They were lying in bed thinking, "SUCKERS!"

The organizers gave us cloth gloves, big trash bags and a survey sheet to write down the trash we found, then dropped us off at our designated section of beach. The idea was to track the kind of litter being left so organizers could compose more specific anti-litter campaigns. Mr. Half got to be statistician, which meant we yelled out things like, "Hair barrette, 15 cigarette butts and a beer can!" and he marked them down.

Of course, the sunbathers stared at us. They, no doubt, confused our group with the bunches of convicted criminals who typically clean up litter, doing community service in place of jail time. My favorite part of the day was yelling, "But Brad! I thought your probation officer said you couldn't live within a mile of a school!" You should've seen the looks on those kids' faces.

Cigarette butts were by far the most common item found on the beach. Apparently, some people see white-sand beaches and are reminded of those sand ashtrays outside the mall. To combat the problem, R.J. Reynolds -- a cigarette producer -- printed bumper stickers to be handed out at the event that read: "Keep your butts off the beach." Yeah, thanks R.J. You've really done your part.

I won the Most Interesting Item Award for finding an abandoned pair of BVD men's underwear. Fortunately, we'll be able to catch the perpetrator because they were Navy underwear and had the guy's name stenciled on them. What would force a man to abandon his underwear? The world may never know.

Anyway, the five of us newspaper folks ended the day sunburned, sweaty and satisfied that we'd made an impact. We swore never to drop another piece of litter on the ground, no matter what.

Boy, would Mom be proud.

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who lives in Pensacola, Fla.