It’s amazing how far some Key West residents will go in the name of hospitality. Take me, for instance. A 30-year islander, I was once rather rowdy but eventually settled into being a sedate journalistic type. Until, that is, the night Moses came to Dog Beach. It happened many years ago, but the memory remains unnervingly fresh.

Famed photographer Slick Lawson shot the back cover image for Jimmy Buffett's "Last Mango in Paris."

Before he became a pseudo prophet, Moses was nationally renowned photographer Slick Lawson, a Nashville native who visited the Keys regularly. Veteran of Jimmy Buffett’s “Last Mango in Paris” album cover shoot and “People’s” attempt to immortalize former Pier House general manager Peter Henry, Slick was transformed after being baptized internally with Barbancourt rum.

Granted, many people have fallen victim to life-changing experiences in Key West’s assorted taverns. Few, however, have attempted to part the Atlantic Ocean and lead a flock to Cuba.

It all began innocently. After an evening of modest revelry, a group of us descended on Louie’s Backyard for a cocktail on the deck overlooking the ocean.

Built in the early 1900s, Louie’s is housed in a building that was originally the home of wrecking captain James Randall Adams. Captain Adams enjoyed boasting that everything in his residence was salvaged from ships wrecked on the nearby reef.

Louie's has been a Key West hotspot since it opened in this historic oceanfront house. (Photo courtesy of Louie's Backyard)

Louie’s opened as a restaurant in 1971 with one waiter, a cigar box cash register, and seating for 12. It quickly became famous for its cuisine, relaxed atmosphere, and well-known patrons — including entertainer/author Jimmy Buffett, novelist Tom McGuane, and Ten Speed, a legendary mutt who drank Kahlua and cream at the outdoor bar (but only if his drink was properly served on a napkin).

Ten Speed may not have inspired it, but the small stretch of sand beside Louie’s is called Dog Beach. Here canines frolic in the water and chase Frisbees or coconuts — and their daily gatherings are watched by the humans enjoying happy hour on Louie’s cocktail deck.

When we arrived, however, happy hour was long past. The tide was out, and the Atlantic was mirror-still and vodka-clear, seemingly stretching halfway to Cuba. Overhead, the full moon shone pale as bone.

A full moon is blamed for offbeat behavior in many places. In Key West, however, maybe because of the tidal pull, a full moon is lethal. A full moon in Key West could make Mother Teresa do the cancan.

Even a child can blow a conch shell more musically than Slick blew his impromptu horn. (Photo by Rob O'Neal, Florida Keys News Bureau)

Its effect on Slick Lawson was startling and immediate. Muttering something about the Red Sea, he walked as if he’d received a divine call — off the deck, down to Dog Beach, and across the sand and rocks into the water.

Naturally, I followed. This man was a high-profile guest, and I didn’t want to see “Prominent Photographer Drowns While Local Writer Watches” in the headlines next morning.

By the time I reached the water, followed closely by Slick’s drinking companions, the errant photographer was immersed up to his waist and had assumed an entirely new persona.

“Come, my children,” he intoned. “I will part the waters and lead you to Cuba!” And he swooped down on a five-foot piece of submerged PVC pipe, waved it triumphantly aloft, and headed for the open sea.

It was a stirring sight. Unfortunately, I had no desire to wade to Cuba. Slick’s compadres, however, seemed entranced and followed the wannabe Moses like an obedient flock. Resignedly, I splashed along in their wake.

Louie's waterfront cocktail deck is a great place for offbeat encounters between locals and visiting notables. (Photo courtesy of Louie's Backyard)

Suddenly a hideous noise split the night’s calm. Slick had discovered that, by blowing through his PVC pipe, he could create an ear-splitting honk like a conch shell being blown — badly. So he kept blowing it. Over and over and over.

Once we were all thoroughly wet (and temporarily almost deaf), apparently the excitement of leading a flock palled. The mock Moses turned and headed for the unused boat ramp leading up to the cocktail deck at Louie’s.

Gesturing magnificently out to the waters behind him, he leaned toward the bar’s fascinated patrons and prodded with a twinkle, “Now, tell me the truth. I know I didn’t really part the Atlantic Ocean — but don’t you think I dented it a little?”

It’s amazing how far some Key West residents will go in the name of hospitality. I, however, had gone far enough. Urging the pretend prophet and his flock safely ashore, I left them on the newly hallowed sands of Dog Beach.