Hank is the only son of an Oakland, California, cement truck driver named Bob and a beauty contest winner from neighboring Fremont named Constance. His parents, both rock-ribbed Nixon Republicans, wanted better lives for their children and worked hard and pushed them to work hard, too. And they did.

Perhaps it was fate that decreed that Hank Campbell would come of age during the early golden days of what some euphemistically call the Reagan Era -- "Dutch" became his demigod and Reaganomics his mantra. In high school Hank named his 80,000 mile '72 Chevy Camaro SS 396 the "Supply Sider."

A fine athlete and straight-arrow kid, Hank dated the fourth cheerleader most of his senior year and was class vice-president. Average grades in life sciences kept him out of the running for military academy appointments (his irate dad blamed it on reverse discrimination and affirmative action, not necessarily in that order).

But Hank shrugged off the disappointment, enlisted in the Navy, took officer training, discovered he loved to fly, and ended up piloting "Prowlers" off of and onto aircraft carriers.

Although he spent most of his time protecting southern Florida, Hank got his shot at real action in the Gulf War. There, he picked up a few combat decorations, some scars hidden way down deep, and a whole new outlook on the "glory" idea of history.

Always thinking of his future, Hank was savvy enough to make the right contacts in the Navy. So, when he fulfilled his service-hitch, he went right to work for a buddy's high-flying southeastern U.S. commuter airline. Visions of the first seat in a big jet danced before Hank's eyes.

Not long after he came out of the Navy, Hank met a perky little flight attendant named DeeDee who seemed to be life's answer to every question. Flush with his dreams of the future, Hank bought a "starter" condo outside Atlanta and started pricing engagement rings. Life looked great.

Then, one not so fine day, his condo floated off thanks to a hurricane, his fiancée dumped him for a website guru and moved to Utah, and that high-flying commuter airline augured into Chapter 11.

Desperate, knee-deep in his own living room, grasping at straws, Hank clutched at an old offer made by his former Navy crew chief, Jack Waller, rapidly re-prioritized his life-goals, and journeyed to Poco Cabesa to again seek his fortune.

Upon his arrival on the island of Poco Cabesa, businesslike and well-organized Hank is appalled by his buddy's slipshod business practices (not to mention Jack's, shall we say, unusual lifestyle). He's even less impressed with Poco Cabesa itself.

But Hank's negative first impression is softened by an important and inadvertent introduction to spirited local resort operator, Emma Riley, and he made a snap decision (something alien to his character).

Hank decides to stay and make FTE a profitable enterprise, dragging Jack along kicking and screaming if he must.

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