How do I know what I know?

How do I know what I know?

 

As a teenager, for a time, I had this recurring thought. How can I know what’s true if I’m never certain I answered all the questions? Epistemology, the philosophy that seeks to determine what is knowledge and how we obtain it, deals with these types of concerns. Key to answering these questions is first determining what is reality?

Epistemological relativists wonder if what we see, hear or touch is the actual reality or is reality how we determine it to be through our own private understanding and intelligence? Is aging an absolute or can we live forever if we just obtain the right knowledge? Can we create our own reality and prefer to live in only that one? We have virtual reality and now metaverse. Who’s to say it can’t become our own separate world with our own logic and determination of what is good for us? 

 Conceptual relativism, a branch of epistemology, states there are no absolute principles that sustain a standard belief through rationality or confirmation. People from different cultures with different languages can have unique core ideas and experiences that lead them to different beliefs about the world. There is no right or wrong belief just what is perceived to be true. 

With science epistemological relativism will dodge declaring certain observable facts consistently seen over time as true by assuming more information is out there. Some will talk about space aliens beginning the evolutionary process rather than the idea of a God who started the Big Bang. On and on it goes with each new fact discovered there are a thousand what if’s to be asked. It’s the same dilemma I had as a teenager. It’s impossible to find anything firm and lasting to stand on. 

Epistemological realism believes the world as it is, exists by itself, and is independent of how we perceive it to be. All life and the complex interrelationships, all the laws and principles inherent and woven within reality, all exist separately before we even discover they exist. They are fixed, if not our beliefs about the world couldn’t be true since true belief tells us how things are. In other words the world outside of ourselves is a mind-independent reality.

If reality is an illusion or at best just one’s individual perception of facts which are always subject to change because the truth is always out there, then how can modern science be so successful? When will the preponderance of observable, proveable facts be so great that the mantra will become the truth is actually here now?

Epistemological realism norms of understanding reality by having observable evidence of natural phenomenon experienced through the senses being consistently the same over time and using logic to explain it have taught us so much especially about the natural world. Have cars ever stopped running because gasoline no longer was combustible or steel suddenly became like cardboard and buildings collapsed?

If the natural world is so intricately designed and controlled by laws could there be universal laws true in all times and places that govern the behavior of man? Are these laws observable, consistent over all time and places and logically reasonable? Ask a conceptual relativist if there are no absolute standards of human behavior after their car has been stolen or they have lived in a  communist country?

When someone says there is no right or wrong it’s just what’s true for you, ask them if what Hitler believed was true for him? What about Pol Pot in Cambodia who killed millions or Stalin another mass murderer? Were their actions okay because what they believed was true for them? How can we survive and prosper when people say it doesn’t matter what you think as long as you feel it is true? Statements like that just do not correspond with reality. 

Epistemology digs deep to discover the basic origins of knowledge so we can determine if it’s valid. An epistemological realist believes certain basic beginning ideas or first principles are  true and valid for all times in the physical world and in morality. Epistemological relativists may  agree on some absolute principles of nature with certain caveats but never on absolute moral principles.

That’s really interesting because they act like there are moral absolutes when they support communism or profess to be atheists but attack a Christian or capitalist for their beliefs. Carefully following a person’s assumptions back you can find what assumption or first principle is the very foundation of all their beliefs. Going back you will see where they made wrong conclusions or just flat out lied and reaching the beginning really know what’s in their heart.

A conceptual relativist would be unable to use this process. How could they even challenge the assumptions having to do with moral judgments when they think whatever you believe is true for you? They wouldn’t be able to look back at history to compare the results of different behaviors and make value judgments. Every generation would have to struggle through life making mistakes and creating their own hell because it would be judgmental or old-fashioned if someone dared tell them they were doing something wrong.

I can’t see how someone could live this way. It would be very difficult and dystopian if played out in society. How would I even know what questions to ask because they would always be changing as people evolved? So I’d have to forget about wondering if I asked all the questions. I’d get to the second or third question and have to start over again as the dystopian world dictated. First principles sound kind of reassuring like theirs some kind of truth and permanency.

So I decided maybe I could find the answer to my question as a teenager and find reassurance if I learned more about first principles so I decided to investigate. Aristotle, a Greek philosopher during the Classical period of ancient Greece, said a first principle is the first basis by which a thing is known and can not be broken down through deduction any further.  

He believed all things in nature are caused and part of a long chain of causes stretching backward. These long chains must have a starting point because causal chains cannot be infinite in length. I was born because of my parents who were born because of their parents and I could go back to the very first parents. But where did they come from? Where did everything come from? What or who caused all this? Could this be the very, very first cause? 

Ancient religions believed in a chaotic world of warring and capricious gods controlling nature as they wished. Judaism was the first religion to believe in one supreme God, intelligent designer, creator, ruler and judge of the world. Years later, St.Thomas of Aquinas, said he believed the first cause is God and the result is the world and every human, animal, and plant on earth. The effect: order, direction, coherence and predictability.  

 Judaism also believed in the principle of divine reason and creative order being the essence and fabric of our world and the universe. Even early Greek philosophers intuitively believed the world could be understood. This core belief or first principle drives science in its quest for knowledge and understanding of everything in the universe. 

Science relies on facts and first principles you can see, touch and hear over time that fit together into scientific laws and theories. They are reality itself and backed by scientists like Einstein, Newton and Hubble. Seeing how laws fit together into coherent, logical systems called theories gives me confidence in something I can stand on.

A first principle fact that light becomes more red as it moves away led to the Redshift Theory in 1915. This led Edwin Hubble, chief astronomer at Mt. Wilson Observatory, to discover the Law of Cosmic Expansion in 1929. Then in the early 1960’s, Robert Dicke, an astronomer and physicist, at Princeton University discovered remnant radiation called cosmic microwave background from the early formation of the universe which lead to the Big Bang Theory.

The Third Law of Motion, a first principle discovered by Isaac Newton, states for every action there is an equal reaction. Could the first action have been the Big Bang and what kind of action is capable of creating beings capable of thought. Many have conceded the Big Bang but have they honestly investigated and analyzed all of the effects of the Big Bang and the implications of who or what started everything?

For example many scientists ignore discoveries in microbiology showing the awesome complexity of life at the cellular level. The discovery that DNA is like a computer program transmitting mind bending amounts of information directing and regulating biological processes in the cell and between cells seems to go right over their head. Bill Gates himself said, “DNA is like a computer program but far, far more advanced than any software ever created.”

If Bill Gates says software was created by man then who or what created DNA which is far, far more advanced than any software ever made? Could mindless undirected matter over eons of time through chance mutations have made DNA which is in every living thing and determines its form and function? 

Could the answer to how and possibly who caused the world and all its inhabitants to come into existence be the ultimate first principle of all first principles? The answer would determine how we view life itself…how we feel about ourselves and the ultimate end game whether we are conscious of it or not. What is the meaning of life and how do we determine it? Do we make up our own rules without thinking through the consequences or admit we are flawed and limited in need of help? Could that be God?

Voltaire, French philosopher during the Age of Enlightenment in the Eighteenth Century said “If God did not exist it would be necessary to invent him.” He also said “it is perfectly evident to my mind that there exists a necessary, eternal, supreme, and intelligent being.” Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin had similar beliefs. 

Maybe I can never be certain if I asked all the questions …  maybe you have to get to the point where you have asked all your questions and simply just have to believe? What do you think?

 

 

 

   

 

Dear Allison

Dear Allison

 

It was so nice to see you and talk some. I’m glad we were able to see where we lived and your old high school. Then seeing the old wooden park where we spent so much time when you were young was surreal.

You’re right about how the past can seem like someone else lived it. That seems to happen to me a lot when I look back. People and places sometimes blend together and ten years seems like three. Nothing is distinct and important things to remember are lost. So I decided to write about our time together when you were young to preserve some of those memories. 

The first thing that comes to mind is amazement that I ever became a father. All signs seemed to indicate I would be a lifelong bachelor as I wandered awkwardly through life. But there I found myself watching you be born. You were wrinkled with a thick shock of black hair and very pink and I didn’t know if that was normal but in that moment you stole my heart. Silently I was saying to myself I’m a father, I’m a father, I’m a father like I couldn’t believe what my eyes were telling me.

Then me and your mother took you home and I kept looking at your small dark eyes and thinking this is the first time she has ever seen sky or trees or butterflies … what is she feeling or thinking?  I felt a profound sense of the wonder of life as we rode along on your first day of being in the world. Then when I carried you into the house I felt this overwhelming sense of wanting to protect you.

You slept so much that first week then you began staying up during the day. One day I came home from work and you smiled at me for the first time. All my weariness left me. You were soon crawling all over the house and one day came into my office and I picked you up and you said your first words. Me and your mom were so excited we told all our friends.

Every day you were becoming more curious, exploring light sockets and opening cabinets. Birds fascinated you as they landed and took off from the patio. You would sit at the sliding glass door mesmerized as your little brown eyes saw butterflies and squirrels scampering across the yard. The crawling became partial standing then falling and as the weeks passed you became able to walk five or six steps before falling.

One day your mother and I were raking and you tottered toward us across the grass in a red and white eskimo suit. Somehow you lost your balance and fell face forward onto a pile of leaves then amazingly popped right up. We just smiled and laughed. It was really a sweet moment. Then a few months later you stomped into my office wearing my boots and smiling I thought to myself that’s my girl.

You grew so much the next several years and I was amazed how you absorbed everything you saw. Everyone could tell you were very bright. New words came out of your mouth everyday and you used the T.V. remote all by yourself. You even started putting movies into the VCR and were able to make your own sandwiches.

I remember when you first went down a slide…your eyes showed fear as I guided you down then at the bottom you smiled as you touched the ground. Then there was the pure delight in your eyes as I pushed you in the swing for the first time and tried to imagine what you were experiencing. Those were golden times and they will be forever alive in my memories.

You began making sentences and said some funny things when we were out and about and saw some of my friends. One time you told me a car had a sunburn because the paint was faded then pointed out a flat tire and said it needed a band aid.

Then came the questions. You wanted to know if grandpa’s hair was white because of the shampoo he used then you asked me what it was like getting old and I was only in my early forties. Also you asked me why the sky was blue. I said it was because God wanted it that way then somehow we got into talking about why the grass was green.

About this time I began looking for a place for you to attend preschool. Some of them were just so crowded and chaotic and I could see the fear on your face so I checked out others. They seemed so sterile and the staff seemed nonchalant. Then there was the Methodist School Center which seemed to make so much sense and I had a good feeling about it. 

I remember that first day your mother brought you out to the kitchen dressed in your sharp little uniform and made you oatmeal while I packed your lunch. Driving to the Center I thought about how this was part of the process which would lead you to one day moving away. Along with happiness I felt some sadness and somehow wished I could freeze that moment in time.

The Methodist School Center was the perfect place for you. It was very organized and the staff was friendly and professional. You were learning numbers and words in a small class and spending time playing and socializing with other little kids. It was a very kind and nurturing environment and it was there you made your first best friend, Maddie.

Before long I was taking you, Maddie, and her twin brother to the wooden park. The three of you would spend hours climbing or crawling through the wooden structure pretending it was an ancient kingdom.

Carefully balancing yourselves you would step along a row of upright tires knowing below was boiling oil then you crawled through the wooden space watching for the big, bad ogre that would chase you down the wooden steps. Sometimes it was giant spiders that chased you across the tube bridge. It was so amazing watching your little mind develop. It was magical.

Then in the second grade I sometimes took you two and some friends up to the Christmas House after school. We’d walk down a winding hall past Jack and the Giant who seemed to be grabbing toward you with his long arms then there was Cinderella and the evil stepmother. I’d hear little squeals or see mouths wide open and eyes staring in wonder. After that it might be Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs or Santa Claus and his helpers. 

Then there was a room that had a miniature town circa the 1950’s that included a fire station, and a car dealership with a sports car in the showroom. Down a tiny road a lady was skating circles on a pond. The other side of the room was a Dickens English village with cobblestone lanes and snow covered thatch roofs and a man with a black top hat sitting on a horse drawn carriage. I would stand there imagining and almost feel I was living in those towns. 

On the way out I would buy everyone a chocolate truffle then we would step out into a brisk wind with large pecan limbs swaying. That night delivering pizza I would sometimes visualize those towns then before your bedtime I would call and feel all warm inside hearing your excitement from talking with daddy.  

Sometimes it would be just me and you. I remember weekends going to the Weeki Wachee attraction where we went on the riverboat cruise then watched the Bird and Snake shows. Then in the underwater theater we watched the mermaids perform their show. At the end a mermaid made a free dive deep into the spring. Suspenseful music would play then suddenly your eyes would light up in amazement when she reappeared. I really loved your reaction.

You also had a very playful side. When you were around seven you programmed my phone to sound like a cat when it rang. I kept looking out the window but you and Maddie just played dumb. I even went outside and when I came back you had a little smirk and I realized what you did. I just shook my head and smiled. Then at grandpa’s you hid his keys and slyly found them under a bush. That’s what made his hair white not the shampoo.

Approaching the teenage years things began to change. Your bedroom door was often shut with a do not disturb message. You had emotional moments that would erupt then a while later you calmed down and said you were sorry. Suddenly my car looked old and ugly and you didn’t want  me to drop you off at school. 

Then I remember when you said you had a boyfriend. My voice went up an octave as I said what!  I must have looked like a real goof because you and Maddie laughed. That night at the skating rink I watched from a distance as you talked to a boy. Also you became very conscious of how you looked and suddenly were buying all your clothes with Maddy at the Aeropostale store.

Your mother and I had divorced a few years before and about this time she started getting serious with a guy. It was really rough especially when she spent weekends with him and brought you along. Then sometimes she left you with him and his kids all day while she worked nearby. Those were long and sad weekends for me as I worried about you.

It was a dark, confusing period for both of us, especially you and I’m still haunted by it though less frequently with time. I failed you miserably but because you appear to be working through that and finding peace it encourages me to start letting go myself. I pray every night that all these feelings and memories will soon be resolved and healed and we can walk together in the bright, loving light of the present.

You were so brave and strong during that period. You didn’t withdraw and give up but kept fighting and living life. Though I didn’t always approve of your behavior I was very proud of how you always made good grades even taking the most advanced classes. Then there was the calendar you used to organize and plan every detail of your life. That gave me faith you would come out the other end okay and you’ve definitely done that exponentially.

The teenage years also came with some nice surprises especially when you joined the Drama club your freshman year and when you were in your first play I was blown away. As you stood in front of that packed audience and spoke perfectly a two minute monologue I was so proud. Somehow my shy little girl had become a beautiful butterfly.

I was also proud of how you treated other people. You expressed to me your dislike of the high school popularity game that was so shallow. I admired your fairness and you did have one of the most eclectic groups of friends from every race and economic background. You seemed very empathetic toward those looked down upon and went out of your way to be friends with them. 

However you did create some anxious times for me like when you called me and said you were exploring  small caves on private property with friends. I’m very claustrophobic. Then when you were a sophomore we bought you a car and there were a lot of anxious moments when you were somewhere driving after dark. 

I thought it was ingenious how you packed your car with friends so you always had money for gas. It was like you had your own travel agency. Things came to a head though when you started making 80 mile junkets across the state to the beach. Your mom was very concerned about insurance coverage for your friends so we set new rules for your travel agency limiting the distance of your excursions.

The years passed quickly and you were a senior in high school. We were like two ships passing in the night, rarely talking and living our separate lives. It was understandable since you were taking advanced calculus and trigonometry. You were also involved in outside activities like being in a creative dance group at a local church.

By your senior year you had taken all the right courses, done well on your college entrance tests and were bi-lingual in Spanish. You and your friends had been speaking Spanish at lunch all through high school. You had been seeing your academic advisor regularly and had chosen a major and was looking at colleges. How did I ever have such a grounded, level headed kid?  

I remember when me and your mom walked beside you across the football field on Senior night and I was surprised afterwards when you asked me to meet you at Applebee’s. I thought you would go some place with your mother.

That meant so much to me. We hadn’t talked very much in months and it was so special to have a really nice conversation. You brought up your plans for college and we discussed the pros and cons of going to a local junior college versus going away to a large University. I was delighted to find what a nice, intelligent, level headed woman you were becoming. You wound up going away to college that Fall and later graduated and have been working several years at your first job.

We’ve come a long way together from that day I first held you at the hospital. I can remember the giggles, the laughs, the smiles and even the feelings they gave me. Also the experience of pure happiness of seeing you grow into the woman you have become who I am so proud to call my daughter. In a part of me you will always be my little girl. I pray everyday you will have a long and happy life.

P.S. Let’s meet some time at Applebee’s.

 

                                      Love, 

                                                Dad

                                    

 

 

 

  

Goodbye Yesterday

Murder in Crawfordville

 

 

                                                                          Chapter 1

 

For years, people in Wakulla County, Florida saw a phenomenon called the Wakulla Volcano. Large plumes of sometimes black or white smoke could be seen rising out of Wacissa swamp deep in what was later Apalachicola National Forest. Further north in Tallahassee it could be seen at times with brightened shafts of white or green smoke causing locals to think it was Indians or smugglers. The more imaginative thought it was the Devil stirring red hot pots of bubbling tar. Mysteriously it stopped after the Charleston, South Carolina earthquake of 1886.

 

September 10th, 1944

Jimmy Dukes sat on the edge of his bed tying his high-top tennis shoes as morning light streamed through the side windows and shined on the Cleveland Indians pennant above his bed. He was a pitcher for the Bankers, a little league team sponsored by the First National Bank of Crawfordville, and had always dreamed of playing in the majors like his hero Bob Feller.

It was Saturday and Jimmy couldn’t wait for the day to begin so he could meet his best friend Billy Dawson at the courthouse. His mom was still sleeping so he creeped softly across the wooden bedroom floor then down the hall to the kitchen in the back. He got a box of corn flakes from the white cabinet above the counter and emptied them in a bowl then poured on milk. At the table he sprinkled on several spoons of sugar from a bowl.

Sam, their nine month old German Shepherd, stood at the back screen door as a soft breeze blew into the kitchen. Jimmy who was 12 had lived in this house all his life. A screened in front porch opened onto a small living room then a hallway with bedrooms on each side ran down the center of the house. In the back was the kitchen and another porch. An almost constant breeze blew down the hallway and into all the rooms.

Jimmy took a bite thinking about what he would find in the drainage ditch. He had a collection of hand blown bottles that were turquoise, light rose and even purple. They were mainly old medicine bottles but a few were liquor and they all had cork stoppers. He took a bite and reached in his pocket feeling the dollar his mom had given him. Since his dad died, she had worked at the A&P grocery store while his brother Bobby worked part time until he went into the Army in September, 1943.

He finished eating and put the dishes in the sink then creeped softly back to his room. Opening the top drawer of the bureau by the front wall he got his collection of baseball cards and spread them on the bed. He and Bobby would call out the name of a player and the other would give a statistic like batting average or home runs. Naming a pitcher’s e.r.a. for a certain year would mean a night off from washing dishes.

Jimmy searched through the cards finding Bob Feller often called Rapid Robert because of his fast ball. He had an opening day no hitter in 1941 and his e.r.a. of 3.15 was the best in baseball that year. Joe DiMaggio, center fielder for the Yankees, hit in a record 56 consecutive games that same year. He looked a little longer then put them up and reached under his bed for his glove and tennis ball. Then walking across the room to the bookcase next to Bobby’s bed he reached above it for his Cleveland Indians cap hanging on a nail.

Walking softly into the hall he glanced at the kitchen clock above the screen door. He still had a little time so he carefully opened the front door and walked out across the yard and down the steps onto the brick street. He took a windup bringing his leg high in the air like Bob Feller then threw the tennis ball at the front steps and caught the rebound. About thirty minutes later he put the glove and ball on the front porch. 

Walking down Palm Street he went past small wooden houses with front porches and turned right on Orange Avenue going under a huge oak tree with hanging moss then past houses with palm trees and old cars in front. Cutting through the Crawfordville Elementary playground he then walked around the side of the two-story brick building onto the front lawn which sloped gently toward Tangerine Street. He turned right then several blocks later saw Billy sitting in front of the courthouse. Sneaking up behind he put his hands on his shoulders making him jump.

 Jimmy started laughing. 

“Why do you always do that?” Billy frowned pushing up his black framed glasses.

“Because I like to.” He grinned.

They had been best friends since anyone could remember. Through cub scouts and boy scouts they had always been together and even played on the same Little League team. 

“You got the shovel?”

“Right here.” Billy held it up. “You got the bag?”

“Yep.” He smiled.

They walked past the courthouse with two Royal palms and a large oak tree in front then crossed Alabama street. It was in the low eighties as they walked in the shade of huge moss hanging oak trees past old homes with wrap around porches. It was so nice being outside after being in class all week. After walking down the gently sloping sidewalk for about fifteen minutes they crossed over Tangerine and were walking down Citrus Avenue, a side street.

“Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.“ Jimmy yelled.

 They pushed and grabbed each other while they walked.

 “You stepped on a crack.” Billy’s black hair was plastered down.

 “No, I didn’t.”

 “Slugs.” Billy yelled.

 People were stepping onto the covered platform of the train depot.  

“Okay.” Jimmy frowned, turning up his shirt sleeve, then Billy smacked him.

 Billy stepped on a crack.

“My turn.” Jimmy smiled then landed his fist. 

They went back and forth several times.

“You want to give up?” Billy grinned. 

Jimmy was rubbing his red arm.

“No way.”

“You want to call it a tie?” 

People were on benches on the platform.

“Okay but you quit first.” 

“No, I didn’t.” Billy had on a white tee shirt.

“Yes, you did.”

“You boys stop arguing.” Mr. Meeks, the train depot supervisor, stood on the covered platform glaring.

They put their heads down and turned right onto a dirt path beside the drainage ditch. After about fifty yards they stopped. The ditch was about ten yards wide, fifteen feet deep and the bottom and sides were matted with plants and vines. Tires were strewn about and everywhere were bottles and trash. Thick woods were on the right and on the other side was a field with high grass and weeds.

“You sure you want to do this?” Billy saw trash covered with flies.

“Why not this is going to be fun!” 

 Carefully they climbed down to the bottom and took turns swinging the shovel knocking down plants and vines, and putting bottles in a pile. A three-foot yellow corn snake crawled from a hole near Billy who tried to catch it before it slithered into some bushes. They began looking at the bottles swatting away flies as they threw away the ones they didn’t like.

“Look at this one.” Jimmy held a light rose bottle. 

The sun was beating down. 

 “Probably held laudanum.” 

“What’s that?”  Sweat was running down Jimmy’s back. 

“It’s what people took before aspirin.”

Jimmy put it in a burlap bag.

They collected more bottles then began digging along the sides with the shovel. Sweat soaked their tee shirts as Jimmy rolled over rocks and Billy stood with the shovel raised above his head.

“I saw something shiny.”

Jimmy got down on his knees and felt around in the brown soil. His fingers wrapped around a small hard object which he wiped on his blue jeans. He then held it up in the light.

“What is it?” Billy’s hair hung in his face. 

“It’s some kind of cross.” 

He handed it to Billy who examined it for a few seconds.

“Doesn’t look like any cross I’ve ever seen.”  

Something snapped above them and they saw a man in a Hawaiian shirt standing by a pine tree. Billy stuffed the cross in his pocket and grabbed the bag while Jimmy got the shovel. They scurried up the side and ran all the way to the train depot before stopping.

 “Do you see him?” Billy said between breaths as they looked down the ditch.

“I don’t see anything.” 

 They looked at each other for a second.

 “Let’s get out of here.” Billy’s eyes were bulging.

They walked and ran until they reached the courthouse and sat on a bench in front by the sidewalk. Their clothes and faces were streaked with dirt.

“That guy’s crazy.” Jimmy looked down the street. 

The Hawaiian Dream or Dream for short was a short pudgy man with a fondness for Hawaiian shirts and thick black cigars.

“Why do you think he’s following us?”

“Maybe it’s the cross.” Jimmy wiped his face with his shirt. “You still got it?”

“Yeah.” Billy took it out of his pocket.

Moss hung from the oak above them.

“Let me see it .. It’s got strange symbols on it.”

“Maybe it’s some kind of secret code.” Billy pushed up his glasses.

“It feels kinda creepy.” Jimmy handed it back.

A lady carrying a grocery sack walked past them.

“We better take this to Uncle Joe.” 

“Right.”

They looked down the street a few moments as a breeze rattled through the Royal palms.

“What are you doing this afternoon?” Billy’s black glasses were crooked.

“Gotta mow the yard … what about you?”

“I gotta book to read.”

“Sherlock Holmes?” Jimmy brushed some dirt off his jeans.

“Yeah.”

“Of course.” Jimmy smiled.

 They sat for a little while watching cars and people.

 “You ready to go?”  Billy squinted at the bright sun.

“Yeah.”

They stood and started walking down the sidewalk toward the school. Across the street was Connie’s Drug Store with a soda fountain that made really great chocolate malts. Teenagers hung out there a lot. Next to Connie’s was Ginger’s Department Store then there was the Zephyr movie theater and the A&P where Jimmy’s mom worked. The sun was directly overhead when they walked up to the police station but no one was there.

“I guess I’ll have to keep this till Monday.”

Two girls came out of Nick’s café and started giggling and pointing at the muddy boys who looked away. Betty Lovette was in Jimmy’s sixth grade class and wanted to be his girlfriend while Cindy Jones was in Mrs. Allen’s class. The boys walked past the Dixie barbershop with their heads down then turned left on Oak.

“Isn’t that your girlfriend?”

“Betty Lovette?” Jimmy frowned. 

“Yeah Betty Lovette.”

Mary’s Boarding house with dark green awnings was on their right.

“I don’t know, maybe.” 

“I heard she passed you a note.” Billy grinned. 

“So?” Jimmy kicked a rock. 

“She’s kind of cute.”

“You think so?” He smiled slightly.

Yellow butterflies fluttered above a vacant lot.

“Yeah.” 

“Do you like Cindy? 

“She’s got cooties.” 

“How do you know?” 

“She drank at the water fountain after Helen Dobbs.” Billy blew his nose.

“That doesn’t give you cooties.” Jimmy frowned.

 They passed a house with a rusty roof. 

“Helen Dobbs has had cooties since the fourth grade.” 

“You don’t get cooties from a water fountain!” 

“You do if you touch it after someone.” Billy adjusted his glasses.

They stopped in front of an old two story house.

“No, you have to touch someone to get them.” Jimmy almost yelled.

“Not with a carrier, you have to have a cootie shot for them.” 

“You’re crazy!” 

A truck passed them.

“That’s why I always have a cootie shot.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He put his hands in the air.

A few minutes later they stood in front of Billy’s house. 

“I’ll see you Monday… don’t forget the cross.”

“I won’t ..see you later alligator.” He shot a goofy smile. 

“In a while crocodile.” 

Jimmy heard the plopping of sneakers as Billy ran up the sidewalk to the front door and went inside. About ten minutes later he was home.

 

 

Trees

We climb them, jump from them and sometimes get married by them. They come in all kinds of colors, heights, widths and textures and we drive by them everyday not knowing their names. It’s trees. Wonderful shade giving, wind blocking beautiful trees. Now I’ll tell you some of their names and a few interesting things about them.

 

Sabal palms also known as sabal palmetto, cabbage palm and swamp cabbage grow all along the Southeastern coastline of the United States. They are even found along Virginia and stretch southward along the coastal States all through Florida and hug the Gulf coastal plains into Texas. Salt resistant they can even grow when the lower portion is submerged at high tide. Also they’ve been observed withstanding temperatures as low as 8.6 degrees fahrenheit.

The tallest can reach ninety feet and are sometimes called Century palms because it’s thought they can live up to two to three hundred years. They begin forming the round palm leaf top at about 25 feet as the dead palm fronds fall off

leaving the “basketweave” caused by the flat, jutting “Y” shaped leaf bases that go up the tree. It loses all the leaf bases as it reaches maturity leaving a rough, fibrous trunk surface.

The top of the tree or heart where the young green palm fronds begin developing is called the terminal bud. As the fronds grow outward the bud or heart gets larger and can be eaten like the center of an artichoke of cabbage. However, cutting out the heart kills the tree. 

The straight round trunks have been used as pilings for docks and for building forts and in the past brooms and scrubbing brushes were made from the palm fronds. Sabal palms are also the state tree of Florida and South Carolina and are on both State flags. On rare occasions the trunk will fork and have two round tops which looks kind of strange.

People sometimes wonder why palm trees bend. It is thought that sand erosion and wind may be the cause but there is another interesting possibility I’ll cover later in this article. Before moving on to other trees I’d just like to say Sabal palms are one of my favorite trees. The graceful way they sway silhouetted against the flat Gulf with an orange sun dipping in the water brings back gentle memories of Fall. 

 The next tree is the Wild Date Palm known by botanists as phoenix sylvestris. Native to India and Pakistan it is found in flat lands subject to monsoons and in the United States it grows in areas where the temperature doesn’t fall below 15 degrees.

Slow growing they can reach heights of 50 feet with the top leafy part reaching diameters of 25 feet. The trunk is generally thicker than a Sabal palm with widths reaching up to one and a half feet and possible two feet. The branch or petiole that grows from the trunk is approximately 3 feet long and pointed. This grows into the leaflets or palms that grow on opposite sides of the branch.

The entire length of the branch from the trunk to the tip can reach 10 feet and the blue green palms or leaflets can reach up to 18 inches and are long and wispy. Along the thick trunk are flattened oblong bumps that curve out then down slightly. An elephant’s toenails come to mind and the grey texture of the trunk looks like the foot and leg.

A twisting mat of yellowish roots reach out of the top where the branches grow out of the trunk. These are called inflorescences and at the top of them small white blossoms grow. There ovated fruit about an inch long grow in orange clusters and turn dark red to purple when ripe. In India sugar as well as alcohol is made from the flowers and the fruit is made into jelly or preserves.

Whenever I see a Wild Date Palm I imagine a man in white turban and baggy white clothes riding by on a huge grey elephant.

 

 

Southern Live Oak

 

This tree grows from southeastern Virginia then down along the North Carolina coastal area. They spread out more inland in South Carolina, grow across Southern Georgia and all of Florida. From Florida they grow along the Gulf Coast and spread out in the interior of Texas.

It’s also called the Virginia live oak, Plateau oak and Escarpment live oak. They are classified as nearly evergreen even though they replace their small dark green leaves over a period of a few weeks in Spring. Their narrow pointed acorns provide food for a wide variety of wildlife including birds, squirrels and black bears. The grey moss that hangs down from their limbs is used for bird nests.

Southern Live Oaks are fast growing but slow down with age and their trunks may reach close to full diameter within 70 years. When live oaks have enough room to grow their massive anaconda like limbs can create tree canopies or crowns 150 feet in diameter. That is close to fifty yards or half the length of a football field. Even larger canopies are possible since they never stop growing and some trees in the U.S. are estimated between several hundred to over a thousand years old.

 

 

 

      Some interesting facts:

 

• Live oaks were used to make the curved part of the hull in old sailing ships
• The USS Constitution made of tough Southern Live Oak survived numerous cannon shots in the War of 1812 and was nicknamed “Old Ironsides”.
• Indians bent young Live Oak limbs to make trail markers.
• Wind can cause young live oak trunks to twist in order to provide more strength. They continue to be twisted even as the tree grows older.
• When crowded among other trees Live Oaks will grow their limbs toward sunlight sometimes making unusual twists and bends. This is also generally true of other trees.

 

Some notable Southern Live Oaks

 

• “The Seven Sisters Oak”

 Located in Mandeville, Louisiana it’s age is estimated between 500 and 1000 years old. It was determined the largest U.S. Southern Live Oak in 2016. It’s girth at half a meter of height was 39.6 feet and it’s height was 57 feet. In 2019 it’s canopy or limb spread exceeded 153 feet.

 

      *     “Cellon Oak”

 

This is the largest recorded Live Oak in Florida and is the logo of Alachua County. It’s girth is 30 feet, height is 85 feet and the canopy or crown is 160 feet.

 

• “Angel Oak”

 

Located on Jones Island near Charleston, South Carolina it is named after the Angel family estate. It is estimated at 400 to 500 years old and is 66.5 feet tall with a girth of 28 feet. It’s branch length or crown is 187 feet making it the largest in the U.S.

 

       *    “Big Tree”

 

This is possibly the oldest Southern Live Oak or even tree in the world. The Texas Forest Service first estimated it to be over a thousand years old then it was more recently estimated as closer to 2,000 years old. Located near Lamar, Texas and close to the Gulf of Mexico it survived a brutal Union Naval bombardment in the Civil War that leveled Lamar leaving only an old Catholic chapel and the “Big Tree”.

Climatologists believe it has survived somewhere between 40 and 50 major hurricanes and numerous floods, droughts, floods, droughts and wildfires. It’s girth or circumference is over 35 feet and the height is over 45 feet. The crown is spread 90 feet. It’s girth makes it the second largest Live Oak in Texas which is unusual because the almost constant Gulf breeze limits the height of coastal Live Oaks.

One thing I really like about Live Oaks is early mornings and white shafts of light streaming through the branches. Puts me in mind of stain glass windows in churches and the great Transcendent.

 

Bald Cypress 

 

Also called Swamp Cypress, Gulf Cypress and Tidewater Red Cypress or just Red Cypress it is the State Tree of Louisiana. It is found in swampy areas along the southern coastline of the U.S. It has a dark reddish color compared to white and yellow Cypress in drier areas and can reach heights up to 145 feet with a trunk diameter of three to six feet. 

Often surrounded by Cypress knees, knobby, brown root like structures that stick out of the water, the tree’s bark is greyish to reddish brown and is thin and fibrous giving it a stringy texture. It’s lacy russet needles ,which are long, stringy like leaves, drop in the Winter and the tree grows new green needles in the Spring.

It is often used for building. The original doors of St. Peter’s Basilica were cypress and over 1,100 years old when torn down in the 1500s for reconstruction. The reason for the durability is because the tree has an oil called cypressene that preserves the wood from insects and decay. The oil is not sticky so the wood can be sanded and easily worked. 

These qualities allow it to be made into furniture such as cedar chests which can last for centuries and have a very nice smell. Just ask someone that has owned one. Sometimes the wood will have scattered darker spots caused by fungi and it is called pecky cypress. This is often used for walls and furniture because it gives a rustic, weathered look.

The general consensus is that cypress knees make the tree more stable in the often loose, muddy soil. It was long thought that the knees help bring more oxygen into the tree but laboratory tests have debunked that. Mangrove trees have a similar structure. 

So there you have it, a brief exploration of trees and maybe next time when you pass one you will know it’s name and appreciate a little more those silent sentinels that seem to watch over our daily lives.

       

 

A dog named Sam

 Air Pilot Sam that’s what the crate said. A yapping English Pointer puppy was clawing the side of the crate. Dad just brought him home from the Tampa airport where he had been flown from Illinois. 

A previous puppy had died from distemper so dad made the arrangements and bought Sam. The registration papers said he was a pure bred English Pointer and his dad had won prestigious awards. Sam was named after him.

I lifted him from the crate and he ran down the driveway around the pecan tree into the backyard. He rolled on his back then jumped on his feet giving a puppy bark. I tried to pet him but he turned quickly bounding after a yellow butterfly. He was so full of life. 

A chicken wire enclosure with a wooden dog house was where he slept and ate but most of the time he was playing with me in the yard. He would chase me, sometimes nipping at my ankles, or I would throw a ball for him to retrieve. Sometimes he wouldn’t let go and I almost had to pull him off the ground to get the ball. 

Sam grew fast that first year becoming long and lean with perfect markings. His ears were solid brown and on top of his head was a perfectly placed roundish brown dot. The rest of him was white with scattered brown flecks. Dad said he was the perfect picture of an English Pointer.

As he filled out his second year it became obvious he was a remarkable dog. Perfectly proportioned with a deep chest he would eventually weigh sixty five, large for his breed. A picture of sleekness and power he could really run. He would bolt from the station wagon and be half a mile in the woods before dad and I even started walking.

Sam would be flushing quail a mile away while we trudged through the woods trying to keep up. After about an hour and a half we would go back to the station wagon and Sam about thirty five minutes later. Hunting with other people, Sam rarely stopped while their dogs would come in for water several times. He just had incredible stamina.

One time dad was so frustrated we took off in the station wagon with me on the tailgate. Sam caught up with us as we were going forty five and stayed at that speed for several minutes until dad stopped and he jumped in the back and gulped down some water.

When he was around three Sam began staying closer so we were able to find coveys and bag some quail. However he would suddenly spring off in a different direction leaving behind single birds. It wasn’t until he was six and had slowed down some that he would take the time to hunt out single birds. That was when he started to become a really good bird dog.

Sam had what was called a hard mouth and we were never able to change him. Retrieving birds he tore into the flesh sometimes making them almost inedible. When we cleaned them Sam chomped down like an alligator on whatever entrail dad tossed at him. Then sometimes he would lay on his back showing his throat. Dad would rub it reminiscing on how handlers at Silver Springs rubbed the gators under neck to put them to sleep.

Free from the chicken wire pen, Sam slept in the yard or sometimes dad left open a door on the station wagon on really cold nights. He was free to wander as he pleased and stories began circulating about dog fights with him sometimes taking on two or three. After being away two or three days he would return partially bloody and with the reputation of being a dog to avoid. I saw this when rigid, growling down deep, he stood off two German Shepherds who turned and trotted away.

Fiercely territorial nothing came on our property he didn’t know about. Testing this I clanged the metal mailbox on the front porch and in seconds Sam appeared rigid snarling. He was chained when visitors came and got loose one time lunging at my sister’s boyfriend. We used to laugh that she married my brother in law because he was the only one Sam liked.

He also patrolled our neighborhood, trotting around our block like a King inspecting his serfdom, enjoying other dog’s food and sometimes producing offspring. If he were human he would have been the classic bad boy roaring by on a Harley getting into trouble but tolerated because he  somehow protected the neighborhood. I wonder if that was the case with Sam.

Sometimes he would walk with me to school and in the afternoon wait for me at the top of the hill. Somehow he felt more human than dog. On Saturdays he would follow me around town and walk with me and my sister to get groceries. I wonder how many times he protected me when I walked home from Boy Scouts in the dark.

Away from our home it was amazing how well he interacted with people. I really think he thought he was human. Sam walked down the sidewalk past stores among people and even stopped on the corner waiting on the light. Then he would cross with everyone else. Passing through town in our car I actually saw this happen. He was just walking around town like all the other humans.

Dad would often take us around town and I’d hold Sam as he went into the lumber supply store. Then we’d ride around town in the old 58 wagon with the windows down with Sam sticking his open mouth in the wind. People would smile or wave as we drove past. The only problem is sometimes I had to sit in the back seat. At times it felt like a sibling rivalry.

Adding to his bad boy image Sam also broke the law and received a citation. School buses came by our house everyday and Sam loved to chase them. He would run past them on Alta Vista then down the hill through the speed zone by the Primary school. One day he registered at 37 m.p.h. on the speed zone marker and was given a citation by the City police which stated he had to be on a chain while the buses ran. A columnist in the local paper wrote a funny article about the incident including a picture of Sam. He was a town celebrity.

Sam gradually began slowing down and by age 8 he was no longer hunting. I was at college then and every time I called home I always asked about him and how he was doing. Heartworms were beginning to affect him and also his legs were beginning to give out. Every time I went home he seemed to be worse. At family gatherings how Sam was doing was always brought up.

I moved back home and saw first hand the decline ….how he struggled to stand and often wheezed at the slightest movement. He was no longer the dog that could run forever or the alpha dog patrolling the neighborhood. Like seeing Mickey Mantle running like a gazelle to struggling to run on aged and damaged knees it was at times painful to watch. 

No longer the energetic puppy full of life chasing butterflies he was now a tired old dog waiting to die. I had spent all my growing up years from nine to twenty one with him and it was hard to let go. Mercifully he closed his eyes for the last time when he was twelve and we had a neighborhood funeral for him. 

Mr. Hardwick was there and Mr. Bates and I believe Mr. Foster was there from just down the street. Dad wrapped him in a plastic sheet with a note telling all about him then lowered him in the ground. Someone said a prayer then we reminisced about Sam when he was sleek and  powerful and could run forever. A fitting end to an amazing dog and my loyal companion.

 

  

The Tangerine Hotel

 

 

The Tangerine Hotel was built in Brooksville, Florida in 1925 according to my sources. It was built in the Spanish Mission style of that period consisting of three sections. The middle was rectangular with three floors then jutting out from the ends toward Howell avenue were squarish sections two floors high with three windows on both floors facing the street. The bottom middle windows were canopied and all the sections were trimmed along the sides of the flat roofs by rust colored terra cotta tiles.

 

From the front to the street was a covered walkway with a flat roof also trimmed with reddish tiles and held up by two rows of large square stucco columns. Close to the street a rectangular sign on two narrow steel rods jutted up above the roof of the walkway. The background was a dark blue and in white letters it said Tangerine Hotel. Depending on the picture the hotel was either a white to light tangerine stucco or light brick with an adobe like texture.

 

An image from around 1931 seems to indicate an unscreened veranda spanning the front of the rectangular middle section. It is partially secluded by two columns of light adobe like brick and the front covered walkway. The front entrance was reached after crossing through the veranda.

 

Going in the front door you would first see the wide staircase as you stood in the lobby where wicker chairs were arranged for people to talk and floor lamps allowed them to read. To your left was the check in counter with a bell on the counter and overhead three evenly spaced lights spanned the lobby. Large for Brooksville it looked more average and functional than luxurious.

 

It was being planned and financed probably in “23” and “24” when the Florida land boom was at its height.  Rapidly rising real estate prices and easy credit could make someone a real quick profit. South Florida and Orlando were booming and it was spreading to other parts of central Florida. That may have been why the hotel was so large for Brooksville with a population less than 2,500 during this time.

 

Also, people had more money during the twenties to travel and the central gulf coast region had a lot to attract them. Anyone who wanted to travel down to Tampa or further south to Ft. Myers by highway had to go through Brooksville and the Tangerine Hotel was sitting next to Howell Avenue which started North of town as an offshoot of State road 5 (currently U. S. highway 41).

 

After making its way about a mile Howell Avenue started a gradual ascent up a long hill going past the Tangerine Hotel on the right and reaching the summit where on the left sits the brick courthouse in the middle of Brooksville then Howell intersected with State Road 5. Going left took you North to Georgia while right took you to Tampa and eventually to Ft. Myers. It was an ideal location for a hotel.

 

State road 5 started as State Road 2 at the Georgia border just south of Valdosta then became State road 5 west of Gainesville continuing south through Brooksville and Tampa ending at Ft. Myers. It was classified first class the entire route which probably meant it was paved. People from Georgia and nearby states could drive down into Florida however it would have been a long trip considering Model T’s might have reached top speeds of 40.

 

State Road 15 that went along the Gulf Coast originated at the Georgia border but it was mainly third-class with lots of detours onto other roads including State Road 5. After New Port Richey it was first-class all the way to St. Petersburg. People would probably have stayed on State Road 5 and driven through Brooksville. Also, a spur line of the Atlantic Coast Line railroad ran to Brooksville. The A.C.L. had connections all throughout the Northeast including New York City.

 

So, what would it have been like to stay at the Tangerine Hotel in the twenties?

 

This was the time before air conditioning in the South so Fall and Winter were the best times to visit Florida. The weather was generally mild with crisp dry days and colder nights with very few days when temperatures dropped in the thirties. Like other larger buildings of that time it was probably heated by large boilers that piped heat into waist high, silver accordion radiators in the rooms. This would have kept residents comfortable.

 

Spring could be nice but unpredictable and Summers were brutal especially in August with temperatures often in the mid-nineties with lots of humidity. Mornings and late afternoon would have been cooler but it would have been at least in the nineties other times of the day with high humidity. Thunderstorms especially at night would have had a nice cooling effect with strong winds and guests would have kept their windows open as long as possible. Also, at night cooler winds sometimes blew off the Gulf creating fog while giving relief from the stagnant heat.

 

In their rooms, guests would sit in front of a fan near an open window and on especially hot days or nights they might have placed a large block of ice in front of the fan to give an extra cooling effect. Buying a window fan might have made sense for those staying longer to visit with family and grand kids out of school. Also taking a cool lingering bath with water up to your armpits would have been refreshing while listening to music on the radio.

 

The veranda and covered walkway would have been a popular spot any time of year. In summer guests would have enjoyed sitting and sipping tall glasses of ice tea while playing cards or checkers or maybe just listening to the radio. As twilight descended maybe they talked into the night as lightning bugs flickered around the flowering plants hanging from the walkway. On many of those sweltering nights some may have slept out there on cots under mosquito nets.

 

In the Fall and Winter, they may have sat under the veranda enjoying the cool, dry air and maybe a Christmas or Homecoming parade. Possibly they had breakfast and enjoying a steaming cup of coffee leaned back in their chair eyeing the royal palms and the huge twisting oak trees along Howell avenue. Perhaps a group sat out there cheering every home run and strike as they listened to the World Series. Sometimes they may have taken their chairs and sat in the yard enjoying the warm soothing sun.

 

Spring would have been especially nice with azaleas blooming pink and dogwood trees clothed in white all over Brooksville. A walk down one of the nearby brick streets canopied by centuries old twisting oak branches would have been a nice way to observe all the different colors.

 

Those less energetic could have sipped ice tea under the walkway looking across the street at nineteenth century homes with first and second floor screened porches. In front of the houses was multi-colored flowering foliage and maybe a tall, skinny century palm tree and it’s shorter, stouter cousin the royal palm.

 

Baseball was big during this time and many towns had their own baseball teams in addition to the local high school. They may have had informal Sunday afternoon games at the high school ball park between the older townies and the high schoolers. Residents at the Hotel could have easily walked or rode to one of these games where enterprising locals might be selling peanuts and coca cola.

 

Also, hotel residents could walk the short block to town and maybe have a hot dog sandwich (two grilled hot dogs split length wise laying flat on two pieces of bread) and a cherry coke at Bacon’s Drugstore while sitting on round chrome stools in front of the soda fountain. They may have gone to one of the café’s around the courthouse and overheard conversations about a trial taking place across the street.

 

Crossing the street, they might have engaged someone in a conversation about sports or local fishing stories while standing under the massive oak tree in front of the courthouse. At night you could go see a silent film at the Dixie theater slightly down the hill from the square then walk back to the hotel in the moonlight.

 

Beautiful scenery and interesting places were within short driving distance. State road 34, designated first class, ran southeast out of Brooksville through the heart of Florida’s central ridge country. Chugging up a steep hill in a Model T you could smell the sweet, white orange blossoms and reaching the top you could see orange groves stretching off into the distance. Reaching the tiny town of Spring Lake, you could go cane pole fishing or have a picnic under an oak tree. You could do all this and be back to the hotel by night fall.

 

Aripeka and Bayport, tiny fishing villages on the Gulf, were within driving distance. Aripeka, about 15 miles Southwest of Brooksville could be reached by taking State Road 15 which also continued on to St. Petersburg. The 1926 state map did not show any roads going to Bayport but it’s very probable there was a county road.

 

The road was probably graded limestone then after crossing State Road 15 it probably became sand entering the coastal lowlands with sandy flat land, marshes and lots of palmetto and palm trees. It might have taken almost a day to reach Bayport depending on road conditions and prudent travelers would have brought along a shovel and some boards in case they got stuck as well as food, water and a gun. There was always the possibility they might have to sleep in their car overnight.

 

Coming out of the marshland a few weathered gray, clapboard houses on concrete blocks might have appeared. Their roofs might have been orange from the rusting tin. Then a general store with metal signs in front advertising R.C. Cola, camel cigarettes and Wonder Bread might have stood along the narrow sandy road. The Bayport Hotel might have appeared with a broad front porch and people rocking. A short distance down the road several Model T’s may have been parked by a wooden dock where a pelican and some sea gulls perched on the pilings.

 

There was a bait store nearby where you could rent a small boat and possibly find a guide to take you out further in a larger boat. Local people might have been standing around swapping stories about old hernando county and you might have stopped to listen and ask about the fishing as you drank a bottle of coca cola.

 

Tourists would have gotten rooms at the Hotel described by a visitor as a very satisfactory place to stay with fine food which probably included a lot of fresh fish. They might have gone back the next day or stayed a few days to fish and go out on the Gulf. Also, they might have swam in the warm salty water and sun bathed.

 

The tourists could have joined other people on the dock fishing…ladies in large sun hats and men wearing skippers and long white shirts with dark gray pants held up by suspenders. Other people may have been getting into small wooden boats with primitive motors to troll along the coast for mackerel, sea trout and other fish. A larger boat with a guide may have been by the dock to take people further out in the Gulf for bigger fish.

 

After getting back to Brooksville a train ride to Tampa might have been something to do.

The walk to the train station would have been very enjoyable. After passing through town you would have walked down South Brooksville Avenue. The street is red brick and goes about three blocks down about a twenty-degree grade.

 

Huge old oak trees with moss hanging from massive twisting limbs created a canopy down the length of the road creating nice shade as you walked on the sidewalk past large two-story frame houses fronted with large columns and large porches. At the bottom of the hill you took a right then a little ways down the street on the left was the train station.

 

Two different trains took you to Tampa. You could take a feeder line out of Brooksville about ten miles due east to a little town called Croom. There you caught a train on the main line of the Atlantic Coast Line which took you into Tampa from the Northeast. It was a longer route which would have taken you through Dade City, Zephyrhills and Plant City. Also, an offshoot of that track took you to St. Petersburg where Babe Ruth and the Yankees had spring training.

 

The other train to Tampa was the Seaboard Air Line. It was a shorter route of about forty- five miles. Leaving in the morning you could return that evening. After buying your round trip ticket in the station for between sixty and seventy cents you could perhaps buy a coca cola and peanuts. Then you could wait on a bench under the covered platform for your train.

 

You would arrive in the Northeast side of Tampa at Union Station which was right next to Nebraska Avenue. Photographs from that time show lots of street trolleys and cars so it would have been easy to get around the city. Perhaps someone wanted to do some shopping and eat somewhere nice like the Columbia restaurant. There were also theaters showing silent movies or maybe someone just wanted to wander around seeing the sights. Then that afternoon they could have caught a train and been back to Brooksville by evening.

 

As their vacation was winding down maybe they wanted to go over to Bayport one last time and see the sunset over the shimmering Gulf waters or just have one more hot dog sandwich at Bacon’s Drugstore and talk to some new friends. Then that night maybe they listened to some radio shows while taking a nice refreshing bath. After that perhaps they decided to sleep outside on the veranda one last time watching lightning bugs as they drifted off to sleep.

 

Maybe there were two grandparents from Valdosta who had driven down to spend part of the summer with grand kids. Getting up early they may have walked to the courthouse square and had a large breakfast and coffee at one of the cafes. Then after hugs and kisses the grandkids and parents waved as the Model T chugged out onto Howell Avenue headed North to State Road 5 and home. They would probably get home sometime late that night.

 

Then there were the many people just passing through and just stayed one night at the Tangerine Hotel. Maybe they sat out on the veranda a short while smoking to relax before going to bed. The next day they drove past the courthouse then took a right on State road 5 to Tampa and their ultimate destination Ft. Myers where they had plans to stay several weeks in a cottage by the Gulf.

 

There might have been a man who worked for an investment bank out of New York City. He had been staying at the Tangerine Hotel some while exploring the Gulf Coast for possible investment opportunities. He spent his last night listening to his Yankees beat the Pirates at Yankee stadium then got up early had breakfast at Bacon’s Drugstore then in the dark walked the three blocks to the train station.

 

He sat for a little while as the sun came up and the first rays of light shone on the platform. A smile came to his face as he remembered shaking Babe Ruth’s hand and the Babe autographing his baseball. He had watched the other Yankee greats as they scrimmaged in St. Petersburg. A train whistle startled him out of his daydream and a few minutes later he boarded the train. About two days later he arrived in New York City.

 

After getting back home, they all talked about their time in Florida and perhaps they remembered the Tangerine Hotel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Favorite car memories

During my growing up years in the late 50’s and 60’s cars had a lot of different body shapes and sizes. They ranged from the extravagant style of the ’59 Oldsmobile 98, which looked something like a rocket, to the simple, utilitarian style of the 60’s and 70’s Volkswagen Beetles.

Lights came in all kinds of shapes, sizes and arrangements. There were single round headlights like on the early 60’s Falcons and Mustangs and double headlights as on the ’58 Chevy and ’65 Thunderbird. Pontiac liked to place headlights vertically in a row of two as in the early 60’s Bonneville and the late 60’s classic GTO. Chrysler experimented with double headlights arrange diagonally. Headlights and body shapes were so distinctive I could name the make and model as cars drove by us.

Tail lights were elliptical shaped in the 1959 Chevy and two large, gently pointed red globes in the ’57 classic Thunderbird. On the larger Cadillacs of the early sixties smaller round red lights on the ends of enormous rear tail fins looked like the rear lights of a large jet airliner. The rear lights on the tail fin of the enormous Oldsmobile 98 when lit up red looked like the tail exhaust of a rocket. Then there were cars like the 60 Chevy station wagon that had three smaller tail lights on each side of the rear. The 65’ Thunderbird had rear turn signals that lit up sequentially.

Cars came in a variety of colors then there were different two-tone arrangements like blue and white. Then you had the chrome bumpers and on the really big cars they had posts that jutted out and were placed symmetrically on both sides of the front. The bumpers contoured nicely next to the car body accentuating its shape. Large white sidewall tires really added to the beauty especially on the larger luxury cars like the Lincoln Continental.

To me the older cars were like works of art. I remember afternoons as a boy sitting on our front steps admiring the workmanship and beauty of my parent’s two cars. Now that I’m older I cherish the memories that come back when I think of some of those cars. These were some of my favorite cars.

1959 Oldsmobile 98

With a 394 cubic inch Rocket V8 engine this Oldsmobile was 4 cubic inches larger than Cadillac that year. It’s Hydra Matic transmission set a standard in the industry and created a quote silky smooth ride. I remember it felt like you were riding on air even going over railroad tracks. As a side note the transmission fluid was part whale oil.

A factory brochure says the following: “This sleek new beauty makes a complete break with the past, setting the pace for a new styling cycle. It’s lean, clean lines are the essence of Oldsmobile’s “linear look” for ’59. It goes on to say this about the rear fins: “The gracefully sculptured twin booms, accented by thin blades, sweep along the entire body to give the car a look of fleetness even while standing still.”

I just know that as a nine-year-old kid the car looked massive. It seemed like on trips we were taking our whole living room with us. Those soft white vinyl seats seemed as large as couches and the fold down arm rest in the back seat served nicely as a table when playing cards with my sister. It had air conditioning which only someone who grew up without can really appreciate and the front hood seemed to stretch all the way into the next county which made it really great to sit on when at the Drive In watching a movie.

It was the first car we had with electric windows with a panel of switches on the driver’s door controlling all the windows. Having long arms, I could reach over and control my sister’s window. It was fun catching her arm or hair in the window or opening it suddenly and seeing her hair flying in all directions. It was the look on her face that I enjoyed the most.  

Everything about the car embodied the American Dream. It was about feeling financially secure and prosperous. The car shouted out we have arrived and doing quite well. The massive size, sleek design and luxury spoke proudly of American Exceptionalism; number one in car production and a free market land of dreamers and doers that were going to win the space race against the U.S.S.R. It was an incredible car.

’58 Chevy Brookwood Station Wagon

With a six-cylinder, 136 horsepower 235.5 cubic inch engine it could reach a top speed of 91 m.p.h. and got about fifteen miles to the gallon.  It was more of a practical family car / work wagon. The guy who works for the city maintenance department who has a son studying engineering at the University of Florida owns this wagon. It says I’m upwardly mobile but I have to do without a luxury car with air conditioning and I have to crank my windows instead of pushing a button.

I remember vacations in August when I was thinking of the Motel swimming pool two hours into the trip. All you could do was crank down the windows and open the passenger side air vent. Basically, all you were doing was allowing hot air to blast into the car………kind of like a sauna on wheels. Praying for rain all you could do was sweat until you stopped at a nice cool restaurant for lunch. If it did rain, little silver awnings over the windows helped keep water from getting into the car.

This is the car I really enjoyed with its unique shapes and lines and how they all came together. Thin blades swept back from the center of the single front headlights gradually flattening out before reaching the side of the windshield. The body paint was kind of an olive-green shade that seemed to subtlety change with the light. Then on the front sides just behind the headlights was a row of small silver rectangular ornaments resembling exhaust ports of souped up engines.

Along both back sides flowed this turned down kind of fin that roughly resembled love handles and culminated at the back by bulging slightly outward as it went down and inward. The single round red tail lights looked similar to a human eye with the bulge at the back kind of looking like eye brows. Some people called them tear drop lights which is a good description. I thought they were really unusual and interesting looking.

My main memories were riding with my dad with the windows down in the summer as we went to the hardware store to pick up supplies for some new home project he was starting. Another memory was stuffing my face with double chocolate fudge cookies as we rode up to a Florida Gator football game.

‘60 Chevy Brookwood Station Wagon

This was a bigger built Wagon than the ’58 having a more powerful V8 engine but I didn’t find the body design nearly as interesting as the ’58. However, it did have an air conditioner installed by a previous owner. Rounded and rectangular it hung like a window unit under the dash pointed at the middle of the front seat. It put out cool, dry air and that’s all that mattered.

One of the great things about those old station wagons was the pop-up seat in the rear cargo area that allowed kids to be in their own world as the road stretched out behind them. We could cut up doing farting sounds with our armpits, make faces at people in cars behind us and get an occasional trucker to blow his horn. It was kid heaven. Meanwhile the parents could have adult conversations about mortgages and getting rid of crab grass while listening to whatever they wanted to on the radio which usually was a choice between two or three stations and static.

Two things come to mind when I see a ‘60 Chevy Brookwood Station Wagon. The first thing is my dad smoking a cigar as we drove around town. I can close my eyes and smell the smoke and somehow, I find that reassuring. The other is the hole we had in the back-seat floor. I can’t remember if it was the ’58 or the ’60 but I know we were able to see the pavement below.

Someone in a moment of stupidity thought of poking curtain rods through the hole to drag on the flying pavement. I don’t know what we got out of that except to see the sparks fly. Also, I hate to say the hole served as a convenient way to get rid of trash. If my parents only knew what we were doing in the back seat.

’65 Ford Thunderbird

My dad kept a mid-60’s Thunderbird for someone for about a week when I was about ten. I remember it had the bulkier, more muscular body of that period. It had double front headlights and the distinctive rear with a row of three red round lights on each side that lit up sequentially on the ’65 model when making a turn. Under the hood it had a 390 cubic inch four-barrel carburetor V8 engine and in the rear dual exhaust.  This car could really fly. In fact, my dad maxed it out a few times.

This Thunderbird was called pastel yellow with a black interior and had white side wall tires. After riding around some with my dad we stopped at a place like an A&W Drive-In and while we sat waiting for our food I remember looking around at the car.

The black bucket seats were luxurious. Shiny and smelling of leather they were very comfortable as you seemed to sink in them as they wrapped around. The dashboard looked like shiny cedar wood and on the driver’s side it wrapped around you like the cockpit of a fighter jet.

Then when he started it up it had the most amazing sound. It was a low rumbling sound as the car gently shook while at the same time it somehow reminded you of the deep purring of a big cat like a tiger. Pressing on the accelerator it seemed to rumble inside you. I’ve never heard another car sound that way.

‘60’s and ‘70’s Volkswagen Beetles

The 65’ V. W. Beetle had a 4 cylinder 40 horse power engine with a top speed of 78 miles per hour with a stiff wind at your back going down a hill. In other words, they were just plain slow including the 70’s Beetles. However, they were very

economical getting around thirty miles to the gallon which was great for a college student surviving on macaroni and cheese and an occasional care package from home.

My dad bought my sister a red V. W. Beetle which was about a ’65 model. She was going to the University of Florida eating a lot of Ramen noodles and needed cheap reliable transportation to get around school and also for when she came home for Christmas and occasionally on weekends.

I really looked forward to her visits when she talked about college life and sometimes got to drive her car. Her boyfriend had installed an eight-track tape player with an impressive wrap around speaker sound system. Listening to Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl for the first time in that car was an amazing experience as I felt the soft bass and heard every note and word of that song.

Driving around with friends listening to the music I felt like I was different. Somehow, I felt a part of the larger world outside of my small town with the music in some mystical way connecting to the energy and ideas happening in Gainesville and the rest of the world. Being in that car I was more enlightened and special setting me apart from other teenagers. We had these important discussions about life and politics while the rest were running around following everyone else being mindless teenagers.

The body style which kind of resembles a turtle shell is itself a metaphor for this time. We had gone through all the changes of the sixties and Vietnam leaving at least some of us disoriented. Getting into a V.W. was symbolically like returning to the womb or going into your own shell where you could escape for a while. Everything we had been taught to believe was being questioned and it was nice to have time to figure out things and find meaning.

The simplicity of its design spoke of protecting mother earth, simple living in harmony with nature and to some of communes and a counter culture. It was the baby boomer’s rebellion against what some thought was the dehumanization of society by excessive materialism. To some it was the beginning of the drift into socialism and the V.W. Beetle was a statement against the Ugly American capitalism exhibited in the ’59 Oldsmobile 98. It was the ultimate Hippie car.

I also think about those relatively care free days when I was in my late teens. Being young the world had so many more possibilities; I was at the beginning of my life and good things were just around the corner like meeting that special girl and living happily ever after. I also remember the terrible anxiety I felt the night before I went away to college.

That red V.W. also brings back other images. I think of Carole King singing I feel the earth move under my feet and girls in mini skits walking down high school hallways or riding around Gainesville one night talking about life with my sister. I think of my first semester at college lying in my dorm room listening to James Taylor sing You’ve got a Friend and trying to deal with loneliness and all the changes. You feel life so much more at that age.

Ten years later in my late twenties I had a V.W. when I lived in Orlando. It was lime green, had a black sun roof that slid back and had a large dent in the driver’s door. I was working as a lifeguard/swim instructor at a local Y.M.C.A. and living in a boarding house. I had to really watch my money and the V.W. was very economical.

I could fill up the tank for eight dollars and it would last me for at least a month. Whenever I started getting passed by ten speed bikes, I knew it was time for a tune up which I could do myself for around fifteen dollars. Also, I was able to replace the generator myself with the help of a Chilton book on V.W.’s which I was very proud of and the very day I finished the job I almost ran over the hedge around the I.H.O.P. on Colonial Avenue. I popped the clutch in first gear and with the added power of the generator I did a wheelie.

The sun roof was great. Going down one of the brick streets hearing the low humming of the tires you could feel the soothing light filtering through the massive oak limbs above the road. It was also fun when the passenger stood up in the opening and felt the wind in their face. On dates the moon shone down while you were talking or you could go to the private airport and watch planes flying over………. It was very romantic.

Other things I associate with that car are talking late into the night with friends then waking in the early afternoon with the sun on your face. Also, great walks down brick streets in the waning afternoon light feeling really peaceful as I looked at the old homes and the light sparkling on the lakes. Then there was the health food store that had really great bread made completely from scratch with whole grain. It was a meal in itself and with Deaf Smith peanut butter it was sumptuous. Many other memories come back.

I remember talking to a good friend of mine about emotional memories. They are the feelings you get from the rose-tinted afterglow of an autumn sunset, or a certain smell or song that comes on the radio. I think cars are like that. They are more than just steel screwed together they are a part of the times of our lives.

What do you think?