Front Cover
 Flagler’s undertaking in Miami...
 The wreck of houseboat no. 4, October...
 Dedication of Tamiami trail...
 Digging the Cape Sable Canal
 Treasurer’s report
 List of members
 List of officers
 Back Cover

Title: Tequesta
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00101446/00019
 Material Information
Title: Tequesta
Physical Description: Serial
Language: English
Creator: Historical Association of Southern Florida
Publisher: (multiple)
Publication Date: 1959
Copyright Date: 2010
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00101446
Volume ID: VID00019
Source Institution: Florida International University: Florida History and Heritage
Holding Location: Historical Museum of Southern Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 2096319
lccn - 42015131
issn - 0363-3705


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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Flagler’s undertaking in Miami in 1897
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
    The wreck of houseboat no. 4, October 1906
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
    Dedication of Tamiami trail marker
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 28a
        Page 28b
    Digging the Cape Sable Canal
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    Treasurer’s report
        Page 65
        Page 66
    List of members
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    List of officers
        Page 73
    Back Cover
        Page 74
Full Text


Editor, Charlton W. Tebeau

NUMBER XIX 1 9 5 9


Flagler's Undertakings in Miami in 1897 3
By Nathan D. Shappee

The Wreck of Houseboat No. 4, October 1906 15
By William H. Saunders

Dedication of Tamiami Trail Marker 23
By James Lorenzo Walker

Digging the Cape Sable Canal 29
By Lawrence E. Will

Contributors 64

Treasurer's Report 65

List of Members 67

List of Officers 73


is published annually by the Historical Association of Southern Florida
and the University of Miami. Communications should be addressed to
the Corresponding Secretary of the Society, 1340 duPont Building, Miami 32, Florida.
Neither the Association nor the University assumes responsibility for statements of fact
or opinion made by contributors.

This Page Blank in Original
Source Document

Flagler's Undertakings in Miami in 1897

Activity in Miami in 1897 was one of manifold expression, various
degrees of attainment and rapid advancement in all directions. An estimated
2,000 people lived in the new railroad town but half of them were Flagler
employees working on the various local projects of the city's patron.
The transformation of Mrs. Tuttle's fabulous square mile north of the
Miami River into the early City of Miami was done rapidly and on a large
scale. In the exchange of 1895 between Mrs. Tuttle for the extension of the
railroad to Miami and Mr. Flagler for land for terminals, streets, dock
facilities and hotels, the magnate had secured more than half of her section
but the enabling device had been pledged and Mrs. Tuttle had imposed a
general completion date on some of the construction projects. It was due
to this time element that Flagler threw such a large labor force into the small
city. Miami's rapid commercial and civic development came from this
extensive construction. Into the area of early Miami Flagler poured both
money and man power.

The year 1896 had witnessed the completion of the Florida East Coast
Railroad and the arrival of the first train on April 15. A month later to the
day the Miami Metropolis started publication. The first newspaper was a
Flagler sponsored enterprise and had been named by him. Its first editor
was Dr. Walter S. Graham of Titusville, a physician who did not practice,
who was a licensed attorney and had been active in purchasing right of way
for the railroad. The Miami Metropolis was owned by the East Coast Pub-
lishing Company, a corporation which had three directors,-Graham, C. C.
Chillingworth, Graham's partner and later a judge in Palm Beach County,
and Wesley M. Featherly, a printer from Michigan who had brought his
printing plant to Miami by boat.


Dr. Graham was a good writer and edited a lively paper. Featherly, as
local editor, recorded the minutiae of the booming city on the entire front
page under the trick heading of "Miami Mincemeat, Many Minor Miscel-
laneous Miami Matters Modestly Mentioned." Graham was confidant to
Flagler's plans for Miami through the key men who carried on the under-
takings here. Principal of these were James E. Ingraham, president of the
Fort Dallas Land Company; John B. McDonald, Flagler's chief contractor,
and John B. Reilly, chief bookkeeper and also Miami's first mayor. John
Sewell, who later became a mayor, was the construction boss of street con-
struction and also a trusted member of this inner circle.
The personal time which Mr. Flagler could spend in Miami in 1897
was limited to some degree by the complications of his second wife's insanity
and his distraction over the affair but he did come here when major plans
and decisions had to be made. However, the Flagler lieutenants stayed in
Miami; they had large projects to complete and others to start; so there was
no noticable break in the speed of the Flagler undertakings here during any
part of the year. These superintendents were capable and efficient and
commonly disciplined to complete work when Flagler wanted it. He was
not niggardly about giving them enough workmen to complete jobs on time.
This dispatch impressed the local residents and outsiders alike. Dr. Graham,
a Flagler man through and through, waxed effusive in interpreting his bene-
factor. In an editorial in June, 1897, paying tribute to his patron as a builder
of fine hotels, he called him a "poet . the stamp of purest gold. We
could wish that Florida had a hundred like him." Later in the year on the
occasion of the launching of the S.S. Miami, Graham again praised the mil-
lionaire in good frontier-style journalism:
There is a magic touch behind the affair; it is the same hand
that opened a roadway for the iron horse to Biscayne Bay and made
it possible for a full fledged city to spring into existence, with a
population of 2,000, on July 28th, only ten months after the shriek
of the locomotive sounded o'er the waters of Bay Biscayne and
startled the alligators on the banks of the Miami for the first time.
This "magic touch" actually came from conference and correspondence
between Flagler and his local top brass. Projects and their progress were
reviewed and time deliveries were set. Local people later learned of these
conferences through the columns of the Miami Metropolis where they seemed
both cryptic and olympian. Such a fiat was reported in December:
We are informed that the work of grading and paving Avenue
D from the railroad to Second Street and from Second Street over


to the Boulevard will be commenced at once. This is done by in-
structions from Mr. Flagler. A hard sidewalk will be laid on
Avenue C from Tenth Street to the school house.
Flagler and his superintendents operated from a yearly budget of
projects with major undertakings being commenced after the tourist season
had ended. The schedule for 1897 reflects his eagerness to complete the
public facilities for Miami and also to commence the construction of addi-
tional facilities related to his railroad. The program for this year appeared
in the Miami Metropolis on April 23:
1. Extension of the railroad by a spur to the bay and out into the
bay for 1,000 to 1,500 feet by a dock.
2. Hauling fill to the shore and thus extend the shoreline from 50
to 200 feet out into the bay.
3. Bring in an immense harbor dredge to deepen the dock area
and the mouth of the Miami River to a 12 foot depth.
4. Build up the shoreline with rock fill southward from the wharf
to the city limits.
5. Design the wharf area to serve as a docking terminal for the
Nassau and Key West steamers.
6. Order the construction of a new steamer for the Nassau trade.
7. Survey the bay to get an estimate of the work needed and mark
out a deep water channel to Norris Cut.
8. Build a strong bridge across the Miami River to the Southside.
9. Widen Biscayne Boulevard to 100 feet.
10. Lay out a park from Biscayne Boulevard to the bay.
Although there were changes in this program as the year progressed
and the bridge to the Southside was not erected in 1897, the Flagler schedule
for the year kept Miami fascinated, excited and noisy all year long.

In addition to the program outlined above, projects started in 1896
were completed or advanced. One of the most important of these was the
completion of the waterworks. In 1896 a four mile pipeline from wells in
the Everglades had been laid into Miami to a location north and two blocks
west of the station, "at the edge of the prairie". Here a wooden storage tank,
125 feet high, was erected. Nearby was a two-story pump house which con-
tained sleeping quarters for the employees. This water tank supplied the
railroad, all of Miami and the Royal Palm Hotel. Main lines were laid on
Miami Avenue and Flagler Street. Each of these supply lines were more


than a half mile long. When the supply lines were completed, the city
installed fire plugs and later in the year purchased two reel carts and 1,000
feet of fire hose. The Miami Metropolis launched a drive then to secure a
volunteer fire company but none was organized in 1897. Even when Graham
suggested that the volunteers be paid one dollar for answering false alarms
and two dollars for responding to real fires, there were no takers.
Street clearing, grading and paving continued at a rapid pace and fur-
nished constant din, and dust throughout the year. Grading the streets was
preceded by blasting the surface rock to a depth of 18 inches below the
intended level for the streets. After the blasting crews had loosened the
rock, then a huge stone crusher followed. The noisy monster crushed daily
from 70 to 100 tons of rock into three different sizes which were raked
and rolled into the excavation. Miami streets were built in the manner of the
ancient Roman roads, large stones on the bottom; smaller sized pieces toward
the top and the surface brushed with very fine rock, wetted and rolled down.
Miami in its early days had the finest paved streets in the state. In the
bright sunlight they gave off a glare that almost blinded the residents. Side-
walks for these early streets were elevated strips of the rock which had been
chiseled and graded into a smooth surface.

In 1897, Biscayne Boulevard was paved for a mile and plans at that
time called for additional construction later to make it seven miles long.
Flagler Street was paved from the railroad to the Boulevard, a distance of
3,300 feet. Miami Avenue was completed northward to the city limits.
South Second Street, adjacent to the river bank, was also paved.
The main lines of the sewer system were also completed in 1897 with
a total of 3,900 feet laid. These lines emptied into the Miami River and
into Biscayne Bay.
In April the road gangs grubbed out the two blocks south of Flagler
Street, between East First and Second Avenues. The purpose of this work,
not on the schedule for 1897, became apparent later when it was announced
that Mr. Flagler intended to build renting cottages here and at other loca-
tions in Miami. The general dimensions of these would be 22 by 30 feet, two
stories high with a six foot porch across the entire front. These were six room
houses, three to a floor. Cottages without baths rented for $15 per month,
while those which had baths cost $17. A few ten-room houses rented for
$22 per month. Persons could also buy these houses at prices from.$1,800
to $3,000.


The magnitude of the undertakings in Miami did not augur well for the
older settlements along the bay. The Lemon City correspondent for the
Miami Metropolis in May reported that five new buildings were going up
there and with both hope and resentment declared that "Lemon City will
soon recover from the black eye given to her by the starting of Miami a
year ago".

Of a more personal interest to Flagler in the development of his south-
ern metropolis was the completion of the Royal Palm Hotel in the early
part of the year and the undertaking of a vast amount of additional work to
the hostelry before the season opened in December. The first season of the
Royal Palm had lasted only from January 16 to March 25. Construction
work was continued in the hotel after guests arrived and workmen were lined
up to resume work after the last guests had departed.
Although there were four other hotels in the area, Peacock's Inn in
Coconut Grove; Lemon City Hotel; Courley House in Buena Vista and Julia
D. Tuttle's Hotel Miami and two floating hotels. The Royal Palm outshone
all the others and Flagler spared no money and effort to make it the lure to
bring visitors here.
Actually Flagler's East Coast Hotel System had a second hotel in Miami.
This was Joseph A. McDonald's Hotel Biscayne on the southeast corner of
Flagler Street and Miami Avenue which he leased to the hotel chain. This
hotel was constructed of brick; had stores on the ground floor and 55 rooms
and other departments of the hotel on the floors above. The building was
lighted by manufacturer's gas and had hot and cold water in each sleeping
room. Hotel Biscayne remained open during the summer months and accom-
modated convention and touring groups which came here by the East Coast
Railroad. Improvements were made to the property in the summer. A cement
sidewalk was laid in the front of the building. A veranda was extended the
whole length of the second floor and the grounds on the east side were enclosed
and landscaped. Hotel Biscayne opened the season on December 14. An
entertainment for the guests and townspeople was held in the evening. Vocal
selections were given by Mrs. John B. Reilly, the mayor's wife, and Mr.
Charles H. Garthside, cashier of the Bank of Bay Biscayne.
The Royal Palm Hotel, even in its partially completed condition for the
short season of 1897, had been built on a scale to lure the wealthy who could


come by the railroad, in their own private Pullmans or by their own boats.
It was a vast structure, 680 feet long, 267 feet wide and six stories high. It
was built in the shape of an F. The central part of the structure had a
rotunda which was encircled by an observation walk, six stories above the
ground. The eastern half of the building had a 16 foot veranda which
afforded a covered promenade 800 feet long.

The Royal Palm was luxurious even for the present time and completely
fantastic for Miami in 1897 when tents still lined the eastern blocks of
Flagler Street. It contained 450 rooms with hot and cold water and had 100
private baths. It had its own ice plant, laundry, electric plant and elevators.
Sixty miles of piping and tubing supplied its conveniences. All the features
of fancy resort hotels were installed in the building. It contained a grand
ballroom, magnificent dining rooms, a casino and added a swimming pool
in 1897. An orchestra played each evening in the rotunda and on Sunday
nights gave a concert of sacred music for guests and townspeople alike. Not
the least impressive of the luxury touches was the stationery, printed in
brown ink for general correspondence and in green ink for the ladies' corres-
pondence. The paper was embossed with a picture of a royal palm tree
surrounded by a wreath and bore the imprint, "Royal Palm Hotel, Miami,
Biscayne Bay, Florida". . .

Construction of the swimming pool started in January and was com-
pleted late the next month. Its dimensions were over-size even by today's
standards, 140 feet long and 50 feet wide, with a graded depth from 3
to 61/ feet. The pool held 300,000 gallons of water, pumped in from the bay
and heated to a constant temperature of 78 degrees. Bordering the pool were
100 dressing rooms. A popular feature of the pool were two sliding boards,
one of 25 feet and the other 75 feet in length. These were flushed by streams
of water for better sliding. Popularity of the slides was reported by the paper
which stated, "It is a sport indulged in by both ladies and gentlemen and
produces great merriment". In the evenings, when the guests of the hotel
were dining, dancing and promenading, the pool was opened to the towns-
people for a 25 cent admission.

As soon as the Royal Palm closed in March, extensive landscaping on
the grounds was started. Hundreds of coconut palms were planted on the
grounds and in the early form of present Bayfront Park. Some of these trees
were brought from the grounds of the Royal Poinciana Hotel at Palm Beach.
About 2,000 trees were purchased from Dr. Sweeting of Elliott's Key. This


landscaping crew consisted of 120 men who planted trees at the rate of 60
per day.
The largest of these landscaping projects was the construction of a
"rockery" of octagonal shape, 70 by 120 feet, and elevated to a height of 8
feet at one point. This was fitted with curving paths, grottoes and fountains
filled with fish. Between the rockery and the west end of the hotel a flower
conservatory was constructed. This was a large structure, 100 feet long.
West of the newly planted palm park were playing fields for baseball, golf,
tennis and croquet. A stone pier was built on the bay side for the boats of
guests who cruised during the season.
Anticipating a larger season in 1898, the Miami Transfer Company
bought new carriages and landaus for renting out and also purchased two
horse-drawn omnibuses, costing $3,000, which accommodated 40 passengers
The second season of the Royal Palm opened on January 12, 1898.

The opulent Royal Palm was but one link in the Flagler chain down
the length of Florida. Of related importance were improvements and inno-
vations on the Florida East Coast Railroad which made travel to Miami
faster and more attractive and more popular. The railway had completed
plans for fast trains before the season of 1897 started. In February the New
York and Florida Limited started service between Jacksonville and Miami
daily. This trip took only 12 hours for an average of 31 miles per hour.
Sometimes this train had six passenger cars on it. The railroad also put
into service a Palm Beach-Miami run during the season.
An innovation of 1897 was the start of excursions to Miami from points
within the state. These were advertised with steamship connections to Nassau
and Key West. The first of these occurred on July 29 when 250 excursionists
from Jacksonville came to Miami for the day. Of this number 75 went on
to Key West The remainder of the visitors were entertained by the people
of Miami who, under the direction of the Seminole Amusement Club, ar-
ranged a full day. Athletic contests, shooting matches and bicycle races
afforded inter-city rivalry. In the evening a bicycle parade and a ball at the
casino of Hotel Miami concluded the festivities. Although local men won
the swimming race across the Miami River and the pigeon shoot, a Jackson-
ville racer swept all the bicycle events and won a total of $14. During the


day the women of the Methodist, Baptist and Presbyterian churches served
lunch and ice cream and cake to the hungry crowd. An excursion in October
from Fort Pierce and intermediate points brought 750 people to Miami.
The greatest improvement to the railroad facilities in Miami was the
construction of harbor accommodations on the bay. This was a large, noisy
job which employed 250 men and 50 teams for several months. The project
cost $100,000 and brought a monthly payroll of $12,000 into Miami. A spur
track, 2,300 feet long, was built from the mainline to the waterfront. Here
a dock area, 700 feet long on the bay front and extending out into the water
for 400 feet was constructed. When completed this area covered seven acres.
It was strongly built with tongue and groove iron pilings pounded down to
firm footing. At the end of this large area a circular basin 500 feet in
diameter and 12 feet deep was dredged out to accommodate vessels of that
draft. Within the boundaries of the wharf, 200,000 cubic yards of rock and
dirt fill were poured. Crossbeams for the framework inside the bulkhead
were 12 by 12 beams.
For the dredging, a huge suction type machine was brought from New
Orleans. It was mounted on a lighter and had an hourly capacity of 1,000
cubic yards. The mud and rock was forced up into a 14 inch iron pipe which
had a movable nozzle which moved the muck to locations some distance from
the dredge. Pipes supported on pontoons carried unneeded fill far out into
the bay. In addition to the dredging at the wharf, the machine, presently
joined by a second dredge, deepened the channel at the mouth of the Miami
River and also cut a deep water channel to the Cape Florida channel. This
work went on night and day with 50 men managing the dredging.
After the main work of the new dock had been finished the passenger
station was moved from its present location to the new improvements on the
bay. This building, weighing an estimated 35 tons, was moved a mile with-
out cracking one slate shingle or opening a single joint. In its new location
a 40 foot addition was built; a baggage and freight platform, 900 feet long
was constructed and adjacent areas were landscaped.
This bayside project was to be completed by January 10, 1898, when
Flagler expected to inaugurate his passenger and mail service to Nassau
in his own steamer, the S.S. Miami.
The construction of the S.S. Miami stirred a great amount of local inter-
est in this last major undertaking of 1897. Although the Miami did not


arrive until 1898, the Miami Metropolis kept residents informed on the
progress of building the new steamship.
Mr. Flagler, by the time the railroad had reached Miami, had made up
his mind to establish steamship connections with Nassau and Key West as
additional inducements for tourists to come to Miami. The cost of this addi-
tional service he hoped to offset through a mail and freight subsidy contract
with the Bahama government. At the time of the arrival of the railroad in
1896, the principal freighter coming to Miami was the S.S. Biscayne out of
Jacksonville. This ship was wrecked in a gale off Indian River Inlet on Jan-
uary 30, 1897, with the loss of two crewmen.
Operating out of Miami southward was the City of Key West which made
two trips a week to its namesake town. Between trips it was used for moon-
light cruises down the bay. However, this vessel was taken out of service in
April and taken to Baltimore for new boilers and other repairs which cost
$25,000. By the time of the tourist season in 1897, these repairs had been
completed and the ship returned to Miami, Captain Bravo commanding. The
City of Key West was chartered by Flagler's Florida East Coast Railway
and Steamship Company. In January this company chartered a ship of
British registry, the City of Monticello, for the Nassau run. This vessel made
the trips between Miami and Nassau twice a week during the season while
Flagler was planning the construction of his own S.S. Miami.
The City of Monticello served very well in 1897. Passengers were
chiefly guests of the Royal Palm who were taken to the Royal Victoria Hotel
in Nassau. Thirty-two round trips to the Bahamas were made after the run
opened on January 19. The fare was set at $13.50 one way with round trips
costing $22. When this service started, Flagler's railroad advertised that
New York was only 48 hours away from Nassau. Trip fares from Jackson-
ville to Nassau and return were placed at $41. For the Nassau regatta in
April, the ship ran an excursion for $17.50 for round trip, meals and state-
room. The City of Monticello was described as "an elegant sidewheeler"
when it first came to Miami. It contained 28 double staterooms and made the
run in 12 hours. For this first season it averaged from 40 to 50 passengers per
trip. When it returned to Miami on January 22 on its first run, it ran
aground on the mud and sand bar at the mouth of the Miami River.

Flagler had his sights set for larger things than excursion service to
Nassau when he leased the City of Monticello. In March, the Miami Metrop-
olis reported that Flagler had brought 27 members of the Bahama legislature


to the Royal Palm Hotel where he had entertained them and showed them
around Miami. Earlier he had gone to Nassau for the opening of the legisla-
ture. Later the local paper revealed what his plans were. He proposed to buy
the Royal Victoria Hotel in Nassau and enlarge it and renovate it into a
modern tourist attraction. He offered regular mail service and freight con-
veniences in return for an annual subsidy of 5,200 per year. These services
had been costing the Bahama government from 3,700 to 6,000 annually
for even irregular performance. The Nassau Guardian promoted the contract
which FIagler sought. The colonial governor favored it and the legislature
passed favorably on it but delay in the British Colonial Office prevented con-
summation of the plan in 1897.
While Flagler was dickering for the Bahama contract, he went ahead
with his plans for the S.S. Miami. This vessel was completely built and tried
in the last six months of 1897. Flagler commonly imposed almost impossible
delivery dates for his projects and the construction of the new ship was no
exception. The Cramp Shipyards of Philadelphia signed a contract for the
ship on June 28. The first keel plates were laid on July 3 and the ship was
launched on October 23. The vessel was built in 112 days. The Miami was
240 feet long, had a 40 foot beam and a hull 23 feet deep. It had a displace-
ment of 1,150 tons and an eight foot draft. The ship's engines produced
1,800 horsepower to maintain a speed of 16 knots. It was a five deck ship
which carried 120 passengers. Each stateroom had running water, electric
lights and a fan.
The Miami Metropolis played up the news of the ship as construction
advanced. For the launching, the local paper secured the services of Walter
Scot, a winter visitor from Philadelphia to cover the event. A special supple-
ment with a picture of the new ship was printed by the local paper.

The Miami Metropolis and leading citizens here became increasingly
proud of this latest Flagler venture after its name was announced. Confer-
ences among the Flagler men and local civic leaders and merchants crystal-
lized into a desire to present some commemorative gift to the ship when it
arrived. The interested parties finally decided to take up a subscription for
a silver service for the proud new ship. The plans also called for a dinner
and a ball at the Royal Palm as part of the welcoming festivities.
Dr. Graham related these plans to Mr. Flagler by a letter on September
16. The magnate was appreciative of the intention but counter-proposed by
suggesting that all money Miami chose to raise for the event should be put


into a fund for the construction of a hospital. Flagler offered land and prom-
ised to match local contributions for the project. Local leaders immediately
acquiesced to this alternate plan. A local committee of twenty became the
steering group for welcoming the S.S. Miami and conducting the hospital
fund campaign. Plans for the dinner and dance at the Royal Palm were
retained. A tour of the new ship with an admission fee was added as another
money making device. The festivities at the hotel would cost $5 for a gentle-
man and lady and $2 for each extra lady. During the month of December
the Miami Metropolis plugged for the sale of tickets.
In the paper issued on the last day of the year, Dr. Graham pulled out
all the stops in promoting the dinner and dance for the hospital:
All we would have to do would be to buy one, or as many
tickets as we felt disposed to, or could afford to buy, and the money
paid for the tickets would be simply a contribution on our part to
a most worthy cause, to an institution in which someday we, our-
selves, might be won back to life after a serious accident, or might
be carried through the stages of some malignant disease safely;
when perhaps, but for its sheltering care we might die neglected, or,
at least, improperly cared for. Who knows what his end may be?
Who that today is surrounded by a loving family circle and tender
friends has the assurance that he may not outlive them all, and
buffetted by the waves of adverse fortune become an object of
charity? Such histories are not rare in the lives of men. A thought
of the possibilities Fate may have in store, a moment's reflection
when you are out among the song birds, close to nature, or when
you are ill for a day or so, undistracted by the hurly burly of busi-
ness demands, and not intoxicated with social gayeties, by the dance
and the vanities of life, and you will realize how possible it may be
that when you give your mite to the building of a hospital, you may
be casting your bread upon the waters and that it may return to
soothe your fevered brow, or bind up your broken limbs and
bruised body after many days. Or, if not for you, that it is certain
to do so for the human beings who are your brothers and sisters.
Thus closed the year 1897 in Miami. Citizens and patron alike were
eagerly awaiting the arrival of the S.S. Miami into the harbor. Townspeople
and Mr. Flagler were working close together with no discord. Flagler was
proud of his new resort town and its residents were proud of him.

This Page Blank in Original
Source Document

The Wreck of Houseboat No. 4 October 1906

With the approach of each new hurricane season, I often think over my
experience of fifty-three years ago when I, with 160 other men, was washed
away from Long Key on the morning of the 18th of October, and lived
to tell the tale.

I had been living on the southeast coast of Florida for some fifteen
years, first at "Lake Worth Lagoon", now West Palm Beach, and at Miami
for a part of the time. There had been four hurricanes while I was living at
Lake Worth. I thought that I had learned all there was to know about such
storms. But the fifth one was by far the worst, and I found out a lot more
about them.

Henry M. Flagler had made a good start on building the Florida East
Coast Railway from Homestead on the mainland over the keys that stretched
out southwest to Key West. One of the main points where open water had
to be bridged with concrete arches started at Long Key and extended to little
Money Key almost five miles away.

The story of the assembling of men, material and machinery was a saga
in itself. But it is enough for our purpose to say that housing and feeding
needs were met by towing an old Mississippi River barge across the Gulf of
Mexico, making the below decks into kitchen and dining room, and building
a one story frame house on deck that resembled the Christmas Noah's Ark
of our childhood days. The house served as sleeping quarters for some 150
to 175 men as well as offices for the Division Engineer and his men who
were directing the work. Several gasoline powered tugs were used to push
barge loads of material from huge stock piles to the machinery that was
used to set piles, erect the forms, set the reinforcing steel and mix and pour
the cement. It was my fortune to have a marine engineer's license, and by
reason of it to be chief engineer on the tug PALM. The routine work was on
a twenty-four hour, around the clock schedule. Work was getting well into
stride in the fall of 1906, when a hurricane hit Long Key on the morning of
October 18th. As a matter of fact, the wind had increased so much that all


work had been shut down at midnight and all men had retired to Houseboat
No. 4 as the old barge was called.
We were all trying to get some sleep, but for many of us who had had
some experience with hurricanes, it was an uneasy sort of effort. Hurricane
warnings were unknown at the time. The weather bureau had not yet devel-
oped the modern system of detecting and locating them. However, as I look
back to that time, I am sure that the men whose forefathers had lived on the
keys had developed some sixth sense regarding the approach of a hurricane.
It was the practice at the time to hire these conchs as they were known on the
mainland to pilot the many tugs, steamboats, and small launches that were
used to move the men to and from work, carry the officials to and from
Miami and Key West, and move the barge loads of material on the construc-
tion project. Possibly because of this sense of impending storm not one of
them was on the job at the time, leaving the work in the hands of persons
who knew nothing about such storms.
At six o'clock on the morning of the 18th, there was not a single craft
with gasoline power that could be started. They were already wet by the
spray. There was as yet no realization of serious danger, but as a consequence
of the wet engines none of the men on the Houseboat were transferred to
Long Key and greater safety.
By early morning the wind, blowing from the North was so strong that
we all began to fear that the dolphins would be pulled up and let us blow
away, or that the cables would break and set us adrift in the storm. The
cables did break at about seven-thirty, and we were swiftly on our way
southward across Hawk's Channel and into the famous Gulf Stream in a
hurricane wind estimated at more than 100 miles an hour.
While we were still in Hawk's Channel the seas were heavy enough to
show us that the Old Mississippi wooden barge would not last very long.
The working of the hull developed leaks. Efforts at pumping out the water
were useless. As the barge was lifted on the waves the planking on the sides
would open enough that one could thrust his hand into the opened cracks.
When the wave was directly under the barge, those planks would snap
together with a loud crack, and a fine mist would pop out like steam.
The planks were long pieces of timber 14" by 4", four by fourteens.
The sides of the craft were practically straight up, with little or no curve
toward the bottom. They were fastened to nearly upright ribs as well as
being drift-bolted to each other. This was done by boring vertical holes


through two and a half planks and driving in iron rods into the holes. These
holes were so arranged that there was a rod through each plank about every
twelve inches. These drift bolts account for at least seven men coming
through the "journey" alive to be picked up on the following morning.
Below decks the barge was used as a kitchen and dining room. As there
was no installation of electric lights, dependence was had at night on kero-
sene lamps, and during the day time to windows that had been cut in those
side planks, well above the water line. The wood for a length of three feet
was cut out, leaving the 'drift bolts' across the openings.
It was about 9:00 A. M. when the flimsy house aboard the top deck blew
away like a pack of cards, carrying an unknown number of men with it. We
were then in very heavy seas, and it was only a few minutes until the top
deck planking had worked loose, and was ready to float away when the barge
finally filled with water, and very shortly separated into loose planks, two
long sides of those drift-bolted 4 by 14 heavy planks, and two partial sections
of the ends of the boat.
Those top planks were about 40 feet long, 2 by 12 inch, and as they
were drifting away some of them headed endwise to the wind, and as they
floated up on a wave, if a few feet happened to project momentarily above
the wave crest, the wind would lift the whole plank out of the water and send
it whirling end over end towards the South. Planks would crisscross other
planks. And I saw one poor chap hanging on to a plank, and another plank
acting like a huge pair of shears, slice into his chest, enough that his heart
showed momentarily before a huge wave broke over everything. When my
raft came to the surface, and I could look again, the planks and the man
were both gone from sight.
I had been told when I first arrived in Florida, that there never was
any thunder and lightning with a hurricane. As far as I had known in the
four storms I had been through that was a true saying. This storm disproved
all old sayings. I have heard some terrific loud cracks of thunder along
the Florida East Coast, but none of them surpassed the loud explosions that
we heard about eleven that morning.
There was one other feature of that old barge that had a very direct
bearing on my own experiences. For some reason the top deck had been
built out with an overhang of some three or four feet, probably to provide
a walk-way all around that house that was used for sleeping, and offices of
the engineers. As the river steamers from Miami must come alongside the


barge to transfer provisions and passengers, this deck overhang would have
caused much damage to the upper works of the steamers. To avoid this a
series of 6 x 6 inch timbers were fastened to the deck edge, and held away
the same distance from the side of the barge at the steamer deck gunwales
by a short 6 x 6 and a three-quarter wet bolt through the lower end of the
upright and the side of the barge. These timbers were about 9 feet long. When
the old barge went to pieces one of these bolts hung on to the end of the
9 foot 6 x 6, and when the side of the barge turned smooth side up, that
timber was threshing back and forth at one end of the 'raft' we were on.
Most of the 10 men that made this raft were able to sit in those windows that
had been cut for light, and hold on to the drift bolts that were left uncut.
I had tried sitting in one of the 'windows' but found I was wider through
the hips than the rest, and I, with another man in the same fix, elected to
hang over the end of the 6 x 6 timber, and grasp the iron bolt and hang on.
Taking turns at having our stomachs against the end of that timber, with the
other chap lying against his back, spoon fashion. When I got home on the
20th, there was a very plain square mark on my stomach where the force of
the waves forced me against that timber hard enough to leave a mark.
It is hard to describe the way the waves rose up some three stories,
and then broke over us and the raft, with tons and tons of water. This lasted
at the worst about three hours. Then the worst of the wind was over, but
the seas seemed to grow higher, until about 4:00 P. M. when the wind
dropped to a light breeze, and we could stand up on the raft.
In spite of the real tragedy of men lost, there were some things that
happened that caused a grin among the rest of us. The water supply on the
houseboat was a square cypress tank bolted together very firmly. When two
men saw this tank float loose from the general wreckage, they saw a sure
way to float, and left the trash they were hanging on, and took over that tank.
They were like two squirrels on the outside of the cage, and every shift of
wave or wind would start the cage to turning, and those two trying to stop
its turning, by one climbing up on one side, and the other sliding down on
the other side. The square shape of the tank was forever scraping and bruis-
ing their bodies from head to foot, and they were probably the worst bruised
of any of the survivors. However, these two were picked up about 5:00 P. M.
and were lucky to have good medical help aboard the "JENNY".
Despite the fact that Clara Barton had the Red Cross pretty well
organized at that time, first aid kits were very rudimentary. Liquid laudanum
was about the only pain relief. As a result, some of the men that were wild


with panic decided to end it all before the barge even went to pieces. Claiming
that as they could not swim and were afraid that sharks would devour their
bodies, they filled their pilot coat pockets with any heavy material they
could find, mostly canned beef, drank about a half teacup of laudanum,
wrapped themselves in a blanket, and lay on the dining tables and went to
sleep. I regret to say that the chief pilot of the PALM, my own tug, did this
very thing. He was a tug pilot in New York Harbor before he came South
to work on that overseas job.
Other men were almost as frantic. I know of my own observation that
before that flimsy house blew off the barge that a large group of them
climbed up under the roof, as they thought they would be that much longer
out of water, with no thought that the house itself would collapse even before
the barge broke up. I am pretty sure none of that group survived.
For myself, I was truly scared, and had very grave doubts that any of
us would be alive when the storm had passed. The main idea in my mind
was that although I had a small life insurance policy, I had some way gotten
the idea that the insurance was very hard to collect if the corpse was missing,
and it took seven years before the courts would certify a legal death. I felt
I just had to do everything possible to come through alive, as my family in
Miami would have a very tough time to make a living. So it was no lauda-
num for me, nor any risk of the smashed up house. I stayed outside until
the barge broke up, and was lucky enough to make that long side of the
barge that brought seven of us through alive.
The first man rescued about 4:00 P. M. on the 18th was picked up by
the Austrian Steamer JENNY. A tramp freighter that had loaded from Gulf-
port, Mississippi, and Pensacola, Florida, bound for her home port of
Trieste, Austria. This steamer had been in enough of the outer fringes of
the storm near Key West so that her deck load of barreled rosin had all
been washed overboard. The equipment aboard this steamer was very primi-
tive. One life boat, no electric lights of any kind, and dependent on condensed
steam to lubricate the cylinders of her triple expansion engine.
When this first man was seen, and reported to the Captain, he imme-
diately followed the immemorial code of the Seven Seas. The steamer was
maneuvered to the windward of the man, and lay broadside to the wind and
seas, undergoing the most sickening rolling, while an oil bag was lowered
to smooth the seas as much as possible, and the lone boat lowered with only
two oarsmen, in the lee of the steamer. The boat was really so small that
five average men made as heavy a load as was at all safe in that wind and sea.


When the boat returned with this man, it was soon found that there
was only one man aboard the steamer that could speak English, a stoker
in the fire room. When he had translated this man's story of what had
happened at Long Key, the Captain ordered his ship to be sailed in large
circles, hoping to save some more men. This was done all that evening and
until 1:30 on the morning of the 19th. During that time they had picked up
forty-nine men from all sorts of wreckage, our seven being the very last.
The Captain afterward stated that no more wreckage or men were sighted.
He decided as he did not have enough stores aboard to feed the extra 49 as
well as his ship's crew, if he sailed for home, he returned to Key West, and
turned us over to the U. S. authorities.

We arrived in Key West about 10:00 A. M., but were not put ashore
until all arrangements were completed. I understand that a price was paid
per head to the Captain for his salvage and care for the group. We were
also furnished new clothing by the Railway company, as most of us had
only rags and ribbons when we landed aboard the steamer. The ship's crew
had divided their few belongings among us but that did little more than
help cover our nakedness.

From Long Key alone there were as many as 150 men on that house
boat, and the day before the Steamer ST. LUCIE had brought some 50 more
men that had not even been set to work nor had their names recorded. The
total number may have been as high as 175. The most diligent search has
accounted for but 72 men that were rescued. So it is very possible that this
was Florida's worst loss of life in a hurricane, up to that time.

A personal touch or two, my eldest son was a messenger boy for the
Western Union in Miami at the time, and he was getting news first hand of
the Long Key disaster. The local Miami paper had reported the probable loss
of "Water Boat No. 4", in the evening edition, but the paper did not get
into my wife's hands until my son had come home that evening. She was
sure that reference to Water Boat No. 4 meant Houseboat No. 4, and that I
was probably lost. When we were allowed to go ashore in Key West I had
filed a telegram telling her of my safety. The press of other telegrams, press
dispatches, and other personal wires delayed mine for about 20 minutes
after that paper had arrived in my home. When a knock came at that time,
my son was at the door ahead of his mother, and there was the night messen-
ger boy with my wire. I have always been very glad that I filed that telegram
when I did that afternoon.


I also still have the small bundle of a tattered pair of denim work pants,
and a scrap of the shirt I was wearing, when I went aboard the JENNY. As
the PALM was one of the fastest tugs, we were frequently sent to Miami on
special trips for important material when it had run short. I had known
that we were slated to make such a trip on October 20th, and had written that
I would be home on that date. The Steamer MIAMI, belonging to the Flagler
System was in port in Key West through the storm, and as soon as we were
turned over to the Commissioner and properly clothed we were put aboard
the MIAMI for a return to the city of Miami. Accordingly on the morning
of the 20th, we steamed past Fowey Rocks lighthouse about 10:00 A. M. and
went ashore about 11:00.

I was set to work at Miami, and did not return to the work on the Keys
again. I was put in charge of the suction Dredge TOMOKA, then in Lake
Mabel near Ft. Lauderdale. I later had word that the tug PALM had finally
come ashore on Long Key very little damaged, and was again fitted up and
put to work.

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Dedication of Tamiami Trail Marker

It gives me great pleasure to be able to take a small part in commemora-
tion of such a miraculous feat, the building of the Tamiami Trail, accom-
plished by some of us gathered here today, along with our immediate
I think it is proper that we go back to the first conception of the road
and relive for a few moments the anxieties, hardships and accomplishments
of the ones working so hard to bring about such a highway for us to use
today. Who first conceived the idea of the Tamiami Trail is not likely to
ever be known. Certainly, it was expressed by several people at the beginning
of World War I. However, we do know that Dr. John C. Gifford of Miami
expressed his idea in the Tropic Magazine for July 1914, in which he states
". .. according to many reports, Chokoloskee Bay, on the West Coast has
a great future, a city will in time develop there. There is rock all the way.
There is a good hard bottom to build on, and material can be quarried here
and there along the route. It seems to the writer that a road across the State
would do more good than a road along the Canal to Okeechobee. The
Canal affords ample transportation Northwards. . ."
In the same year, plans were made for the Dixie Highway to be
extended Southward from Jacksonville down the East Coast to Miami, which
stirred interest in a "Loop Road" across the lower peninsula to connect with
the West Coast branch from Tampa to Pensacola. Newspapers on both sides
of the State gave wide publicity to the idea.
At a Good Roads Meeting in Orlando in 1915 (one of the first in the
State), J. F. Jaudon, Tax Assessor of Dade County, was a very active pro-
moter of the Trail and E. P. Dickey formally suggested the name of "Tamiami
Trail" at this first meeting of the State Road Department. The name was
such a natural that it was accepted immediately. Our nearest newspaper at
that time, "The American Eagle" of the Koreashan Unity at Estero, took

Delivered June 7, 1958, at a luncheon at the Rod and Gun Club in Everglades on
the occasion of the dedication of a marker by the Historical Association of Southern


offense to the name and said it sounded like a bunch of tin cans tied to a
dog's tail and clattering over the cobblestone, and why not call the Jackson-
ville to Miami Dixie Highway, "Jackiami Joypath" and the road through
Arcadia to the East Coast "Pair-o-Dice Loop". However, with all their
objections, the name stayed Tamiami Trail, which sounds like sweet music
to my ears every time I hear the words.
Consideration of the location was the next step to be taken. Some inter-
ests supported a route from Ft. Myers to Immokalee to Sam Jones old town,
or possible Brown's Landing on the Western rim of the Everglades, to Labelle
Eastward to Miami Canal, then along the Canal to Miami. The other route
- the one finally chosen received support from all persons living South
of Ft. Myers and from Dade County. There were probably 900 persons living
from Ft. Myers to Miami along the route to be taken.

The problem of financing the construction of the trail was the para-
mount issue confronting our people. Each community voted itself a Road
and Bridge District and designated it for road construction. Had this area
been fully developed, this may have given enough money, but with a distance
of a hundred miles between Marco and Miami with practically no inhabi-
tants, it just got the job started. As a matter of fact, the first bond issue was
in 1915, with District No. 1, for $177,500, to acquire a 50 ft. right of way
from Ft. Myers to Naples, and build a hard surfaced road from Naples to
Marco. Later the same year, the Everglades District bonded for $125,000
to build from Marco to Dade County line. Then in 1916, Dade County voted
$175,000 to build from the county line to Miami.
In 1916 the various road districts started the task of building their seg-
ment of the road. My father says the first work he ever did for any concern,
other than fishing and hunting, was to help clear, throw up the grade by
hand, and build bridges from the vicinity of Bonita Springs to Naples.
Capt. K. B. Harvey, in charge of operations at that time, describes the
work in the American Eagle of Nov. 31, 1916, as follows: "We began cutting
through the swamp, dumping the mass of marl and sand, etc. to one side.
This dump is leveled down to grade and surfaced by hand with big heavy
hoes and rakes. Through Williams Island Jungle, which is truly jungle in
every sense of the word, a mass of trees of all kind and sizes, thousands of
switches, poles, brush and ferns all woven together with bamboo, rattan and
vine. Perhaps several hundreds would be chopped off at the ground before
the mass would fall, so that it could be chipped apart with brush axes."


In another instance he related: "It was scrub and mangrove and grass
muck. Think of leaves on the trees shaking and trembling, and the whole
mass of muck and sand for hundreds of feet in each direction quivering and
shaking like a mass of jelly with each vibration of the dredge engine. Then
think of putting a 40,000 pound engine across it, with muck and marl twelve
feet deep and chancing that the slightest mistake or error of judgment would
make a buried and tangled wreck of 40,000 pounds of steel and machinery.
We tried planks and log cribbing, but this was too uncertain and treacherous.
Finally brush mats piled up four feet high, with track laid on them, proved
most practical for the dredge to travel over."
The road bed being built then was hardly wide enough for two cars to
pass, with too few bridges which weren't high enough to keep the water from
running over and washing the grade out. The surfacing then was shell ruts
wide enough for one car of today.
By 1918 the work on the Lee County end of the trail had stopped. The
contractor had given up and all available funds had been expended, with the
old dredge being halted several miles West of Carnestown. However, the
idea was not given up. In the summer of 1921, George W. Storter, Jr., of
Everglades and J. F. Jaudon walked over the unfinished portion of the Trail
along a route for a temporary road they hoped could be made usable by
early 1923. It took them five days to reach the grade being built at the Dade
County line.
In the spring of 1923, the Trail Blazers, a self-styled group of promoters
of the Trail, made a dramatic effort to revive interest in finishing the Trail.
They attempted to navigate by automobile the 35 or 40 mile gap between
the Lee County and the Dade County end of the Trail, following the route
Storter and Jaudon had laid out 2 years before. After much cribbing, prying
and pushing, the group reached the grade the llth day out, leaving the cars
5 miles back, which actually took 13 days to make the trip with cars.
In the same year of 1923, our beloved Barron G. Collier, Sr., (middle
name being "Gift", which in my opinion was God's Gift of man for the
development of Southwest Florida), tied his fortune to this area, and during
the Legislative Session of that year, our own fabulous County of Collier was
authorized and became a reality on July 7, 1923. The formation of the new
county was agreed to partly on the promise of Mr. Collier to see that the
Trail was completed. The work was immediately started again and through
Mr. Collier's backing, the county was able to bond itself for $350,000 in 1924.


The base of operations was set up at Everglades, the new County Seat,
and the center of the Collier activities. A new construction firm of Alexander,
Ramssay and Kerr began operations in October 1923 with a 1-yard Marion
floating steam dredge operated by Meese Ellis, starting from the point of
crossing at the Deep Lake Railway, a street car track used for transportation
from Deep Lake to Everglades, working Westward to where the old Moneghan
dredge had come to rest some 4 years earlier. The road construction was
throwing up a sand base about 30 feet wide and about 4 feet high, which later
had a wearing surface of 19 feet wide of lime rock about 8 inches thick.
In January 1924, a 1-yard Bay City Crawler type dredge, operated by
Sam Benard, started East from Carnestown headed for the Dade County line
along the route followed by the Trail Blazers a few months before. From
Carnestown East about 2 miles, the soil formation was largely sand and
could easily be scooped up by the dredge with their main problem being
mud and water in the swampy areas. At this point, rock was encountered, as
predicted by Dr. John C. Gifford in 1914, that required extensive blasting
operations, and they were soon buying dynamite by the carload.
I read an article in a magazine while waiting in a doctor's office some
years past, that stated if the fuses were laid end to end that were used in
building the Trail through Collier County, that they would reach from
Everglades to Anchorage, Alaska; and if the dynamite were laid end to end,
it would reach from Jacksonville to San Francisco, Calif. The amount being
approximately 3 million sticks used in Collier County alone. In 1927,
Florida rose from 15th consumer of dynamite in the nation to 3rd.
The bond proceeds of $350,000 was soon gone, and Mr. Collier was
taking time warrants for money to carry on with until John Martin was
elected Governor on the platform to see that the Trail was completed, and in
August 1926, the State Road Department took over to finish the last 12 most
difficult miles, as well as the road from Naples to the Lee County line.

A weekly boat service from Everglades to Ft. Myers and Tampa brought
in machinery and supplies. A tugboat and sea-going barge handled dynamite
and other large shipments. A tanker with a capacity of 10,000 gallons made
weekly trips to supply the 1,200 gallons of gasoline burned in daily opera-
tions. All supplies were loaded on barges and floated to the dredges. At
that point, they were hauled to the drilling and blasting crews by oxcart.
The last 2 miles, the water and muck was so deep that boats were pushed by
men to carry the supplies.


A vast quantity of lumber was needed for bridges and building, so a
saw mill was set up at Port DuPont, but the need for lumber on the Trail
induced the move to a new location a mile East of Turner's River. High
water and an inadequate timber supply rendered this site unsatisfactory, and
the mill was moved 2 miles North of Carnestown. This mill produced the
800,000 board feet of lumber used for bridges in Collier County alone.
To maintain the equipment, a large warehouse was constructed at
Carnestown which housed approximately $20,000 worth of spare parts.
Emergency repairs beyond the stock of parts was done by machinists and
blacksmiths in the Everglades Shop. All phases of the work kept in close
contact with each other by telephone, with wires being temporarily strung
as the work progressed.
The crews were cared for by portable bunk houses and mess kitchens.
A hospital with doctor and trained nurse was maintained at Everglades.

During the boom days laborers were hard to keep. C. G. Washbon,
when once asked how many crews he worked, replied, "Three . One on
its way from Tampa, one working, and one on its way back to Tampa".
However, the job went on and was completed a little ahead of schedule. W. R.
Wilson, our guest today and Project Engineer, who with D. Graham Copeland,
Chief Engineer for the Collier Enterprises, and C. G. Washbon, had an
Engineer's slogan, "Quick, Quiet, Quality", said he never heard a man say
anything about his salary unless he was asked a direct question, but their
entire conversation was about how many stations they made that day.
Fons A. Hathaway, Chairman of the State Road Dept. under Governor
Martin, said inquiries were received from almost every State in the Union,
and that it has challenged the interest of the American nation.

The paper, South Florida Developer, said "The Tamiami Trail would
probably be known as the 9th Wonder of the World. Vernon Lamme, in an
article, said "It is the greatest road built during the 20th century" . and
the Asheville, N. C. paper of April 8, 1928, said "The Quebec-Miami high-
way is completed with the construction of Florida's Trail across the famous
Everglades, which is the connecting link of the 2500 mile North and South
International Ash Trail".

At the completion of the Trail, Collier County had an indebtedness of
$1,429,552.70, being 6% bonds payable over 30 years, which with interest
made a 5 million dollar indebtedness. In 1931, the State passed a gas tax


to help all the counties pay off their bonds. Collier was one of the first to
pay off, making its last payment in January 1955.
We are here today to unveil this plaque in commemoration of the ribbon
cutting by Gov. John W. Martin on April 25, 1928, being the completion of
the Tamiami Trail after 13 years of work. I think the congratulatory message
used by Knight & Wall Co. of Tampa in the Collier County News of that
date sums up our appreciation in this manner "Valiant effort, far-sighted-
ness, and concerted endeavor of a determined people have gone into the
making of South Florida's greatest achievement, The Tamiami Trail. To
the people of Collier and Dade Counties we offer our most hearty congratu-
lations. The completion of the Tamiami Trail marks a new era in the progress
of South Florida; opening a vast, fertile section which is destined to become
one of the most productive agriculturally in the whole United States.
To the pioneers of this seemingly impossible work go the laurels of
true nation-builders. To those determined people who have carried it suc-
cessfully through to completion, the thanks of the entire State are due. This
gigantic project, completing South Florida's highway system, will stand
monumental to its builders forever.
The last barrier to commerce is broken down. Collier and Dade Counties
take on greater importance as close-packed traffic flows from East to West
and back again over the new route.
We congratulate you, we respect your ability, and the stick-to-it-iveness
which has brought this truly great achievement to completion."
Thank you!

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Source Document


b li~a

b ar


Digging the Cape Sable Canal

My old friend Captain Scott Holloway, who had thrown his first muck
in the Everglades when the drainage work started in 1906, had told me in
the summer of 1921 that he had been looking over a prospective dredging
contract at Cape Sable.
"Well, did you bid on the job?"
"No, I didn't bid on that job, and I'll tell you why. I went down and
looked it over good. Part of the digging wouldn't be too bad. That's in the
swamp. But then you get out into the prairie! That prairie is so soft that a
man can't walk on it! The dredge couldn't even spud up. It's just as soft as
soup. That's what them people who live there calls it, "soup-doodle muck".
Then they ain't no good way to get fresh water for the boiler. Even if we could
get the little old dredge to dig there, you couldn't get no crew to stay. They
just couldn't stand it. I've worked in these swamps and glades most all my
life, but that's the worst place for mosquitoes I ever seen. Them, and deer
flies, and every other kind of insect you ever heard of. They ain't nobody
crazy enuf to stay down there and work. You couldn't even keep a gang of
convicts there. No sir, I don't want none of that Cape Sable!"
The next time I heard of Cape Sable, Cap Holloway had taken the
contract and had hired me to do the towing. At 4:30 the next morning Cap
Holloway's partner, J. T. Schroeder, picked me up in his new model T for
the long trip from Ft. Lauderdale to Homestead. On the way he explained
that since no company had wanted to accept the contract, he and Holloway
had been offered such favorable terms that they had decided to attempt
the job.
Several years before, a canal had been started in the Glades, west of
Homestead, and had been dug south-westward nearly to the tip of the penin-
sula. The new contract called for continuing this canal to the west, or Gulf
Coast. The land involved belonged to the Model Land Co. which in turn
belonged to the Florida East Coast Railway. The canal was for drainage and
to furnish fill for a road bed. The land company intended to try to develop
and sell some of this wild land.


We arrived in Homestead. Mr. Schroeder introduced me to his truck
driver, Ed Oliver, and after some brief instructions, returned to Miami.
This truck driver, and his truck were to be henceforth the only connecting
link between the dredge crew and civilization.
Ed's home was also in Ft. Lauderdale, though in his youthful days he
herded cattle in Kansas and Colorado. He still affected a wide brimmed felt
hat. He was short of stature, but had a self-sufficient manner that let the
world know that he was quite capable, under any circumstances, of taking
care of Ed.
His truck, a White by name, but yellow in color, was stripped to bare
essentials. It had a flat deck, with short stakes instead of sideboards, and no
cab, but fortunately, it at least had pneumatic, instead of solid tires.
After loading some groceries and other supplies for the dredge, Ed
announced, "Take a good look at the sidewalks, the picture shows and the
women, for it may be many a day before you see any of them again."
However, I assured him that after living six or seven years at Okeelanta,
the glades and swamps did not dismay me any.
Our course was west and south from Homestead over a fair rock road
which led for several miles through a beautiful stand of virgin South Florida
slash pine timber. The land in this district is limestone rock, uniformly flat,
nearly smooth and almost devoid of any soil. This makes road building
simple, but would seem to furnish little encouragement to the growth of
plants or trees.
Ten miles from Homestead, the road left the woods and crossed an open
prairie. In the distance stretched a chain of long narrow islands, or ham-
mocks, reaching from north to south. Directly ahead lay Paradise Key, the
principal hammock of the group. High above the jungle growth reared the
graceful tops of the many palms from which this "Royal Palm State Park"
received its name.
Even an old glades muck rat could not fail to be impressed by the
beauty of the scene. The easterly sun intensified the greens and shadows of
the jungle. The feathery fronds of the up-thrust royals dipped to the gentle
breeze. The whole picture was set off, as though framed, by the green of
the prairie in front, and the white-clouded sky above.
Driving through this hammock, under over-arching trees, we glimpsed
the park attendant's lodge, and many winding foot paths which are said to


reveal rare specimens of tropical plant life, as well as gaudily colored tree
snails, tropical butterflies, etc.
Beyond this key spread a wide panorama of open prairie, studded with
occasional islands of pine, cabbage palm or dense jungle growth. Here the
lime rock was, in places, covered with a thin coating of soil. Old fields ridged
for tomatoes showed where crops had been planted in past years.
Not a human habitation did we discover, until about half way to our
destination. I was surprised to see, in this desert prairie, a large two-story
house with wide veranda, surrounded by a small grove of citrus trees, and
all bordered and set off by rows of young cocoanut palms. Flower gardens
proclaimed the presence of a woman in this dismal place. I was told the
grove was owned by W. S. Jennings, ex-governor of Florida.
It was an incongruous sight. This large house and well-tended grove
dropped here in what appeared to be, without doubt, the most worthless and
inconvenient spot in the whole Everglades.
Still wondering, we continued. Our course was now southward and
apparently it was approaching the coast. To our left, the scrubby, spider
legged mangrove appeared. It became nearer, higher, and denser, as we
advanced. Nearby on the barren ground, shiny, green leaved rosettes indi-
cated the start of new mangroves in the watery prairie.
At length, and almost abruptly, this scrubby growth changed. We were
now some 35 miles from Homestead and near the Dade-Monroe county line.
This county line was, incidentally, the end of the rock surfaced portion
of the road. From here on it was composed of a grade or fill of light grey,
clay-like marl. When dry it made a fairly good road surface, but when wet
- Oh boy! greased glass could not be any slicker.
After bumping over the rutty road a few miles further we arrived at our
destination. Parked on the edge of the road grade in the gloomy shadows
of the jungle, was a discouraged looking school bus which had been remod-
eled into a cook shack. Here we stopped and were immediately greeted by
our constant companions-to-be a swarm of hungry mosquitoes.

On the far side of the canal was a dilapidated spectacle a floating
dredge, of the type known as "American Steel", once very popular in the
Glades. Now its steel hull, its boom, and A-frame were red and scaly with


old corrosion. Its corrugated roof was moth-eaten by rust. The stack leaned
crazily. The dipper rested on the bank, its handle bent and twisted. Evi-
dently it had not seen service for several years, and that service had been
rugged. Grouped around the boiler at the after end was a group of sad-
looking men, wrenches in hand, with smudged faces and clothing unbelievably
black and greasy. They scarcely gave us a glance, although I felt the arrival
of the truck should be an event of at least shouting importance.
On our side of the canal was moored a most rickety and ramshackle
houseboat, which was to be my home for the next nine months. It was eight
feet wide and thirty feet long. A wide screened window extended the length
of each side. These windows were covered with shutters of tattered canvas,
which when raised, served as awnings. A screened vestibule at one end
contained a bench for the water bucket and wash bowl. A toilet overhung
the other. Inside, the only furnishings consisted of sixteen bunks, made of
one inch boards supported at the ends, so they would have a little "give" in
the middle. They were furnished with thin mattresses of cotton which com-
pared unfavorably with the straw filled bed tick with which some of us were
acquainted in the army. This houseboat was erected on a steel barge, which,
though the top was barely above water when loaded, never sank, and
strangely, did not even leak.
As we arrived about noon, it was not long before we heard the cook's
welcome hail "Come and get it!"
Half a dozen greasy men ferried themselves across the canal in the
rowboat. After a somewhat desultory scrubbing at the cook house door they
filed inside and inserted themselves between the long bench and the white-
scrubbed board table. Dishes heaped with porkchops, mashed potatoes, and
peas graced the table, plus a large cup of coffee at each place. Apparently
this company complied with the dredge boat tradition of feeding plenty. The
food was well cooked, but the heat in this tiny bus was stifling, and the
mosquitoes only slightly less annoying inside than on the exterior.
After eating, Ed held a short consultation with the captain, and
announced that we would have to return to Miami to get some machine parts
for the dredge.
The following day was spent in Miami and after a stop in Homestead we
arrived again at Royal Palm Park after dark. Here just west of the hammock
we stopped at a rough building on the side of the road to spend the night.
We were greeted by an acquaintance from Ft. Lauderdale, a boat carpenter


named Music, of the euphoniously named boat building concern "Music and
Bird". He explained that he, with half a dozen helpers, was here to build
some barges for the use of the dredge.
Here I learned the explanation of something which had puzzled me.
I noticed that our dredge down at the Cape was in a canal which had no
inlet nor outlet. It was obviously too large to haul overland. How had it
gotten there? The explanation was that it had been built there at the end
of the road and launched into a pit dug by a dragline. After which it had
continued the road bed by excavating rock, and floating in the canal thus
By the dawn's first light we bade good-by to Music and his crew and
again headed for the jungle. On arriving at the dredge I was introduced to
an open launch with a four cylinder engine, and was told that my job would
be to keep the dredge supplied with water and wood. For the first couple
of weeks while the dredge was undergoing repairs, there was but little demand
for the services of the boat.
This dredge was equipped with an electric generator, which furnished
lights for night work, but Capt. Holloway could recall having worked, as a
boy, on dredges where iron baskets hung over the bow, and filled with burn-
ing lighteredd knots" supplied the only illumination for the operation; when
dredges used chains instead of wire cable to hoist and back the bucket; and
when instead of a tow boat, a deckhand with rope over shoulder stumbled
along the canal bank to move up the fuel barge.
My first arrival at the dredge had been on January 2nd, 1922. Now, on
the 16th of January the machine was ready to go to work. With side spuds
raised, it progressed the two miles to the end of the canal and road grade.
This was accomplished by running the dipper out to its full extent, dropping
it to the bottom of the canal and then pulling the dredge up to it. This
apparently simple procedure was not without a certain amount of risk. The
dredge was so narrow and so top heavy, that, with the spuds raised, it con-
stantly threatened to capsize.
As launchman, it was my job to bring up the houseboat and the cook
shack barge, which now replaced our old school bus. During this operation
the propeller of the launch slipped off the shaft and was lost. After spend-
ing a couple of hours in the rain trying to find it, I gave up, and Ed was
dispatched to town to get another. The following day, after attaching the new
wheel, I ran the launch back up the full length of the canal to Royal Palm


Hammock, and brought in the new barges built there by my friend Music.
There were three, built alike. Each was eight feet wide and thirty feet long,
with a long rake or slope on each end for easy towing, and with a small deck
forward and aft. One barge was for hauling wood and had a floor in the
bottom. The other two, for water, were provided with several transverse
bulkheads to prevent the load of water from surging forward when the barge
slowed down. With the dredge now digging, my daily routine began.

Dropping the eyes of the towing bridle over the bitts of a water barge,
I snatched the empty barge up the canal for a distance of six or eight miles
or so to where the fresh water from the glades was no longer contaminated
by the brackish seepage from Coot Bay. This was determined by tasting the
water as I rode along. Having proceeded far enough, I would then stop my
engine to fill the barge. This was accomplished very simply. I pulled a
wooden plug out of the bottom and allowed the barge to sink. When suffi-
ciently full, the plug was replaced. The tow line would be changed to the
other end and the return trip begun.
The launch which did the towing was a sixteen-foot open boat powered
with a museum piece of an engine said to have originally been in Ft. Laud-
erdale's first fire truck. Before that, it had graced one of the town's first
automobiles. The engine had plenty of power, but as may be imagined was
as temperamental as a prima donna. It would run perfectly for three or four
days, then on some dark and rainy night would start to miss. Into the canal
bank would head the barge smack! The precious water would surge for-
ward and over the side. It was immediately replaced by an equal quantity of
salt water from the canal, which ran in before the barge swung free. Now,
although it was no problem for me to fill the barge, I had no means to
empty it. Consequently it would be necessary, after working on the engine
by flashlight a longer or shorter time, to tow the tainted water to the dredge
where it could be pumped overboard. By the time another trip could be
made, of course the boiler would be out of water and the machine shut down.
After a few such experiences, Music was again called. He decked over both
water barges and caulked the seams. At each end a hole was left, surrounded
by a twelve-inch coaming, through which the "sinking plug" could be man-
ipulated, and the boiler's suction hose lowered. The dredge, now, with a full
head of steam, was making good progress. A two hundred foot wide right
of way had been cleared through the swamp and the bucket dug into the hard
grey marl, dumping it in a high regular bank on the left where it was later
to be graded smooth to continue the road bed. At first the men worked two


shifts, from 3 a. m. till 9 p. m. This required two barges of water a day, and
with the troubles I was having, it was usually a very long day.
During the time that the dredge was being overhauled, the only drinking
water available was that obtained by sinking the barge up the canal. It was
clear and tasted good, and of course was not contaminated by humans. At
Okeelanta the people had all drunk canal water from Lake Okeechobee for
years, and without any bad effects. When the dredge got up steam and started
to dig, it was the fireman's task to distill a supply of drinking water each
day. Now, this distilled water was a fearful beverage. In color it was a
Gulf Stream blue. It tasted like degenerated boiler scale. Its odor was
penetrating and revolting, and on top floated a film of engine oil. When
driven by the pangs of thirst, one would fill the tomato-can drinking cup,
wait a few seconds and blow off the oil, hold his nose, shut his eyes and gulp
it down. It was about as palatable as that chills and fever remedy known as
Three Sixes. Later, when we quit digging at night, the water was distilled
while the dredge was shut down and its quality improved somewhat. Until
then it was not much better than the bitter water one gets from the base of
a giant pigweed when lost in the sawgrass.

On February fourth we started digging three shifts. The previous night,
upon returning to the dredge, I had been surprised to find the houseboat
filled with an assemblage of new faces, one of which was that of a new cap-
tain. He was to relieve our first captain, who had been compelled to quit the
job, and go back to town.
Our new captain was no less than Hampton T. Holloway, commonly
known simply as Cap Hamp. He was the brother of Capt. Scott Holloway,
the contractor. Cap Hamp did not resemble the usual rough looking rugged
type of professional dredge man. Both in looks and conversation, his appear-
ance was more that of some successful business man. Although his life had
been spent on dredges, he had educated himself by correspondence courses
and otherwise, until, while still quite young, he had been given command of
a large hydraulic dredge deepening the channel at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
His last job had been command of the big dipper dredge "Caloosahatchee",
which was digging the St. Lucie Canal between Lake Okeechobee and Stuart.
For some reason, he had resigned from that job. Quite a number of the crew
had quit at the same time. If they had known what they were getting into,
they might have remained. To leave that comparatively palatial dredge and


come to a greasy, filthy old "tea kettle" in these mosquito ridden swamps
was, indeed, quite a come-down.
Cap's first act upon coming aboard was to fire most of the members of
the old crew. Whereupon, his authority having been demonstrated, he imme-
diately hired them back again.
Of the three new diggers, Gus Roberts, fat, quiet, and good natured, had
been on the "Caloosahatchee" many years longer than Hamp. Before that,
he had operated steam shovels in the phosphate mines at Bartow. He told
of unearthing there many bones and skeletons which were complete and in a
remarkable state of preservation. When found, they would be uncovered by
high pressure streams of water, and would then be examined by scientists.
Gus's craneman and inseparable companion was Hubie Boree, consider-
ably younger and much smaller than big Gus. Good natured Gus had prob-
ably never been angry at anyone in his life, yet he continually grumbled
and nagged at Hubie, like an old mother bear with a precocious cub. When
Hubie had had enough, he would retaliate in kind, or else retort, "Now Gus
don't talk so kind to me. You know I ain't sick!"
The second new digger was Lloyd Gilliland, slim, neat and reserved. He
was the cleanest of all the dredgemen. In a place where it was so easy to get
filthy greasy, and so difficult and inconvenient to get clean, this was an
unusual distinction.
The other digger was Dilday, nicknamed "Doctor". He always had
advice for every ailment and injury, and could usually produce some kind of
first aid treatment out of nowhere.
Then there was a new launchman, "Blondy" Pritchard. Yellow haired,
short necked, square faced, he fairly bulged with muscles. He looked like a
wrestler or an iron worker out of his element. Just as a red haired person
has no use for a first name (he will always be known as Red), so the fact that
Blondy had another name remained unknown for months. It developed that
he had the same first name and initial as myself Lawrence E. Thinks I,
"That's my new partner, and he looks like a dyed-in-the-wool rough customer.
I bet that guy will be hard to get along with." But first appearance can be
deceiving. He was so anxious to do his share of the work that I had frequent
arguments to keep him from also doing part of mine.

Inspired by a quite understandable curiosity, Blondy and I decided one
Sunday to inspect the sights of the city of Flamingo. The dredge had pro-


ceeded two miles westward from where we had started digging, then had made
a sharp right angle turn to the left toward the settlement on the bay. It was
now nearing the edge of the swamp. We had walked but a short distance
when we emerged into a beautiful clearing or meadow carpeted with Bermuda
grass and dotted with occasional small trees. It extended about a quarter
of a mile ahead and the same distance on each hand. It really was a delight-
ful vista after all the miles of mangrove swamp. Beyond this pasture a
weed grown prairie with now and then a cabbage palm continued down to
the bay shore. The bay itself was cluttered with numerous mangrove keys
of which I counted thirteen, several of which were fairly good sized islands.
Although we had been told that this was the location of the settlement,
we could see but three habitations. One dismal looking house on pilings
stood nearby to the westward. Another was on a small point of land to the
east. The third, which we later learned belonged to the Irwins, perched on
the island directly ahead. A rutted road indicated that there might be other
habitations still further west.

So this was the town of Flamingo! Three houses! There were no other
inhabitants between the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico, except one at East
Cape eleven miles westward and one more beyond that at the Middle Cape
coconut grove.
At this time the fortunes of Flamingo were at low ebb. Although people
had lived at the Capes for many years previously, the peak of its prosperity
had been between the years 1898 and 1905, during which period about fifty
families had lived in the Cape Sable area. Flamingo had boasted a school
and postoffice, the latter presided over first by Judge Lowe and later by
Robert Douthit and Gene Roberts. Even East Cape reportedly had had a
postoffice in 1904 in charge of a settler named Walkis.

Some of these settlers had fairly good homes. Uncle Steve, before
moving to Flamingo had owned a nice place about three miles further west.
The house has now disappeared but the palms which surrounded it and the
large concrete cistern still remain. The finest home belonged to Irwin's son,
Coleman. The Flamingo Ranger Station, surrounded by his coconut palms,
now marks its site. With its five large rooms, it was the largest and likewise
the most strongly constructed of any house on the beach. The framing, all
of driftwood, was made to withstand any hurricane. The floor was seven feet
above the ground. 8" x 8" posts, imbedded deep in the marl, extended clear
to the roof. All the sills were 14" x 14". Floor and roof joists were 2" x 12"


planks and each studding was four inches square. But of this house, more
will be told later.
Their reasons for coming to this remote spot in those early days were
as various as were the settlers themselves. Some came to farm, some to hunt,
and some, it was whispered, to evade the law. Once here, few cared to leave
the pleasant climate and easy life of hunting and fishing. The bay abounded
in fish and game was plentiful. If a man decided after dinner that he would
like to have venison for supper he never had far to go. Ordinarily he would
shoot nothing but a young buck or a doe. If he should chance to sight a buck
with extra large horns, he might kill it, but only to get the antlers.

The predominant families were the Douthits, the Robertses and the
Irwins. The head of the Douthit clan, Robert S., was from North Carolina
where his father, Edward J., had owned a large plantation. Like so many
other planters, he had been nearly ruined by the Civil War, and then the
carpetbaggers stole what remained. Robert migrated south as far as a rail-
road could take him, which at that time was Palm Beach, whence he continued
by sailboat to Lemon City, there being, as yet, no settlement at Miami. He
farmed at Allapattah in 1892 when there was only pine forest between there
and the Miami River. His wife, of pioneer stock, had just arrived from
Texas via covered wagon, having crossed the Kissimmee River at Bassinger,
thence to Ft. Pierce and by boat to Little River. Here they were married,
but in 1902 they moved to Flamingo and homesteaded four miles west of our
canal. Later Robert bought the nearby homestead of Jack Matthews which
had a small but comfortable five room house.
The prairie extending from the bay to the swamp was from one-half
to a mile in width, and was very fertile. Until impregnated with salt from
inundation during the 1910 hurricane it would grow almost any kind of
vegetable. Tomatoes, beans, peppers, egg plants and even asparagus were
grown and shipped by sailboat to Key West. Here they were transferred to
refrigerated steamers for the market in New York. If they arrived in good
condition, the produce was almost sure to bring top prices. However, since
adverse weather might cause the boat to take two or three days to reach
Key West, many a shipment was spoiled on the trip.

All farming was on a small one-mule-power scale. Douthit was the
largest farmer. At one time he had five acres in sweet potatoes and fifteen
in sugar cane. The latter being used (at least in part) for the manufacture
of syrup.


The father of the Irwin boys had come from Missouri where he had
been engaged in the manufacture of bricks. Upon arriving in Dade County
and discovering that coral rock was most unsuitable for the purpose, he had
moved on to Cape Sable in 1898 with the intention of making bricks from
marl. Instead, however, he had for a time, tended the coconut grove and
later did some farming. His daughter, Carrie, to whom I am indebted for
much of this information, still lives near Homestead where she operates
a nursery and tends her citrus grove. She was only seven years old when
she arrived at the Middle Cape grove and played in the trenches of the old
fort. In 1905 she married Robert Douthit's brother Johnnie, raised a family
of boys and remained in Flamingo until 1921.
Probably the most colorful, and certainly the best known of these old
timers, was Uncle Steve Roberts himself. His reason for coming, however,
was said to have been connected with the untimely demise of one of his
neighbors near Callahan, up Jacksonville way.
Life at the capes must have been both pleasant and healthful, although,
of course, there was at times the matter of insects. Mosquitoes, to be sure,
were not nearly so troublesome along the beach as they were back in the
swamp. Besides, we were told "you get used to them". The houses were
screened with wire mesh when obtainable otherwise with cheesecloth.
And remember, black mangrove makes the world's best smudge smoke.
Sandflies were bad only in a few places on the mainland and on a couple of
the keys. Probably the most troublesome pests were the fleas which always
appeared when a load of empty charcoal bags was brought in from Key West,
but fortunately they did not last long. It must have been during one of these
periods that the naturalist, Leverett Brownell, stopped here in 1893. He
recorded that Flamingo was populated by a rugged group of men who
appeared to be refugees from justice; that flea powder was the staff of life,
and that he was present when a swarm of mosquitoes extinguished an oil
lamp. He also noted that the only seeming reason for Flamingo's existence
was the low cost of living, one of the inhabitants having sold his entire
winter's crop of tomatoes in Key West for only 87 .
Kay Irwin, upon being asked what people at the Capes did for a living
replied enigmaticly "Well mostly this and that," which left the field open
to draw one's own conclusions. However, aside from plume hunting and
shining, there were various other industries to which they might resort. Black
mangrove was shipped to furniture factories for mirror backs and drawer
bottoms. Red mangrove furnished dye wood and tan bark. But the steady


income was from marketing of "coal". Before the day of the kerosene stove,
charcoal was the fuel commonly used for cooking and heating. Good button-
wood charcoal would bring $1.50 per sack in Key West and there was always
a steady demand.
All of these together, however, were but "grits money" compared to the
fantastic prices obtained for the plumes of the snowy egret. These beautiful
birds, their spidery feathers in intense demand for the adornment of ladies
hats, had almost reached the point of extermination. The last few flocks
remaining in the United States had retreated to the almost inaccessible man-
grove swamps of Cape Sable. Their plumes were worth more than their
weight in gold.
While it lasted, the plume business was a bonanza. But regardless of its
plumes, the abundance of its fish or the plentifulness of its deer and game,
I am reliably informed that at that time, and even today, there is no place
in the state of Florida which can hope to compete with Cape Sable in the
abundance and ferocity of its principal product mosquitoes.

The land back of the settlement at Flamingo was a high marl prairie
supporting a great many cabbage palms as well as a variety of other trees.
There was less undergrowth, and the woods were criss-crossed with the ruts
made by Ford Model T's. Uncle Steve Roberts said he had tried to do a
little farming there, but without notable success. When it was wet, it was
too wet, and when it was dry the ground was hard as rock.
Upon reaching the shore at Flamingo, the dredge did not open the
canal into the bay. Instead, it left a dam to hold back the water in the
canal, thus assuring flotation for the dredge for the remainder of its work,
It then kicked back to where it had turned south, and resumed its westward
course. It had progressed %/ mile in this direction when the right of way
detoured in a wide sweep to the left around the base of an Indian mound.
The jungle growth here was unusually dense. Around the base of the
mound were a number of tall royal palms. Two or three had died and fallen
down. The insides of the trunks had rotted out leaving only the paper-like
outer shell. No royals, but many other large trees grew on the mound itself,
and the whole was covered with such a dense growth as to be almost im-
penetrable. This made it difficult to estimate the size of the mound, but it
appeared to be about two hundred feet long and seventy-five feet in width.


The top had an elevation of six to eight feet. Shallow excavations had been
made in various places around its base, which indicated that desultory
attempts had been made to explore its secrets. We did not disturb the mound,
but after the dredge had passed it, we discovered numerous bones imbedded
in the side of the ditch bank. Most of them had been broken by the bucket.
The Irwins gathered several boxes of these bones, with the intention of send-
ing to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington. They had previously
forwarded other bones taken from the mound. The receipt of the shipment
had been acknowledged, but they had never learned whether they had any
archaeological significance. To their knowledge, no pottery, flints, or other
artifacts had ever been found here.

The civil engineer of our project, Mr. A. R. Livingston, had told us
that a prehistoric canal extended from Mud Lake, just north of this mound,
to the Bay of Florida. I decided to explore this ancient engineering feat.
It was not hard to locate, since each bank was bordered by an impassible
barrier of bushes and scrub growth. The stream itself was practically
choked with a thick stand of small mangrove trees. The only way to follow
this slough was by scrambling, jumping and swinging monkey-like from one
mangrove root to another, ducking under branches, and occasionally slipping
into the water. After progressing in this way for only a few hundred yards
and finding nothing of interest, I decided the game was not worth the candle.
After snapping a picture or two, I scrambled back to the mound.
A short distance beyond the Indian mound was the camp of the right-
of-way men. This crew consisted of both the Irwin brothers and several
others, backwoodsmen all, of whom Thad Padgett, Lonnie Parker and one
or two others later worked on the dredge.
These men had a simple lean-to shack made of poles and thatched with
palm leaves, very picturesque, though not very water proof. The only furni-
ture consisted of army cots draped, of course, with the inevitable mosquito
bars. Nearby they had contrived a primitive arrangement for distilling
drinking water. The raw water was in a gasoline drum under which a fire
was burning. The steam was conducted through a pipe running the length
of a hollowed out palmetto-log trough filled with cooling water. From the
far end of the pipe the distilled water dripped into another drum. The
product was a far more palatable drink than what we had to endure on
the dredge.
It was the job of this crew to cut down all the trees and smaller growth


in a two hundred foot wide clearing through the forest. They also cut the
trees into four foot lengths and racked them in cords on the right hand side
of the clearing to be used later for fuel by the dredge. Although these trees
towered high in the air, about half of the wood was in the roots and branches.
These men were paid by the cord and did not waste anything.

After watching these wood cutters work, we dredge men did not feel so
sorry for ourselves. Besides the fact that swinging an ax all day was the
most strenuous of labor, these men were in the thick of the forest. Even in
the winter it was plenty hot most of the time. The dense growth shut off
any cooling breeze, so they were soaked in sweat from dawn till dark. The
mosquitoes hovered around them in a constant swarm. To add to their dis-
comfort, some areas were covered with water in which they must work for
days on end. We all agreed that we did not see how they could endure it,
but they appeared to be quite cheerful and philosophical.
On this high ridge which was apparently dry most of the year, and
which extended from the county line to the west side of Bear Lake, mangrove
trees grew, not only in profusion but to a remarkable height. Here, its very
appearance is radically different from the mangroves on tidal flats. The
branching and rebranching roots may extend ten feet above the ground.
Above them the straight trunk extends twenty to thirty feet before branch-
ing into its crown. In the area described, they stood in dense, almost
unbroken stand, interspersed here and there with a buttonwood, a rubber,
or black mangrove.
That was at the time of this story. Now there remains only the whitened
trunks, prone on the ground, felled by the fury of the 1935 hurricane.
Strangely enough, no new growth of mangroves has replaced them, probably
because this land is now so high that the life-sustaining tidal waters no
longer reach this area.
The black mangrove, though growing among them, bears no resemblance
whatever to the red variety. Its trunk, tall and straight, springs directly out
of the ground. The bark is rough and black and the wood a dark brown.
A peculiarity of the tree is that, no matter how thrifty it may appear to be,
there are always some of the crooked branches which are dead. This dead
wood, when put into a bucket and ignited, will smoulder like punk, emitting
a pungent and not unpleasant odor. It makes an ideal smudge to repel mos-
quitoes. Such smudge pots we kept constantly burning on the lever stand of
the dredge, at the door of the houseboat, and even beside the steering wheel


of the launch. By a wise provision of Providence, the black mangrove tree
is found only in those parts of Florida where the mosquitoes are particularly
Strikingly beautiful was the stand of wild royal palms, tall, straight,
and symmetrical, grouped on the south side of the mound. A much finer,
although smaller group had been passed about one-eighth of a mile east of
the mound. One lone tree graced a wood chopper's camp at the end of the
original road grade, and several fine specimens, growing in the right of way
had been cut down. The prone trunks were forty-five to fifty-five feet long
and two to three feet in diameter. The ones left standing made a beautiful
picture there in the swamp. The disastrous hurricane of 1935 killed all
these fine trees.

Cap's brand new Buick roadster was the pride of his heart and the envy
of all the diggers. We had to build a garage for it at the end of the rock
road. Imagine my consternation, when, while coming in one dark night,
I beheld the rear end of the car above the waters of the canal. Her nose
was on the bottom. In maneuvering to park in the shed, the brakes had
failed and she had gone overboard. Cap, Ed, and a deck hand, with the aid
of a block and fall, and the truck, for power, were trying to extricate it.
It was then nine or ten o'clock and I had had no supper. However, after
delivering the barge to the dredge, I hurried back and helped to land the
big fish. It was long past midnight when we returned to the houseboat.
Although still in the woods, the dredge made some good time in the
first part of the month of March. One day we dug nine hundred feet, and
the following week moved ahead 4,000 feet, although the best week so far,
had been made while crossing the small prairie on the Flamingo spur, when
we had hung up a record distance of 4,500 feet in one week. Our rapid
progress now was principally due to the fact that we had struck a stretch of
muck. This was easier to dig, and consequently faster, and too, we had
fewer breakdowns. Heretofore, we had been digging west, but on March 12th
the right of way turned northward for two thousand feet before it resumed
its westward direction. This detour was made to avoid Bear Lake, a body of
water about two miles long and probably three-quarters of a mile wide.
The nearer shore, dimly seen through the trees to our left, was, at this time
of the year, hardly more than a mud flat, but the water was said to be three
or four feet deep on the further side. Its surface was fairly alive with ducks.


One of the woodcutters came out of the swamp. Across his shoulders
was draped the carcass of a small deer. This he tossed onto the deck of the
cook barge.
"Howdy folks, reckon you could find use for a bit of fresh venison?
Just shot it back in the woods a piece. I figured it might go pretty good
after all that smoked ham and sow belly you all have been subsisting on all
these weeks. Of course this hain't what you would call the legalized hunting
season, but don't let that mar your appetites none. Reckon there ain't no
game wardens prowling around nowhere.
"There's plenty of game here if you just can get to it. During the hunt-
ing season two of the boys from the Cape did a right good business guiding
these moneyed fellers from town. They fixed 'em up a little camp back up
the rock road at West Lake, got a couple of boats and took 'em out where
the ducks really was. Reckon you all noticed them sports cars parked on the
road anywhere from three to six every day enduring the season.
"But, you fellers ought to have been with us three, four weeks ago if'n
you wanted ducks. That was before we had even got the right of way cut
up here. We carried a boat from the Cape to out there on the lake, and did
we shoot ducks! It wasn't even no fun. Just too easy. It wasn't no time afore
we had more ducks than the whole camp could eat, and all the people in the
settlement besides. I know for a fact that was the first time in eight years
that ary gun was ever fired on Bear Lake."
Beyond Bear Lake, and three weeks after passing Royal Palm Mound,
we were still in the swamp, and with a mile of woods still ahead before we
would arrive in the open prairie. The wood choppers were making slow
progress in clearing the right of way. We had almost caught up with them
once but a breakdown of the machinery had stopped the dredge from Friday
till the following Wednesday and allowed them to get ahead. Now, again,
we were practically digging at their heels, and again we had to shut down
for repairs.
Keeping the boiler supplied with water had, by this time become a
major problem. We were in the dry month of March. There was less fresh
water coming down from the Glades to the north. The canal had long ago
become too brackish, and we had installed a pump and engine six miles
back up the road from the Flamingo stub and pumped glades surface water
into the barge.
Our old open launch which when not sinking barges, was itself constantly
threatening to go to the bottom, and whose ancient engine reluctantly func-


tioned only by grace of prayers, tears and haywire, had been replaced a
month ago.
Cap had trucked in a beautiful, brand new boat only sixteen feet long,
but complete with a tiny cabin and a single-cylinder six horse-power Vulcan
engine four-cycle at that, no cranky two-cycle job. The cabin was for
the protection of the engine. The steering wheel was outside and the launch-
man had to take the weather, of which we later had plenty. This boat was
slow, but easy to maneuver and proved to be ideal for handling water barges.
When we were opposite Bear Lake we were hauling water eight miles.
If everything went well a round trip could be made in seven hours. However,
as the glades water became more salty, it became necessary, early in April,
to move the pump still farther up the canal, almost to the bend where the
road turned north, and shortly after we got out of the woods we were hauling
a distance that required twelve steady hours to make the trip. Blondy and I
never shut down the engine except while the barge was being filled. When
one of us got in with a fresh load he would wake his partner. While the latter
was eating a cold snack, the first one would fuel up, tie onto the empty and
bring it to the houseboat ready for the outbound trip.

For weeks Cap had been considering whether to cut the crew down to
two shifts. To prevent this he decided to try to conserve water by installing
a condenser on the dredge. This would cool the exhaust steam and allow it
to be used again. Accordingly, he brought in a batch of pipe, fashioned it
into a "coil" on the outside of the hull below the water line. One end was
connected to the exhaust and the other to the boiler intake. But alas, the
stagnant, muddy water would not condense the steam and the idea was
abandoned. This was one of the few times when Cap's ingenuity failed.
Blondy and I went right on hauling water.
About the last of March Music returned again. He brought a tractor,
a road grader, and a stripped down Model T, and two or three young boys
from Ft. Lauderdale. His job was to level off the top of our spoil bank and
make a road grade. This would extend the road from where the rocked por-
tion ended at the county line between Monroe and Dade Counties, and bring
it right into Flamingo. It was also planned to have the road follow the
dredge and extend on westward. This part, however, was not accomplished.
Before Music got to Flamingo, the rains began. The marl became too slip-
pery to work, and Music and his boys returned to town. The last seen of
them at the Cape was the morning they left from their camp. Music was


seated on his flat-bodied Ford. He had it in low gear, yet, notwithstanding,
the wheels were spinning at a furious rate, and throwing mud forty feet
behind. One boy on each side and one holding on behind, attempted to keep
it from sliding sideways into the canal as they ran at top speed. Now and
then a boy would skid and roll sprawling in the slick mess. The shouting
and laughing, blended with the roar of the exhaust could almost be heard
on the dredge boat.
With the exception of two or three quick trips to Homestead for supplies
at the start of the work, I had not been out of the woods since arriving the
first of the year. However, in April I got a few days off to visit my parents
in Ft. Lauderdale and get the feel of walking on sidewalks. Upon returning
to the dredge and changing into dungarees, I had just time to eat supper
before starting on a trip for water. During my absence the pump had been
moved to a point farther up the canal. The boys apparently had merely set
it up and hurried off without testing it. Upon arriving there it was only
after considerable work by the uncertain light of smoky lanterns that the
engine was finally persuaded to start. Then the pump refused to operate.
After much unscrewing of pipes, dis-assembling of the pump and removal
of the snake that had taken refuge therein and then re-assembling it again,
knee deep in mud all the while, the barge was eventually filled.
Then, to cap it all, the launch engine ran hot. Finding the cause was
much easier than correcting it. The screen for the water intake had been
installed in the side, instead of the bottom of the boat. In rubbing along the
canal banks, it had gradually filled up with clay. Removing this screen
under water and cleaning out the cooling system was another task. I returned
to the dredge at three P. M. the day after starting a 23-hour trip.
After sleeping 15 hours, I was wakened to start the next trip, which
lasted a day and a night. When one started up the canal for water, there
was no quitting time until he got back to the dredge. If he had engine trouble
it was just his hard luck, and with the engines we had those days, trouble
was expected as part of the routine. A boatman had to be resourceful and
ingenious. If he broke down, there would be no one coming along after a
while to help. You had to work out your own salvation, in spite of nothing
to work with, darkness, rain, sweat, cussing and mosquitoes.
On April tenth we suddenly burst out of the dense woods into the
wide open prairie. Oh! Welcome sight! The offshift men climbed onto


the dredge to view the open plain that extended ahead almost as far as we
could see. In the distance a few low mangrove hammocks broke the mo-
notony. One lone sentinel cabbage tree dead ahead at Gator Lake stood like
a goal post for our endeavors. Only southward, along the Bay shore line,
continued the omnipresent and unbroken ridge of mangrove trees.
This was the day to which for months we had looked forward with
pleasant anticipation. At last, we fondly thought, we will work in the open
where the breezes blow. No more screened hats! No more cotton gloves!
No more breathing smudge pot smoke! No more bathing inside a crowded
houseboat! No more mosquitoes let the launchmen have them! Alas for
human hopes. We didn't know nothing' yet!
It was in this prairie that we made the acquaintance of the "soup doodle"
muck, which Captain Scott Holloway had said was too soft for a man to walk
on or for the dredge to spud up on. It was hardly an exaggeration. In
anticipation, while we were still working in solid ground, Cap Hamp had had
a pair of large plank mats made. These were bolted onto the feet of the
bank spuds, and were considered to be large enough to support the dredge
when she swung the boom. In spite of this extra footing, it was necessary
for the digger to spud up two or three times for every move, as the feet sank
deeper in the slush. Then in pulling them out of the muck when ready to
move ahead, she would threaten to capsize, while one spud foot was in the
air and the other hopelessly stuck. The old hull was plenty cranky and sank
on us a couple of times.
Upon first emerging from the swamp, we had to dig through a sizeable
cattail pond. If anything, it was more soup doodly than the prairie. In
traversing this pond in the boat, we had perpetual trouble with the tough
and slimy roots and rotted stalks of the cattail plants which clogged the
canal as the fluid muck oozed back into the channel. Our launch at this time
did not have a weedless propeller. The slimy stalks would wrap tightly
around the propeller shaft and the chunks of muck to which they were some-
times still attached effectively blocked the "wheel". We made an iron hook,
with which, by lying on the deck, it was possible to clear most of the debris,
though it was always necessary to go overboard at least once to cut them off
with a sharp knife.
The "little ol' dredge" as Cap Hamp always called it, was making good
time now in the prairie. She dug two miles during the month of April, oper-
ating with only two shifts. Fresh water was again becoming a serious prob-


lem. This was the driest month of the year. The water hole back up the
road was becoming contaminated with salt, and the water was a sickly and
nauseating green. Furthermore the haul was getting longer every day. In
desperation, we dug, and later enlarged, a water hole in the prairie half a
mile behind the dredge. Though the haul was now negligible, the quality of
water, green and brackish was no better, and the boiler foamed continually.
Where before, the dredge had had to shut down for lack of water, now it lost
time because the fireman could not keep up steam.

A short distance ahead of the machine and to the north was a group of
small lakes-Fox Lake, Middle Fox Lake, and Little West Fox Lake. (Appar-
ently names were getting scarce when the original discoverer christened
these mud ponds.) Cap Hamp decreed that since the water in them was
fairly fresh, we should dig a ditch from the nearest of these to the edge of
the right of way, and when the dredge had passed that point, the pump and
engine would move up to the new ditch. This, of course, was satisfactory with
everybody, except the ones who would have to do the digging. For this
ditch was to be dug by hand, a mere matter of 2,000 feet. The diggers and
cranemen, being of the elite, of course could never be expected to engage
in such menial work as using a hand shovel. The firemen just could not be
spared from their boilers. They worked longest hours, anyway. The morn-
ing man had to start the fire and get up steam, while the second shift man
had to tend the boiler while it was cooling down for the night. Cap declared
it was to be dug by the off shift crews and it had better be finished before
the dredge got opposite the lake. With this indefinite ukase, he departed for
Ft. Lauderdale. Since Blondy and I now had very little to do except tow a
barge daily into the woods and pick up a load of firewood, we each devoted
considerable time to the excavation job. It was really not hard work. The
ditch was two shovels deep and three shovels wide. The ground was soft
peat, in which I had previously dug my share of ditches in Okeelanta. How-
ever, 2,000 feet is well over a quarter of a mile. The deck hands and wood
crew, as a matter of principle, did no more than they were compelled to do.
The others figured they were too good for such a task. Even a very healthy
respect for the wrath of Cap Hamp did not suffice to spur the work. As the
time drew near for his expected return, a good quarter of the job remained
unfinished. It was finally completed mostly by the sweat of myself and
Lloyd Gilliland, digger though he was. Fortunately for all hands, when
Cap returned, the ditch was finished, the dredge had passed it and the pump
had been moved to its new location.


Cap had important news. He announced that the company had gotten
a contract for nine additional miles of digging, which he estimated would
give us four more months of work. Furthermore, with the better quality of
water and shorter haul, he might go back to running three shifts.

According to dredge-boat custom, Sunday is devoted to making repairs.
The old sailing ship sailors used to say, "Six days shall thou work and do
all thou art able. On the seventh holy-stone the deck and scrape the cable."
On our dredge, we simplified this to "Six days shalt thou work and on the
seventh do the same, only more so."
The first couple of months after the dredge had started to dig, we often
finished repairs soon after dinner. However, as the job progressed, the old
machine, badly worn to start with, gradually began to come apart. The
repair work often kept all three shifts busy till supper time. Sometimes it
was so bad that only the shift due to start digging at midnight would knock
off then, and the others would go back on deck and finish the work in the
dark and mosquitoes.
After breakfast Sunday morning, the men would pair off for their
allotted jobs. The boom and dipper handle were the particular province of
the cranemen.
Working in pairs with long five-eighths inch erecting wrenches, they
tightened the myriad bolts that held these parts together. The diggers might
tighten or even pour bearings on the drum shafts, set valves on the engines,
repair pumps, reeve new cables, do some pipe fitting, or light the forge and
make some new shackles or cold-shuts. The firemen cleaned the boiler tubes,
usually having to roll or caulk the ends, removed hand plates and washed
out the inside of the boiler. The power to run the pump for this operation
was furnished by a gasoline engine. Like everything else about the dredge,
it was about worn out. The diggers, with the steam-engine man's contempt
for gas engines, would have nothing to do with it, so one of the launchman's
duties was to keep it running.
One Sunday after we had passed the mound and could see muddy Bear
Lake through the trees at the left, it became necessary to remove the hoisting
drum in order to have the shaft sent into town for repair. The big gear was
unbolted from the side of the drum. An A-frame was made of timbers. The


drum was hoisted with a chain fall and rolled on planks onto the canal bank.
The next job was to remove the four inch shaft on which it turned. A crude
wheel puller was rigged, using chains and the chain fall. It refused to budge.
Gus took a heavy sledge and swung with all his strength against the end of
the shaft, while two deck hands tugged on the chain fall. Still no luck.
It was then decided that heating the drum might expand it enough to loosen
it on the shaft. Accordingly, a huge bon-fire was built around the drum.
After letting it heat for half an hour or so, the sledge and chain fall treat-
ment was tried again. Still no results. A dredge man, working way back of
nowhere, and with the crudest of tools, must necessarily be resourceful. The
diggers had tried every means they could imagine. Even the captain, who
could always be relied on to solve any problem, appeared to be stuck. We
had worked on this drum nearly all day. We had fought that shaft for hours.
Everybody's temper was on edge. All were standing around waiting for
some inspiration. At last John Lamb, one of the cranemen, who had been
beating the end of the shaft till he was about exhausted, walked to the oppo-
site end of it.

"By golly, if I can't drive the son of a gun out," he said, "I can sure as
hell drive it further in!"

With that, he swung the sledge with all his strength on the wrong end
of the shaft. To everybody's amazement it jumped nearly an inch. Exam-
ination showed that the short end on the shaft was slightly larger than the
rest of it. We had been trying for hours to drive the big end through the

One morning immediately after breakfast I went to the back end of the
houseboat to ready my launch before making a trip for water. The houseboat
and cook shack were ordinarily moored near the bank, and every morning
and evening were moved up to the dredge so the men would not have to
walk so far when changing shifts. This was Monday and the houseboat was
still near the stern of the dredge. The dredge had made very little progress.
The water must have been a little salty and the boiler had been foaming.
The digger had had to stop several times to let the steam pressure build up
while he meanwhile delivered pointed remarks to the firemen on the prin-
ciples of firing a boiler. The firemen had blown down the boiler while
we were eating, and now he opened the blow off valve and blew it off again
in a cloud of steam. I was picturing in my mind the digger stomping on his
lever stand, mumbling and cussing. Two things will get a digger riled.


Letting the boiler pop off from too much steam, and waiting for pressure
to build up after it has been blown down. I was just untying my boat when,
with a loud and hollow "WHOOM!" the whole after end of the dredge was
enveloped in a cloud of steam. The form of the fireman was dimly seen
through the mist as he catapulted off the fantail and onto the bank. Ashes,
dust and half burned sticks from the fire box flew in all directions. I rushed
to the bank to pick up the remains of the fireman. To my amazement, he was
standing on the spoil bank unhurt. I ventured gingerly onto the deck.
From the stories I had heard of boilers blowing up on steamboats, I
expected to see the boiler ripped apart and half the crew mangled. When
the steam had cleared away, nothing appeared to be disturbed, except that
the doors to the firebox and ash pit were standing open and both compart-
ments were clean as the day they were built. Gus came waddling aft and
peered into the fire box.
"Huh!" he grunted laconicly, "Crown sheet dropped! That sorry so-and-
so had ort ter had better sense than to be a-blowing the boiler down when
he knowed he didn't have no water in it."

It was shortly after the above episode, that Cap decided to reinforce the
boom. To that end, he sent out a truck load of channel beams and angle
irons, and brought a welder from a shop in Miami. This mechanic had
hardly started to work when he discovered that his cylinder of oxygen,
although he had tested it before leaving the shop, had leaked until it was
practically empty. This would never do, for not only was the dredge shut
down, but we would also have a high priced welder sitting down on the com-
pany's time. Cap instructed Ed Oliver to hot foot it to Miami and get two
tanks of oxygen, and be damned quick about it. As an added precaution, he
told me to go along, just in case we might get into trouble on the trip. What
admirable forethought! We left from the houseboat in the open launch. We
tied up at the end of the road grade, recently levelled by Music's crew, and
boarded the old White truck, for a fast dash into the city. We estimated
that barring accidents, we should be able to arrive at the shop before it
closed for the day. Ed did not spare the horsepower. With Ed clutching the
steering wheel, and me hanging to the seat with both hands, we bumped,
jolted, clattered and roared down that rock road into Royal Palm Park. From
there the road was comparatively good, and Ed rolled the old chain drive
for all it would put forth and did not slow down until we reached Miami.


We pulled in at the shop just as they were closing the doors. The shop men
rolled out two fresh cylinders and to make sure they were full, attached a
gauge and tested them. We all witnessed that both had full pressure. The
valves were tightened, the caps screwed on, and away again for Cape Sable!
In Homestead, our last town before embarking on the jungle road, we
stopped for supper, and as we did not have to be back before day, we also
indulged in the rare treat of viewing a picture show.
When we arrived at the end of the rock road at one-thirty in the morn-
ing, we discovered that during our absence there had been a heavy rain, and
the marl grade was almost too slippery to navigate. This we were prepared
for. After installing chains on the tires, however, one of the tires went flat.
We jacked up the truck, dismounted the tire and set to work on the tube
with a package of cold patching. The tube was riddled with holes and we
had no spare. The patching material gave out, and there were still plenty
of holes. Ed found another partly used repair kit, which we used as sparingly
as possible, now and then pumping up the tube and sliding down the canal
bank to test it in the water. At last every vestige of the patching had been
used, and three holes remained. That settled the matter of going farther in
the truck. Reluctantly, Ed and I started to trudge the three and a half miles
to where we had left the boat. It would have not been too bad a walk. The
moon was shining, mosquitoes were no worse than customary, but the rain
had made the road so slippery that in spite of taking short mincing steps, we
could hardly make any progress. Ed jokingly remarked, "We are facing the
wrong way. We take one step forward and slip back two. Let's try heading
the other way, we will get to the boat quicker. How far do you suppose we
have walked so far?"
"About half a mile," I replied.
"Then I am going to stop right here. The bugs are no worse here than
they are at the truck. You can pick me up when you come by in the launch."
That left me to trudge the remaining distance alone, slipping and sliding.
Sometimes, in sheer disgust, I would stop and try to figure out a better way
of travelling. The swamp growth was too dense to travel at night. Swimming
would have been faster, but the prospect of returning in the launch with all
that bare skin exposed to the insects was prohibitive. The longest journey
finally ends. I cranked up the launch engine, cruised back to pick up Ed,
then to the truck, where we transferred the two oxygen cylinders to the boat,
and at last arrived at the dredge at 8:00 a. m. But we were not yet through
with oxygen trouble. The welder, when connecting his regulator and gauges


to the first cylinder, discovered that in spite of our precautions, it, too, had
leaked down. Cap nearly blew a fuse. This time, he declared, he would go
himself. It looks like if you want a job done right, you just about have to
do it yourself anyway, etc., etc. And for company on the trip, he took Blondy.

On their return to the houseboat that night, Blondy looked as if he had
had an encounter with a bull alligator. It was raining, and his store clothes
were bedraggled. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth was a bloated,
blood-coated hole in his face. We likewise observed that two of his upper
front teeth were only jagged stumps. Cap explained that on the return trip
his car engine had stalled. When Blondy had got out to crank it, the engine
had backfired, with consequent damage to his already hard bitten features.
Although I was just starting on a trip for water, and in spite of the fact
that it was still raining, and that he was obviously in pain, he insisted that it
was his shift. Neither pleading nor threats could dissuade him from doing
what he considered was his duty. Another typical instance of his unselfish-
The first week in May was devoted to repairing the boom and dipper
handle, and of course, the boiler. It always needed some attention. We were
now well out in the prairie. Sawgrass had given way to a bushy-topped sage
grass. The lone cabbage was much closer, but with the shut-down for repairs
it still seemed far away. One afternoon Ed Oliver and I decided to take
advantage of our temporary idle period to do a little exploring. Ahead
and to the north a short way, lay the group of small lakes previously men-
tioned. Nearest the right of way, and near the cabbage, lay the largest-'Gator
Lake. Its shores were bordered by a thin fringe of scrub mangroves. Ed took
his shotgun, in hope of bagging a bit of fresh meat for our chow and also, he
whispered we might surprise an egret. Our intention was to make a circuit
of the lake, and possibly even visit the Fox Lakes if time permitted. Had the
ground been firm enough for decent walking, this would have been only a
pleasant stroll. However, from the start, our feet sank into the soft muck
over our shoe tops. As we approached the edge of the lake through a dense
growth of short sawgrass, it became progressively softer. Maybe by lying
down and crawling it would have been possible to arrive at the mangroves,
but we back-tracked and circled further in search of a more feasible avenue
of approach. After several false tries, we discovered a firmer stretch by
which we emerged through a gap in the mangroves, and had a very good
view of the placid expanse of black water, which appeared to be nearly cir-
cular and probably half a mile in diameter.


'Gator Lake was once reputed to have been one of the greatest egret
rookeries in this part of Florida. Many tales have been told of the fabulous
number of plumes taken from the birds nesting there. Now, thanks to the
millinery trade, it was deserted. No solitary spot of white relieved the desert
scene. It was apparently as devoid of life as though visited by a plague,
which, indeed had been the case. Finally tiring of our perch in the man-
grove roots, we made our way to one of the neighboring lakes, which, though
smaller, proved to be somewhat more rewarding.
"Do you think we will find any egrets around these lakes?"

"We might sight one or two. You can't never tell. I killed two over at
Cuthbert Lake last month. There used to be a big rookery there once, but
they are about all gone now."
"But Ed," I exclaimed, slightly horrified, "Why in the world did you
want to shoot them when they are already practically wiped out, and besides
it is against the law to even have a plume in your possession. What good
would the plumes do you after you got them?"
"Don't worry," he replied enigmatically, "There's still ways to sell a
plume if you know who to see!" So evidently a market of a sort still existed.
At any rate it must not have been important, for the short whites have made
a remarkable come back since that day.
Upon arriving at this second lake, we saw numerous small alligators
stretched on its muddy shores, or floating submerged with only nose and eye
bumps visible. A variety of wading birds were dispersed in the shallows. As
we approached, a slim blob of white launched itself from a sunken stub and
flapped gracefully over the distant bushes.

The month of April had been quite dry. We had had little or no rain.
No water stood on the prairie, and as a consequence, we had enjoyed a partial
respite from the constant plague of mosquitoes. In fact, so long as we stayed
in the canal on dredge, houseboat or launch, they hardly bothered in the day-
time. Of course, if one plunged into the dense swamp, that was another
story. The summer rains began early in May. They not only began, they
started with a vengeance and seemed to have no intention of stopping. For
four weeks, until into the month of June, it rained both day and night, hardly
missing a day. One week it rained hard every single night. This was con-


trary to the usual experience during the rainy season. Ordinarily the morn-
ings and nights are clear. The precipitation falls in the afternoons. Now it
rained most of the nights and mornings, and if there were clear spells, they
were likely to be late in the day. Even then it was not clear. The sky
remained shrouded in heavy black clouds at all times, continually threatening
renewed downpours. Fully half the time we were subjected to anything from
a sprinkle to a deluge. The rest of the time it remained cloudy. To the crew
of the dredge, with a roof over their heads, this was hardly more than an
annoyance. Blondy and I could not escape, though. During our twelve-hour
runs we had no shelter from the elements. The little cabin on the boat housed
only the engine. The operator could only squint his eyes against the down-
pour and take what came.

It took but little of this variety of weather to saturate the thirsty ground.
Soon the prairie was covered with half a foot of water. This necessitated a
slight change in our arrangements. It had been our custom to keep only the
full water barge attached to the dredge. The cook shack, houseboat, and
wood barge were staked out on the canal bank, and were moved twice a day
by the launch when it came in from a run, unless the deck hands had already
done so. Now, in soft digging, the dredge was moving farther ahead in each
shift, and the men, when shifts changed, complained of having to slosh and
bog in shoe-top water and mud from houseboat to dredge, and often in the
dark, to get to work. Accordingly the houseboat and cook barge were secured
together, an outside gang plank rigged on the former, and both attached to
the stern of the dredge. A heavy anchor of old grate bars dragged behind
the rig to prevent it from surging under the stern when the machine moved
ahead. Now we no longer had to pour the water out of our shoes before
we went to bed.

An inevitable result of this rainy weather was, of course, an abnormal
increase in the number, and correspondingly, the voracity, of our old friends,
the mosquitoes. They were soon as pestiferous in the day as they had been
at night. At night they were almost unbearable. All the cracks and holes
in the houseboat were tightly closed. Cap brought us a new batch of screened
hats. The fireman carefully selected and cut up every piece of black man-
grove from his firewood. Pungent smudge cans smouldered continually on
the lever stand, in front of the boiler, in the anteroom of the houseboat, and
even on the deck of the launch. Everyone resorted to a uniform of overalls
and tightly buttoned dungaree jacket. Those who worked at night and were
bothered by the glare of lights on the screen of their hats, put a towel over


their heads and wrapped the ends around their necks till they looked like
desert Bedouins, or Everglades tractor drivers in the dry season. Even the
wood crew while loading the barge back in the swamp, placed smudge pots
around the area where they worked, thereby obtaining relief more psycho-
logical than actual.

Upon returning from one of his trips to town Ed went to Cap, much
perturbed. "You know, you told me to get the transmission in that truck
overhauled in Homestead. Well, them hay-wire Joe Magees must have put
the works in backwards. Them gears are howling and grinding till I thot
I wasn't going to make it back."
"Make them do it over again. Do you think you can drive it back to
"Heck no! I was lucky to make it to the end of the road."
"Then, tomorrow, the first thing, you and Lawrence take that transmis-
sion down. See what is wrong, and I will drive to Miami in my car and get
what you need."
The following day we discovered that some of the parts had, indeed,
been assembled wrong and the gears were chipped and ruined. It took us half
a day in the mosquitoes to get the transmission removed, disassembled, and
the parts cleaned up, then half of the following day figuring how the new
parts were supposed to go, after which we had to make a quick run into
Florida City for gasoline for the boats. Upon returning, we learned that by
being away, we had missed getting involved in another disagreeable job. It
seems that about the time we had left, the dredge had taken it into its crazy
head to sink. In spudding up, the spud lock had failed to catch, and she
had careened, filled up and settled in the soup doodle. Fortunately the stern
had remained high enough that fire under the boiler had not been extin-
guished; so by dint of plugging up hatches and holes in hip deep water, and
blowing out the hold with the steam siphon, she eventually floated again.
Another, and more nasty job we were not to escape. Soon after the rains
began, the prairie, always boggy at best, became so soft that even the extra
planks bolted onto the spud feet were inadequate to support the dredge while
digging. Cap, therefore, got a load of 3x8 planks to be bolted on with U
bolts, to make a larger supporting surface. While the rest of the crew worked


on deck and on the spud foot itself, it fell the lot of Blondy and me to float
these planks into place, bogging to our knees at every step, then support
them, one by one, on our shoulders while they were secured. Waist deep in
water, and with mosquitoes hovering on every spot not plastered with stinking
mud, we were far from joyous.
After we got squared away in the mucky prairie, the dredge made some
remarkably fast time, due in part to the softness of the ground, and mainly
to the fact that Gus was now getting paid by the yardage dug. We had not
seen an inspector for-months, so Gus dug a channel barely large enough
for the dredge to pull itself through. In order to avoid digging deeper than
necessary to accomplish this, he was continually bawling out the fireman for
not keeping the stern weighted down with wood in order to trim up the heavy
bow. The whole after end of the hull got to resemble a wood yard. We
dug from 600 to 850 feet a day, more in one shift than we had previously
done in three. It was whispered that Gus, instead of his regular $135.00, was
drawing $250.00, even $300.00 per month, and once the unbelievable total
of $500.00.
While things were thus progressing smoothly, Cap decided that he would
take off and get himself married. This pleased Gus not at all, for it meant
that Gus was now in charge. He not only must strain himself during all the
daylight hours to maintain his phenomenal yardage, but the whole responsi-
bility for keeping the job progressing now rested on his shoulders, and
responsibility was one thing Gus did not crave.

Cap had not been gone long before the dredge finished its journey across
the prairie and arrived at a long and narrow lake, roughly at right angles to
our course. This body of water was marked on the maps "Whitewater Lake"
but was known to the natives as Nine Mile Lake. Now, in honor of the former
vice president of the Florida East Coast Railway, for whom, also the road to
the Cape had been named, it was called Lake Ingraham. However it might
be designated, it was to us, the Lake of Grief.

We arrived at this lake about midway of its length. The right of way
stakes indicated that we would proceed a hundred yards or so into the lake,
then dig in the open water to its southern end. A serious difficulty now
arose. So long as we had been in the shallow canal, dragging bottom and
sides in the muck, our hull had leaked very little. Occasional use of the
small steam pump had kept our bilges comparatively dry. But in the clear
waters of the lake the muck was soon shaken out of all the joints, and she


leaked like a market basket. Gus rigged a bigger siphon. This did the work
beautifully. There was only one slight objection. When the siphon was used
it took so much steam that there was none left for digging. After siphoning
half a hull of water everybody would sit down and wait for steam to build
up. Then when we dug, the seams gaped open, rivets rattled in their holes,
and the lake poured in through innumerable openings. In desperation, Gus
installed on the deck the pump rig used for filling the water barges, with a
four-inch suction pipe running to the deepest part of the hold. With this
running constantly it was still necessary every couple of hours, to shut down
and finish with the siphon. During these shut downs the crew members got
over the side with hanks of oakum and caulking irons or screwdrivers,
wadding oakum into seams and under rivet heads, as far as they could
reach above the water and below. Between times, the launchman who was
detailed to tend the pump would take a lantern and crawl about in the steamy,
stifling and stygian hold, deafened by the magnified roar of gears and drums
above his head, and do his best to stop the many leaks from inside. There
were even mosquitoes there, which shows that there was no getting away
from them.
As if the constant threat of sinking were not sufficient grief, we also
began to have increasing difficulty with the boiler. To save the long haul
from the Fox Lake ditch we had installed another, smaller, pump and engine
at a new water hole near the shore of Whitewater Lake. Water from this new
hole was so impure that the boiled tubes soon became caked with scale.
Water drizzled and bubbled where tubes joined the head sheets. Every
Sunday now, the tubes must be rolled and beaded tight in the heads. To
make matters worse the mangrove sticks, none too good a fuel at best, were
water sobbed from lying in the knee deep water in the swamp. When the
wood barge came in now, its bilge contained a foot of sap and water, red as
blood and smelling ten times worse. We had not proceeded two miles down
the lake before it became impossible to keep up steam enough to dig. It had
taken three dreary, frustrating weeks to advance a mere mile and a quarter.
In Flamingo prairie we had made three quarters of a mile in a single week.

Gus was in a dilemna. He did not want to retube the boiler with the
job nearing completion and in a rented machine to boot. On the other hand
it was obvious that at the rate we were going it might be Christmas before
the job could be completed. Then too, his lovely bonus was being shot to
pieces. He ordered a complete set of boiler tubes. Meanwhile the old tubes
were chiseled out. Gus returned from town with the new tubes piled on the


deck of an empty water barge. As the launch emerged from the canal and
swung into the water of the moon-lit lake he uttered a sudden cry "Look at
that damned old dredge! How low she is in the water! Do you suppose
the old tub is trying to sink again? And not a damn way in the cock-eyed
world to get up steam! Oh Cap, why of all times, did you pick a time like
this to go and get married?" Cap, on his honeymoon in Georgia, no doubt
felt his ears burn at the ensuing heart-felt remarks of his old friend and
buddy, Gus, who covered the subject thoroughly before we arrived at the
dredge. There we were met by Hubie, fit to tear his hair. The gas engine
on the pump, usually quite reliable, had quit. Blondy was off after wood. I
had gone for the boiler tubes. Only Hubie and Thad remained on the dredge.
They were unable to start the engine, and by the time Blondy had returned,
the battered hull was about to go to Davy Jones. Now the pump was gaining
on the water, however, but he didn't want Gus to ever, ever, go off and leave
him in a spot like that again.

After retubing the boiler during the first part of August, we still had
about two miles to dig before reaching the Gulf and the end of the contract.
We estimated that should wind us up during the first half of September.
The hauls for water were comparatively short now, but we still had to run
all the way back into the swamp to the neighborhood of Bear Lake to get
firewood. The round trip was some thirty miles and required four trips a
week. On these trips, we noticed toward the latter part of the job, a peculiar
phenomenon. Back in the "soup doodle prairie" it is true that Gus had dug
no more than was necessary to get the dredge through. But since that time
we had had plenty of rain. The woods and prairie were afloat. The water
in the canal should have been considerably deeper. Yet we began to drag
bottom with the shallow launch. The wake of the barge was brown, fibrous,
peaty debris. The banks, unable to sustain their own weight were flowing
back into the ditch. Years later, Ed, who had returned to work here on a
subsequent job, reported that there was only a trace left in this prairie, of
the major part of the canal at that time. The untamed prairie had merely
reclaimed the gash dug across its surface.

Eventually we were out of Nine Mile Lake, a hoodoo of the first magni-
tude. A smaller lake ahead was reached, then one after another, a chain of
little lakes were connected. None of these lakes were bordered with mangrove,
but rather with a variety of light colored bushy shrub which permeated the
air with a pleasant pungent odor noticeable at quite a distance from the
shore, and not encountered anywhere else in our experience.


One Sunday, some of us decided to visit the coconut grove at Middle
Cape. After proceeding toward the northern end of Nine Mile Lake we
discovered a narrow canal almost hidden by overarching mangrove scrub.
Penetrating this, we emerged into a broad, flat prairie carpeted with beauti-
ful shore grass as green and pretty as a pasture. At the end of the canal
we proceeded on foot to a large grove of luxuriant coconut palms, growing
from the margin of the prairie right down to the sandy beach. Great clusters
of nuts graced their tops. Of course, our first efforts were directed to
accumulating some samples of the fruit. This we did by selecting a tree whose
slope permitted climbing, and beating the husks off against the base of the
same tree. After regaling ourselves with the cool and delicious milk, then
breaking the shell and consuming the cream inside, we headed for a house
partly concealed by shade trees farther up the beach.

Upon arriving here, in answer to our hail, a man emerged. With a look
of astonishment, he greeted Gus and Hubie by name. They, equally surprised,
rushed up and shook his hand like long lost brothers, asking what in the
name of all that was good and bad, he was doing way off here at the tail
end of the world. After the excitement had subsided, it developed that he
had been chief engineer on the "Caloosahatchee", and when Cap and the
others had left, he had taken the job of caretaker for this coconut grove.
Then followed endless inquiries as to the other members of the crew, and
swapping tales of the good old days back on the "Caloosahatchee".
As to the grove, he informed us that it had been established many years
before by a Mr. E. A. Waddell from Miami. The coconuts were gathered
and husked by natives brought from Honduras for that purpose. Now,
however, he was alone.
Remembering our recent struggle to remove the husks from only a
couple of the nuts, we inquired as to the method used by these professionals.
He told us that they used a sharp pointed iron stake or spear, imbedded in
the ground. The nut was then grasped in both hands, driven down on the
spear and partly turned to loosen the husk. It was then rotated slightly and
the operation repeated. After the third stroke, the husk could usually be
stripped off with the hands. For this they were paid two cents apiece. While
this sounded very easy we agreed we had no desire to contract for any
When asked the reason for the canal through which we had arrived at


the grove, he replied that some years before, an attempt had been made to
raise cattle here. One of the Raulersons from Kissimmee, with several other
cattle men, discovering the wonderful growth of wild grass which we had
observed, had decided it would be ideal grazing land. They had engaged
Tom Bryan, of Ft. Lauderdale, with whom our boss Scott Holloway, was
later connected, to bring a big drag line machine to Middle Cape and dig
some ditches for drainage. They had then barged in a herd of cattle. The
dragline had got itself bogged down till they almost despaired getting it out,
and the cattle were no match for the mosquitoes. Those that did not die were
removed to fatten elsewhere. The grove alone remained, as the mosquitoes
had not developed beaks long enough to penetrate the nuts.

He also explained that although the name Cape Sable was applied to
the whole south tip of the peninsula of Florida, yet there actually were three
distinct capes. About three miles north of Middle Cape lies Northwest Cape,
an uninhabited sandy-beached peninsula. Southeast of Middle Cape is East
Cape, the most southern point on the mainland. These capes were singularly
free from mangroves, being covered instead mostly with various weeds and
bushes and scattered trees. The beach at Middle Cape was of hard sand, and
very narrow. We were told that a boat of five foot draft could run up almost
to the shore.
This magnificent coconut grove was practically wiped out and the fifty
year old house was washed away in the disastrous Labor Day hurricane of
September 2, 1935.
At long last, the Gulf was reached. Cap, who had by then returned from
his honeymoon, instructed Gus how to lay up the dredge, then returned back
up the canal to his car and home. Next morning early, the hands gathered on
the dredge to witness the final ceremony of digging through the ridge and
reaching open water. As luck would have it, by the time he was ready to
scoop out the last remaining barrier separating fresh water and salt, the tide
was about at full ebb. With the removal of this dam, the canal with a two
foot head, rushed seaward in a torrent of almost frightening velocity. With
caution, Gus continued into the bay and dug until the increasing depth pre-
vented spudding down. Then with spuds raised, and balancing like a tight
wire walker, he attempted the delicate task of kicking back, in order to
reenter the canal stern first.
The digging was done. The job was finished. Nine months of sweat
and toil was ended. Nothing now remained but to cool the boiler and head


for civilization. But wait! Cape Sable was not ready to release us thus
gently. She still reserved one parting blow at those who presumed to tame
her wilderness.
Still kicking back, the li'l ol' dredge got her stern end again between
the banks. The tide, which meanwhile had turned, now flowed inland with
almost the speed and volume with which it had previously discharged. Well,
that was fine. Gus ceased kicking back, and with all spuds raised, and dipper
poised, enjoyed the free ride backward from the beach. But at the Cape,
as elsewhere, each pleasure had its price. The stern hooked into the bank,
and in a flash the hull was athwart the current. The cranky top heavy craft,
her hull half full of bilge water, reeled crazily as the surging tide swept up
her greasy deck. Spuds dropped, boom swung. Alas, the steam was down.
She had no power to crane against the hungry flood. In minutes it was
over. Open hatches gulped the water down and soon the flowing tide stood
thigh deep over all the deck. Slogging ashore across the spud arm, Gus
slumped upon a fallen log, his head buried in his arms, the picture of dejec-
tion and disgust. He was too forlorn to even cuss.

Obviously, nothing could be done until the tide slacked the following
day, and preparations were made to rush the raising at that time. Yet still
the Cape was not content.
Daybreak caught us all under mosquito bars fast asleep. Some portent
of impending doom caused me to awake. The houseboat leaned sideways at
an alarming angle.
"Wake up! Turn out, we're sinking!" I screamed. As launchman, it was
my duty to tend the houseboats and barges, but more than duty sped my
limbs. Clad only in shorts and undershirt, I dashed ashore and loosened
the down stream rope. The hull was caught upon the bank, and pushing
failed to budge it. In desperation, I grabbed a heavy gangplank, thrust one
end under the hull, and pried the front end loose. Meanwhile the tide,
rushing like a mill race, was dropping fast. With but six inches of freeboard
when level, the far side of the deck was already under water, and tipping
more every minute. A hurried glance showed the cook shack in the same
predicament, though her deck was somewhat higher. With the upstream rope
bowstring tight, it seemed impossible to push that end free.

"Come on, you dopes, do you want us to sink?" I cried, exasperated
that they did not help. One by one they catapulted to the bank, but each one
fully dressed!


It was short work then to get the barges free and on an even keel, at
which the men returned as suddenly as they had appeared. Never were house
boats secured and gangplanks replaced so rapidly before, and with good
reason. The crewmen safe behind the window screens said my naked back
could not have been more black had it been painted. Yes, the skeeters were
right thick that morning.
Prepared with kindlings and dry wood, Thad got his fire started as
quickly as the grates were out of water. The gasoline engine was drained
and dried, hatches closed, pump and siphon started, and in a few hours we
were afloat again. The dredge beached herself in a shallow cut. The boiler
was cooled, all engines drained and copiously smeared with grease. House-
boats, barges and launches in one ungainly string, were readied for the
tedious journey through the shoals and islands of the bay and up the inland
waterway to Ft. Lauderdale. With all the crew aboard, we chugged out
into the placid waters. Like sailors home bound from a distant voyage we
would briefly revel in the delights of civilization then return once more
to the solitudes of the sawgrass.
A last backward glance revealed the A frame peeping above the treetops.
The old American Steel, battered and ugly, was left to rust again among the
mangroves of Cape Sable.


WILLIAM H. SAUNDERS, a native of Kansas, came to Lake Worth in 1890.
He worked as engineer on a number of construction jobs until he returned
to Kansas State College in 1912 as Agricultural Engineer. When he retired
in 1930 he returned to Florida. He is president of the Lake Worth Pioneers
Association and resides at Inverness.

NATHAN B. SHAPPEE is a member of the History Department at the
University of Miami. As student, teacher and newspaper man in western
Pennsylvania he did considerable work in local history, notably a study of
the Johnstown flood. He recently published in the Florida Historical Quar-
terly an article on the Roosevelt, Cermak, Zangara episode in Miami.

JAMES LORENZO WALKER is a member of a pioneer family of Lee and
Collier counties. He grew up with the building of the Tamiami Trail of
which he writes. He is a real estate broker in Naples, and is serving his
second term in the State Legislature.

LAWRENCE E. WILL of Belle Glade writes of his own experiences on the
Florida frontier. He has lived in the Lake Okeechobee region since early in
the century when drainage began to open up the area, and has collected
much data in notes and pictures on the early history of that region.




On Hand September 1, 1958
Current Assets:
Museum Building Fund (In interest bearing bank deposits):
(1) Savings Account -------------------- $21,777.17
(2) Savings Certificates ------------------- 3,000.00
General Fund (In non-interest bearing bank deposit) 669.58
Securities at current market --------------------- 1,835.00
Contribution to Museum Building Fund Receivable_. 1,000.00
Non-Association Publications on hand for sale ------ 378.71
Tequestas on hand ----------------- ----- 676.00 $29,336.46

Fixed Assets:
Furniture and Fixtures -------------------------- 222.67
Audio-Visual Equipment ----- ------------ 518.45
Illustrated Lecture ------------------------------ 437.17 1,178.29 $30,514.75
Contributions to Museum Building Fund Received...-- 1,104.20
Contributions to Marker Program ------------------ 600.00
Contributions to Securities and Appreciation ----------- 491.00
Total Contributions -------- ----------------- 2,195.20

Dues Collected ----------------------------------- 5,331.48
Income from Books (Non-Association) -------------- 268.83
Sale of Prior issues of Tequesta -------------------- 180.00
Interest on Bank Deposits -------------------- 674.08
Dividends on Securities ---------------------- 62.75
Miscellaneous Income ----------------------------- 72.66
Total Other Income -------------------- 6,589.80
Less Disbursements:
Marker Program ----- ------------------ 27.29
Tequestas on Hand, Sept. 1, 1958 $676.00
Publication cost of Tequesta --- 884.64 $1,560.64
Less-Tequestas on Hand .---. 743.00 817.64
Program Meetings ------------------------------ 550.65
Secretarial Expense ------- --------------- 300.00
President's Newsletter --------------------------- 303.39
Library ---------------------------------- 107.28
Non-Association Publications on
Hand for Sale, Sept. 1, 1958 ---- 378.71
Purchase of Books (for sale) __ 478.69 857.40
Less-Publications on Hand__ 674.70 182.70
Sales Tax --------- --------------------- 7.11
Miscellaneous Expense --------------------------- 623.67
Total Disbursements ---------------------- 2,919.73

Net Income for Fiscal Year ------------------------ 5,865.27
On Hand August 31, 1959 ----------------------$--- $36,380.02




Current Assets:
Museum Building Fund (In interest bearing bank deposits):
(1) Savings Account -----------------------$26,555.45
(2) Savings Certificates---- ----------- 3,000.00
General Fund (In non-interest bearing bank deposit) 902.58
Securities at current market--------------------- 2,326.00
Contribution to Museum Building Fund Receivable_ 1,000.00
Non-Association Publications on Hand for Sale------ 674.70
Tequestas on Hand ------------------------------ 743.00 35,201.73

Fixed Assets:
Furniture and Fixtures -------------------------- 222.67
Audio-Visual Equipment ------------------------- 518.45
Illustrated Lecture------------------------------ 437.17 1,178.29

We greatly appreciate the generosity of Withers Transfer & Storage Company, 357
Almeria Ave., Coral Gables, in providing fireproof protection for our archives, and of
Jack Callahan, C.P.A., duPont Bldg., Miami, in auditing our accounts.
ROBERT M. McKEY, Treasurer.

Museum Building Fund (In interest bearing bank deposits):
(1) Savings Account ----------------------------------$26,555.45
(2) Savings Certificates --------------- ------------------------ 3,000.00
General Fund (In non-interest bearing bank deposit) ------------------- 902.58
Securities at current market ---------------------------------------- 2,326.00
Contribution to Museum Building Fund Receivable ----------------------- 1,000.00
Non-Association publications on hand for sale:
"Miami Millions" 290 Copies ------------... --.-- -----------. $335.00
"Florida's Last Frontier" 10 Copies ------------------------- 24.50
"Chokoloskee Bay Country" 11 Copies ----------------------- 6.60
"Life of Dr. Samuel A. Mudd" 19 Copies ---------------- 95.00
"Floridas Flagler" 89 Copies ------------------------------- 213.60 674.70
743 Copies Teqnesta on Hand------------ ------------------------ 743.00

Total Current Assets ------------ --------------------$35,201.73

Total Members for 1959 (as of October 31, 1959)--- 547
Total 1959 Dues Collected (as of October 31, 1959) ---------------------- 5,171.48



EXPLANATORY NOTE: The Association provides several classes of membership.
"Sustaining" members who pay five dollars a year make up the basic member-
ship. For those who wish to contribute more for the promotion of the Associa-
tion's work the other classes of membership provide the opportunity, and the
publication of their names id the proper category of membership is a means of
recognition. "Patrons" pay ten dollars a year, "Donors" pay twenty-five dollars
a year, "Contributors" pay fifty dollars a year, "Sponsors" pay one hundred
dollars a year, and "Benefactors" pay two hundred and fifty or more dollars
a year.
This printed roster is made up of the names of those persons and institutions
that have paid dues in 1958, or in 1959 before October 31 when this material
must go to the press. Those joining after this date in 1959 will have their names
included in the 1960 roster. The symbol ** indicates founding member and
symbol indicates charter member.


Adams, Adam G., Coral Gables
Adams, Lewis M., Miami
Adkins, A. Z., Jr., Gainesville
Albertson Public Library, Orlando
Aldrich, Miss Pearl, Philadelphia
Aldridge, Miss Daisy, Miami
Allison, Mrs. John D., Miami
American Museum of Natural History
Anderson, Robert H., Miami
Andrews, Melvin D., Miami
Ansley, J. A., Ft. Myers
Anthony, Roscoe T., Palm Beach
Archer, Ben, Homestead
Arnold, Glenn H., Atlanta
Arnold, Mrs. Roger W., Miami
Atkins, C. Clyde, Miami
Avery, George N., Marathon
Ayars, Erling E., S. Miami
Baker, Therese, Stuart
Barker, Mrs. Violet, Miami
Bartow Public Library
Baskin, M. A., Coral Gables
Bassett, Rex, Jr., Ft. Lauderdale
Bathe, Greville, St. Augustine
Baum, Earl L., Naples
Baxter, John M., Miami*
Beal, K. Malcolm, Miami*
Beardsley, Jim E., Clewiston
Beck, Mrs. Alfred J., Ft. Lauderdale*
Beckham, W. H., Jr., Coral Gables
Bellous, C. M., Sr., Opa Locka
Beyer, R. C., Miami
Bills, Mrs. John T., Miami
Bingham, Mrs. Millicent T., Washington,
D. C.
Bishop, Edwin G., Miami*
Black, Dr. Linnie K., Miami
Blaine, Rev. B. Michael, Miami

Blanton, Judge W. F., Miami
Blassingame, Wyatt, Anna Maria
Blouvelt, Mrs. Arthur M., Coral Gables
Board of County Commissioners, Bartow
Bowen, Crate D., Miami*
Bowman, Rt. Rev. Marion, St. Leo
Boyd, Mark F., Tallahassee*
Bozeman, Maj. R. E., St. Petersburg
Bradfield, E. S., Miami Beach**
Brady, Mrs. H. R., Key Biscayne
Brantner, Mrs. Wilma, Marathon
Brickell, Miss Maude E., Miami
Briggs, Harold E., Carbondale, Ill.
Brigham, Florence S., Miami
Brook, John, Jr., Coral Gables
Brookfield, Charles M., Coconut Grove*
Brooks, J. B, Homestead
Brooks, Marvin J., Miami
Brown University Library
Bruninga, W. Henry, Coconut Grove
Buhler, Mrs. J. E., Coconut Grove
Bullen, Ripley P., Gainesville
Burghard, August, Ft. Lauderdale
Burton, Mrs. Robert A., Miami*
Bush, R. S., Miami
Busse, Raymond J., Miami
Byrd, Mrs. J. Wade, Miami
Caldwell, Thomas P., Coral Gables**
Caldwell, Mrs. Thomas P., Coral Gables*
Campbell, Park H., Miami*
Campbell, Mrs. Park H., Miami*
Campbell, Mrs. Susie C., Miami
Capel, Fred B., Tavernier
Capron, Louis B., West Palm Beach
Carnine, Miss Helen M., Coral Gables
Carrier, Robert M., Jr., Louisville, Ky.
Carson, Mrs. Ruby Leach, Miami**
Cartee, Mrs. Horace L., Coral Gables


Carter, Kenneth W., Grosse Point Woods,
Catlow, Mrs. William R., Jr., Westfield,
N. J.*
Chance, Michael, Naples
Chastain, Dixie H., Miami
Cheetham, Joseph M., Miami
Clark, Judge George T., Miami
Clarke, Jerry C., Key Biscayne
Close, Kenneth, Coral Gables
Coachman, Mrs. Minnette K., Miami
Coachman, Richard A., Miami
Coconut Grove Library
Cole, R. B., Miami
Combs, Mrs. Walter H., Sr., Miami*
Comerford, Miss Nora A., Coral Gables
Connell, Maurice H., & Assoc., Miami
Conner, Mrs. A. W., Tampa
Conrad, Mrs. Mary D., Miami
Cook, John B., Miami
Coral Gables Public Library*
Corley, Miss Pauline, Miami**
Coslow, George R., Miami
Covington, James W., Tampa
Criswell, Clarence Lee, Passe-A-Grille
Criswell, Col. Grover C., Passe-A-Grille
Cushman, The School, Miami*
Dacy, John A., Coral Gables
Dalenberg, George R., Miami
Darrow, Miss Dorothy, Coral Gables
DeBoe, Mrs. Mizpah Otto, Coral Gables
Dee, William V., Coconut Grove*
Deedmeyer, George J., Miami*
Deedmeyer, Mrs. George J., Miami
de Lamorton, Fred, Tampa
De Nies, Charles F., Hudson, Mich.
Dicker, Mrs. Barbara, Miami
Dismukes, Wm. P., Coral Gables*
Dixon, James A., Miami
Dodd, Miss Dorothy, Tallahassee*
Dorn, H. Lewis, S. Miami
Dorn, Harold W., S. Miami
Dorn, Mrs. Mabel W., S. Miami
Dorothy, Mrs. Caroline, Miami*
Downer, Miss Lisa de F., Coconut Grove**
Dubois, Mrs. Bessie W., Jupiter
Dunaway, Mrs. Carl E., Miami*
Dykes, Robert J., Miami
Eaton, Joe, Miami
Eckel, Mrs. Frederick, Ft. Lauderdale
Elder, Dr. S. F., Miami*
Emerson, Wm. C., Rome, N. Y.
Everglades Natural History Association
Fairchild, Mrs. David, Coconut Grove*
Fite, Robert H., Miami
Fitzgerald, Dr. Joseph H., New York City
Fitzpatrick, Monsignor John J., Stuart

Florida Southern College
Florida State Library
Forman, Mrs. J. B., Ft. Lauderdale
Fortner, Ed, Miami
Freeland, Mrs. William L., Miami**
Freeling, J. S., Miami
Freeling, Mrs. J. S., Miami
Freeman, Mrs. Ethel C., Morristown, N. J.
Freeman, Harvey L., Ormond Beach
Frey, Mrs. Edith J., Miami*
Frutkoff, Theodore, Coral Gables
Fullerton, R. C., Coral Gables
Fuzzard, Miss Jessie M., Miami*
Gannaway, Mrs. K. C., Miami
Gardner, R. C., Miami*
Gardner, Mrs. R. C., Miami*
Gates, Harley D., Boca Raton
Gautier, Thomas N., Miami
Gelber, Seymour, Miami Beach
Gibson, Mrs. Walter C., Miami*
Glendinning, Richard, Sarasota
Glenn, Roscoe E., Miami
Godfrey, Clyde, Miami
Goodwill, William F., Coral Gables
Greenfield, Arnold M., Miami
Gregor, Henry, Coral Gables
Griffen, F. S. Miami
Griggs, Nelson W., Miami Shores
Griggs, Mrs. Nelson W., Miami Shores
Griswold, Oliver, Miami
Hall, A. Y., Miami
Hall, Willis E., Coral Gables
Hallstead, P. Frederick, Marathon
Halstead, W. L., Coconut Grove
Hampton, Mrs. John, Sparks, Md.*
Hancock, Mrs. J. T., Okeechobee
Harding, Col. Read B., Arcadia
Harllee, J. William, Miami
Harlow, Rev. Frank E., Coral Gables
Harlow, Mrs. Frank E., Coral Gables
Harrington, Frederick H., Hialeah
Hart, Mrs. Reginald, Coral Gables
Harvard College Library
Havee, Justin P., Miami*
Havee, Mrs. Kathryn, Miami
Haycock, Ira C., Coral Gables
Hefferman, Judge D. J., Coral Gables
Heinlein, Mrs. Mary C., Homestead
Hellier, Walter R., Ft. Pierce
Hendry, Judge Norman, Miami
Herin, Thomas D., Miami
Herin, William A., Miami*
Hess, Mrs. E. L., Miami
Hill, Mrs. A. Judson, Coconut Grove
Hills, Lee, Miami
Hillsborough County Historical
Hodsden, Mrs. Harry, Miami
Holcomb, Lyle D., Miami


Holland, Cecil P., Miami
Holland, Spessard L., Washington, D. C.*
Holmdale, Mrs. A. G., Miami
Hooker, Roland M., Miami Beach
Houghton, Mrs. A. S., Miami
Hubbell, Willard, Miami
Hughes, Mrs. Fleda V., Miami
Humphreys, Mrs. D. M., Ft. Lauderdale
Huntington Library, San Marino, Calif.
Isom, Rudolph, Miami
Jacksonville Free Public Library
James, Ernest W., Miami
Jaudon, Mrs. J. F., Miami*
Jenkins, Leon R., Miami
Jones, Mrs. L. A., Miami*
Jones, Mrs. Mary A., Miami
Joy, Mrs. Barbara E., Miami
Kemery, Marvin E., Miami
Kendall, Harold E., Goulds
Kent, Mrs. Frederick A., Coconut Grove
Kent, Selden G., Miami
Kenyon, Alfred, Ft. Lauderdale
Key West Art and Historical Society
King, C. Harold, Miami
King, Otis S., Miami
Kislak, Jay I., Miami
Kitsler, The C. W. Company, Miami
Kitchens, Dr. F. E., Coral Gables
Knowles, Mrs. J. B., Coconut Grove
Kofoed, Jack, Miami
Kohl, Mrs. Lavenia B., Palm Beach
Lake Worth Public Library
Lane, Geraldine B., Miami
Laxon, Dan D., Hialeah
Leffler, Admiral C. D., Miami
Lemon City Library and Improvement
Lewis, Miss Carlotta, Coral Gables
Leyden, Mrs. Charles S., Coral Gables
Lindsey Hopkins Vocational School,
Lindsley, A. R., Miami Beach
Linp, Morris N., Miami Beach
Littlefield, Miss Helena, S. Miami
Longshore, Frank, Miami
Lucinian, Dr. Joseph H., Miami Beach
Lummus, J. N., Miami
Lummus, J. N., Jr., Miami
Lummus, Tom J., Miami
Lyell, Dr. Robert O., Miami
Lyell, Mrs. Robert 0., Miami
Lynch, Sylvester J., Homestead*
MacDonald, Miss Barbara, Miami
MacDonald, Miss Betty, Miami
Manley, Miss Marion I., Coconut Grove
Manly, Albert B., Homestead
Manly, Charles W., Coconut Grove
Manning, Mrs. Wi. S., Jacksonville
Mansfield, William N., Miami Beach

Marchman, Watt P., Fremont, Ohio*
Marks, Henry S., Hollywood
Martin, Mrs. Kirby A., New York, N. Y.
Martin, Melbourne M., Coral Gables
Mason, Mrs. Joe J., Miami
Mason, Walter S., S. Miami*
May, Philip S., Jacksonville
McBroom, W. T., Miami
McCune, Adrian, Miami Beach
McDonald, Mrs. John M., Miami Beach
McKay, Col. D. B., Tampa
McKee, Arthur, Jr., Tavernier
McKibben, Dr. Wm. W., Coral Gables
McKim, Mrs. L. H., Montreal, Canada
McNeill, Robert E., Jr., New York, N. Y.
Memorial Library of the Palm Beaches
Merrick, Mrs. Eunice P., Coral Gables*
Merritt, Dr. Webster, Jacksonville
Miami Edison Senior Library
Miami Public Library (Main Branch)*
Miami Senior High School Library
Miami Springs Memorial Public Library
Mikesell, Ernest E., Miami
Miller, Raymond M., Miami*
Mission of Nombre Dios, St. Augustine
Mitchell, C. J., Miami
Mitchell, Harry James, Key West
Mondrach, Mrs. Stephen H., Jr., N. Miami
Monk, James F., Miami
Moore, Dr. Castles W., Ft. Lauderdale
Moulds, Andrew J., Coral Gables
Moulds, Mrs. Andrew J., Coral Gables
Moylan, E. B., Jr., Miami
Muir, William Whatley, Miami
Muller, Leonard R., Coconut Grove*
Munroe, Wirth M., Coconut Grove*
Murray, Mrs. Julian E., Miami
Nelson, Mrs. Winifred H., Miami
Newberry Library, Chicago, 1l.
Newman, Mrs. Anna Pearl, Vero Beach
Norris, Hardgrove, Miami
Northington, Dr. Page, Miami
North Miami High School Library
Nugent, Mrs. Patrick B., Swananoa, N. C,*
Pace, Mrs. Johnson H., Miami*
Pace, Rev. Johnson H., Tallahassee
Padgett, Inman, Coral Gables
Pancoast, Lester C., Miami
Pardo, Mrs. Ramiro V., Miami
Parker, Alfred B., Coconut Grove
Parsons, Mrs. Frances G., Miami*
Patrick, Rembert W., Gainesville
Patterson, George L., Jr., Miami
Pearce, Mrs. Dixon, Miami
Peirce, Gertrude C., Miami
Pemberton, P. G., Miami
Pemberton, Mrs. P. G., Miami
Pendergast, Mrs. Eleanor L., Miami*
Pendleton Robert S., Miami


Pennekamp, John D., Miami
Peters, Mrs. Thelma, Miami*
Philbrick, W. L., Miami
Pierce, Miss Ruby Edna, Palm Beach
Platt, T. Beach, Coconut Grove
Plowden, Gene, Miami
Prahl, William, Miami
Prevatt, Preston G., Miami
Price, Gaylord L., Miami
Prince, J. W., Naples
Prunty, John W., Miami
Quigley, Ellen M., Miami Beach
Railey, F. G., Miami*
Railey, Mrs. F. G., Miami*
Rasmussen, Dr. Edwin L., Dock Hill,
Reese, Mrs. J. H., Miami
Reynolds, Mrs. H. Jarvis, Coral Gables
Roberts, R. B., Jr., Miami
Robertson, Mrs. L B., Miami
Rollins College, Winter Park
Rose, Harvey K., Miami
Rosner, George W., Coral Gables*
Ross, Mrs. Richard F., Boca Raton
Royce, Gardner, Coral Gables
Rubin, Seymour, Miami Beach
Santanello, M. C., Kendall
Sapp, Alfred E., Miami
Saunders, Dr. Lewis M., Miami
Sawyer, Clifton A., Warwick, R. L
Saye, Roland A., Jr., Miami Beach
Schuberth, Andrew F., Miami
Sessa, Frank B., Miami
Shappe, Nathan D., Miami
Shaw, Henry Overstreet, Miami
Shaw, Miss Luelle, Miami*
Shepard, L. C., Coral Gables
Simon, Stuart L, Miami
Sisters of St. Joseph, St. Augustine
Slaughter, Dr. F. G., Jacksonville
Sleight, Frederick W., Orlando
Smiley, Nixon, Miami
Smith, Gilbert B., Coral Gables
Snodgrass, Miss Dena, Jacksonville
Southgate, Howard, Winter Park
Sparks, Mrs. Charles, Fortville, Ind.
Spinks, Mrs. Elizabeth J., Miami*
State Historical Society of Wisconsin
State University of Iowa Library
Steel, Wm. C., Miami
Stern, David S., Coconut Grove
Stetson, John B., University
Stevens, Mrs. T. T., Miami
Stone, Mrs. Marie, Miami
Straight, Dr. Wm. M., Miami
Stranahan, Mrs. Frank, Ft. Lauderdale*
Stripling Insurance Agency, Hialeah
Strong, Clarence B., S. Miami*
Sunset Elementary School, Miami

Sydow, William, Miami
Talley, Howard J., Miami
Tampa Public Library
Taylor, Henry H., Jr., Miami
Teachers' Professional Library, Miami
Tebeau, Charlton W., Coral Gables*
Tebeau, Mrs. Violet H., Coral Gables
TenEick, Mrs. M. Nunez, Tampa*
Tennessee State Library and Archives
Tharp, Charles D., S. Miami*
Thomas, Arden H., S. Miami
Thrift, Dr. Charles T., Jr.. Lakeland
Tietze, Robert A., Coral Gables
Tietze, Mrs. Robert A., Coral Gables
Toombs, Mrs. Betty Louise, Miami
Turner, Vernon W., Homestead
Tussey, Mrs. Ethyl Wayt, Miami
Ullman, John, Jr., Ft. Lauderdale
Underwood, Edwin H., Jr., Miami
University of Florida
University of Miami Library
University of Tennessee
University of Pennsylvania
Valentine, Mrs. J. Manson, Miami
Vance, Mrs. Herbert O., Coral Gables*
Van Deusen, Burton E., Miami
Wacher, Jack, Miami
Walsh, Mrs. Charles H., Winter Haven
Walters, Walter M., Miami
Warner, Miss Elmina, Miami
Warner, William C., Miami
Warner, Mrs. William C., Miami
Washington, James G., Miami
Watson, P. L., Miami Beach
Weaver, Mrs. Frances B., Ft. Lauderdale
Wenner, Henry S., Jr., S. Miami
Wentworth, T. T., Jr., Pensacola
West India Reference Library,
Kingston, Jamaica
Wheeler, B. B., Lake Placid
White, Mrs. Louise V., Key West
White, Richard M., Miami
Wight, William S., Coral Gables
Wilgus, A. Curtis, Gainesville
Williams, H. Franklin, Coral Gables*
Willing, R. B., Miami
Wilson, Albert B., Miami
Wilson, F. Page, Miami
Wilson, Gaines R., Coconut Grove**
Wilson, Mrs. Gaines R., Coconut Grove
Wilson, Peyton L., Miami*
Wilson, Miss Virginia, Miami
Wirth, Miss Josephine, Coconut Grove*
Withers, Charles E., Coral Gables
Withers, Wayne E., Coral Gables
Wittichen, Mrs. Murray F., Coral Gables
Wolf, Fred, Sr., Hallandale
Wolfe, Miss Rosalie L., Miami
Wolfe, Mrs. William A., Ft. Lauderdale


Wood, Mrs. Agnes F., Miami
Woore, A. Meredith, Miami*
Wright, Mrs. Victor A., Miami Shores

Wylie, W. Gill, Jr., Palm Beach
Yonge, Julien C., Gainesville


Adams, Wilton L., Coral Gables
Ashe, Mrs. Bowman F., Coral Gables
Baber, Adin, Kansas, Ill.*
Bailey, Mrs. Ernest H., Coral Gables
Baker, Charles H., Jr., Coconut Grove*
Barge, Dr. Hubert A., Miami
Barkley, Rufus C., Jacksonville
Barton, Alfred L, Surfside
Bickel, Karl A., Sarasota*
Blakey, B. H., Miami
Brickell, Mrs. Charles, Oxford, Md.**
Brown, William J., Miami
Brown, Mrs. William J., Miami
Brunstetter, Roscoe, Miami
Burdine, William M., Miami
Chase, Randall II, Sanford
Clark, Mrs. Flournoy B., Coral Gables*
Clinch, Duncan L., Miami
Combs, Walter H., Jr., Miami*
Cooper, George H., Princeton
Corliss, C. J., Washington, D. C.
Corson, Allen, Miami
Cowell, Edward H., Coral Gables
Crane, Francis V., Marathon
Crane, Mrs. Francis V., Marathon
Crow, Mrs. Lon Worth, Miami*
Davis, Hal D., Coral Gables
Fascell, Dante B., Coral Gables
Fee, David M., Fort Pierce
Feibelman, Herbert U., Miami
Ferendino, Andrew J., Miami
Field, Dr. Henry, Coconut Grove
Fitzgerald Bush, Capt. F. S., Opa Locka
Florence, Robert S., Miami
Flynn, Stephen J., Coral Gables
Fosnot, Mrs. Walter, Miami
Freeman, Edison S., Miami
Frohock, Mrs. Jack, N. Miami
Fuller, Walter P., St. Petersburg
Gardner, Jack R., Miami
Gibson, Henry C., Jenkintown, Pa.
Gifford, Mrs. John C., Miami*
Goldweber, S., Perrine
Graham, Ernest R., Hialeah
Griffin, L. J., Miami
Hancock, E. M., Miami Beach
Hanks, Bryan, Ft. Worth, Texas*
Harris, Miss Julia F., Palm City*
Herren, Norman A., Everglades
Holland, Judge John W., Coral Gables*
Hooper, Parker M., Coral Gables
Hopkins, Dr. Oliver B., Miami

Houser, Roosevelt C., Coral Gables
Howard, Lee, Miami Beach
Hudson, F. M., Miami**
Hughes, Mrs. Helene, Miami
Jamaica Inn, Key Biscayne
Johnston, Thomas McE., Miami
Kanner, Samuel J., Miami
Kerr, James B., Ft. Lauderdale*
Knight, John S., Miami
Krome, Mrs. Winm. J., Homestead*
LaGorce, Dr. John 0., Washington, D. C.
Ledbetter, Charles B., Miami
LeGate, J. M., Miami
Lindgren, Mrs. M. E., Miami
Lochrie, Robert B., Jr., Ft. Lauderdale
Mahony, John, Miami
Malone, E. B., Miami
Martyn, Charles P., Miami
Mayes, Mrs. C. R., Jr., Pompano Beach
McCarthy, Don L., Nassau, Bahamas
McNair, Angus, S. Miami
McSwain, Dr. Gordon H., Arcadia
Mead, D. Richard, Miami Beach
Meisel, Max, Miami Beach
Merritt, Robert M., Miami
Mershon, M. L., Miami
Miami Beach Public Library
Modisette, Col. Welton M., Coral Gables
Mudd, Dr. Richard D., Saginaw, Mich.
Oglesby, R. M., Bartow
Orr, John B., Jr., Miami Beach
Palm Beach Art League
Pancoast, Russell T., Miami
Pedersen, George C., Perrine
Pitt, Gerard, Miami*
Preston, J. E., Miami
Raap, Dr. Gerard, Miami
Rader, Earle M., Miami
St. Augustine Historical Society
Salley, George H., Miami
Scott, Paul R., Miami
Shank, H. W., Coral Gables
Shewmake, Mrs. C. F., Coral Gables
Smith, McGregor, Miami
Snyder, Dr. Clifford C., Coral Gables
Sokola, Anton, Miami
Spaulding, Mrs. E. E., Miami
Stiles, Wade, S. Miami**
Taylor, Paul C., Bal Harbour
Thomas, Wayne, Plant City
Thompson, John G., Coral Gables
Thomson, Leonard K., Miami


Towne, Miss Eleanor F., Coral Gables
Vanderpool, Fred W., Miami*
Van Orsdel, C. D., Coral Gables
Van Valkenburgh, Morgan, Miami

Wakefield, Thomas H., Miami
Watson, W. Cecil, Coral Gables
West, William M., Geneseo, Ill.
Whitten, George E., Miami


Baggs, William C., Miami
Baron De Hirsch Meyer Foundation,
Miami Beach
Blackburn, Elmer E., Miami
Bowers, Bland, Coral Gables*
Buker, Charles E., Sr., Coral Gables
Bush, Mrs. Franklin C., Coral Gables*
Christiansen, Edward S., Coral Gables
Coral Gables Federal Savings and Loan
Dickey, Dr. Robert F., Coral Gables
Dohrman, Howard I., Miami
Dolan, Francis M., Coral Gables
Florida Juice, Inc., Miami
Fuchs Baking Co., S. Miami
Gardiner, Percy R., Toronto, Canada
Gardner, Dick B., Coconut Grove
Gearhart, Ernest G., Jr., Miami

Giffin, John S., Miami
Grosvenor, Gilbert, Miami
Highleyman, Daly, Coconut Grove
Holmer, Carl J., Miami
Leffler, Miss Cornelia, Miami**
Lloyd, J. Harlan, Miami
Lunsford, Dr. E. C., Miami
MacDonald, Duncan, Miami*
Mallory, Philip R., Miami Beach
McKey, Robert M., Miami
Mills, Charles A., Miami Beach
Pollard, Marshall S. P., Lake Placid
Ross, Donald, Benton Harbor, Mich.
Shipe, Paul E., Miami
Thord-Gray, General I., Coral Gables
Tom DuPree and Sons, Inc., Miami Beach
Wilson, D. Earl, Miami**

Emerson, Hugh P., Miami
Keyes, Kenneth S., Miami*

Pearce, Mrs. Langdon, Winnetka, Ill.


Florida Power & Light Company, Miami
Geiger, Mrs. August, Miami Beach*
Gondas Corporation, Miami

Link, Edwin A., Binghamton, N. Y.
Pan American World Airways, Miami
Peninsular Armature Works, Miami


Crane, Mrs. Raymond E., Miami Beach

University of Miami, Coral Gables




Wayne E. Withers
Charlton W. Tebeau
First Vice-President
Editor of Tequesta
August Burghard
Second Vice-President

Miss Virginia Wilson
Recording and
Corresponding Secretary
Robert M. McKey
Mrs. Andrew J. Moulds

Justin P. Havee
Executive Secretary


Karl A. Bickel
Louis Capron
West Palm Beach
Dr. James W. Covington
David M. Fee
Fort Pierce

Mrs. Ruby Leach Carson
Edward S. Christiansen
George H. Cooper
George J. Deedmeyer
H. Lewis Dorn
Robert J. Dykes
Hugh P. Emerson
Stephen J. Flynn
Mrs. William L. Freeland
Ernest G. Gearhart, Jr.
Kenneth S. Keyes

Mrs. James T. Hancock
Norman A. Herren
Dr. Charles T. Thrift, Jr.
Mrs. Louise V. White
Key West

Wirth M. Munroe
John B. Orr, Jr.
Dr. Jay F. W. Pearson
Gene Plowden
Gaylord L. Price
R. B. Roberts
Mrs. Frank Stranahan
Mrs. Herbert O. Vance
D. Earl Wilson
Gaines R. Wilson

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