The Big Easy Revisited

 by Alec Newell



Photo by Newell - 2015

 

Photo by Newell - 2015

 The Big Easy Revisited: March 2015


My initial reaction was bewilderment.  The French Quarter looked like someone had recently taken a fire hose and a paintbrush to it.  I began my self guided tour on a week day morning and noted several merchants washing down the street gutters with garden hoses.  The earthy smells of stale beer, urine, garbage and horse manure that I'd remembered from years before, had been replaced by the smell of disinfectant, not just bleach, but floral scented disinfectant.

Photo by Newell - 2015

 There were other changes too.  Many of the Quarter's old open-sided dive-bars had been replaced by trendy little eateries; the produce stalls and fish stands in the French market had been supplanted by smoothie stands and tee shirt shops; and the rare cigarette butts to be seen on the sidewalks, all seemed to be concentrated around clusters of the mostly white, suburban pan handlers with the word NEED conspicuously scrawled on their cardboard signs.  Busloads of Asian tourists with digital cameras, and tour guided yuppies on Segue scooters seemed to have taken over the mostly vacant streets that I had remembered as once being choked by throngs of boisterous drunken revelers.  I was shocked.  The bones of the Quarter, the buildings and the streets, were all still there, but the spirit of the place seemed to have evaporated.

 

Photo by Newell - 2015





Photo by Newell - 2015
 

What had once made the French Quarter so appealing had been its unabashed grittiness and the clear eyed, unapologetic humor about what went on there.  I had also begun to suspect that the aura of discomfort  I was feeling had less to do about changes in the Quarter than it was about changes in the guy walking around in it.  Time passes, people age, and things change.  So why had I suddenly become so disturbed by cleanliness and order?   With the onset of age I had acquired an almost compulsive need to impose some measure of order on my world, if only to maintain the illusion that I was still somehow in control of it.

Photo by Newell - 2015

 

Photo by Newell - 2015

My first trip to the French Quarter had been in 1970.  I'd come for Mardi Gras that year.   After a night of celebrating, I woke up early the next morning, shivering on a bus stop bench.  I remember thinking that the whole event had seemed like an alcoholic version of Woodstock.  My second trip to New Orleans had been in the late 1980s for a sporting event.  The trip had been planned to avoid the Mardi Gras crowds, but the culture shock I'd experienced on my first visit hadn't diminished much.  I had graduated from sleeping on public benches to staying at a Motel 6, but by hometown standards, the Big Easy was still a wild and crazy place.



Photo by Newell - 2015

I was probably naive not to have expected the place to have changed, I certainly had.  I had come to New Orleans this time, on a plane with my wife.  She was travelling as a consultant to a national meeting for art educators.  We were staying in a sprawling high rise, convention center hotel on the riverfront, and were being treated to lavish dinners at some of New Orleans finest restaurants.  Her days were spent presenting workshops for teachers while I was free to explore the city on foot.  A day or two into our stay, I contacted Janet MacDonell, an old Fletcher High School classmate who'd been living in New Orleans since 1966.  It was a rainy day, and she graciously offered to not only give me a driving tour of the Crescent City, but  also to take me to lunch at a 'mom and pop' eatery frequented mostly by the locals.



Photo by Newell - 2015
 

During lunch Janet acknowledged that I hadn't been the first person to notice changes in the Quarter.  The culture there had shifted some, but she was obviously quite proud of, and enthusiastic about, the unique vibrancy that still animated a post Katrina, New Orleans.  It was at this point that I began to loosen up a bit and, as the natives  say, Laissez les bons temps rouler, or "roll with it."



Photo by Newell - 2015

By the weekend major foot traffic had returned to the French Quarter and with it, some of the old magic.  There were Dixie Land bands and open air art exhibits in Jackson Square, street performers, cathedrals, museums, and antique stores with museum quality merchandise which the owners were perfectly happy to let you handle or photograph.

In addition to all the great eateries, I had stumbled across some the Quarter's more interesting watering holes, like the bar in the Napoleon House, or the Carousel Bar and Lounge in the Hotel Monteleone.   The Carousel looks like a gaudy carnival ride that makes one complete revolution every 15 minutes.  It's the only rotating bar in New Orleans.  Among some the bars more notable patrons have been: Tennessee Williams, Ernest Hemmingway,  Winston Groom, the author of Forrest Gump, and Truman Capote who was proud to have once been a fixture in the place.



The Carousel Bar -  Photo by Newell

The French Quarter is actually a relatively small place, but just to the South and West of it is the Warehouse District whose old buildings host some the Quarter's  overflow businesses.  There are restaurants like Mother's, the Ruby Slipper Cafe,  Mulates, the "Original Cajun Restaurant" with live Zydeco music and a large wooden dance floor.  There is  Peche, a hot new seafood grill, and Lucy's, which is a bar and restaurant with a beach theme.  On one of the old brick buildings along Julia Street, there is a bronze pack that reads,  "ON THIS SITE IN 1897 NOTHING HAPPENED."

Photo by Newell - 2015

 

Photo by Newell - 2015

At 701 Baronne Street, just outside the Warehouse District, there is a neighborhood grocery store and delicatessen called Rouses. It is open from 6:00-am to 12:00-am, and sells liquor seven days a week as well.  The variety, quality, and prices of food and wines there are amazing.  It serves the well heeled, high rise urban condo dwellers from  just up the street, and it is a hang-out for school children and street people who dine on take-out meals or snacks at sidewalk tables just outside the store.

Strolling down a street in the Quarter later that week,  I noticed that the service door to one of the restaurants was standing wide open to take advantage of the beautiful spring morning air.  Inside, the kitchen help was busy prepping for lunch so I paused to take a picture.  One of the prep cooks held up a hand with five extended fingers and waved it.  I raised a hand and waved back in acknowledgement.

Photo by Newell - 2015

"No, no, man," he said still waving the five fingers, "Five dollars!"

"Five dollars?"

"Yea man, five dollars."

"You want five dollars for me to take your picture?"

"Yea, man."

I paused a second then started laughing, "That ain't worth five dollars."  I lowered the camera and still laughing, waved again, "Later."

The prep cook laughing too now, waved back, "Yea man, later."

Photo by Newell - 2015
 

I'm glad to report that after my initial misgivings, the humor and spirit of the Big Easy are still very much alive, and doing well.  If you ever get a chance to visit the place, don't pass it up.

Super Bowl XLIX

  by Alec Newell

 



 

Super Bowl XLIX: Football Mascots and Logos

Before there were Super Bowls, Jumbotrons, professional cheerleaders, wardrobe malfunctions, and million dollar players who prayed or danced obscenely in the end zone, there was the game of football.  Whether you favor the Boston Patriots and their flaccid footballs, or the Seattle Seahawks with their on-field temper tantrums, it's becoming increasingly difficult to get excited about any of the Super Bowl match-ups these days.  As football  descends deeper and deeper into the realm of performance spectacle, it has begun to look more like professional wrestling than a legitimate sporting contest.

So how do you pick a favorite?  Most fans are bonded to their favorite teams through some notion of regional identification or brand loyalty.  After that, reasons to favor a team become as arbitrary as the betting selections of novice aficionados at the local horse track.  If you based your selection on team mascots or the uniform colors this year, Seattle was probably your team.   There was nothing too imaginative about the name change from Boston Patriots to New England Patriots.  There is no catchy alliteration in the name and nothing sexy or terrifying enough in the team's logo to get the blood racing.  As to the Patriot's team colors, there is nothing new or imaginative there either.

On the other hand, the Seahawks have a logo that could have been inspired by a Native American tribal mask or an Intuit totem pole - a  brilliant stroke of politically correct marketing when compared to a team like the Redskins.   But what is a Seattle Seahawk?  Some mythical creature like the Thunder Bird or a Phoenix?  Or something as arbitrary and obscure as a Cleveland Brown, a Nittany Lion, or a Green Bay Packer?  Turns out it's none of the above.  A sea hawk is  another name for an osprey, the same bird that doubles as the local mascot for the University of North Florida.

Unlike the Detroit Lions, Tennessee Titans, or the Jacksonville Jaguars, it seems like a team's name or mascot should reflect some kind of regional identity.  How is a Jaguar any more descriptive of Jacksonville than say a giraffe or a rhinoceros?  At least there are still very real sea hawks indigenous to the Seattle area, and the logo has an authentic association with tribes native to the North West Coast of this continent.

PS:  If you bet long green on the Seahawks because you like their uniforms, you just lost.  The final score was New England Patriots - 28,  Seattle Seahawks - 24.

 

A.G. Penman's Record Tarpon

A. G. Penman's Record Tarpon: The Rest of the Story

by Alec Newell

Penman's trophy tarpon on display at the Beaches Museum
photo by Newell



 Penman (right) with 172 pound
7 foot 9 inch, record tarpon
courtesy: Beaches Museum

Canadian born Arthur G. Penman (1882-1966) moved to Florida in the 1920s, became a US citizen, and in the 1940 census is listed as living on Florida Boulevard in a house that he had probably built for himself.  Penman has been called the Beaches "first pioneer developer." He was also an avid golfer and fisherman, but most Beaches residents will recognize him as the man for whom Penman Road is named.

 

As a youngster in the early 1960s, I remember visiting the old Jacksonville Beach City Hall building and being impressed by the enormous mounted tarpon that hung on the wall there.  I didn't know it at the time but that fish was, and may still be, the largest tarpon ever caught in the St. Johns River.  Also on that wall, below the fish, was a plaque that bore a familiar name, Penman.

 

Penman Memorial Trophy
photo by Newell

The term "fish story" has become a synonym for exaggeration and puffery.  That same 7-foot 9-inch mounted tarpon, now on display in the Beaches Museum, still bears mute testimony to the fish's impressive size.  The International Game Fish Association has pages and pages of rules for determining what is a fairly caught record game fish.  The fish's weight and the fact A.G. Penman was holding the rod when the fish was hooked, has never been disputed, but even Official Record catches are not entirely immune to omissions and embellishments.






February issue, 1954

In February 1954, Motor Boating Magazine carried an account of the story which did not inflate the fish's weight, but did take considerable liberties in reporting the tackle used and fighting time for the catch.  The following information appeared on page 117 of that issue; the "...171-pound, 14-ounce tarpon was caught October 14, 1949 by A.G. Penman," (true, except for the date) "on 15-pound test line," (it was officially 36-pound test line) "using a 2/0 reel" (officially a 4/0 reel) "and a 4-ounce tip." (officially a 6-ounce rod tip) Refer back to information on the engraved plaque (see photo).  "It took him 5 and a half hours to boat his prize." (a total fabrication)  But the best part of this fish story was still yet to be written, or told.
 

Official statistics for Penman's trophy catch
photo by Newell

 

A.G. Penman
courtesy: Beaches Museum

About 1964 or 1965, the old Jacksonville Beach City Hall building was torn down and replaced.  Penman's tarpon was moved, for a while, to the Beaches Chamber of Commerce before coming to the Beaches Museum in about 2006.  I had all but forgotten the fish until early 2012, when Charlie Hamaker published Cane Pole Wisdom - Volume II.  In it he relates the following story as told to him by the late J.C. Ross, a veteran angler and longtime resident of Mill Cove, where the fish was caught.

"Well, I guess it's okay to tell the story now since they've all passed away. Phillip Hahn had taken Arthur Penman and his friend for a day of fishing on Mill Cove.  Everyone knew the Cove was loaded with big tarpon. Phillip took Arthur and his friend trolling in an area known as Coon Point, the banks drop off real steep in an area between two sand bars, probably 12 feet deep or deeper. As they passed between the two sandbars the tarpon struck.  It came out of the water, made one huge jump and landed on the sand bar. Phillip got the boat beached on the sand bar...got out...and beat it to death with a window-sash weight."

And that's the rest of the story.





The Arthur G. Penman Memorial Trophy
"In tribute to one of America's most famous tarpon anglers"
photo by Newell

 

 

Jacksonville's Bridges

 

The Bridges of Duval County

 

by Alec Newell





The Main Street Bridge against the Jacksonville skyline

Henry Holland Buckman

There are only two of the world's great rivers that flow north, the Nile is one and the St. Johns River is the other.   As the St. Johns flows into Duval County it passes the first of the eight bridges that span the river on its way to the Atlantic Ocean.  The Buckman Bridge, built in 1970, connects Mandarin to Orange Park, and is named for Jacksonville lawyer and State Legislator Henry Holland Buckman (1858-1914).  At its west end, the bridge lands at the north-south boundary between Clay and Duval County.   As the river moves through Jacksonville, it flows past seven more bridges on its way to the Mayport  Jetties.  Can you name them?  If you said the Fuller Warren, the  Acosta, the Main Street, the Isaiah D. Hart,  the Mathews, and the Dames Point Bridges, you'd almost be right.
 

Crews replacing the single track swing bridge with the double tracked "bascule lift" Florida East Coast 
Railway Bridge, taken from the original Acosta Bridge circa 1925
 

The first bridge to span the St Johns river at Jacksonville was the Florida East Coast Railway Bridge.   Built by Henry Flagler in 1889, it was a single track swing bridge that allowed direct rail access from Jacksonville to Southside and the beaches beyond.   That bridge was replaced in 1925 by a double tracked "bascule lift" bridge that still operates.  It runs closely parallel to the west side of the Acosta bridge, and since it carries no automobile traffic, many people forget that it's even there.  Until 1921, all automobile traffic that crossed the river near Jacksonville had to go by ferry.

Original Acosta Bridge (foreground) FEC Railway Bridge (middle ground)
Fuller Warren Bridge (in the distance)

 

 

The St. Elmo W. Acosta home circa 1885

Jacksonville's first major bridge built for pedestrian and automobile traffic was named for St. Elmo W. Acosta (1875 -1947).  Informally known as Chic Acosta, he had been a City Commissioner, a State Legislator, and is still remembered as one of Jacksonville's first "green" politicians, and an opponent of women's suffrage.  The home that he and his family lived in at Empire Point is now part of the Episcopal High School Campus, and is currently used for classrooms and studio space by the Fine Arts Department there.
 

The Acosta house as part of the Episcopal High School Campus

By July of 1941 Jacksonville had its second automobile bridge.  Commonly known as the Main Street Bridge, or simply called the "blue bridge" by some; it is officially neither.  In 1957 the bridge was named as a tribute to Jacksonville's only 18 year, seven term Mayor.  There is a seldom noticed sign over the south entrance of the structure to indicate the span's official name, the John T. Alsop Jr. Bridge.

 

 

Governor Fuller Warren

The original Fuller Warren Bridge was completed in 1954, and named for Florida's 30th Governor, who had also served as both a State Representative and as a member of the Jacksonville City Council.  For a time, the Fuller Warren was one of Jacksonville's three toll bridges.  The tolls were lifted in 1988 during Mayor Tom Hazouri's administration, and in 2002 the original bridge was replaced by an eight lane prestressed concrete span of the same name.
 

Another one of Jacksonville's (former) toll bridges connects the Arlington Expressway to Downtown Jacksonville.  It was built in 1953 and named for John E. Mathews, a Florida State Legislator who had also served as Chief Justice of the Florida Supreme court.  In 1984 the bridge was painted maroon red to celebrate the Jacksonville Bulls who were then members of the now defunct U.S. Football League.

John E. Mathews Bridge

The Isaiah D. Hart Bridge completed in 1968, also called the Green Monster by some commuters, was named for the Patriot War veteran and plantation owner Isaiah David Hart (1792-1861) who is credited with founding Jacksonville in 1822.  Several of Jacksonville's downtown streets are named for his children:  Julia, Laura, and Ocean, which is named for Ossian B. Hart, who would become Florida's 10th Governor in 1873.

The Isiah D.Hart Bridge from North Florida Shipyards



The Napoleon Bonaparte Broward Bridge to Dames Point

Napoleon Bonaparte Broward

The newest and probably the most visually impressive span, commonly known as the Dames Point Bridge, is officially the Napoleon Bonaparte Broward Bridge;  it is named for Florida's 19th Governor.  Broward (1857-1910), who was orphaned at twelve, decided on a maritime career, and came up through the ranks as a tug boat operator, riverboat captain, and bar pilot.  He served a stint as Jacksonville's sheriff but left that office to become a gun runner during the Spanish American War.  At that war's end, he returned to a political career that culminated in a Florida Governorship.  Broward's old home still stands facing the St. Johns River, near the entrance to the Kingsley Plantation on Ft. George Island.  The address is 9953 Heckscher  Drive, 9.3 miles east of the Napoleon Bonaparte Broward  Bridge.

Home of Governor Napoleon Bonaparte Broward
9953 Heckscher Drive, Ft. George Island



Florida-Georgia Weekend 2014

 

 

Florida-Georgia Weekend 2014:  Halloween Night

by

Alec Newell

   

 

Anyone remotely familiar with the annual Florida-Georgia classic will tell you that the intense rivalry associated with that game always makes it an odds makers' nightmare to call.   No matter how the season seems to be going for either team,  anything can happen.  Upsets seem to be the rule rather than the exception, and yet, they always seem to leave the fans and the pundits stunned when they occur.

With the Gators fresh off of a Homecoming loss to Missouri, and a tepid performance in the conference standings, UF fans were already grumbling about head coach Will Muschamp's job, and the broadcast sports gurus were predicting that Muschamp would be fired if, and more probably when Florida lost to Georgia.
 

Georgia by contrast, had already beaten everyone on their schedule except South Carolina, and according to Bull Dog  fans, were well on their way to a South East Conference Championship.  And so it all seemed that Halloween night before the big game.

My wife received a call from her old college (UF) roommate with an invitation to meet up with the roommate and her husband's entourage of Bull Dog fans for a pre game dinner at a restaurant in Fernandina.  When we arrived my wife and her former roommate were the only two decked out in Gator garb.   I was the only one in the party of twelve not in costume (Georgia or Florida).

After a round or two of drinks and some polite table chat, the roommate's husband asked me, "Well, who do you like in tomorrow's game?"

I explained that I had technically been born a Gator, and while most of my family (including my wife and in-laws) were all Florida graduates or fans, I had finished up at UNF and wasn't betting on the game.

The man sitting next to the roommate's husband leaned over and asked, "What did he say?"

Roommate's husband:  "He says he's the smartest one in his family."

P.S.  The final score:  Florida 38 - Georgia 20
   

American Beach Roots

 

American Beach Roots: Kingsley, Sammis, and Lewis

by Alec Newell



Strawberry Plantation House at Clifton Point - photo by Newell

 

Photo by Newell

The extended family of Zephaniah Kingsley, Anna Jai, and their descendants have been major players  in shaping the history of Northeast Florida during three colonial periods, American territorial times, Florida's early statehood, and on into the 20th Century.  Between Lake George and the St. Mary's River, the fingerprints they left seem to be everywhere.  Most of us are familiar with the story of how the slave trader Zepheniah Kingsley bought a 13 year old "African princess"  Anna Madgigine Jai in Cuba, and brought her back to his Laurel Grove Plantation in what is now Orange Park, Florida.  The couple produced four children, and Zephaniah never waivered in his acknowledgement of Anna as his wife.

Headstone next to Anna Kingsley's
 unmarked grave - photo by Newell

Later Anna, as a freed woman of color, would own her own slaves, plantation property, and live at various other family residences along the Lower St. Johns River.  These properties included: Mandarin (later owned by Harriet Beecher Stowe),  Kingsley Plantation (Ft. George Island), Chesterfield (now part of the Jacksonville University Campus), Floral Bluff (where the Arlington Road meets the river), and Strawberry Plantation (now Arlington Bluff or Clifton Point) where Anna is buried.  Probably less well known, is the Kingsley connection to the Afro-American Life Insurance Company and American Beach.

In 1830, Zepheniah  married his youngest daughter, Mary Elizabeth Kingsley, to "Colonel" or "Captain" John S. Sammis, a white New York shipbuilder with practical experience in milling lumber.  At the time of his marriage Sammis had not only been chief overseer at Kingsley's White Oak Plantation, but had also been managing planting, lumber production, cotton ginning, and a grits milling operation for the Richard Family who owned Strawberry Mills and the 6,000 acre Strawberry Plantation at what is now Clifton Point.  The mills were some of the first water operated machines of their kind in the area and were powered by same Strawberry Creek that crosses under Cesery Blvd. and the Arlington Road today.



The red star indicates the location of John Sammis' plantation house - photo by Newell





A. L. Lewis 1865-1947

John Sammis acquired Strawberry Plantation and the mills from the Richard family following the death of Francis Richard Jr. in 1839.  Surviving headstones at the Clifton Cemetery indicate that members of the mixed-race, extended  Kingsley families (Baxter and Sammis) were buried there from 1841 until 1870.  In 1850 John Sammis had a large plantation house built on the property that is still in use today as a private residence.  The Clifton Cemetery is not far from that house, and Anna Kingsley lies in an unmarked grave next to the headstone of Emile V. Sammis, her grandson.  Many of the original grave markers were made of cedar or cypress and have long since returned to the elements.  In 1884 Mary Francis Sammis, the octaroon granddaughter of John Sammis and Mary Kingsley Sammis, married Abraham Lincoln Lewis.  Lewis, the son of former slaves, would become a founding President of the Afro-American Life Insurance Company and Florida's first black millionaire.

Motto:  "Recreation and Relaxation Without Humiliation"

Before the Civil Rights Act of 1964, access to public beaches by "persons of color" had been severely limited.  In 1935, A.L. Lewis bought a 200 acre tract of ocean front land on the south end of Amelia Island, that would become American Beach.   Lewis wanted to not only provide recreational perks for his black employees, but to also establish a private, all black, beach-front community where African Americans could afford to buy land and build homes.  In the years that followed, the community flourished.  It quickly became a prime recreational destination.  In time, it also became a unique retirement settlement and a magnet  for black celebrities and entertainers like Cab Calloway, Zora Neal Hurston, Ray Charles, Hank Aaron, Joe Louis, Ossie Davis, and James Brown.

Next year the community will be celebrating its 80th anniversary.  The current residents of American Beach are understandably proud of their unbroken connection to the cultural legacy which A. L. Lewis had originally envisioned for them.



Afro-American Life Insurance Company
101 East Union St. - photo by Newell

 

Hurricane Dora

50 Years Ago: Hurricane Dora Remembered

by Alec Newell



10th Street and Oceanfront Atlantic Beach, in the wake of Hurricane Dora

In September of 1964, I was 15 years old.  My family lived on 12th Street in Atlantic Beach.  We had experienced hurricanes before, but Dora would leave us with our most memorable impressions.  During a lull in that storm our whole family decided to walk down to the beach to see for ourselves what was happening.  There was an eight foot high curved seawall along the beach that had been designed to redirect the force of a storm surge back onto itself, but it had not been designed to withstand the kind of pounding we witnessed that day.  Waves were surging over the seawall and the force of the current was washing away the sand behind it.   As the erosion accelerated, it exposed the heavy metal cables that anchored the seawall back to the ocean front yards it was supposed to be protecting.

The Bull House



At the foot of 11th Street, between the Old Bull House and the house just south of it, there was a 20 ft. high palm tree growing above the level of the seawall.  Several waves surged over that tree forcing the palm fronds at the top of that tree back down over its trunk.  The waves were a heavy dark grey that matched the color of the sky and there was a strong current moving debris in the surf north with a force I'd never seen before.  I remember seeing another full grown palm tree with bright green fronds float by us at an amazing clip indicating an even more serious erosion problem somewhere to the south of us.

 

Atlantic Beach Hotel pool with covered promenade, before Dora

We walked south another block to the foot of 10th Street to get a better look at the Atlantic Beach Hotel and its pier which were also taking a beating.  The hotel had a giant swimming pool that was flanked by a two story frame building  and a stucco masonry bathhouse, just south of where we were standing.  In front of the swimming pool there was a wide veranda with a planked promenade and a row of heavy Adirondack beach chairs that faced the ocean.

 

Atlantic Beach Hotel from the air, after Dora 1964

As waves crashed over the seawall, we watched the roof of the veranda collapse. Surging waves pushed floating debris from the veranda and some of the Adirondack chairs back into the swimming pool.  What didn't settle in the pool was dragged back over the seawall and washed out to sea when the waves retreated.  The pilings under the pier began to wobble, lean, then fail, taking whole sections of lumber into the heavy surf.  Just weeks before, some of the boys who regularly surfed the Atlantic Beach Pier had been out testing their mettle in the giant waves that had accompanied Hurricane Cleo earlier that season, but no one went out during Dora.

Atlantic Beach Hotel from the beach 1964

Being a teenager and not a property owner, I remember being mostly exhilarated by the event.  My mother had filled white plastic bleach bottles with drinking water; the bathtub had been filled with water for washing dishes and flushing toilets.  We had a battery operated transistor radio and flashlights. Our concrete block house felt secure against the wind and rain, and we played cards or board games at night by the light of a Coleman lantern that was normally used for night fishing in better weather.  The whole experience was like being on an extended time-out from school and the real world.

The damage to our house was minimal.  We lost a few roofing shingles, and there were downed palm fronds and tree limbs all over our yard, but we had experienced no real flooding.  Standing water covered most of the yard and all of 12th Street, giving the visual impression that our house sat on a small island surrounded by a vast moat with palm trees growing out of it.  We had been lucky.

Damage along Old A-1-A in South Ponte Vedra Beach



It wasn't until days later, riding around in a car, that we began to appreciate how much real damage the hurricane had inflicted on other parts of the Beach.  Trees and power lines were down everywhere, sea walls had been breached and homes and businesses were severely damaged or gone.  Some ocean front home owners had had junked cars towed to their homes and rolled into the trenches behind their seawalls in an effort to slow the erosion which was undermining their house foundations.  It was days before the storm water began to  recede, weeks before the mountains of yard trash could be removed, months  to repair, and years to replace some of the damaged buildings.  President Lyndon B. Johnson and his entourage personally toured the Jacksonville Beaches and declared Northeast Florida a national disaster area.  The property damage left in the wake of Hurricane Dora was estimated to be 280 million dollars in 1964, or the equivalent of 2.07 billion dollars in today's money.