WHY DO THEY CALL IT TAMIAMI TRAIL...OR CALLE OCHO? (REWRITE)

WHY DO THEY CALL IT TAMIAMI TRAIL…OR CALLE OCHO?

Note; if you are interested the original of this article was posted on this blog on 7/6/11, like most of my original works were.

I have now added some additional information at the end of this article. 06/25/13

By Wellborn Phillips

   Miami is such a crazy town with crazy people with crazy dreams!  People elsewhere know that such things just don’t happen.  But part of Miami’s history was written by crazy people with foresight and ability to make their dreams come true. And one of the craziest of the crazy dreams was the Tamiami Trail across the Everglades

. For hundreds of years, people believed Florida’s vast interior from Cape Sable to Lake Okeechobee would forever be home only for the Seminoles, an assortment of wildlife, mosquitoes, alligators, and snakes. The Everglades was one of the last parts of the U.S. to be completely mapped.  Not until the Second Seminole War (1835-42), when General Zachery Taylor’s troops pursued the Indians into their swampy villages, were many of the geographic details filled in.

And not until Hamilton Diston’s arrival in the 1880’s, did Floridians decide that “something could be done”. Diston, a wealthy Philadelphia tool manufacturer, had saved the State from post Civil War bankruptcy by contributing $1,000.000 to its treasury. In return, Diston got 4,000.000 acres of state-owned “swampland” between Sarasota and Kissimmee (for 25 cents per acre). His ambitious drainage projects demonstrated that the Everglades was somewhat manageable after all.

But still the Everglades remained a “Chinese Wall” between Southwest and Southeast Florida. When Rudyard Kipling wrote

                            “Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet”,

Kipling just as well could have been referring to the Southern tip of Florida. Into the early 1900s, there was no way to travel directly (by land) between Miami and anything south of New Smyrna along Florida’s East Coast with the Gulf Coast towns.  Roads were “local”, built by the Counties for short trips only from one town to the next. There were no State highways. And then Henry Ford came along…

Ford’s Model T, first produced in 1908, was not so remarkable by itself; it was the over-all program that was so revolutionary:  the Model T was much less expensive and they could be mass-produced.   Owning an automobile was no longer a luxury; it had become a necessity. And you no longer had to be a mechanic to drive one. Ford soon had a factory trained service department in every major community.

The U.S.-- and Florida-- would never again be the same.

A few years before, Henry Flagler and Henry Plant had pushed Florida into the 20^th Century with their railroads, hotels, and promotions. Now Henry Ford’s automobile sped things along even further.

Suddenly, people were demanding a well developed, modern state with good roads.  County projects were increased. The State Road Board was created--and appointed—and  a State-wide system of roads and other improvements began to evolve. Four projects were particularly popular; the Dixie Highway, the Gandy Bridge, the drainage of the Everglades…and the Tamiami Trail.

The Tamiami Trail was conceived and guided to completion largely by four individuals. It was the brainchild of Dade County Tax Assessor J.W. Jaudon, a dynamic person with unlimited energies. Long before the idea for the highway became popular, Jaudon was traveling his County—then Florida-- speaking, planning, arguing, campaigning for it.

Jaudon’s faithful  ally was William Stuart Hill of the Miami Herald who promoted the idea in news stories and editorials and  thought up –and sold the name Tamiami to the public.  It is, of course, a contraction of the names of the two major cities served by the highway—Tampa and Miami.

A third “father of the trail” was Ora E. Chapin who organized a group of several dozen activists known as “The Trail Blazers”. They made numerous well-publicized trips into the Everglades, demonstrating the need for the highway and bringing back valuable information.

The most famous of their expeditions consisted of 23 men, 2 Indian guides (one of them Tigertail, a decendant of the famous Indian Chief),  8 Model T’s, 1 Elcar, 1 Overland, and a bulldozer. The party left Ft. Myers on April 4, 1923 and they finally staggered from the Everglades into Miami 3 weeks later, minus the Elcar and 2 Model T’s which disappeared into Everglades muck and were never recovered.

The Trail Blazers played a vital role.  They prompted new life into the Tamiami Trail Project when ever its other supporters were almost ready to abandon it.

 The project had been conceived as a joint venture of 6 counties; Dade, Lee, and Hillsborough, with lesser participation by Manatee, Sarasota, and Charlotte, and with a lot of the work and financing done by local Road Districts.

On July 16, 1916 Dade County had floated a bond issue for $275,000 and awarded a contract for its pat of the work to the County Line. As work progressed, however, the contract had to be amended a number of times, and additional funds added. Finally, the road grading was partially completed but the rest was still undone and the contractor gave up.

Between Tampa and Ft. Myers, very much the same sort of thing happened. But in Lee County, things were much worse. The individual Road Districts had mortgaged themselves to the hilt, and they still did not have enough money to make any progress on the project.

The financial difficulties had been created by skyrocketing cost brought on by the complicated nature of Everglades. At first, the contractors had tried to build road beds on crushed rock laid directly on top of muck. But soon the individual pieces of crushed rock disappeared into the muck and the hard surface began to crumble. After further experiments over several years, the contractors and engineers settle on one of the most complicated road building methods used anywhere.

In effects, two ditches had to be dug across the everglades, side by side, with all the muck stripped from m both down to the solid bed rock. One of the ditches became the road bed when filled to grade with crushed rock. The crushed rock for the road bed came from the second ditch which had been used to float a dredge, and the dredge sucked up dynamited rock particles from its bottom and tossed them onto the road bed. The giant dredge was a mechanical miracle known as a “walking dredge”. It looked somewhat like a large metallic grasshopper with legs resting on both banks and these legs moved it forward.

To overcome the Trail’s gigantic financial problems, there evolved smooth working agreement between Barron G. Collier, who is also referred to as one of “the Fathers of The Trail”, the Florida legislature, and Road Board. By and Act of the legislature, Lee County was cut in half; the southern half would become a new County to be named for Barron Collier and Collier himself agreed to guarantee the completion of the Trail through the new County, either by the newly-formed Road Districts or by himself personally. Finally, the Florida Road Board would complete whatever remained to be done in the six County Area.

Barron Collier has a remarkable record: he made a vast fortune selling advertising to trolley car companies in America’s Northeast. He also becomes a local celebrity of sorts by inventing the yellow line down the center of streets for guidance of traffic. And he was a prominent Democrat; a confidant of Al Smith and Franklin Roosevelt. And one of America’s truly great promoters.

 When Collier County was created, he owned most of it. He built his own city, Everglades and his own n sportsmen clubs. When he died in 1939, he was broke, but the thousands of acres owned today by his estate are worth a gigantic fortune.

The Tamiami Trail was finally, formally opened by Governor John W. Martin in April, 1928. Thousands of men had worked there. It had taken 13 years to build at a cost of $10,000.000. And now a trip from Miami to Tampa had been cut from a week or more to little more than several hours.

Additional information:

Another chapter of the Tamiami Trail story was written 31 years later after Fidel Castro came to power January  1, 1959. thousands of Cubans came to America then and many of them settled i the Southwest area of Miami known today as "Little Havana"... the area from NW 7th Street to Southwest 16th Street, and from 27th Avenue to I-95. Nearly 100,000 people live there today and an estimated 91% of these are Cuban. It is a colorful part of Miami:P a town within a town. And the Main Street of Little Havana is that part of The Trial, or SW 8th Street, which is now known a s"Calle Ocho". 

WHY DO THEY CALL IT LEJEUNE ROAD? (REWRITE)

WHY DO THEY CALL IT LEJEUNE ROAD?

Note; if you are interested the original of this article was posted on this blog on 7/6/11, like most of my original works were.

By Wellborn Phillips


 LeJeune Road, that broad byway, running from the airport south through Coral Gables to Old Cutler Road and north into Broward County takes its name from Charles LeJeune, a wealthy young Belgian who settled here in l899 and once owned what is now the greater part of the Biltmore Section of the Gables.

A wealthy bachelor, he was well-traveled and well-educated, making him one of our area’s first “cosmopolites”. His courtly, “old world” manners, scientific knowledge and social life in the village of Coconut Grove gave him instant prominence in an area just emerging from its frontier era.

LeJeune bought for $2,000 the l40 acre “Jackson Homestead” and soon planted 70 acres in avocados and citrus-- by far the largest grove south of the Miami River. Its only competitors were the 11-acre grove of John Douglas near (what is now) the Douglas Entrance and the l0-acre grove developed by the Merrick Family.

LeJeune had unusual methods. Until then, it was believed that much of “rocky Dade” was worthless for agriculture. Trees could only be planted “helter-skelter” in soft areas, sinks and pot holes. “Not so,” said LeJeune. He was regarded as “crazy as a loon” for blasting the rocky ground so trees could be planted in straight lines.

LeJeune invested $l50, 000 in his grove before he made a penny, then the “loony” methods began paying off as the trees grew. By l913, profits soared and LeJeune was becoming wealthy.

But neighbor George Merrick had other plans. The grove was in the middle of the area where Merrick was planning Coral Gables. By l9l9, Merrick and LeJeune began negotiating and Merrick offered $300,000, which LeJeune turned down. After 5 more years of negotiating, Merrick bought out LeJeune for $2,780,000 (or $17,375 per acre)—half in cash, half in a mortgage. LeJeune had sold at the height of the market. It would be years of inflation before raw land would again bring such prices.

In August of 1924,Merrick platted and put the Biltmore Section on the market. (It was all the land from Coral Way south to Anastasia, from LeJeune west to Anderson).  Sales at first were wonderful. In the first 24 hours, contracts totaled $5,555,850--half in cash, the rest in a mortgage. And there were signs that the Great Florida Land Boom had begun to bust.

In less than 3 years, LeJeune’s mortgage was in default. But it was never foreclosed. It just remained a worthless asset for the rest of LeJeune’s life.  LeJeune died penniless.  The cash from the sale of the grove went to his relatives in Europe who had bankrolled his grove.  His final years were largely spent with daily visits to Lummis Park near the Miami River where he met with friends who regarded him as the most brilliant chess player they ever met..

Years later, the mortgage regained its value for LeJeune’s heirs. To get a clear title, people buying in the Biltmore Section had to settle with the heirs, paying delinquent interest, taxes and getting releases.

WHY DO THEY CALL IT CRANDOM PARK? (REWRITE)

WHY DO THEY CALL IT CRANDON PART?

By Wellborn Phillips

Much of Miami’s history is stories of interesting people from diverse backgrounds, some truly great, who carved a World Center from a wilderness in little more than l00 years.

Based on their contribution to that history, five of our forefathers stand above the rest. Four of those—Flagler, Fisher, Tuttle and Merrick—are legendary.  The fifth, Charles Crandon, has a park and street named for him.  But it is ironic that otherwise, he would be largely unknown today.  How limited is our knowledge, how short our memory!

For 20 years (l928-1948), Crandon was the iron fisted, but benevolent, boss of the County Commission, the dreamer and schemer who followed the other four to put together the pieces.  But now, we are getting ahead of our story.

The Crandons were a pioneer New England family of modest means.  Charles was born in 1886in Acushnet, Massachusetts 25 miles from the spot where a relative, Captain Philip Howland stepped ashore from the Mayflower.  His grandfather was a Methodist bishop, his father Philip was a cranberry farmer.

Back then, life for Massachusetts farmers was an austere one.  Also,, there were those severe New England winters. . . . In 1916, Charles decided to seek a better life in Miami despite family and friends who warned him about the summer heat and hurricanes, the Seminoles, outlaws, alligators and mosquitoes.  Miami was still a frontier town.

With a wooden box for a desk and a bicycle for transportation, Charles opened the Crandon Wholesale Drug Company on Avenue D (now Miami Avenue) to peddle drugs, software, shoes, polish, candy and tobacco.  But the new venture was short –lived thanks to World War I.

Before long, Pvt. Charles Crandon was on his way to California to join the 66^th Balloon Company.  He won no medals as a balloonist, but the experience was broadening.  Later, he reminisced.  “The last thing I wanted to do was get into one of those sausage balloons. . . .However, I was impressed by the beauty of the countryside.  I began to visualize what I could do in South Florida if I could get into some position of power. . . .Back in those days, we didn’t have a damned square foot of parks.”

The War ended, Pvt. Charlie returned to Miami.  The Crandon Company came to life and by the 1930s, it had 100 employees.  Charles Crandon was a wealthy man.

In 1932, at the depth of the Depression, Crandon built Whitehall for $86,000, all cash.  It was a large, 2–story frame home resembling Mt. Vernon set back from Red Road and several blocks north of Bird Road (where the walled development known as “The Forest” is today).  The house was a showplace but the grounds were Charlie’s favorite.  He was an ecologist before it was fashionable:  he reveled in his own avocados, bananas, honey bees and earthworms

But neither home nor business success satisfied Charlie while so many things in Miami needed “fixing.” Charlie concluded he would have to do them himself if they were to get done.

In l927, Charlie ran for the County Commission Seat #l.  He was Dade County’s most unusual politician.  He didn’t accept contributions or kiss babies; often, he was too aloof to shake hands.  He wrote his own speeches when-ever he was in the mood to make one, which wasn’t often, but when he did, he said exactly what he thought and gave all the reasons.  He still won.

At one of the first meetings, one of the Commissioners advised Charlie “We don’t need parks.  There are plenty of recreational facilities—fishing, night clubs and horse racing.”  Just the same, Charlie got passed a $10,000 appropriation for highway beautification and himself named chairman of the non-existing parks committee.  His foot was in the door that would never close again.

One day, Charlie took a lunch-time stroll down Flagler Street to the Bay.  Miami was clearing away some of the junky warehouses along the waterfront.  Bay bottom was being pumped in to form Bayfront Park.  Trees were being planted.

Charlie struck up a conversation with one young man. He was working with a crew. Charlie didn’t guess he was talking with Miami’s newly appointed Bayfront Park Director.  And the Director didn’t guess he was talking with a new County Commissioner.

But a friendship evolved.  And on March l, l929, A. D. Barnes resigned his job with the City to become Director of Parks for Dade County.

Years later, The Herald described their relationship:  “Crandon was the coach.  Barnes was the quarterback.”

In 1930, the American Institute of Park Executives met in Miami. They took a tour of the W. J. Matheson Hammock, a privately owned, partially developed park,  largely ignored by the public.  The president of the Institute told the group, “This wonderful area should be preserved for the public forever.”  Barnes was on the tour. 

The next day, Crandon met with Matheson and got his promise to amend his will, leaving the park to the County.  Months later, Matheson was on his boat “Seaforth” and had a fatal heart attack.  Fortunately, his will had been amended.  And the County re-named the park “Matheson Hammock.”

Next, Crandon and Barnes found a l05-acre tract in North Dade with a diverse history:  a   a farm, then a County Poor Farm and finally, a series of rock pits.  It was a mess with big holes and lots of junk.

Crandon got the owner, W. O. Greynolds to donate the land to the County.  Then, he met with other property owners nearby and was able to pick up 170 other acres for practically nothing.  They named the 275 acres Greynolds Park

Bakers Haulover was the next project. It is a narrow strip of land, running 3 miles north from the inlet and extending from ocean to Bay.  It had a romantic history, being named for an early Florida sea captain named Baker (his first name is unknown) who specialized in collecting plunder from wrecked ships in the area. Being impatient with the long trip around Miami Beach, he often ran boats up onto the beach and on to logs he used as rollers, then hauled them over the narrow bluff and back into the Inland Waterway.

Baker’s Haulover was a major problem for Charlie.  The land had been subdivided.  There were many ownerships. And today’s laws would make acquisitions impossible. With  public notice and following public domain procedures, prices would rise beyond limited monies Charlie had to spend.

But there were no such laws in 1930.  So Charlie convinced the Commission to set up a secret fund from which he could draw when ever any of the land owners became motivated to sell.  In the next several years, Charlie bought the entire area for $700,000.

Now,  Dade County had 3 large tracts of land, but no money to develop them. But  Barnes had an idea.  During college years, he had a roommate named Conrad Worth.   Now, Worth was in Washington as Assistant Director of the Civilian Conservation Corps. And the CCC was a top priority agency with the new Roosevelt Administration that wanted to put young men to work on worth-while projects.

Crandon and Barnes went to work to help President Roosevelt accomplish  national goals-–with Miami and Dade County projects. Both the City and County had numerous projects completely planned—and with rights of way and near-by rock pits available-- before the money ran out.

For starters, the CCC worked to complete Old Cutler Road and planting ficus trees  on South Dixie Highway and on Coral Way. Twenty years later, the ficus along South Dixie were bulldozed down

when South Dixie was widened, but much of the CCC work will remain to be used and enjoyed for generations.  Today Old Cutler Road is a prime Dade County by way. Coral Way is distinctive because of its ficus trees. When the rock pits along south Dixie were exhausted,  many were converted to way side parks. The rock pit along LeJeune Road became Merrie Christmas Park.

In the mean time, unskilled laborers were not the only ones unemployed in the Great Depression.  A young landscape architect, William Lyman Phillips, with the prestigious firm Olmsted Brothers had jus finished

In the mean time, the CCC largely completed Matheson Hammock, Greynolds Park. Baker’s Haulover and Fairchild Gardens.

WHY DO THEY CALL IT CHRISTMAS PART? (Rewrite)

WHY DO THEY CALL IT MERRIE CHRISTMAS PARK?

By Wellborn Phillips 

Any story about Merrie Christmas Park must include its modest beginning.  For years, it was a gravel pit from which rock was mined to widen and improve Old Cutler Road and nearby streets.  This gives the 4.5 acre park its topography:  high around the edges, low in the middle, which makes the neighbors  feel they live on a high hill.  After all, they are 20’ above the bottom of the park.  And children playing in the park get a unique thrill: where else in Florida can you roll down a hill!

Merrie Christmas, for whom the park was named, was the daughter of Miami Mayor Randy Christmas.  The youngest of the three Christmas daughters, she was a bright, happy, attractive little girl despite her health.  She was also a brave little girl who won

the admiration of Miami as she fought a long fight for her own life which she knew she could not win.

Merrie was born with only one kidney, but she was three years old before her condition was correctly diagnosed.  An operation was scheduled.  Merrie’s mother planned to donate her own kidney to her daughter.  But the transplant was impossible due to Marrie’s deteriorated condition.  The prognosis:  the three-year-old would live only a few months longer.

The Coconut Grove Park, at the corner of LeJeune Road and Barbarossa Avenue, was formerly known as Barbarossa Park.  But the City Commission reacted to a city wide wave of sympathy for the Christmas family and re-named it Merrie Christmas Park.

It was a fitting gesture.  The Christmas family lived only a block away on Hardie Road.  The children spent many happy hours playing in the park.

Years later, Merrie’s mother recalled “The Commission voted to name the park after her. And they thought she would not be able to live long enough to enjoy it.  But she proved them wrong.  Every year she would go to the park for her birthday.  She called it her park.  Sometimes we would go down there on Christmas.”

Merrie lived on for 2 more years and 12 major operations.  She made a partial recovery, wrote short stories, became an avid collector of coins and sea shells, and completed Kenwood  Elementary and Glades Junior High.  Practically to the end, she refused to miss school.

Merrie enrolled in Killian High, but her condition deteriorated further and she passed away on March 28, 1969—six days before her l5^th birthday.  The unique park is a fitting memorial to a remarkable little girl.

WHY DO THEY CALL IT MIAMI? (REWRITE)

WHY DO THEY CALL IT MIAMI?

By Wellborn Phillips

Many have dubbed Miami “A Magic City” because of its spectacular growth from wilderness to metropolis in little more than “a mere” 100 years. Because magic and mystery are related, it’s appropriate that the origin of the name “Miami” should be rooted as much in legend—or speculation-- as in fact.

The only thing we can be sure of “for sure” is that the city of Miami was born and grew where the Miami River meets Biscayne Bay and the city took its name from the River.

But where did the River get its name?

Is it an Indian word from the Seminoles? The Calusas or Tequestas? Or does it have a Spanish origin, given and used by the early explorers?

The widely accepted theory is that the name “Miami” is a Seminole Indian word meaning “sweet water”. That was the meaning accepted by our founding fathers when they incorporated the city in 1896, naming it for the River.  However wise their actions may have been otherwise, linguistically, they may have been very mistaken.

In his book, “Florida Place Names,” Allen Morris states “Miami is not a Seminole word, phonetically, and no words have been found in the Seminole language meaning sweet water that sound like it.  Another version translates it as ‘big water’ which is said to refer to Lake Okeechobee of which the present Miami River was once an arm.  The Chippewas, a group of Algonquin Indians, have a word ‘Miami’ in their language that means ‘people who live on a point.’   Their word is the origin of the name Miami, Ohio, and The Miami Heralds’s John Pennekamp says that his research indicated Indian trade routes could have brought the Chippewa word into Florida.”

Other speculations involve Spanish derivations and Indian dialects. It is said that there is an archaic Spanish word “Miami” for which a modern translation would be “a place of complete contentment”. Available Spanish dictionaries, however, do not list such a word.

The Choctaws, an Indian tribe from Alabama, have a similar word meaning “it is so wide”, again referring to lake and river. The Calusa Indians, and their “cousins” the Tequestas, came closest with their name “Mayaimi”, meaning “big water”—and referring to the lake and river. . But could this name have survived the time and events that followed their departure?

From pre-historic times, the Calusas and Tequestas occupied the southern tip of Florida. In the two centuries after Ponce De Leon, however, both tribes almost disappeared, “thanks” to diseases introduced by the Spanish, or they were killed by inter-tribal warfare, or the white man, or carried off into slavery.

Often, they fought the Spanish. But following the Treaty of Paris in 1763 that transferred Florida from Spain to England, the Indians decided they hated the Spanish less than they hated the English. 

In 1763, 200 Calusas left for Cuba, never to return.   

As the Calusas and Tequestas left, there drifted down into South Florida a weird assortment of Creeks, Cherokees, half-breeds, run-away slaves, and some fugitives from justice.  And these were nicknamed “Seminoles”.  In Creek, the name means “wild” or “nondomesticated.”

For the next 70 years, the Seminoles and a rapidly-increasing trickle of white visitors used a variety  of names for the River-- “Maama”, “Miammi”, Meeamee”, and “Miamuh”. It was frequently discussed but never decided whether these were corruptions of Calusa, Tequesta, Chippewas or Choctaw names or nicknames that happened to be similar?

In 1830, two young men, Richard Fitzpatrick and William English, arrived.  Both were destined to write a short, but active and interesting chapter in Miami history.  Before coming to the Miami Area,  Fitzpatrick was already “big time” in Key West and Tallahassee.  Key West’s first street is named for him.  But he also decided he wanted to be a large land owner himself.  So he acquired for $1,000 from the original owners--the Eagan and Lewis families-- several large grants they got years before from the Spanish Crown.  It was all the land on both sides of the Miami River and along Biscayne Bay between today’s Omni and today’s Mercy Hospital in Coconut Grove.

 Today, this is clearly Dade County’s most valuable real estate worth billions of dollars.

But back then, Fitzpatrick had much of the area cultivated as a plantation. At the mouth of the River, he built 20 buildings, including a home for himself and quarters for 60 slaves.  But Fitzpatrick was unlucky.

Within 5 years, the Seminole War (1835-42) broke out and the Indians burned and plundered the plantation.  Fitzpatrick escaped; but understandably, he lost interest. He decided not to rebuild.   Instead, he sold his vast holdings to his nephew, William English. 

And English became Miami’s first land developer.  English planned a subdivision where Brickell Avenue’s  hi-rise office buildings and condominiums stand today.  But English was also unlucky. The plat was never recorded; the subdivision was not successful.   He was able to find only several people who would pay him $1.00 for each of his lots.

English’s unsuccessful subdivision, however, leaves its legacy.  Formerly, the versions of the name “Miami” had referred only to the lake or the river.  But English named his subdivision “City of Miami.”  By so doing, he established the name in its present form and applied it to an area on land.

After much prompting by Julia Tuttle,  Henry Flagler’s first train chugged into the Miami Area April 15, 1896.   (See “Why Do We Call It The Julia Tuttle Causeway?”)  In the next unbelievable 5 years, a vibrant town was literally carved “from scratch” where only a wilderness had been before. The Royal Palm Hotel was built in the general area where the DuPont Plaza Hotel is today. Flagler built a utility plant, platted subdivisions and paved streets for one square mile north of the River, most of what is now Downtown Miami. And in those same 5 years, Miami got its first bank, newspaper, civic organization, department store and first telephone company… and the City of Miami was incorporated….

Miami was incorporated July 28, 1896 with 343 voters. Many of them were “new arrivals” who worked for the railroad. The incorporation was directed by Flagler aids: John Sewell (Flagler’s railroad foreman), Joseph A. McDonald (who built Flagler’s hotels), John B. Reilly (McDonald’s bookkeeper), and Daniel Cosgrove (McDonald’s son-in-law who was a plumber-of-sorts doing pipefitting’s for the hotels).

The “Flagler Crowd” was successful in getting “their” charter adopted and “their” slate elected: John B. Reilly became Miami’s first mayor; McDonald and Cosgrove were elected to the first City Council.  At first, it was considered that a City Council organized by the “Flagler Crowd” would automatically name the new city Flagler. Then the City Council surprised everyone.

In the fifty years since Fitzpatrick and English—and in addition to Tuttle—three or four dozen or so other people had drifted into the area to make up a small village.  Some had become merchants and had joined a group headed by Isador Cohen who were opposed to many Flagler policies—and these were definitely opposed to naming the new town for Flagler.

At the same time, there were many other “old timers” who had adopted English’s name Miami, which they considered “a Seminole Indian name”—and they liked it.

History doesn’t tell us what Julia Tuttle wanted to name the new town, but it does tell us about a conversation during this same time between Flagler and Tuttle.  Flagler told Tuttle, “The town will never be more than a fishing village for my hotel guests.” 

In other words, Flagler was understood as saying, “Miami is never going to be a great city, so naming it Flagler wouldn’t be a great honor.”  At the same time, Flagler told many people, “I like the Indian name.”

So the new City Council decided to name the new town ”the Indian name”-- Miami!

Twenty six years later, Miami had another opportunity to honor Flagler.  In 1918, the U. S. Post Office made an almost unbelievable decision.  It announced it would discontinue delivery of mail unless the streets were renamed and numbered in a more logical order. 

The hero for the day was Miami city Commissioner Joseph F. Chaile who thought up—and quickly got adopted by both City and County and then built--the quadrant system we still use today, which divides the County (and most cities) into 4 districts—NW, SW, NE and SE.

 To separate the quadrants, Chaile had selected two main streets and renamed them.  And being a good politician, he had something for all.  The main north-south street, Avenue D, was renamed Miami Avenue to please Cohen and friends; to honor the memory of Henry Flagler, who had died in 1918, the main east-west street. 12^th Street, became Flagler Street.

Today, the City of Miami has far surpassed Flagler’s wildest dreams.  And regardless of linguist meaning, the name “Miami” has acquired special meanings for people around the world.  It is more, much more than a geographic location plus its fancy homes and commercial buildings—all the brand new steel and glass, bricks and concrete.  It has varied culture all its own, a state of mind, a way of life.

For some, Miami means a great resort, a place for conventions, the world’s largest cruise ship port: for others, a shopping, transportation or financial center for the Hemisphere.  It’s a place to retire, or an exciting home for the young professional. It is also the home of great universities and medical centers, Junior Colleges and other educational institutions, football, basketball, baseball and hockey teams and major sporting events such as tennis matches on Key Biscayne and others at the Orange Bowl.  The city is blessed with many cultural events and parks.  It is also famous as a refuge from oppression.  Or as one of the world’s best –known cities, with a very competitive, diverse economy.

Miami is not only the name of  Dade County’s largest city, but also part of the name for 8 other cities—Miami Beach, North Miami, North Miami Beach, Miami Shores, Miami Springs, West Miami, South Miami and Miami Lakes.       

WHY DO THEY CALL IT FREEDOM TOWER (Rewrite)

WHY DO THEY CALL IT FREEDOM TOWER?

NOTE; this is a rewrite; I cannot find a copy of the original at this time.

By Wellborn Phillips

Freedom Tower, at the corner of Biscayne Boulevard and NE 10^th Street, is one of Miami’s oldest and most easily-recognized buildings. It has an exceptional architecture.  It represents three separate—and dramatic-periods in Miami history.  And during one of these periods, events at the Tower earned for  the Tower—probably “forever”—a place in the hearts and minds of thousands of Americans who originally came from the Cuba Castro had seized.

The architecture, a Mediterranean Revival style,  has (or had)  a striking resemblance to the Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables and to the old Roney Plaza Hotel on Miami Beach that was torn down years ago. That is because Schultz and Weaver, prominent architects of the area, designed all three buildings, borrowing  designs for all three from the Giralda Tower in Seville, Spain.

The cupola that capped the 255 foot tower contained a beacon light which was especially significant to the builder:  it would serve not only as a lighthouse beacon for sailors on Biscayne Bay, but also symbolize the enlightenment  that The Metropolis--later The Miami Daily News--would provide the community.

Freedom Tower was built in 1925 by James Cox, one-time presidential candidate from Ohio, to house The Metropolis, one of Miami’s early newspapers, which he also owned along with Radio Station WIOD   Sometime later, The Metropolis became The Miami Daily News and the Tower was renamed The Miami Daily News Tower.

In the meantime, Miami was growing from a sleepy Southern town into a major vacation destination and tourists were selecting post cards to mail home. Some featured bathing beauties on the beach, others, water sports or Spanish style buildings. One favorite 1940 postcard (see image at bottom of blog):  is a view from Bay Front Park with the Tower framed by tropical trees and flowering plants.

In 1957, The Miami Daily News shuttered the building when it moved in with The Miami Herald in The Herald’s new building at One Herald Plaza. And The Tower remained vacant for nearly a decade.

In the early l960’s Cuban dictator Fidel Castro came to power. And Cuban refugees began arriving in Miami by the thousands. The Federal Government leased The Tower, opened it once again. And many thousands of Cuban refugees were processed there, getting their social security cards, food stamps and medical supplies—so they could exist while making full arrangements for their new life.

 Today, many of them consider that it was there, at The Tower, that they started an important part of their new life in America. And they acquired emotional ties to the building they now call La Torre or Freedom Tower.

In l974, the refugee center closed.  Vandals and the homeless became the only tenants.  The building fell into disrepair.  Miamians still admired the spectacular architecture on the outside. And every realtor in town tried to resell the building despite its broken windows, graffiti and filth. Unfortunately, many of the best prospects for the building wanted to tear it down and build condominiums or modern office building.

In l983, to protect The Tower from demolition, the building was designated a historic landmark and placed on the National Register of Historic Places.

In l99l, The Tower was purchased by Jorge Mas Canossa, the founder and leader of the Cuban American National Foundation which made some renovations. There was a museum; library and meeting rooms and the Foundation had its offices there.

In the mean time, there were other sales and other uses suggested for the building.

In one of the Miami Vice episodes, the Tower was filmed with a sniper who was climbing the Tower and eventually tried to kill Crocket.

The last sale was to builder Pedro Martin and his Terra Group which had plans to build high rise condominiums  there. When public indignation forced Mr. Martin to shelve his plans, he donated the building in 2005 to Miami Dade College with its President Eduardo Padron who has, since then, completed some renovations—such as vaulted ceilings, Roman columns, and a 40 foot mural on the first floor. Sometime ago, the college celebrate in great style the start of renovation with a banquet with President Obama’s wife as honor guest.  Other renovations will surely follow before long. 

In the mean while, Freedom Tower remains a spectacular relic of important Miami history that badly needs to be preserved.