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 66th 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.
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