Charity's seed rooted in 1926 'cane

The 1926 Miami hurricane turned this car
on its side and pushed it against a building.
Photo credit: floridamemory.com/items/show/153841

Street scene shows some of the damage
in Miami after the 1926 hurricane.
Photo credit: floridamemory.com/items/show/141460

This year--2026--marks the 100th anniversary of the 1926 Miami hurricane. The tragedy helped lead to what we know today as Catholic Charities of the Archdiocese of Miami.

Internet and AI searches will give you details and photos about the destruction suffered in South Florida on Sept. 18,1926. This blog post includes actions taken by Catholic religious leaders and laity.

First, some quick facts about the Category 4 Great Miami Hurricane:

• Hundreds of people died and hundreds more went missing.
• Winds went from 19 mph at 8 p.m. Sept. 17 up to 145-150 mph at landfall less than 12 hours later, in the early morning of Sept. 18.
• Hurricane-force winds stretched along the South coast from the Keys to West Palm Beach.
• The storm's eye was between 30 and 40 miles wide.
• Two days later, on Sept. 20, 1926, the hurricane made a second Florida landfall in Pensacola, in the Panhandle, as a Category 3.

In South Florida, many new residents and others unfamiliar with hurricanes tried to leave beachside during the eye, thinking the storm had ended. Most lost their lives when the winds and rain roared in again.

That storm ended the Florida Boom and ushered in the Depression early in Florida, Things only got worse. From the Miami Archdiocese:

"The havoc caused by the hurricane, the poverty and desperation were aggravated by the Great Depression of 1929. Amid these circumstances, on March 8, 1931, the provision of assistance and social services to poor families was formalized."

Thus was Catholic Charities born in South Florida. But emergency relief had started right after the hurricane. A USA Today article (behind a paywall) notes how parishes immediately converted spaces into relief centers and housing centers right after the storm. Traumatized residents received food, supplies, housing and spiritual care.

Gesu Church in downtown Miami remained standing after the storm. It's believed the parish immediately opened as a shelter to house 200 children who'd been separated from their parents during the storm. 

Parishioners at the Miami beachside St. Patrick's Church turned to physical work to handle their shock. Their church and school housed in refurbished stables were flattened in the storm. Two weeks later, the parishioners had made enough repairs for the school to reopen. I assume they made even faster fixes to set up a space for Mass.

Half a year later, the world had moved on but South Floridians still suffered. A Facebook post tells how religious leaders joined for a community-wide Easter Sunday Service on Miami's beachfront in 1927. In the Facebook photo, you can hardly see the sand for all the people crowded there. 

A final note about the storm in Miami: Sept. 17,1926 was sunny, balmy and breezy. It was a typical beautiful Florida fall day. A Yale Climate Connections article says a hurricane warning wasn't issued until 11:30 that night. The storm came in fast after that.

That era's weather forecasting technology was more primitive than what we have today. Even we non-meteorologists can track storms from inception. I appreciate that. 

As on that day, hurricanes today can and do swell and blow in quickly. And change course. I remember having only a few hours to prepare when Hurricane Charley altered course and headed straight for my area in 2004. 

It's smart to always start with season with a plan and supplies in place.

Let's not grow complacent during this quiet hurricane season in Florida. 

Sorrow of the Scrub

Today's post is a big departure for me. That's because I didn't write it. Instead, I share, with permission, a post titled "Sorrow of the Scrub," by Rollins College Professor Lesley Kemp Poole. 

The post reflects on the harsh reality of childhood mortality in frontier Florida. One statistic cited says up to 50 percent of children died before age 5 in Florida in the late 1800s. Some women buried almost all their children.

The reasons for the deaths are many, but the grief such losses evoked spans time and place. The post discusses how burying so many children affected both real and fictional mothers in the Florida scrub. What makes the article so compelling are memories shared by descendants - including the author - of some of those pioneers.

Childhood death is a stark reminder of the harsher side to the pioneer experience, darker than what I usually write about. But important to know. 

The post first appeared on The Marjorie (https://themarjorie.org), a reporting outlet focused on Florida's deep human history and unique environment. The site's name channels the legacies of three important Marjories in Florida history: author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, conservationist Marjorie Harris Carr and advocate and author Marjory Stoneman Douglas.

Enjoy.

Wild West copied frontier Florida

The living-history 2026 Great Florida
Cattle Drive continued rain or shine.
(Photo credit: USA Today 'The Florida
Pulse' documentary video.)

I often say pioneer Florida resembled the Wild West. Actually, the Wild West copied frontier Florida in a major way: cattle drives.

Florida cowmen and cow-women have been conducting cattle drives across the state for hundreds of years. The Spanish introduced what's called cracker cattle to the state in the early 1500s. Cattle drives in Texas and states farther West were latecomers. Yet, much historical lore plants such events firmly - and only - in those areas.

Wrong. Florida was a leading cattle-producing state by the mid-1800s, according to a University of Florida blog about the industry's history. We still rank among the top cattle-producing states in the nation.

Florida cattle drives of the past are no more, with one major exception: The Great Florida Cattle Drive. It's a living-history journey like no other. Using tools of the trade like those of 200 years ago, volunteers drive cattle across the state just as they did during the pioneer era. 

Organized by the all-volunteer Florida Cow Culture Preservation Committee, the reenactment takes place about once every five years. Florida's ongoing rapid development has hindered and altered the path of the trail, but the event's power and intent remain the same. The Great Florida Cattle Drive website says:

"This reenactment honors the state’s ranching heritage and educates attendees about the challenges and triumphs faced by early Florida cow hunters."

This year's seven-day drive covered 45 miles across 15 historic ranch lands in Okeechobee County. That's in the south central part of the state, which has a landscape that's alien to new coastal dwellers.

Cattle were driven as a herd, with cowmen and -women, horses and dogs making sure the cattle didn't wander into swamps, hammocks or sloughs. It was hard, hot, gritty work. It comes as close as a modern event can to what pioneers experienced so long ago. 

Maybe closer. I like to think that participants, come nighttime - seated around a campfire under a starry sky, relaxed after hours of intense outdoor labor, and surrounded by expanses of open land - made the leap between then and now. For a few minutes, maybe, minds and hearts stretched across time and touched.

Party like it's the 150th

I'd never heard of The American's Creed
until reading it in a 1926 issue of the South
Florida Developer newspaper.
(Credit: oldnews.com)

Independence Day celebrations had strong patriotic flair in 1926. The United States was observing the Sesquicentennial of the country's independence. Our nation's 150th anniversary was honored across the states and even in other countries. 

Floridians toasted independence at local gatherings, and the state's newspapers alerted readers about festivities taking place elsewhere. 

On June 10, 1926, the Key West Citizen had an article about the country's big Sesquicentennial International Exposition. It was staged in Philadelphia from May through November to celebrate the 150th anniversary of American independence and the 50th anniversary of the 1876 Centennial Exposition. The Central Florida Times (Ocala) reported there was a "heated controversary" about whether the Exposition should be open on Sundays. Its first Sunday opening was, appropriately, July 4, 1926, and 25,000 people attended that day.

On July 5, 1926, the Central Florida Times boasted that the 150th was honored in Paris, Buenos Aires, Prague, Warsaw and even London. In most of those places, locals joined the party on July 4 to support American ex-pats and diplomats. Polish newspapers ran editorials about the American Constitution, declaring that "although the shortest, it was the greatest in the world."

Reading that almost makes me sad, when I think how polarized our country is as we herald our 250th anniversary. How other countries probably won't note it with laudatory praise. How some of our own citizens will protest our country's very existence. 

Then I learned people were grumbling around the time of the 150th, too. On July 2, 1926, the South Florida Developer newspaper (Stuart) reported that some local residents declared that a Law Observance Rally needed to take place. The Declaration of Independence would be read, patriotic songs sung, speeches given, a picnic enjoyed by all, games and sports played. A parade would close the (long) day. 

No word on whether that took place. But something close did. Everyone was invited to the patriotic Independence Day celebration being organized by the American Legion in Stuart. A band was to play patriotic music from 3:30 to 4 p.m. Afterward, a special program would be read and veterans of the Civil War, Spanish-American War and World War I would be recognized. 

The program would end with everyone in attendance reciting what the newspaper article called America's creed. I've included a photo that shows the text.

I was unfamiliar with the creed, so I asked AI. It told me the text is The American's Creed and it was written in 1917 by William Tyler Page and adopted by the U.S. House of Representatives in 1918. Since AI is known to hallucinate, I double checked the link it gave me to the Congressional Record. AI was correct. The URL is really long but I've put the link at the bottom of this blog post. 

Interestingly, the same day's newspaper issue reported that bishops of the M.E. Church had asked pastors to observe Independence Day as Loyalty Day. The bishops' specific appeal made me take notice:

"Pastors are to hold special services in efforts to rally young people in open demonstration against attacks that are being made upon the constitution of the United States." 

Maybe the attacks had something to do with Prohibition? The newspaper noted a similar movement had already taken place in Atlanta, where thousands of people ages 14 to 35 participated in a Dry Parade. Many carried signs proclaiming, "Hold Fast America." City notables made "dry" speeches. (Prohibition was the focus of the 18th amendment to the Constitution. It was ratified in 1919 and in effect until repealed in 1933.) 

Back in Florida, in Homosassa, "all Citrus County" joined in celebrating the Sesquicentennial on July 4, reported the Central Florida Times on July 8, 1926. The county chamber of commerce staged a "monster picnic and get-together."

"The entire day was given to the patriotic celebration and to the various sports." Activities included community singing and a reading of the Declaration of Independence. Judges gave speeches about sacrifices made by those who fought for the country's freedom. Festivities concluded with a baseball game between two local teams. 

Not sure any community singings are on 2026 Independence Day agendas. Ditto for long speeches. And if you hear any readings of The American's Creed, let me know. I'm not sure the Declaration of Independence is even publicly read these days. The last time I heard it publicly read was during a visit to Fort Ticonderoga many years ago. And it wasn't July 4. 

There will, however, be plenty of fireworks. AI tells me that because of minimal fireworks safety regulations in 1926, people celebrated with pyrotechnics that are heavily regulated today. 

However you celebrate, may you enjoy your July 4th and our country's 250th. And remember we're still evolving. Our democratic republic is a never-ending experiment worth continuing, improving and honoring.

Learn more about The American's Creed here: https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/SERIALSET-08579_00_00-152-0416-0000/pdf/SERIALSET-08579_00_00-152-0416-0000.pdf

Sad irons a weighty topic

Antique sad irons make great doorstops.
(Photo: Gerri Bauer)

For some reason, sad irons intrigue me at the moment. No clue why. I have three I use as doorstops. I usually think about them only when moving them to vacuum.

The history of sad irons popped up instantly when I asked Google/AI. I asked myself whether to bother writing a blog post about them. 

But the AI overview neglected to say that sewists can buy fabric with sad-iron designs depicted on it. I found some on Spoonflower and Etsy. A while ago, Missouri Star Quilt Company released a fabric collection devoted to irons and pressing tools, both new and antique. 

I can't find that fabric line online any longer. That always happens with fabric collections released for quilters. The specific fabric is available for a short period of time. The collections aren't reprinted and are rarely reissued. Once they're gone, sewists hunt for needed pieces from second-market sellers. 

The fabric trail tells me other people are interested in antique irons, too. That's good, because this isn't a post about sewing. It's about those sad irons. 

The irons' "sad" moniker is believed to have evolved from an old English word that meant solid. And solid they are. All metal and of various weights - 4, 5, 6 pounds or so - depending on intended use. Lighter ones were for ironing thinner items such as delicate clothing; heavier ones for things like tablecloths. 

It's too easy to equate the word sad with the mood of people using the irons in pre-electricity Florida. We can't. Who knows what they were thinking. 

All we truly know is that ironing was a workout. Households usually had multiple sad irons because one or two would heat atop the stove while another was in use. They cooled fairly quickly and needed reheating. Their poundage seemed to increase the longer the ironing session continued. Arms and shoulders grew tired.

Many typical homesteaders did their own washing and ironing. Wealthier homesteaders often hired others to do those chores. I hope workers were paid a decent wage for the era, but suspect that wasn't always the case. I also suspect more than a few pioneers ironed only what was necessary. That's what I would have done.

Washing and ironing was such a big job it required two days. One for washing, one for ironing. The entire procedure sounds grueling - filling buckets, heating the water, scrubbing with harsh soap, rinsing in other buckets, drying - often atop shrubs - then ironing, ironing, ironing. 

Sad irons have become collectable now that nobody actually has to use them, at least not in Florida. What's really sad is that some people make and sell fake ones. 

After reading online how to discern a fake, I wonder if one or possibly two of mine fit the parameters. I'm fairly sure the one that somebody long ago painted green is the real deal.

Real or fake, they work well as doorstops. And as reminders of times so distant from today it can be hard to imagine them. 

Historic hotel deserves rescue

A trip through the lobby of historic
Edgewater Hotel is a
journey into Florida's past.
(Photo credit: Gerri Bauer)

Most small-town restaurant layouts don't guide patrons through history during a walk to the restroom. I'm glad Thai Blossom in Winter Garden does. 

No, this isn't a food post, although their food is excellent. And I wasn't paid in any way to say so. My husband and I stopped there for lunch a few times on computer-repair drop-off and pick-up journeys. That's how I discovered the history.

The restaurant is housed in what was and hopefully will again be an operating, historic facility - The Edgewater Hotel. Opened in 1927, the structure retains beautiful details including wood paneling, stained and etched glass, and other touches of the era such as glass doorknobs.

I discovered them on my trip to the restroom. The walk leads out of the restaurant, around the former lobby and into a small hallway. The photo at the top of this post shows you what I passed on the way.

The Edgewater started as a haven for fishermen headed for Lake Apopka. The lake was famous for its bass fishing. The 53-room hotel gained stature and operated for almost 40 years. It sheltered World War II troops, Walt Disney World construction workers, spring-training baseball players, regular folks and a few famous ones. A 90th-anniversary article in the West Orange Times & Observer said legend claims Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart were there and filming was done there.

But the hotel closed in1965, stayed closed for a couple of decades and was almost razed. Over its lifetime it has been sold and resold, rescued by local investors, renovated, reopened, and operated as a bed-and-breakfast. The most recent closing came in 2025 after a group hired to operate the B&B had serious internal problems.

It's clear that challenges aren't new for the Edgewater. Even from the start. Construction began during the Florida Boom. The builder when bankrupt when the boom busted in Florida a year later. Local investors rescued the project and opened the hotel in 1927.

Room rates upon opening were $2 to $2.50 per night. That's about $38 to $47 today. But remember, an open window was the only in-room air-conditioning. Modern amenities at the time included telephones in every room, a state-of-the-art fire prevention system and an Otis elevator.

Photos I've seen online show wood floors in guest rooms and the dining room, large windows, period-appropriate furniture and other touches such as beautiful quilts on the beds. 

The word from regional media is that local investors are again stepping in to save the structure and hotel operation. That's great, because the building not only houses the Thai Blossom, it also contains The Chef's Table, the Tasting Room at Chef's Table, Scoops Ice Cream Store, and Earl's Barbershop.

I hope the hotel will operate again as a B&B or other housing. It has character and a strong local identity, something so often lacking in Florida's modern structures. As we zoom into our techno future, these pieces of the past become even more important.

Time collapses in 1869 guidebook

In the 1970s, UF Press published the
Florida Bicentennial Commission's
reprint of an 1869 guidebook 

The reprint edition included a
new introduction and index.
(Photos by Gerri Bauer)

Do I laugh or wince at the "new disease" mentioned in an 1869 guidebook to Florida? The ailment is described as a state of "nerves and mental exhaustion." Its cause? "... the harassing strain of our American life, our over-active, excitable, national temperament," a result of "... our artificial, unquiet lives."

I'm not laughing. The condition plagues millions today. Yet the author, a medical doctor, wrote those words 157 years ago. That was long before the internet, smart phones, social media, 24/7 news, automobiles, electricity, television, computers. It's odd to realize people without those distractions were just as unsettled by ever-changing realities and a quickening pace of life as we are today. 

That's not the only commonality I discovered in A Guide-Book of Florida and the South (University Press of Florida, reprint 1978), by Daniel Garrison Brinton (1837-1899). Brinton was esteemed in his day. In addition to practicing medicine, he was a research scientist, author, scholar, professor and leader of national organizations.

He seems ahead of his time in many ways, not just in recognizing a new malady. His guidebook's chapter on Hints for Health Seekers showcases some practices we consider essential in the 21st century. 

In addition to suggesting travel to healthful climates, he shares these ideas that still hold merit: 

• An attempt at cheerfulness by valetudinarians, meaning persons unduly anxious about their health (yes, I had to look that up). A good traveling companion was essential, so that the anxious person wouldn't fall prey to "Giant Despair, who is still as ready as ever to pounce on unwary travelers, especially on wet days, alone in dull country taverns.''
• The valetudinarian should collect something. In other words, have a hobby. Collecting ideas included bugs, butterflies, mosses, fossils, flowers, minerals (rocks?) and the wrong-to-me "Indian curiosities, birds' eggs and skins." The pursuit would get the person outdoors, and the organization and arrangement of items would keep them busy indoors during bad weather.
• Deep breathing. Brinton gives step-by-step instructions and emphasizes the slow exhale that we know contributes to quieting of nerves.
• Free use of olive oil; and coffee and chocolate were permissible.
• No tobacco - "absolutely prohibited in every form."

Other recommendations are dated:

• Five or six glasses of milk daily for consumptives, occasionally spiked with "a trifle" of cognac or rum. 
• Three or four eggs daily, some taken "in the guise of a 'flip' with pale sherry."
• Free use of butter
• Tea sparingly; it being "barely permissible."
• Rye or whiskey, well diluted, allowed three times a day if tolerated.

The book was written before the discovery that mosquitoes carry yellow fever. Quinine's curative effect, however, was known. Brinton advised health seekers to always carry quinine pills and to take them if exposed to "marsh miasmas." 

He also recommended what we today call exfoliation, done then by salt and water scrubs or by dry rubbing.

Years separate us from this 1869 gem, which the Florida Bicentennial Commission reprinted in the 1970s. Yet, as I've discovered through my other avocational journeys through historical  material, time also collapses. That's when our common humanity shines through, no matter how many differences separate us.