Popes: creating a second nature

Pope Leo XIII, pictured in
the January 24, 1902 edition
of New Enterprise newspaper

Pope Pius X, pictured in
the June 9, 1906 issue of
the Pensacola Journal

My planned topic for this month (which I don't remember!) is on hold. I'm too wrapped up with the death of Pope Francis and the coming conclave to elect his successor. RIP, Pope Francis.

Catholics, no matter where or when we live/lived, consider the pope our spiritual father. His words and actions resonate. We mourn when a pope dies. That's held true for 2,000 years. It was true for Florida Catholics during the state’s frontier years.

At that time, the Catholic Church considered Florida as mission territory. AI tells me that in 1900, Florida's Catholic population was about 30,000. The state's total population in 1900 was 528,542. So, Catholics comprised 5.7 percent of Florida's population in 1900. 

Today, Catholics number about 1.9 million in Florida out of a population of 22.9 million. We’re up to 8.3 percent of the population

Yet, I’ve noticed many non-Catholics mourning the loss of Pope Francis, here and elsewhere. I was surprised to read online comments from self-described atheists who admired him and mourn his passing. His humbleness, embrace of every individual and concern for the poor and marginalized were among their reasons.

That made me wonder how popes were perceived during Florida's frontier years. And how their deaths and elections were handled by the media in an era when Florida was prone to anti-Catholic sentiments.

Two popes were in office during a chunk of the frontier era: Pope Leo XIII and Pope Pius X. Their combined papacies covered 36 years, from 1878 to 1914.

Pope Leo XIII guided the church from 1878 to 1903. It was a long pontificate. He was 93 when he died. Media coverage ranged from one sentence - yes, one sentence, without a headline, to half-pages of respectful comments.

The one sentence was in the July 7, 1903, Ocala Evening Star. It stated, “Pope Leo at the point of death.” The news was sandwiched between a notice that the Board of County Commissioners had set a tax levy of 17 mills and an advertorial for Bucklen’s Arnica Salve to kill the pain of cuts, wounds, bruises, burns and stiff joins. It was on sale for 25 cents at the Anti-Monopoly Drugstore. 

But other newspapers presented newsy and sometimes heartfelt tributes when the pope died on July 20, 1903. The Palatka News and Advertiser, on July 24, 1903, mentioned how the pontiff’s final two-week battle against disease “was watched the world over with sympathetic admiration.”  That tells me that more than the world’s Catholics were paying attention. 

Even more laudatory was this paragraph: “The dead pontiff was a great and good man. Viewed apart from all priestly considerations, measured solely by human standards, he towered high among the great men of his time by reason of scholarly attainments and those other qualities of leadership in the world of thought which insured for his every utterance a respectful hearing in all quarters of the globe. But it was in his spiritual leadership of millions upon millions of people that Leo’s real greatness will stand forth as a beacon of light to coming generations.” 

That’s quite complimentary. And, yes, journalists back then tended to use long sentences.

The same newspaper, on a different page, let readers know Florida Bishop Kenny ordered all churches in the diocese to hold special services commemorative of Pope Leo XIII. At that time, one diocese covered most of Florida. 

The early 1900 newspapers ran articles that explained how conclaves work, just as today’s media are doing. They reported the results, as media will do this year. And many voices, then and now, speculated about potential candidates and debated their merits. 

In August 1903, newspapers reported that Pope Pius X had been elected after four days of deliberations “behind locks and bars.” His assumption of office was marked by impressive ceremonies at the Vatican, noted the Gainesville Star on August 7, 1903. 

The papacy of Pope Pius X lasted from 1903 to 1914. On August 20, 1914, the Pensacola Journal was among many newspapers that announced his death at age 79. It and other newspapers stated that the pope’s dismay over the outbreak of World War I likely contributed to his death, which was medically attributed to bronchial, heart and lung trouble.

Some of his final words were widely reported. Pope Pius X despaired over his inability to stop the war, noting that in ancient times, “the pope, by a word, may have stayed the slaughter.” That wasn’t possible in 1914. Shortly before he died, he said, “Now I begin to think as the end is approaching that the Almighty in his inexhaustible goodness wishes to spare me the horrors Europe is undergoing.”

More than a century later, we heard echoes of that lament in the many times Pope Francis decried the multiple wars taking place across the globe. 

Popes, then and now, were and are labeled by people as modernist or traditionalist or liberal or conservative, etc., etc. Yet all share certain qualities no matter where they fall on people’s meters. Both Leo XIII and Pope Pius X cared deeply for the poor, for the marginalized, for those who suffered in war. As did Pope Benedict XVI and Pope Francis, two of my favorite popes.

The New Enterprise, a newspaper from Madison, Florida, included a very telling statement in a January 24, 1902, article about Pope Leo XIII’s characteristics: “The pontificate creates a second nature.” 

So it does. So it does.

The ancient ritual of the conclave is set to begin May 7, 2025. It will again unfold as it has for centuries. And Catholics will embrace the new pope while continuing to honor and remember the former one. 

May the cardinals feel the wisdom of the Holy Spirit as it guides them. 

Unity amid differences

St. Peter Church in DeLand's first church
building was dedicated in 1884. (Photo
credit: West Volusia Historical Society)

All plans for this month's blog evaporated when I saw a Facebook post from the West Volusia Historical Society. Looking out at me from the webpage was the 1884 photo you see at the top of this page. The man pictured second from left is Bishop John Moore.

Only a week earlier, I'd started reading a book about the bishop: John Moore: Catholic Pastoral Leadership During Florida's First Boom, 1877-1901, by Fr. Michael J. McNally, a Catholic historian. Seeing the bishop's face staring back at me from my computer was a surprise. I jumped to learn more about this pioneer Catholic's appearance in a local history photo.

As the Facebook entry explains, Bishop Moore was in DeLand in April 1884 to dedicate the small Catholic community's first church, St. Peter Catholic Church. Catholics were a minority in DeLand in the 1880s. Four leading Catholic families formed the nucleus of a parish in 1883: the Kilkoffs, Drekas, Zieglers and Fishers. Masses were said in the Kilkoff home beginning in June 1883, while Catholics pooled resources to build and furnish a church. 

Erecting a church of their own was a big deal for the Catholics. They provided materials including stained glass windows, physically helped construct the building and made the altar linens. They added a sanctuary lamp, statues of Joseph and Mary, candlesticks and flowers to the interior. 

The day of dedication was a formal occasion celebrated with a High Mass, meaning at full ceremonial level and including music and incense.

The historical society's Facebook post notes something I've often uncovered in my local history research. Despite the church being in the Protestant-dominated South at a time of anti-Catholicism, the townsfolk in this case supported one another. The dedication was a communitywide event.

The choir for the special Mass included non-Catholics who filled out the small congregation's voices. A leading Methodist townswoman, Mrs. Hettie Austin, loaned a portable melodeon for the occasion. The picture depicts the choir standing outside the new church. I wish I knew the names of everyone in the picture. Is Fr. William Kenny one of the other men shown? He'd said the first Mass in the building the day before the dedication ceremony.

St. Peter Church's history archives tell how parishioners spoke of dedication day as a joyous occasion. They also spoke of the generous help given by non-Catholic friends. 

One year later, in April 1885, the parish consisted of 13 families. Today, (2024) the parish has more than 1,500 families. The 1884 church building is long gone, but the spirit remains.

Many thanks to the historical society's Dreggors Collection for saving the image. 

Parish women lead the way

The 'new' Blessed Trinity Church opened in
1922. It replaced a smaller, wooden church. 

Parish-affiliated Catholic women's groups have existed for a long time. Each supports parish needs. Each also contributes to the wider community through charitable work and donations. 

We hear a lot today about the decline in volunteerism. It's always been somewhat of a struggle, though. Listen to this memoir about a 1937 meeting that occurred after morning Mass at Blessed Trinity Church in Ocala. The pastor asked for a woman to step up and lead a new altar society. 

As Father Nixon went from lady to lady, they would decline saying they were too busy, or not well enough, or had small children. ...

Father Nixon was stymied. He had to leave Ocala to say Mass in mission territory and was in danger of being late. He was also still fasting, per the era's church rules about not eating past midnight the day before Mass. And September in Florida is hot, humid and summery. Air conditioning as we know it today didn't exist in the average home and business in 1937. 

The priest finally turned toward 19-year-old Audrey Mortimer (later Audrey Mortimer Chambers) and appointed her president for a year. No one objected. Except Audrey, the writer of the memoir. She felt out of her league among the older women there. She'd only attended the meeting in place of her mother, who was ill. But Father Nixon was gone. He had just enough time to gulp some food at the rectory before racing to the mission church.

Audrey embraced her duties and gathered 22 women her own age to form the altar society. One of their duties was to cover the parish's candle bill. Money was tight during the Depression, so the young women staged rummage sales and card parties on weekends when they weren't working.

Today, parish maintenance is usually handled by professionals. Back then, members of altar societies literally cleaned the altars in church. They also polished brass, wiped down  woodwork and cleaned wax bits from vigil lights. 

One of the most difficult jobs, says Audrey in her memoir, was caring for the priestly vestments and the altar linens. She writes:

We did not have steam irons or air conditioning or even fans in those days, so you had to keep a towel handy to keep from sweating on the fresh linens.

The members had to create their own steam by ironing the heavy Irish linen altar cloths while  still wet. Vestments with lace had to be ironed on a bath towel, also while still wet. (I just gave thanks for my modern appliances.)

Many early 20th century altar societies became part of the larger Council of Catholic Women organization, which formed on the national level in 1920. The Ocala group did exactly that, encouraged by Father Nixon. The altar society affiliated with the local diocesan CCW. 

The connection brought the Ocala women into the orbit of CCWs throughout the diocese, station, region and nation. During a 1940 regional meeting, members heard a letter sent by then-Pope Pius XII in which he blessed their work. 

The meeting's theme still resonates today. The world was troubled in 1940. In light of that, CCW members were urged to offer the best of religion and the best of citizenship. They were reminded to stay confident in God, to live their faith, do charitable work, support the parish's needs and "be prepared to meet the more serious times that were ahead."  

That could have been written in 2023. My parish's CCW group this season raised and donated over $6,000 to local community initiatives. We gave to educational, medical, mission and family housing organizations. And yes, to specific parish needs. No, we're not chipping wax chips from the vigil lights. But we are bracing for serious times ahead.

---

Historical information in this post is from the book, "Catholics of Marion County," by Jane Quinn, published in 1978 by Mission Press, Ocala.

Resisting a secular land grab

Read the Florida Catholic Heritage Trail
document online

I'm stepping back a few decades earlier than usual in this post. That's so I can share information about how Florida property was stolen from the Catholic church. 

We hear a lot about how land was taken from other groups during the formative years of our country. I'm going to guess you've never heard about this particular land grab. 

The time period in focus in this post is the early 1820s. That's when Florida was removed from Spanish control and put under the umbrella of the United States. Florida wasn't yet a state. It became a U.S. territory in 1821. 

Rather than listen to me, read the direct explanation from The Florida Catholic Heritage Trail. The detailed Trail document from the Florida Catholic Conference was published in 2005. It was edited by now-deceased author and scholar Michael Gannon. Here's what the document says about the seizure:

"With the change of flags in East Florida in 1821, the parish of St. Augustine suffered substantial loss. Claiming that they were the property of Spain, not of the church, U.S. federal officials seized the church building, burial ground, episcopal residence (statehouse in British times), the former Franciscan convent, and Nombre de Dios."

Nice, huh? I'm sure church authorities differed about that perception of ownership. The U.S. government didn't care. Its agents saw a chance to grab prime real estate and thwart a "foreign" religion. 

The bishop in Charleston at the time, Bishop John England, managed to wrestle the church and cemetery out of U.S. hands. Or, as the Trail document says, he "secured their return" to the church in 1823. This wasn't just any old church building. It was the church we know today as the Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine, the first and oldest Catholic parish in the United States.

The bishop had to be content with the return of those two properties. The episcopal residence building and land were given to Protestants. The Episcopal Church built Trinity Church on the site in 1831.

The St. Francis Barracks - the convent where friars once prayed - was no longer a sacred space even in 1821. So I concede the site appeared rather secular to incoming U.S. authorities.

The Franciscan friars had left during the 20-year British occupation of Florida in the late 1700s. The British confiscated and converted the barracks to military quarters. Spain continued the usage. The U.S. followed suit. The property went on to house Confederate and then Union troops. By then, Florida was a state and embroiled in the Civil War. The renovated property may be familiar to you today as headquarters of the Florida National Guard. 

As for the important and historic Mission Nombre de Dios, at least some of the site found its way back into the fold of the church. But I don't know how big the original site was, how much was returned, or when. All I know is that the beautiful waterfront mission is definitely part of the Diocese of St. Augustine.

For Catholics, the mission site is sacred ground. The first Catholic Mass in the United States was celebrated there. The first Marian shrine in the United States was founded there. In 2019, the U.S. Catholic bishops elevated The Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche (at the mission site) to the status of a national shrine.

The secular authorities tried, but they couldn't wipe out the faith's presence or influence. Millions visit the Cathedral and Mission Nombre de Dios every year. The faithful go to pray, others visit for historic or cultural reasons. God's presence is palpable to me at both places. May others also feel his peace. 

Secret sanctuary a holy place

Segment from a colorized postcard from 1938
shows the Shrine of Ste. Anne des Lacs
 in Lake Wales, Florida.
Photo credit: Florida Memory

Tucked away in Lake Wales is a small, serene Catholic shrine. It once drew hundreds - maybe thousands - of people on pilgrimages in the early 20th century. The shrine even has an entry in the 1939 Federal Writers Project's Florida, A Guide to the Southernmost State.

Today, only handfuls of the faithful and the curious make their way to the lakefront Shrine of Ste. Anne des Lacs. Stonework crumbles in places and chipped inlaid tiles tell of past glory. An ornately decorated church once on the property is long gone.

But the essence and spirituality of the shrine remain.  Many visitors describe feeling a sense of peace when they stop -  and perhaps pray - before a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary in a grotto built to resemble the one at Lourdes. In a 2015 article, the Lakeland Ledger dubbed the shrine a secret sanctuary.

Secret, indeed. I've lived in Florida a long time and love to explore historic sites and Catholic-related places. How can I have been ignorant of the very existence of the Ste. Anne des Lacs shrine? The site is apparently overseen by the Holy Spirit Catholic Church in Lake Wales. The parish history page makes only a brief mention of the shrine, under the year 1921. The site says Easter Mass is celebrated there.

I cobbled together the place's history from the WPA guide, the Ledger article, YouTube videos, Wikipedia, and Florida Memory, which is where I located the colorized postcard pictured with this post. 

Among things I learned is that the local neighborhood has a protective attitude toward the shrine. Local residents look after the property, tend the grounds, and share information with tourists who find their way there.

Thanks for the shrine's very existence are due to a long-ago resident named Napoleon Pelletier. He was among a group of Canadian Catholics who wintered in Lake Wales to escape harsh weather in the early 20th century.

Different sources diverge on why the shrine was built. One says the devout Pelletier was the driving force behind creation of a shrine in the group's winter retreat. Another source says either Pelletier's son - or French artist Francois Morsollier's son - recovered from a serious illness while in Florida. The recovery was attributed in part to the healing waters of Saint Anne Lake. The shine was then built in gratitude for the child's recovery.

Either way, we do know the date of the shrine's construction: 1920. By the time of the WPA guidebook's write-up in 1939, the property contained stone grottoes, statuary, and a little church in which Morsollier had painted scenes from the Holy Land. Even relics were kept at the shrine.

Here's how the guidebook describes shrine activity:

"Pilgrimages are made here annually as to the shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes in France and the shrine of Ste. Anne de Beaupre in Canada. High dignitaries and priests of the Roman Catholic church in the United States and Canada assist the local priest in conducting the ceremonies." (page 466)

Those days are long gone. The place's faded grandeur - but also its current dignity - are evident in the YouTube video I linked below and in photos on Facebook. 

The Shrine of Ste. Anne des Lacs continues to nurture all who find their way to her doorstep. You can find the wooded retreat at 1207 St. Anne Shrine Road, a circular road that winds around the lake a few miles east of town center. Say a prayer for me if you get there before I do. I'll return the favor.

Below is the link to a video about the shrine. You can also click on the photo to go to YouTube.

Watch a video about the shrine at this link:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QyGxa0vRHos&t=1s

Mystery photographer revealed

A brief biography of R.A. Twine is featured
 in the Saint Augustine Historical Society journal
El Escribano 2016, published in 2018.
One of Twine's photos is on the cover.

Back in 2017, I  wrote about African-American Catholic photographer Richard Aloysius Twine after discovering his amazing 1920s photographs in Florida Memory's online Twine Collection (which in 2022 no longer seems to exist).

The sharply dressed young man visually catalogued residents of St. Augustine's Lincolnville neighborhood in the early 20th century. He  photographed portraits, groups, community gatherings, and class outings and other scenes revolving around St. Benedict the Moor Catholic Church and School life.

I wrote a two-part post: the first about Twine and the second about St. Benedict the Moor School, which Twine attended. But information about Twine was sparse. I wanted to know more about the photographer and his later years. Did he move away? Die young? I even titled the first part of the post "Gifted Photographer a Mystery Man."

Imagine my delight, then, when I received Volume 53 of El Escribano, The St. Augustine Journal of History, in 2018. The entire issue is devoted to the photography of Twine and his near contemporaries, Hugo and Earnest Meyer.

First, I'm happy to say Twine didn't die young. He moved north, as did many people of color in that era, but he also moved farther south.

Richard Aloysius Twine 

Thanks to a brief biography about Twine in Volume 53 of El Escribano, I'm now able to share more details. The bio was written by Dr. Patricia Griffin and Diana Selsor Edwards, with editing by Robert Nawrocki. I recommend you find this issue of the journal if possible and read the entire thing and enjoy the photographs reprinted in it. 

The issue is titled El Escribano 2016 but it was published in 2018. One of Twine's portraits, depicting a young woman, is featured on the cover. The journal is a project of the Saint Augustine Historical Society. Contact the historical society's Research Library to learn where you can access a copy.

Here, from the biography, are some excerpts and points of interest about Twine's life:

• He was born in St. Augustine in 1896 to former slave David Twine, who fought for the Union in the Civil War, and Harriett Bronson Twine, believed to have also been a former slave.
• Many family members were devout Catholics. 
• Twine moved to New York in 1916 but returned to St. Augustine about five years later and opened a photography studio.
• Twine was interested in filmmaking, and also was a playwright who staged theatricals with like-minded friends at St. Benedict the Moor Church.
• He operated his St. Augustine photography studio for only a handful of years - less than five. Several family members had scattered, and he followed some of his siblings to Miami, where they had opened a restaurant.
• The Great Depression ended Twine's photography, film, and theater dreams. He spent his later working years managing a hotel and boarding house.
• He never married.
• Twine died in Miami in 1974. He was 78. He's buried in San Lorenzo cemetery in St. Augustine.

I can't find a better tribute than this one written in the biography: "Richard Twine's public legacy is enduring in his Lincolnville photographs." His images offer viewers "... an intimate sense of people whose lives would otherwise have been lost to recorded history." (Page 11). 

So true. The photos and the biography do even more, though, in my opinion. They give us a glimpse into the man who was Richard Aloysius Twine, who also would have been lost to history. And they leave me, again, wanting to know more.

---

Read the related 2017 posts: Part 1 and Part 2

Drexel sisters' philanthropy touched Florida

 St. Peter Claver Church in 1950.
(Photo credit: St. Peter Claver community)

The St. Peter Claver Catholic community in Tampa is celebrating its 125th anniversary this year (1893-2018). It's a fitting time to remember the roots of this community, plus its links to St. Katharine Drexel and her sister, Louise Drexel Morrell.

Catholics in other areas of the country don't always realize Florida was Catholic mission territory well into the 20th century. I've encountered Catholic history publications that gloss over Florida's rich Catholic history. The authors don't understand the heroic efforts of religious and lay settlers to make sure the "Cross in the Sand"* stayed put.

Historian and pastor Fr. Michael J. McNally helps us remember. In his excellent book, Catholic Parish Life on Florida's West Coast, 1860-1968" (Catholic Media Ministries, 1996), he writes that, in Florida's early years:

"Winter visitors who came from places where Catholicism had a complex infrastructure were often appalled at Florida's lack of ecclesiastical institutions." (142)

These visitors, plus clergy, religious sisters and brothers, and local lay Catholics successfully worked to change that. McNally relates numerous examples. The Drexel sisters are two of the best known. They are widely recognized for philanthropic and spiritual work on behalf of Native Americans and African Americans in the western and southern United States. Less well known is that Florida was among their beneficiaries in the South.

McNally writes that Louise Morrell visited Tampa in 1911 and "conceived the idea of erecting a Catholic church for Tampa's black community" (143). At that time, the community already had St. Peter Claver School, which dates to 1893. (Arsonists torched the first school building.)

McNally says that in 1899, Mother Katharine Drexel, as she was known at the time, gave $2,000 to support the educational initiative (189). That's about $57,000 in today's dollars. Saint Drexel also gave more money at later dates and visited the school in 1904.

The St. Peter Claver Mission's church building was erected in 1915 with money donated by Louise  Morrell. No one in the Tampa business community would loan the pastor of nearby Sacred Heart parish the $3,000 needed to build St. Peter Claver church (189). That's equal to about $75,000 in 2018. The first Mass was said on Christmas Day 1915, in the new mission church that was large enough to seat 200 people.

Louise Morrell supported the St. Peter Claver community into the 1930s. She visited again after 1911. Through the years, donated statues, books and school desks in addition to giving financial support. Mother Katharine Drexel is known to have visited Tampa only once - in 1904 - to see St. Peter Claver School. On the same trip, she also journeyed to St. Benedict the Moor School in St. Augustine, another school she helped financially.

Leading ladies of the secular community also supported Catholic efforts in frontier Tampa. McNally mentions such notables as Henry Plant's wife, Margaret K. Plant, and community leader Kate Jackson (143).

But so did regular folk. In nearby San Antonio - Florida not Texas! (It's about 30 miles from Tampa) - a determined settler started a home school. Marie Cecile Morse was a mother of six who tired of waiting for community leaders to start a Catholic school in newly settled San Antonio. So she started one herself, in her home, in 1883 with 14 students. I'll tell that story in a future blog post.

---

*Cross in the Sand, The Early Catholic Church in Florida, 1513-1870, by the late historian and  former priest Michael Gannon, and Fr. McNally's books on church history in South and West Florida, should be required reading for those interested in Florida's Catholic history.

Gifted photographer a mystery man

Photographer Richard A. Twine self-portrait.
(Credit: State Archives of Florida/Twine)

July 2019 update:
Mystery photographer revealed

---

Original 2017 post:

First of two parts

Funny how threads of interest travel online. Last week, I saw a Facebook post by Florida's Bureau of Library Development. It linked to a page on the State Archives of Florida's Florida Memory website. The trail was worth following. It led to an African-American photographer named Richard Aloysius Twine.

I can't link to a Wikipedia page about Twine, because one doesn't exist. I hope to rectify that by creating a page for him as part of a retirement project. He deserves wider recognition for the visual record he made of the African-American community of Lincolnville in St. Augustine. Between 1922 and 1927 he created more than 100 images of Lincolnville people, places and events.

Twine's images are preserved at the St. Augustine Historical Society and are (2022 update: were) showcased online at Florida Memory. That website provides the only biographical detail I could find about Twine. He was born in 1896 and was a professional photographer, at least during the 1920s. He was in his 20s when he documented community life.

What the brief bio doesn't say, but what I infer from the photos, is that Twine was Catholic or was close to the Catholic community in Lincolnville. A number of his pictures depict St. Benedict the Moor church, churchgoers and schoolchildren. St. Benedict the Moor was the first African-American parish in the St. Augustine diocese, according to a 2014 article in the St. Augustine Record. Part Two of this blog post looks more closely at the church and school.

Ninety-six of Twine's photos can be viewed online. (2022 update: The site no longer exists.) One of my favorites is "The 'Catholic Crowd' After Church." Twine - looking quite dapper - is seated in the middle of the photo, and is surrounded by women wearing their Sunday best. The image preserves a slice of life from a long-ago Sunday.

I looked at every one of the photos. Each draws the viewer in for a closer look. Each leaves the viewer with a better understanding of a place and people at a certain point in time. A sensitive and gifted man was behind the camera. I wonder what happened to him. Did he stop taking photos? If so, why? Did he move away? Embark on a different career? The photos are silent.

'The 'Catholic Crowd' After Church" by Richard A. Twine.
He's seated at center.
(Credit: State Archives of Florida/Twine)

Part 2 of the original 2017 post is about St. Benedict the Moor Catholic School.

Hangings as entertainment

This historical photo of the 1927 hanging
 was reprinted in the DeLand Sun News
 as part of a 1964 article about the hanging.

On this day of manufactured macabre, I'm reminded that real-life morbidity is never far from the surface. That was as true in pioneer Florida as much as it is in today's violent culture.

Although I generally prefer to write about cozier domestic doings, the reality of everyday life in frontier Florida included the occurrence of legal hangings. Illegal too, as in lynchings, but that's a topic for a different post. This post's focus is on legal instances, which some people considered a fine source of entertainment.

In 1907, a Catholic priest in Fernandina took to the pulpit to denounce the "morbid curiosity of the people who rushed and crowded around the jail" during the execution of a man named John Brown. Father John O'Brien chastised those who craved a look at the man or a chance to "see him as the trap was sprung."

The priest had been the former rector of St. Monica's Catholic Church in Palatka. The report of his sermon was first printed in the Fernandina paper and then carried in the Palatka Daily News on Dec. 27, 1907. Under the headline "Roasts Morbidly Curious," the article said Fr. O'Brien spoke with kindness but "severely condemned those who were present upon occasions of this kind only to see a condemned felon die."

Fr. O'Brien had provided spiritual counsel to Brown, which was why he was present at the hanging and noticed the crowd's attitude. In a comment years ahead of his time, Fr. O'Brien told his congregation he felt capital punishment "ought to be abandoned if people looked upon it as they appeared to do when Brown met his fate."

The article concluded by saying O'Brien's sermon met with approval not only from his congregation, but from the people of Fernandina in general.

But memories can be short. Several miles downstate, and exactly 20 years later, a large crowd gathered for the last hanging of a state prisoner to be carried out in Florida. It took place in downtown DeLand in April 1927.

In eerie coincidence, the condemned man in the 1927 hanging was also named Brown. That name, though, was an alias. Charles Brown's real surname was some variation of Pisella, Pisellia or Piselli.

In a 1964 writeup about the hanging, the DeLand Sun News noted that more than 2,000 people attended the execution in the heart of DeLand. The city's population in 1920 was 3,324, and in 1930 it was 5,246. You do the math.

The spectator count was at least the equivalent of 38% to 60% of the town's population, if not more. The crowd swelled the city. To compare, had that hanging taken place in 2014 it would have drawn between 11,000 and 17,500 people to the center of town, or more. That's a sorry statistic. No wonder Fr. O'Brien got upset back in 1907.

At least, in 1927, spectators seemed somewhat cognizant of the event's seriousness. In Sun News staff writer Bernard Bishop's 1964 history article about the 1927 hanging, he wrote, "The crowd was silent as the rope swung back and forth ..."

May they all rest in peace.

Fr. Bresnahan, Part II

Detail of the Feb. 20, 1908 edition that included an article
about a card received from Fr. Bresnahan

Back in March, I wrote about Father Patrick J. Bresnahan's memoir, which recounts his travels through Catholic mission territory in early 1900s Florida. Just yesterday, I stumbled across two other mentions of Fr. Bresnahan's efforts. They were articles in two newspapers in Madison, a North Florida town cited in the priest's memoir as having more than its share of bigotry and prejudice against Catholics.

The first was in the Feb. 20, 1908 New Enterprise and concerned a card the newspaper received from Fr. Bresnahan. Being a former print journalist, I know that story placement in a newspaper isn't random. So I noticed the editors put the article about Fr. Bresnahan directly below a story that described how "an unknown negro was shot to death by a posse who were chasing him" because he was a habitual thief.

Fr. Bresnahan's article seems to chastise unknown harassers for disliking how people of color were allowed to worship in the Catholic church along with whites. This was during segregation, and I assume the two races sat in separate parts of the church. In keeping with the times, the priest used the word negro in his card.

To the newspaper's credit, it allowed Fr. Bresnahan's voice to be heard. The story appears to recount the priest's card verbatim. He wrote "for the benefit of the individual who penned the anonymous threat found at the door of the Catholic church last week ..."

The unnamed threat wasn't explained, and wasn't carried out. However, Fr. Bresnahan wanted the individual responsible to know that a Catholic priest "is not the hired minion of any social aggregation."  Likewise, a Catholic church was "not a social club meeting house but a temple of God." Everyone was welcome to hear the word of God and have the mysteries of God dispensed to them. "Every human soul has a right to these blessings, no matter what color its habitation may be." You rock, Fr. Bresnahan.

He goes on to write that he wasn't a politician, that all money he received in Madison went toward the local Catholic presence, and that he wasn't trying to make a white man colored or a colored man white. He bore his anonymous "friend" no malice "as life is too short for such nonsense." But he also noted that his mission was to appeal to man's higher nature, and that if the unnamed individual ever visited the Catholic church, he shouldn't be surprised "to see a place reserved for the colored people."

Townsfolk overall seem to have been receptive. Nine months later, Fr Bresnahan's missionary services were drawing crowds, as the Enterprise-Recorder reported Nov. 5, 1908. The beautiful music was cited as one reason. But, overall, the "people of Madison are beginning to know for themselves what the Catholic church really is, and the prejudice is therefore disappearing." It was predicted that by the end of services, everyone would understand that there was "one Truth, one Faith, one Baptism...," that Christ wasn't divided.

It's hard to say how deeply inroads were made. Fr. Bresnahan was preaching in the heart of Bible Belt Protestantism. I admire the priest's initiatives, and think we might consider emulating some of the talks he lined up for the week:

• Thursday, church rules and Confession; 
• Friday, the rosary and praying for the dead; 
• Saturday, devotion to the Blessed Virgin; 
• Sunday morning, necessity of charity; 
• Sunday afternoon, the threatening evil of socialism;  
• Sunday night, the secret of Catholic success. 

Sounds almost modern. It's also a refreshing reminder of the ever-present continuity of our ancient faith.

Florida as mission territory

This image of Fr. Patrick Bresnahan
is from his memoir of mission work,
Seeing Florida With a Priest

While researching an early 1880s Catholic colony near Sanford, I found a fascinating book by Father Patrick J. Bresnahan on the excellent Central Florida Memory website. The 1937 Seeing Florida With a Priest recounts his journeys through Florida mission territory in the first decade of the 1900s. What's doubly interesting is that Fr. Bresnahan afterward became the first resident priest at All Souls Catholic Church in Sanford. That church's roots are in the early colony, whose history I'm exploring. Nice circle.

The dichotomy between ecumenism and religious prejudice in frontier Florida continues to intrigue me, and is found aplenty in the 97-page book and elsewhere. At the Sanford church and elsewhere in Florida, local non-Catholics often supported the building of Catholic churches. That seemed especially true in the 1880s. 

Meanwhile, Fr. Bresnahan writes of his first mission in Madison, Fla., in 1904, that "bigotry and prejudice were then rampant in that pretty town" (page 14).  One man who secretly attended mission services was regularly accused of being Catholic by his neighbors, because he tried to dispel misconceptions.

By the time a church building was under construction in Madison in 1907, "all the Catholics contributed generously, and some non-Catholics" (page 15). But all was not completely well. On the same page, Fr. Bresnahan tells how the sheriff threatened to arrest the Catholic church ladies for selling tickets for a giveaway of a patchwork quilt.

The raffle was part of a fundraising bazaar and supper. The town marshal came to the rescue, the publicity generated attention and the gala raised $400. My go-to inflation calculator website doesn't go back to 1907, but were that $400 raised in 1913, it would be the equivalent of $9,483 in 2015 dollars.

Once the church was built, non-Catholics converged to help form a robust choir for a two-week mission. "I left Madison with a feeling that I had done something to remove prejudice" (page 16), writes Fr. Bresnahan humbly. Soon after, he was in Tallahassee, where he found little bigotry despite the occasional "vomitings  of 'cheap' politicians" (page 18).

The above is just a sampling of what can be found in this valuable memoir, which was published by Economy Print Shop in Zephyrhills. I've not yet finished reading the book, but can't end this blog post without mentioning Fr. Bresnahan's encounters with Florida Crackers in Sopchoppy, "which is real country and 'cracker' village" (page 23). His experience bears quoting, because it corrects cultural history that, at times, still depicts pioneer Florida Crackers as backwoods bigots.

"The great interest exhibited during the mission was remarkable; it was conducted in the public school building. The natives, all 'crackers', vied with one another, unlike any other place, in giving me hospitality; and, they went so far as to get up parties for my entertainment, even though many had never seen a priest before. Moreover, they all seemed glad to find out what they had heard concerning priests hitherto were 'lies'." (page 23)

Ignorant backwoods folk? Hardly. The Crackers exhibited a genuine human dignity that contrasts starkly to the antics of some of the era's movers and shakers. There's a lesson in that.

New facts in an old story

The upcoming grand opening of the Enterprise Heritage Society on Oct. 18, 2014, is great news for anyone interested in local history. The former county seat has pretty much been swallowed by the city of Deltona, with its 80,000+ people. Having a physical presence will help the historical group preserve the community's identity.

I've long known details of Enterprise's roots. One of the region's oldest communities, it has a well-documented history. As seems to be the case with many local histories I've traced in Florida over the years, available facts made no mention of a Catholic presence there.  I just assumed one didn't exist. So I was really surprised recently to discover a Works Progress Administration (WPA) record documenting a Catholic church in Enterprise from 1881 until 1929.

Page from the WPA record about a Catholic church
in Enterprise. Credit: Florida Memory

The church in a rectangular, frame white building on Clark Street was pastored by a Father McFall for the first five years, 1881-1886. A priest from nearby Sanford, Father P.J. Roche, oversaw the parish from 1928-1929. What about the years in-between? The WPA is silent. The parish and church don't even have a recorded name.

Among the people who provided details to the WPA field worker in 1940 were two former church members, Mrs. John R. Thursby and Miss Mabel Thayer, both of Blue Springs, and Father J. G. Litch, described as an "old resident" of Enterprise.

You can review the entire record, scant though it is, at the Florida Memory website's WPA Church Records Collection. As for me, I'll be taking a drive down to Clark Street, and then up to the Diocese of St. Augustine Archives, to find out more.

Sharing Catholic peace

Front page of the Jan. 7, 1906 Pensacola Journal.
Credit: Chronicling America

Stories in newspaper archives offer wonderful slices of everyday life, and then some. I just found a Catholic lecture series given top billing on the front page of the Jan. 7, 1906 edition of the Pensacola Journal (today the Pensacola News-Journal). The prominent story placement surprised me.

The article tells about the first scheduled program by the Rev. Xavier Sutton, C.P., a "prominent Passionist missionary."  His lectures were to be structured specifically for non-Catholics, and were to cover doctrinal and devotional matters. The news is up there with articles about tariff bills, trade, and the timber market. Father Sutton's photo is larger than the nearby image of the state's attorney, who was featured because he'd just moved to town.

Father Sutton's first topic title was "Why Protestants Are Not Catholic." The reporter took pains to assure the audience they wouldn't hear anything offensive or threatening. The goal was to "enlighten without wounding." My favorite part tells how Father Sutton would help his listeners discern "whether or not the Catholic church can give [them] that peace and security which she promises to those who are within her fold." More than a century after those words were written, I can relate. That promise remains true, as all Catholics know.

You can read the entire article online via a really cool Library of Congress website named Chronicling America, where you can search historic newspaper pages. Be prepared to spend some time.

Pensacola has a long Catholic history. The Basilica of St. Michael the Archangel's website notes the 1559 Mass said by Dominicans who were part of an expedition that landed on what would become Pensacola. That parish's roots date to the 1700s. Father Sutton's talks were at St. Joseph's, established in 1891 in downtown Pensacola. I would have loved to hear his talks, but will settle for some post-lecture coverage. Looks like I'll be spending more time in the archives.

Pedaling the faith

A big thanks to archivist Sister Catherine Bitzer and the Archives of the Diocese of St. Augustine, for material she shared about Catholic life on the frontier. The information in Brief History of the Churches of the Diocese of St. Augustine Florida stretches the boundaries of my 19th century focus by up to eight years, but is too interesting to overlook.

St. Peter, 1908. Archives of the Diocese of St. Augustine

At the turn of the 20th century, a chunk of land 100 miles by 40 miles comprised Florida East Coast mission field. The Rev. Michael J. Curley covered the area by bicycle and rail. Fr. Curley was the first resident pastor of St. Peter's in DeLand, which was without a resident pastor from 1883 to the early 1900s. (Yes, St. Peter is my parish and I know my first two Pioneer Catholic posts are related to it. I'll expand soon!)

It's hard to think about Florida - fourth most populous U.S. state - as once being mission territory. But the archival literature references Fr. Curley as a missionary priest who pedaled and pushed his bicycle for hours from DeLand to New Smyrna, where he got on the train. That's a good 20 to 25 miles. He then pedaled some more, between stations along the coast.

Clergy were spread thin in frontier Florida, and persevered amid challenges. There wasn't a resident priest from Daytona south to Palm Beach. The Rev. Michael F. Foley of Baltimore spent a good portion of 1885 to 1893 ministering to DeLand and surrounding areas, despite being in "broken-down health." After he left, the Rev. John O'Brien of Palatka came to DeLand once a month to offer Mass. Fr. Curley arrived in 1904.  A diocesan missionary priest named the Rev. P.J. Bresnahan helped spread the Gospel in "DeLand's vast mission field," as the entire Central East area was called, but I'm not sure how long he stayed after his 1906 efforts. Fr. Curley, described as zealous, devoted the second Sunday of each month to the missions.

Concurrent with mission work, a structured worship schedule took form in the growing DeLand parish. Here's a look at the program in about 1906:

• Sundays, November to May:  High Mass with sermon in morning; Rosary, sermon, Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament in the evening
• Sundays, June to October: Low Mass with sermon, followed by Benediction, in morning
• Way of the Cross on Fridays in Lent
• First Friday "faithfully observed"
• Sunday School "never omitted"

By this time, 20+ years had passed since Catholics and non-Catholics in DeLand worked together to build and furnish St Peter's Church. They did it again,  in 1906-1908, to erect a rectory and enlarge the church.  Brief History states with pleasure that "... many non-Catholics contributed very generously." The South hasn't always been kind to Catholicism. The good feeling of the ecumenism lingers across the decades.

Four families grow into a parish

Florida has a deep-rooted Catholic history that dates to the 1500s. But much of the peninsula was mission territory in the late 1800s. My parish, St. Peter Catholic Church, was no exception. In the early 1880s, it was a mission of the church in Palatka, a riverfront city almost 60 miles away. That was a daunting distance in days when roads were sandy ruts and horsepower had four legs.

A wonderful parish history in the St. Peter's archives tells the story of the earliest Catholic settlers. The typed document is an example of the locally written parish histories stored in offices and archives of faith communities everywhere. They are rich sources of local histories and deserve digital preservation and wider dissemination.

"Mrs. Charles Paiva, Historian," wrote the St. Peter Church parish history. She credits a Miss Emily Brady "who kept track of church history as it happened." Please leave a comment if you know Mrs. Paiva's first name. I'd love to add it here.

(Photo courtesy St. Peter Catholic Church)
The first Catholic Church in DeLand could seat 60 people.

The history relates how Fr. Willliam J. Kenny said the first Mass in DeLand on June 7, 1883, in the Kilkoff home, which still stands on West New York Avenue. Four families were in attendance - Kilkoff, Dreka, Ziegler and Fisher.  Less than a year later, a small Catholic church was constructed near the center of town. On April 19, 1884, Fr. Kenny offered Mass in the new chapel, pictured on this page. The next day, April 20, Right Rev. John Moore, bishop of St. Augustine, dedicated the parish "to the service of God under the patronage of St. Peter."

An interesting detail emerges from the chronicle about that long-ago day, and it bears hearing in our modern era of religious strife and intolerance. "Members spoke of it as a joyous occasion and spoke of generous help given by non-Catholic friends," writes Mrs. Paiva. The organ was a portable melodeon on loan from a local Methodist. And, "... members of other faiths" - formed the choir that sang the High Mass. Remember, it was all in Latin then. 

A year later, the parish had 13 families. Today, it has about 3,000 families. The first little chapel accommodated 60 people. Over the years it was enlarged, and finally replaced. The current church, on the same property, was built in the 1960s.