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.

Heirloom roses bloomed for pioneers

I've started a Pinterest board of the roses mentioned
in an 1892 Florida newspaper gardening column.
Visit the board on my Pinterest page.

Part 1 of 2

Roses aren't the easiest flowers to grow in Florida, but that doesn't stop any of us from trying. Through trial, error, education, and a fondness for heirloom varieties with scented flowers, I've learned that the China, Tea, and Noisette classifications are the best old-style types for Florida.

These are also the ones pioneer Floridians relied on. But there are thousands of varieties within these classes. It's a challenge to learn what the frontier rose aficionado grew after watching Northern-grown imports languish. A treasure chest opened for me the day I read the many varieties named in a Jan. 20, 1892, garden column in the Florida Agriculturist newspaper.

Local lore has long crowned Louis Philippe as the Florida Cracker rose. I can attest to its perfection. Two plants I dug from a friend's yard lived for years in mine, until I transplanted them one too many times. Another word-of-mouth favorite is the yellow climber Marechal Niel. When I finally tracked down a specimen, it died soon after transplanting. Modern strains of this beautiful rose are believed to be weakened by a virus.

Both these varieties are named in the Florida Agriculturist Floral Department column by R.B. or R.H. Burr, whom I haven't yet identified. The first two initials are fuzzy and hard to read. The writer gave a rose named Agrippina equal status with Louis Philippe:

Louis Philippe rose from my garden.

"Agrippina and Louis Philipe [sic] are both excellent ... fair growers and profuse bloomers. They cannot be dispensed with."

That was the first time I've ever heard of Agrippina. A Google Images search turned up a flower that looks much like Louis Philippe, only with a deeper crimson color. No word on its scent. Louis Philippe has a fruity-spicy aroma that's part of its charm.

Mr. or Ms. Burr's list was lengthy and apparently based on his/her personal Florida garden experiences. Most of the varieties are unfamiliar to me, and Old Blush - another favorite that did beautifully for me until I tried to transplant its 6-foot-tall mass - isn't even included.

A partial list of Burr's is below, with additional information added by me after referencing Best Rose Guide by Roger Phillips and Martyn Rix. Those notes are prefaced by the letters BRG and a page number.

• Bon Silene: fair grower, constant bloomer, spicy fragrance, single flower. BRR, 91: color varies from bright pink with deep yellow in center to crimson; sweet fruity scent.
• Madam Berard: half climber, vigorous growth on own roots, "... in favorable weather produces buds as near perfection as a lack of fragrance will admit."
• Caroline Kuster: fairly good bloomer. "Good rose of its color which is much lighter than that of Isabella Sprunt."
• La Sulphide: good grower. "Buds are superb in favorable weather but have little odor."
• Madam Alfred Carriere: vigorous grower on own roots, constant bloomer.  BRG, 103: white with flush of warm in center; Noisette rose.
• Queen of Bedders: poor grower but a profuse bloomer. BRG, 117: double flowers, excellent scent; Bourbon rose.
• Red Malmaison: "Doesn’t come up to expectations, too poor a grower to lose time with."
• Madam Caro: strong grower, constant bloomer, flowers large.
• Perle des Jardins and Coquette de Lyon:  Burr found these two very similar, and advised gardeners to instead choose Isabella Sprunt and Marechal Neil.
• Agrippina and Louis Philipe:  both excellent, fair growers, profuse bloomers. " (Burr spelled Philippe with one p.)
• Empress Eugenie: strong grower, flowers beautifully formed.
• Duchess de Brabant: good grower, constant bloomer, good rose of its class. Burr expressed a preference for Madame Caro. BRG, 98: nodding flowers of salmon or shrimp pink. Duchess de Brabant is a secondary name of a rose identified as Comtesse de Labarthe.

I'm still deciphering spelling and names on the Burr roses not included here; I'll try to write about them in the future. In Part 2 of this blog post, we'll look at how pioneers used roses. Right now, I'm going out to smell the roses of my Bermuda Spice shrub, which I learned in BRG was rediscovered in Bermuda after dying out in Europe, where it was known as Hume's Blush Tea-Scented China. You gotta love the detective work!

Stitching lives together

This 1899 image from the Library of Congress shows young
women in a sewing class at the Agricultural and Mechanical
College in Greensboro, N.C. The scene was similar at Florida 
schools. Women predominated in the needle trades in that era. 

Part 2 of 2

In my first post about the 1890 U.S. Census, I reviewed the primary fields of employment nationally and for Floridians. This second post addresses some of the other jobs held by Florida pioneers that year.

Because I come from a long line of women skilled in the needle arts, I'm especially interested in that line of work. My ancestors were plying the trade in Central and Southern Europe in 1890, and in New York City sweatshops and garment factories in the early 1900s. My grandmothers and great-grandmothers were tailors, seamstresses, and milliners. Not sure what the difference is between tailor and seamstress, but the former was a label held by my maternal great-grandmother in Sicily. From what I understand, it was a title of honor. She was specifically known as a tailor and not a tailoress. She was said to create fitted garments for clients without needing a pattern.

No matter where the trade was practiced, its elements and processes were similar. Women bent over needles in Florida the same time my ancestors did elsewhere, in much the same way. The heroine of my second novel, Stitching a Life in Persimmon Hollow, is a seamstress who works by hand and on a treadle sewing machine in late 1880s Florida. In the novel, she apprentices with the town dressmaker. Most towns had a dressmaker, sometimes known as a mantua maker in the earlier years of the 19th century. Many tradespeople took in apprentices.

No one reported being a milliner or dressmaker apprentice in 1890 Florida, although two men were tailor apprentices.  No one in the state was employed as a corset-maker, glove-maker, umbrella- and parasol-maker, or shirt-, collar- and cuff-maker. Instead, people in the Florida needle trades were doing the following:

• Hat- and cap-makers:  8 men, 4 women
• Embroiderers and lace-makers: 3 women, 0 men
• Milliners: 109 women, 0 men
• Dressmakers: Either 604 or 654 women (chart numbers are hard to read), 0 men
• Seamstresses: 924 women, 0 men
• Tailors and tailoresses: 130 men, 80 women

Women predominated in the industry, as it was one of the few respectable trades for women in that era. What about some of the less common jobs held by Floridians in 1890? A sampling of what people reported to the census-takers:

• Actors: 2 men, 2 women
• Authors, and literary and scientific persons: 18 men, 7 women
• Journalists: 108 men, 7 women
• Musicians and teachers of music: 138 women, 56 men
• Theatrical managers, showmen: 30 men, 1 woman
• Bartenders: 188 men, 0 women
• Auctioneers: 14 men, 0 women
• Hucksters and peddlers: 145 men, 5 women
• Bakers: 178 men, 10 women
• Bookbinders: 15 men, 4 women
• Confectioners: 48 men, 8 women
• Photographers: 90 men, 4 women

Knowing a little something about how people passed their days brings their lives into sharper focus for me. When I pick up a needle and thread, select fabric for a jacket or quilt, brush up on my crochet skills, or stitch a seam on my sewing machine, I feel a sense of kinship with past practitioners. And that's a good feeling to have.

Off to work we go

Celery farming was a major occupation in frontier Florida.
This postcard is owned by the Sanford Museum and displayed
on the Central Florida Memory website.

Part 1 of 2

Each September, we observe Labor Day. A lot of interesting facts about how Floridians labored in the late 19th century are in the 1890s U.S. Census records. Some highlights:

• A huge chunk - 76.4% - of the farms in Florida were cultivated by owners in 1890.  In 1880, the percentage had been 69.1%
• Manufacturing and other industry more than tripled over the same decade.  In Florida, products had a gross value of $18.2 million, compared to $5.5 million in 1880. 
• 13,927 Floridians were employed in manufacturing and industry in 1890, compared to 5,504 in 1880. 

Women predominated within certain fields, primarily in the needle trades. On the national level, women made up:

• 81.4% of the workforce making corsets
• 78.8% of the employees making shirts
• 73.4% of the employees producing millinery and lace goods

Nationally, men made up more than 95% of the workforce in each of the following industries: agricultural implements, brick and tile, cooperage, cutlery and edge tools, flouring and grist mill products, foundry and machine shop products,  leather, painting and paper hanging, and saddlery and harness.

Depressingly, 13.7% of tobacco-industry employees were children, as was 10.6% of the cotton-goods workforce. I was somewhat heartened to see that children made up only 2.7% of the workforce, overall, in 1890, compared to 5.6% in 1880.

Also depressing was the wage disparity between men and women. The following Florida examples are illustrative of how workers fared in other parts of the nation. Per job classification, average annual earnings in 1890 in Florida were:

• Officers, firm members, clerks: men, $762; women, $443 ($11,200 in 2014 dollars)
• Operatives, skilled and unskilled: men, $419; women, $304; children, $114
• Pieceworkers: men, $626; women, $347; children, $120

Women did earn more than men in a few industries. These examples are from a national perspective. Women earned $720 a year in the "safes and vaults" industry, while men got only $566. And a job called "oilcloth, enameled," paid women $643 a year, and men $536. By the way, the $720 was the highest pay I saw for a woman, and it equates to about $18,200 in modern dollars.

Neither of those jobs appears to have been a mainstay in Florida in 1890. Of women 10 and older in Florida who listed jobs in the 1890 census:

• 47.3% were in domestic and personal service
• 37.0% worked in agriculture, fishing, and mining
• 4.5% were in professional service
• 1.5% were in trade and transportation

Of working men ages 10 and older in Florida in 1890:

• 51.1% worked in agriculture, fishing, and mining
• 17.0% were in domestic or personal service
• 13.2% were in trade and transportation
• 13.2% were in manufacturing and mechanical industries
• 3.8% were in professional service

In Part 2, we'll take a look at some of the specific jobs that occupied Floridians in 1890, and at the number of people who worked at them. Then, as now, construction industries boomed, but there were some niche fields. For example, 11 people reported jobs as piano and organ makers and tuners.

The 1880 Hurricane

NOAA satellite image, with sepia tone added.

Florida has been in a frenzy in recent days, as Tropical Storm Erika churned in the Atlantic. The system has dissipated but hasn't fully expired. Rain, wind, and some flooding are in store.

As unnerving as the steady stream of media coverage can be, I'm glad I can track every millisecond of a tropical system's activity. Pioneers couldn't. People often relied on weather lore, close reading of atmospheric conditions, and the lived experience of longtime residents.

Forecasting was still young when a  hurricane hit Central Florida in 1880. That particular storm interests me for two reasons: pioneer Girard M. Parce, a boy at the time, wrote about it in his late-in-life recollections; and the steamship Vera Cruz sank in it, just off the Central Florida coast.

The book Florida's Hurricane History notes that early 20th century assessments considered the 1880 storm a "Great Hurricane" with winds over 125 mph. Fairly recent re-analysis data from NOAA puts it at a Category 2 with maximum winds of 90 mph. Having lived through hurricanes, I can say that anything over 70 mph is very scary indeed.

Girard's recollections corroborate the book's comment that countless trees were downed in the storm, which made landfall between Palm Beach and Cocoa Beach, and then traveled northwest across the state. Girard was in DeLand, where he wrote that:

"... we were kept in the house for two days, not daring to go out except to feed the stock, because so many of the big pine trees were being blown down."

I wish he'd written more about the actual hurricane, which he referred to as "The Big Storm." He focused more on what happened afterward. It's fascinating. Because he says the storm wrecked three ships off the local coast, not just one.

"A short time after the storm I drove [by horse-drawn cart] a party of several men to Port Orange. While there we went up to Daytona and ferried over to the peninsula where lay on the beach the wreckage of a large ship, the Vera Cruz, and two lumber schooners. I believe one could have walked a half mile in either direction without stepping on the ground."

He notes that a salvage company "with a large gang of men" was busy on the scene, and that his older brother William thought the Vera Cruz had carried a cargo of mahogany. You can read a richly detailed account of the steamship - and some of its passengers -  on shipwrecks.com.

Girard recorded his memories in the 1920s at the request of his cousin - the daughter of the city of DeLand's founder. She (Helen DeLand) was collecting material for her history of the city, published in 1928 as The Story of DeLand and Lake Helen, Florida.

Colorful names all that remain

Early Floridians weren't growing Costoluto Genovese
tomatoes like these, one of today's popular heirloom
tomato varieties. Many of the cultivars grown in pioneer
days are hard to find now.  (Photo by Gerri Bauer)

A year ago, I wrote about heirloom vegetables and fruits and promised to follow up with a post about heirloom tomato cultivars. Finally, here it is.

I'm both excited and perplexed by what I found about tomatoes in the pages of Florida newspapers dated 1901-1919. Excited because there were more named varieties in ads and articles than I expected to find. Perplexed because only two were familiar to me: Ponderosa and Spark's Earliana, and the latter is a variation of a name known to me.

I've grown a number of heirloom tomato varieties in my garden over the years. They've included a couple believed to have been grown in Florida until as late as the 1920s and 1930s: June Pink and Earliana -  probably shortened from Spark's Earliana. The June Pink didn't show up in my (admittedly unscientific and limited) research. Nor did Cherokee Purple, Brandywine, Eva Purple Ball, Riesentraube, Costoloto Genovese, or Arkansas Traveler. All have produced tasty tomatoes in my Florida yard. As for Ponderosa - it was a fail in my garden the one time I tried to grow it.

So what did Florida pioneers grow when they set out their tomato seeds? My earliest find was also the most comprehensive. A December 1901 issue of the New Enterprise newspaper of Madison had a Farm and Garden article that addressed "newer introductions" of tomatoes. The names are great: Best of All, Dwarf Golden Champion, Early Nuby, Freedom, Fordhook Fancy, Improved Trophy, Lemon Yellow, Matchless, New Combination, State Fair, World's Fair.

A couple of other references made note of a tomato variously named Stone, Dwarf Stone, New Stone, and Livingston's Stone or Livingston's Globe. An October 1911 issue of the Pensacola Journal highlighted Stone as a "general favorite" for shipping purposes. Other tomatoes said to ship well were Beauty and Perfection.

The Ocala Seed Store in 1913 highlighted six types of tomato seeds for sale, according to a February 1913 issue of the Ocala Evening Star: Dwarf Champion, Early Detroit, Livingston's Globe, New Stone, Redfield Beauty, and Spark's Earliana. Seed cost $2 per pound.

Although the types of heirloom tomato varieties available to us has changed through the decades, one gardening caveat from the past remains true now. As the Pensacola Journal advised readers in 1911, "There are a great many seedsmen in this country, and very little attention should be paid to the many glowing descriptions given in catalogs."

Newspaper references in this blog post are from the Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers website of the Library of Congress.

A glimpse of 1880s luxury

Just your average dining room .... Aristocratic
guests dined here in the late 19th century.
Today, students attending Flagler College
have their meals here. (Gerri Bauer photo)

If you wonder how the 1 percent vacationed in the late 1880s, take the guided tour of Flagler College in St. Augustine. You won't be disappointed.

The college's main building is the former Ponce deLeon Hotel, built by oil magnate and Florida promoter Henry Flagler in the mid-1880s. It opened in 1888. He spared no expense, and the hotel launched high-class tourism in Florida. 

The luxury of the structure remains evident today, and must have awed visitors in its day. At least those visitors who gained access. Our tour guide said patrons had to be on the Social Register to be considered guest-worthy in the late 19th century.

They also had to pay $4,000 to vacation there. I don't remember if that amount covered a month or the entire season - which was about three months. I do remember that Flagler demanded the fee be paid in cash. In advance. (That $4,000 in 1888 would have been $103,800 in 2014.) 

People did get what they paid for. Much has been written about the hotel's architecture and service, so I'll cut my ramblings short and let photos tell the rest of the story. It's a feast for the eyes. 

In a future post, I'll take a look at the people behind the scenes - the servants who ran themselves ragged making sure the cocoon of perfection contained no jagged edges.
Enjoy a virtual tour, but make sure to see the real thing next time you're in St. Augustine.

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