Month: September 2015

When I was a little girl and lived across the street from Key West High School, my favorite thing to do was watch the cheerleaders practice each afternoon. That began my pursuit of a High School career in cheer leading. It was what I wanted to do. So I was a Barefoot Football Cheerleader in 8^th grade, a Junior Varsity Cheerleader in 9^th grade and a Varsity Cheerleader in 10^th thru 12^th. My husband when he found out I had been a cheerleader, well; it was almost a deal breaker. He thought cheerleaders were stuck-up. I wonder if anyone is ever stuck-up today. Actually he said he was a dweeb. I was a dweeb also, but very focused. I was committed to becoming a cheerleader, my life-long ambition. I would and could not be denied.

Cheer leading back then was very different than today. At try-outs, all we had to do were a few jumps, a cartwheel and have a deep loud cheerful voice. Things have changed. I think cheer leading today is an NCAA sport. Male and female cheerleaders do back-flips, sometimes without even touching the ground. All we could ever manage maybe on a good day were back-bends. The male cheerleaders lift the females over their heads with the females standing on their hands, and then they shift so that they are holding them up on one foot while the female on top holds the other leg in the air; almost painful to watch. Three guys throw the females into the air where they do all kinds of contortions before coming down and safely caught. One time when the football team was doing pretty lousy, the guy in front of me shouted. “Send in the cheerleaders.”

Our football cheer leading uniform when I was a cheerleader was a knee length red pleated skirt with grey insets, a white long sleeve button down shirt, a sweater vest with a grey Key West on a conch shell on the front and, of course, saddle shoes with white athletic socks. We were so cool. And we had pom-poms that we made ourselves. The only chants I remember were, “First in ten do it again” And “Push them back, Push them back, waaay back.” Most of the time we knew what was happening. We were quiet when someone was hurt. One time, it was said that Bobby, the captain of the team told the coach when he was hurt. “I’m fine, but how are the fans taking it.” He really was the best cheerleader we had. He went on to play at Florida State and was well known for keeping the players pumped up.

At the beginning of the game we led the players out on the field singing with the band: “Fight down that field again, men of the crimson and grey. Get on that ball and then we’ll mow them down like new mown hay hay hay hay. Fight on to victory. Fight, fight with all your might; for there’s naught to fear, the Conchs are here, and we’ll celebrate with you tonight.” I think most of us had never seen or even knew what new mown hay was. And we certainly had never used the word naught. The band played during halftime and there were baton twirlers, who sometimes twirled with fire. The Conchettes, a dance team of about 50 girls performed with the band. Each summer, someone came from the Texas Kilgore College Rangerettes to teach them 10 routines. The Conchettes wore short white skirts, boleros with red ball fringe and sombreros also with red ball fringe on the rim. And white boots. Football games on Friday nights were quite a show.

During basketball season the cheerleaders wore short skirts and sneakers, with socks, of course. At the beginning of the game when the team was taking the floor, we chanted, “Jeepers creepers man alive, here comes Haskins Super Five. Do we love them, that’s no guess. Key West, Key West, yes, yes.” Haskins was the coach.

During Basketball season, we would take the Conch Bus, an old yellow school bus painted Red and Grey, to Miami for away games. We would leave school on Friday at One, the players in the back and the cheerleaders up front. We would get to Miami in time to put on uniforms and get to the game. We would stop at a restaurant afterwards for a bite and get back to Key West in the wee hours. This whole arrangement was fraught with fraught. On the way to Miami when nearing Tavernier, about two hours after lunch, the players would start. “Hey Coach, we’re stopping in Tavernier, right.” No. “Come on, Coach, have a heart.” No. Then they would start “Stop over by the roadside. Stop over by the ditches. If you don’t stop over, we’ll do it in our britches.” Coach usually stopped. Those boys would have made great cheerleaders. On the way back in the middle of the dark night, there was a certain amount of fraternizing between some players and cheerleaders and the driver would stop the bus, turn on the lights and order everyone back in their seats. This would happen a few times each trip. It took forever to get back home.

When I married in 1969, I went north, first to New Hampshire, then New Jersey. Life changed. First of all, I was climate challenged. I did not own a coat. The cold weather, which shortly ensued, was a shock. I had never seen snow, ice, or sleet much less driven in it. At first, I was excited. It was beautiful. We made snow angels, had a snowball fight, and took a walk in a winter wonderland. Then reality set in. I had to drive to work in it or on it.

One day I walked out to the car to go to work. Snow lay on the ground. I had my keys in my gloved hand, and of course, I had no keys when I got to the car. I walked back into the apartment and told Peter my predicament. He said you don’t carry keys in a gloved hand. Really? To this day I don’t know why we didn’t have a second set. Peter probably did but wasn’t about to give them to me. Peter left to go to class and I called in stupid. I soon learned to drive in the snow, slipping and sliding. One day I slipped in and out of the middle of a semi on the highway. I really believe you’re not going till your time comes.

I was also map challenged. First, those New Englanders don’t pronounce things very well. My father-in-law nicely told me that Vermont was pronounced with the emphasis on the last syllable, not the first. I learned that Worcester is pronounced Wooster; that Haverhill is pronounced Havril; and I learned how to pronounce Massachusetts Avenue from a young man at a gas station in Boston when I asked if the street we were on was Massachusetts Avenue. No, he said, that’s Mass Ave.

One time, when trying to get somewhere with me and a map in my lap, Peter pulled over and said, “Give me the map. Didn’t anybody ever teach you how to read a map?” Another time, he said “It would be nice if you told me the name of the street we turn on before we actually got there.” That was the time I tore up the map and threw it out the window in a fit of pique. No, I did not know how to read a map. Key West is a two by four mile island and the only direction we needed was straight up Route 1 for four hours to Miami. And we hardly ever even did that.

I was also time challenged. In Key West you could get anywhere you needed to get in ten minutes or less. In the North, it could take hours. Peter was always rushing me and I told him that he had a “Hurry Hurry Ding Ding” complex. We were always late for something. One day he told me. “We’re late and there is nothing we can do about it.” I totally did not understand the concept.

My husband is a Yankee. I’m a Conch; two completely different cultures, but not really. My family is from Green Turtle Key in the Bahamas and the sailing schooners from New England would stop occasionally. The Bahamians were called Conchs and when they migrated to Key West in the 1800’s they brought the name with them. There was a book written about the Conchs called ‘’Wind From the Carolina’s.” In it, there’s a quote. “Yankee sailor marries Conch girl”. That’s what happened.

 

My friend, Deb, asked, “What was Key West like before AC”. Well, it was hot, sometimes brutally so. But we had fans, a couple of large ones we moved from porch to dining room to kitchen as needed and some smaller ones at night. Later, I remember having a little one that I put right on my bedside table. Some nights, even that fan was not enough and I would wet a washcloth and wipe my face and arms, and air-condition myself. That works pretty well. On Sundays, after supper, we would take a drive around the Boulevard, and end up on the White Street pier in the cool of the evening. You could drive onto it back in those days and park. My parents would take out our plastic lattice lawn chairs, set them out in the cool air off the ocean, and visit with friends.

Key West does usually cool off at night, especially if there is a slight breeze blowing. No matter how hot the day, the evenings are usually lovely. The air is soft, warm and caressing. The sky is clear and the moon and stars are bright. A rising full moon sparkles on the water and the constellations are easily identifiable. Of course, you have to leave your air-conditioned home and the television to experience these things.

OK, that is how we coped with those brutal hot and humid and close nights, summer and early fall, and during hurricane season. You don’t even ever want to be caught in a boarded up house when a tropical storm or hurricane comes by and you lose electricity. Stifling.

Back to fans. The good thing is the windows were open. You could hear street noise, but there was a lot less of it in those days. There were no Roosters crowing all hours of the night like there are today. Some would tell you they have always have been in Key West. Well, they weren’t any in my neighborhood and I don’t remember them anywhere else. They were all over the place until recently, but there were so many complaints, the city fathers must have rounded some up. I started passing around stories about bird flu. I don’t know if that helped also. How did I get on this rant about chickens? Oh yes, I was talking about street noise, there not being much of it when we would leave the windows open, back then.

When I married, I took my little fan with the blue blades north with me. I could not sleep without a fan blowing on me and Peter being from New England could not sleep with one. I ended up hugging one side of the bed with the fan blowing down that side, while he hugged the other without the fan. But we soon both adjusted; we bought a very small air-conditioner. Our first apartment was graduate student housing. We lived on the top (ninth) floor and the incinerator flue was right behind the kitchen. It was not air-conditioned and the windows were such that they would only accommodate a very small air conditioner. In the winter you got in the elevator and started taking off your coat, because when you reached the top floor, it was a constant 89 degrees.

OK, These days I’ll admit that it is more livable in Key West in the summer months now with AC and actually during most of the year. It dampens the street noise. It is usually quiet, but there is an occasional burst of noise particularly in March when all the college kids are in town and when the Rolling Thunder descends. There are tourists there year around now, because most all places have AC. Our church is air-conditioned which plays havoc with the pipe organ unless we run the AC all the time which is expensive. Solar panels on the roof might be a good idea to ameliorate the cost of AC, but they are initially expensive. Key West has lots of sun, but the idea of solar panels being on the church roof, although not visible from the street, is a little bothering to some.

All the lower stained glass windows in St. Paul’s Church turn 90 Degrees and there is a nice cross breeze most of the time. Again they cannot be open during the lovely winter months because of all the tourist noise and traffic on Duval Street. When I was a child, they were always open. And even on hot days we had cardboard fans in all the pews. They had advertising on them for the local funeral home. We were glad to have them.

Leaving Saint Paul’s Episcopal at the corner of Duval and Eaton, we go across Duval to the Oldest House. Originally on Whitehead Street before there was a Duval Street, it was moved to Duval Street sometime in the early 1800’s and was there by 1836. Captain Francis Watlington, his wife Emeline and their nine daughters lived there, the youngest, Lily Watlington, never married and lived there until she died in the 1930’s. Someone later bought it and gave it to The Old Island Restoration Foundation, which had it restored.  Admission is free to the public.  There’s a lovely peace garden out back so you can rest after your hectic stroll down Duval Street.

Down the street on the other side is the Women’s Club. Founded in 1915, it has been a major source of good works in the community. They have a beautiful old building that has been lovingly restored and is open to the public. Their cookbook, published in 1949, has been sold around the world. It contains many of the old Key West Recipes, is quite amusing and a delightful read. I have a copy of the original given to my mother. It has been much used but still intact. My “love to cook” friends love to read it. It has been reprinted many times, a real timepiece, and has turtle steak recipes, now a protected species. Peter says they  served turtle steak at the Bachelor Officers Quarters when he first came to Key West in 1968. We used to have it when I was little. It sort of tastes like veal and was served breaded. All the recipes in the original cookbook were handwritten and very conversation-like with very few measurements given, the way people cooked back then, mostly from recipes handed down from female forbears. The newer editions are typed, easier to read but not as charming.

Behind the Woman’s Club on their property is the Red Barn Theater. My first date with Peter was to hear Yehuda Guttman play classical piano at what later became the Red Barn. It is a very small intimate theater, about 150 seats. We go there a lot. They give me a handicap space in their small lot beside the theater.

Further down the street are two restaurants, Hard Rock Cafe and Fogarty’s, both in old mansions and with indoor and outdoor eating. They are always jam-packed. And The Bull, a bar across the street (I’ve never been) with dozens of motorcycles and bicycles out front makes this block very crowded and noisy. The young people love it.

Across the street on the corner of Duval and Greene is Sloppy Joe’s, a famous Key West saloon with an Earnest Hemingway connection. Hemingway patronized Russell’s bar, which was an illegal speakeasy during Prohibition. Joe Russell was a friend and fishing companion of Hemingway’s for 12 years. When Prohibition ended, Hemingway encouraged Joe Russell to rename the bar Sloppy Joe’s. In July of each year there is a Hemingway look-alike contest. The 36^th one will be in July 2016. All the past winners have formed the Hemingway Look-Alikes Society (HLAS), all men with white beards. I’ve never been in there, but when Peter first came to Key West, he remembers that there were three sailors in the place, two playing pool in the back and one hung over the bar. Today when we ride down Duval Street, it is hard not to hit the throngs pouring out onto the sidewalk and street.

On the other side of the street down on the corner of Duval and Front Street is the First National Bank building built in 1926. It is a beautiful red brick building, probably art deco (Photo from State Archives of Florida). I heard from my father that in the bank failures of the twenties, a lot of Key Westers took their money out of the Key West bank and put it in the bank in Miami. The bank in Miami failed, but the First National Bank in Key West didn’t. At, least, that’s the story I heard.

The last place on Duval Street right on the water is the luxury Pier House Resort, built in 1968. It has a spa, bar, restaurant and beach. Key West was a navy town in the 60’s. When the Navy started leaving Key West, the downtown area was dying, a lot of stores boarded up. The Old Island Restoration Foundation had restored the Audubon house and the unique history and quirkiness of the island had always had a certain appeal to tourists and snowbirds. David Wolkowsky grew up in Key West and Miami and received his degree from the University of Pennsylvania. He visited Key West in 1962. His family had some properties in Old Town. In 1963 he purchased the old Cuban Ferry Dock, waterfront property near Mallory Square for $106,000. He built the Pier House Resort and Spa, making a large investment in that part of the island. And the rest followed. In 2002 Wolkowsky created a Teacher Merit Reward Fund, which gives $5,000 to each of nine Key West teachers and $25,000 to a single teacher each year. He is also said to be responsible for no high-rise hotels on the island. I don’t know how he accomplished that. I also don’t know how the infrastructure on the island could have supported them.

 

Duval Street begins for me at South Beach. When I was six and for some years afterward, my father would come home from work, and take my brother and me for a dip in the ocean. We would swim through his legs and jump off his shoulders. He said we didn’t give him a moment’s peace. I remember the day he took me to a rock in the deep water out near the seaweed, and told me to swim back to him. I didn’t think I could, but I did. I never learned to properly swim until I took Swimming for a PE credit in college. Then at the end of the swim, he would drag us up on the beach, and our swimsuits would be full of sand. We would put our towels on the car seats to keep from burning our butts from the hot vinyl seats and ride the eight blocks to our house. No one walked back then if they could possibly avoid it. Dad would turn on the pump and hose us off with cold water. My Mom would put us in our night clothes and we would have supper and then they (my two great aunts, Aunt Nellie and Aunt Emma lived with us) would spend an hour or so on the porch in the big wicker rocking chairs talking and rocking my brother and me to sleep before going to bed. No TV back then. My parents always went to bed at 9:30. And got up at 5:30. They went to the Laundromat on Mondays, and did the grocery shopping on Thursdays. Such regimented lives they lived.

As we start down Duval, the next place of interest is La Te Da, restaurant, cabaret theater, bar and hotel at 1125 Duval. Teodoro Perez, a prominent cigar manufacturer, built the house in1892. The property included a large factory facing Simonton St. and cottages for his workers on nearby Catherine. Perez was known for his political support for Cuba Libre (Free Cuba) in the late nineteenth century and the Cuban revolutionary Jose Marti gave a speech from his large second floor balcony (La Terraza de Marti). A way down on the same block is Flamingo Crossing which sells homemade tropical ice cream. My favorite is coconut, while my father liked Sour Sop (Guanabana).

Next we go past Truman Avenue and head toward Downtown. When I was a child, we always got dressed up and went downtown on Saturday night. Miss Leila and Miss Grace lived in a large two-story house on the corner of Southard and Duval. It is no longer there. It had a large front porch with rocking chairs and some stairs where we kids used to sit. My father would take us to Kress Five and Dime and each week we got to pick out a little toy. We would all sit on the porch talking and watching the parade of people passing by. Next door was the Strand Movie Theater and next to that was a Locker Club, where sailors kept civilian clothes, which they could not keep on ships.

Across the street were the San Carlos Theater and a few doors down from that the Kress store, which later became Fast Buck Freddie’s, which sold high-end clothing, furniture, furnishings and novelties. Visiting the store was an adventure. Internet shopping eventually did them in and the store closed a few years ago, much to the consternation and disappointment of many. A CVS opened up there a year ago, the fourth one on this small island. Not all change is positive.

Across Fleming Street on the same side is the La Concha Hotel. A luxury hotel built in 1926. At six stories, it was then the tallest building in Key West and still is. We used to be able to take the elevator to the roof and have a 360-degree view of the island. But like all good things, that has disappeared. Not the view, but just us being able to get up to see it. The public room at the top is now a private spa. Here is a picture we took of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church from the rooftop of the La Concha number of years ago. The house next door is the Rectory. St. Paul’s is across the street and down the way on the corner of Eaton and Duval Streets.

This is the fourth St. Paul’s on this site, the others destroyed by hurricanes or fire. It is a beautiful church with nineteen magnificent stained glass windows depicting stories of the Bible. Washington National Cathedral and St. John the Devine in New York have windows crafted by Phipps, Ball and Burnham and Charles Connick Associates, the same firms responsible for most of St. Paul’s finest windows. When you enter the church, the beauty of these windows strikes you, particularly the dazzling blue one above the Baptismal font in the back of the church where I was baptized and my son 25 years later. My mother said I screamed the whole time at my baptism. The priest said it was the devil coming out. St. Paul is the patron saint of shipwrecked souls and the church is open to visitors most days.

Next week I’ll continue my stroll from the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico. When I was growing up, we were not allowed to go past Eaton St. Mostly bars down that way and the shrimp boat fleet. It was a rough side of town. So different now.