A History of
Central Florida
Presented By
RICHES
OF CENTRAL FLORIDA
ORANGE COUNTY REGIONAL
HISTORY CENTER
Smart. Surprising. Fun.
A History of
Central Florida
RICHES
OF CENTRAL FLORIDA
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Stapleton
Thank you for downloading this episode of A History of Central Florida podcast. This is the podcast where we explore Central Florida’s history through the artifacts found in local museums and historical societies. This series is brought to you by RICHES, the Regional Initiative to Collect the History, Experiences, and Stories of Central Florida, and the Orange County Regional History Center.
ORANGE COUNTY REGIONAL
HISTORY CENTER
Smart. Surprising. Fun.
Stapleton
I am Kevin Stapleton, and I will be your host for this episode titled, “Jim Crow Signs.”
Episode 42
Jim Crow Signs
WHITE
ONLY
Stapleton
As Central Florida grew in the late 19th century, urban centers like Orlando and Sanford, as well as smaller communities in the region, became racially segregated. Segregation was initially and tacitly supported by most white residents, and soon became the official policy supported by the state government, cities, and local communities in Florida and the rest of the South. In this episode, we will examine the artifacts of racial segregation in Orlando.
WHITE ENTRANCE
CIVIL RIGHTS
Stapleton
Signs denoting separate places for white and black residents had its origins in the late 19th century, as a way to remind African Americans of their second-class status.
COLORED ENTRANCE
Stapleton
The same governments and legislatures—that only decades later granted citizenship and equal rights to blacks after slavery and the [American] Civil War—now gave sanction to the strict separation of the races.
LINCOLN
WITH MALICE
TOWARD NONE
WITH CHARITY
FOR ALL.
“Equal Rights
Before the Law.
The “Jim Crow” Street Car
THE WAY IT WORKS IN [illegible]
Stapleton
These signs were colloquially known as “Jim Crow Signs,” which transmitted their social and cultural meaning as spaces or places of inferior status and accommodation.
Dr. Stephen Caldwell Wright was born in Sanford, Florida, and came of age during the height of the Civil Rights Movement. He tells us what Jim Crow meant.
COLORED
Wright
Uh, Jim Crow was a system of segregation, essentially. Um, separate, uh, economic, political, social systems within a community and throughout the nation, and, uh, it simply meant, um, supposedly, “separate but equal” after a while, but somehow the “equal” got lost [laughs].
Stapleton
Racial segregation came from a series of laws passed at the state and local level at the end of the 19th century. This cumulated with the 1896 U.S. Supreme Court decision Plessy v. Ferguson—that established that separate but equal facilities—was constitutional. Dr. Scot French, from the University of Central Florida, tells us about the philosophy behind these segregation laws.
COLORED
MEN
Orange County Courthouse 1950s Restroom Sign
French
These signs are really a product of a system of racial control that replaced slavery. In the aftermath of, uh, Reconstruction, there was a lot of conflict, obviously, in the streets and in public places…
COLORED ENTRANCE
French
And, uh, the politics of space became very personalized, and of course, this—this problem gets multiplied in the age of railroads when, uh, strangers are confronting one another in passenger cars, and there’s a real effort to control this population of free people, and to remind them of their place in society, and that place in the eyes of the powers that be, the—the white redeemers of the southern, uh, government and politics—their place was, uh, underneath the white man, that this was a white man’s country. After the Plessy decision, the Supreme Court decision which—well, made the—the—the principle of “separate but equal,” uh, the law of the land, there was en effort to begin to codify all of these practices in law to…
COLORED ENTRANCE
French
Designate certain spaces as for colored and certain spaces as for white…
WHITE ENTRANCE
CIVIL RIGHTS
French
and the idea behind this was that it would keep black people and white people from brushing up against each other in ways that would lead to—to conflict.
“Equal Rights
Before the Law.
The “Jim Crow” Street Car
Stapleton
The word “Jim Crow” originally came from African-American activists in the middle of the 19th century. African Americans used the term to describe the ways in which they were treated differently from whites in public accommodations and services. From then on, the name stuck.
JIM CROW.
[illegible]
Stapleton
Jim Crow was a blackface character, performed by white stage actors, during that time which portrayed blacks without human dignity or humanity through racist stereotypes. For African Americans, the system of racial segregation was part of that same dehumanizing legacy.
DIRECTORY
1ST FLOOR
COUNTY WELFARE DEPT
WHITE WAITING ROOM 8
COLORED 6
COUNTY CLINIC 8
DISTRICT WELFARE BOARD
INTAKE OFFICE
Stapleton
Even though according to the law and court decisions, separate was to be equal, it never was. “Separate” was only a way to reinforce difference. Dr. Wright tells us how he experienced segregation growing up in Central Florida.
Wright
Usually, there was a black section, um, if I remember correctly, uh, usually a smaller area, and usually more crowded than the larger so-called “white section,” and the black sections, uh—what were then called the “colored sections,” were not nearly as well-kept, and—and—and—and the like. That would be true in terms of the bathrooms, as well. For instance, I remember…
COLORED
Wright
Um, in many instances, um, men and women shared the same bathroom, while in the other section, you’d have women and then men, uh, facilities.
Uh, taking the bus was, um, notable, because it was understood that when you got on the bus you went to the back, and that was understood. There were no signs. The signs were the faces. The driver would, you know—knew that you were going to go to the back, and would give you a funny look if you sat too close up front, and that kind of thing. Not all of them, but some of them would.
If you went downtown, and you were standing at the counter, then you knew that everybody else was going to be waited on, served before you. So you could be standing there, but if a person who was white walked up, then they would reach around you and just continually serve all of them, until they had gone. Then, they would serve you.
Stapleton
Although racial segregation translated to second-class citizenship for African Americans, it did not mean that residents of Central Florida stood idly by.
7UP
BOO-BOO’S BAR
TOWN& COUNTRY
Stone’s[?]
Stapleton
African Americans founded their own businesses, churches, civic associations, and even towns. Local communities usually had a segregated downtown district, where African American businesses and residents lived. In Sanford, there was Georgetown; in Winter Park, there was Hannibal Square; and Parramore, on the west side of Downtown Orlando.
African Americans even established entire incorporated towns, which elected black officials, such as Goldsboro, west of Sanford, and Eatonville, north of Orlando. Goldsboro eventually was absorbed into the City of Sanford in 1911, but Eatonville is one of the few black municipalities founded during this period that still exists. Dr. Julian [C.] Chambliss, from Rollins College, tells us about these black business districts that emerged out of racially segregated cities.
THIS HOME IS FINANCED BY
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715 GOLDWYN AVE.
293-7320 • ORLANDO
Chambliss
Well, segregation’s sort of unplanned, perhaps on some level, uh, benefit for an African-American community is to coalesce, uh, the [inaudible] community within the boundaries established by white society. As a result, what you see is a whole infrastructure created around servicing the black community—servicing—so black professionals, doctors, lawyers, teachers, um, black businesses that are serving black residents. All those are situated around the core of the black community. So if you look at a place like, for instance, Hannibal Square in Winter Park, Florida…
[illegible]
HOTEL
[illegible]
Chambliss
You have everything that African Americans could possibly need within the confines of their segregated community, and this, of course, bolsters the economic standing of those, uh, business owners and those professionals. They are, in fact, servicing a captured audience, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not doing good service to the community.
Stapleton
By the 1950s, many public places did not admit blacks at all, and separate entrances and facilities were common in courthouses and other public buildings for access by African Americans.
Another Supreme Court decision in 1954, Brown v. the Board of Education [of Topeka], finally overturned the Plessy decision, and the Federal Government finally declared that “separate” was not only unequal, but also unconstitutional.
Tallahassee Democrat
Court Bans Segregation
In Public School Cases
Court Ruling
Is Unanimous
Cases Directly Involve
Only Five States But 17
Others May Be Affected
[illegible]
Paroled Man’s
Captures Ends
Reign of Terror
[illegible] Retrieved
As Mayor [illegible]
[illegible]
Court Questions
Suit Challenging
Second Primary
[illegible]
Secrecy Clamp
Put On Talks
McCarthy Calls Order “Cover Up”
[illegible]
French Cancel
Air Evacuation
In Indochina
All Out Attack
Will Be Resumed
On Rebel Troops
[illegible]
Frank Costello
Gets Five Year
Prison Term
[illegible]
New US Bomber
Test Seen Near
[illegible]
Sober, Careful
Thought Urged
By Tom Bailey
[illegible]
Stapleton
Although by the 1950s, many Americans were recognizing that racial segregation was wrong, it was a long process for state and local communities to dismantle Jim Crow’s segregation. Dr. French explains.
French
It was really not any secret. Everybody knew this. In many ways…
COLORED ENTRANCE
French
The—that the—these signs were a part of a fiction of “separate but equal,” but for African Americans, of course, it was never equal. And, in fact, this was the basis for the great challenges to, uh…
WHITE ENTRANCE
CIVIL RIGHTS
French
Segregated society. the great legal challenges was the “equal” was not equal under this system, and, uh, you began to see in the 20th century a chipping away at this edifice of—of Jim Crow law…
Segregation
IS
UnAmerican[sic]
French
Based on the fact that the facilities provided to African Americans were profoundly unequal or absent altogether. After Brown v. Board of Education, many civil rights advocates—activists white and black—decided to test the law, to—to take the idea that public spaces should be open, uh, as there were increasingly being made open. The courts began to open up public spaces, particularly in places like interstate travel, and so the waiting rooms at bus stations or railroad stations became desegregated, technically. However, in practice, states and localities continued to enforce segregation. They left those signs on the walls, and they continued to insist that persons of color sit in different waiting rooms—in waiting rooms designated for them.
Stapleton
In Central Florida, racially segregated schools were the norm until the 1960s, when Durrance Elementary was integrated under pressure from the Federal Government. And soon, other Orange County schools agreed to desegregate.
[illegible]
Stapleton
Because of demonstrations by civil rights activists, community leaders, and students, local officials closed some public facilities, rather than allow them to be racially integrated. This public activism and protest against Jim Crow segregation…
FT. LAUDERDALE
NAACP
YOUTH COUNCIL
FT. LAUDERDALE
BRANCH
NAACP
NAACP
FORT LAUDERDALE
NAACP
KEY WEST
BRANCH
PASS THE
CIVIL RIGHTS
BILL!
NAACP
MIAMI
BRANCH
Stapleton
Was similar to events throughout the state and the rest of the South. It was through this activism, and because of the passing…
THE
Civil Rights
Act of 1964
Stapleton
Of the 1964 Civil Rights Act by the U.S. Congress that outlawed these forms of racial segregation and relegated the Jim Crow signs to the dust bin of history.
Although the system of Jim Crow disappeared, its absence, while welcomed by all segments of society, left a vacuum in the once-thriving black downtowns, as Dr. Chambliss explains.
CAMPUS
THEATER
Chambliss
In order to make sure African Americans had full sorta status as—as Americans, um, they had to break down the segregation system. As a consequence, the restrictions in terms of movement, and space, and regulations associated with zoning housing, uh, gave way, and with that, African Americans had the choice of where they wanted to live and how they wanted to live. This had a direct negative impact—impact on the strong cohesion that was created by that outward force constraining African Americans into their, uh, communities. So you see a spread—a spreading out, but you also, I think, see a kind of breaking down. The strong cohesion created by the outside force threatening the black community goes away. African Americans are able—‘cause, especially middle-class and upper-class African Americans, are able to move to places that are better, and this leaves the working-class African Americans…
7UP
BOO-BOO’S BAR
TOWN& COUNTRY
Stone’s[?]
Chambliss
Um, in that former space, but without the sort of economic and social connections that they had during segregation.
Stapleton
As Dr. Chambliss mentioned, the legacy of Jim Crow is bittersweet. It is a legacy that residents of these communities confront today. Dr. Wright recalls for us his struggle with this legacy, and the conversation he had with his mentor and friend, the late Gwendolyn [Elizabeth] Brooks, the famous African-American poet.
Wright
It’s interesting that, um, when I think of, um, integration, uh, and the whole business of…
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Wright
Uh, segregation supposedly going away, one of the—one of the great losses is, in fact, the—the black community—the black business community. Um, members of the black community are—are now affiliated with, uh, non-black institutions, and—and that’s the way it is. Reminds me of what Gwendolyn Brooks said to me when I said to her one day, “All of the black principals have moved out of the community,” and she said, “Oh.” Looked at me and she said, “I’m glad you stayed. I’m glad you stayed. They need to see you.”
[illegible]
Wright
“The children need to see you,” and that’s I think the great loss with—with the, um—with that. But when, um, integration advanced, as far as I’m concerned, uh…
COLORED ENTRANCE
Wright
The black community suffered irreparably. It will never recover. Uh…
Stapleton
We hope that you have enjoyed this episode of A History of Central Florida podcast. For more information on the objects featured in this episode…
Orange County Regional
History Center
65 E Central Blvd.
Orlando, FL 32801
Stapleton
Please visit the Orange County Regional History Center at 65 East Central Boulevard, Orlando, Florida, 32801.
Episode 43
Surf Boards
Stapleton
Make sure to join us for our next episode entitled “Surf Boards.”
Executive Producer
Robert Cassanello
Episode Producer
Kevin Stapleton
Written by
Kevin Stapleton
Directed by
Kevin Stapleton
Edited by
Chip Ford
Photos
Bob Clarke
Photos & Images
Florida Memory Project
Photos & Images
Library of Congress
Voices
Kevin Stapleton
Voices
Dr. Julian Chambliss
Voices
Dr. Scot French
Voices
Dr. Stephen Caldwell Wright
Production Staff
Bob Clarke
Production Staff
Chip Ford
Production Staff
Ella Gibson
Production Staff
Kendra Hazen
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Katie Kelley
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Daniel Velásquez
Youngers
Hello, my name is Stephanie Youngers. Today is November 12, 2010. And I am interviewing Mr. Ed L’Heureux here at the Museum of Seminole County History. How are you today?
L’Heureux
I’m fine today.
Youngers
Good. We would like to begin by asking where and when you were born.
L’Heureux
I was born in Gloversville, New York. Upstate New York. In May of 1939.
Youngers
And how did you make your way into the Florida area?
L’Heureux
My dad and mother moved from New York to New Jersey during World War II. He was in the Coast Guard and my mother inherited some property in Central Florida at the end of the war when her uncle died. And we came down to seek it out. We sold a little farm in New Jersey, and loaded things on a truck like the Okies going to California, and came to Florida with no turning back. And we didn’t like the property. My mother didn’t like it. It was rattlesnake-infested. But we decided to stay, because we liked Florida.
Youngers
Oh, well good. And about how old were you when you…
L’Heureux
I was five. Five years old.
Youngers
You’ve been here a long time, then.
L’Heureux
Since I was five.
Youngers
You might as well be a native.
L’Heureux
I wish I could claim the other five years.
Youngers
Whereabouts did you live when you moved here?
L’Heureux
We moved to Winter Park. Winter Park.
Youngers
So, wow. When, I mean, do you have memories of Winter Park, as far as the way it looked, and…?
L’Heureux
Oh, absolutely. There were wooden sidewalks on two blocks in Winter Park, just like Little House on the Prairie. You know, out west in that TV show. Wooden sidewalks. You’d clop along, and then they were torn down about two years later to make way for a bank, but it was a frontier town.
Youngers
Really.
L’Heureux
All the old cars were still around. People came in the winters and went back up north in the summers. A couple of garages close to Park Avenue in Winter Park, you would see the old Pierce Arrows and Cadillacs and Packards that were there. They’d take the train back up north and leave the car here for next winter. So it was a sleepy, beautiful little town in those days.
Youngers
Oh, wow. Well …it’s still a pretty little town.
L’Heureux
It still is. It still is.
Youngers
It definitely has gotten much larger.
L’Heureux
Yes. Regrettably.
Youngers
Did they have any kind of local gathering or events or anything in Winter Park that you attended?
L’Heureux
One of the first things I remember were fish fries. They had mullet fish fries. The Lion’s Club put them on and brought concrete blocks to the grammar school playground. Put wooden planks on top for tables, and concrete blocks and wooden planks for benches, and they’d cook this mullet and they’d deep-fry this mullet, you could smell it a block away. And it was delicious.
Youngers
And it was a whole town event that everybody attended?
L’Heureux
Well, it could have been a town event. Anybody could come and pay maybe for a dollar for the dinner. And the Lion’s Club put it on about three or four times a year, and everybody came and they strung lights on the playground. Those naked yellow lights—the little bulbs—and a little music in the background. And it was tremendous.
Youngers
Oh, very neat.
L’Heureux
The whole fish fry. Yeah. I remember it.
Youngers
So, the schools you attended?
L’Heureux
Winter Park Elementary, which is part of Rollins College today. It has been torn down now. But old Winter Park Elementary and Winter Park High School was built in 1923. Went to all three public schools there and loved it dearly. It was a great town. Great town. Nobody locked their houses or their cars. Literally.
Youngers
Wow. You can’t do that now.
L’Heureux
No. You can’t do that now.
Youngers
So, did you go to college from here?
L’Heureux
I went into the Army right after high school, and got out fairly soon, had a little period of time. Went to Stetson University up in DeLand about 40 miles away. I went to DeLand and graduated with a history degree there, went on to law school, and moved back to Orlando and Winter Park and have been in that area ever since.
Youngers
And you still live there now?
L’Heureux
I live in Winter Springs, which is close. It’s north. But that whole area has been my home for the longest time. When I give speeches, they say I’m a native when I’m introduced, but I can’t claim that first five years.
Youngers
Sure you can.
L’Heureux
Wish I could, but…
Youngers
Did you work as an attorney when you came back?
L’Heureux
No, no, no. I never practiced law at all. I dropped out before I was through. There was a lady there—I fell in love with her and we both didn’t like the law that much, for some strange reason. We both dropped out and we were married just under 40 years.
Youngers
Oh, wow. That’s good.
L’Heureux
She passed away in ‘03 of cancer, but we had a long life together.
Youngers
Good. What did you do, as far as a career and things?
L’Heureux
I was in the insurance business. I had an insurance agency. I had a Nationwide Insurance agency. I never liked business particularly, because I was trained a[sic] historian and I always wished that I’d been closer to that. And now, late in life, in my sixties and seventies, I’m a public lecturer on a myriad of Florida topics. And I write books. I’ve written 15 books, and I’m doing what I should have done as a younger man. And late in life, I’m able to do what I wish I had done earlier. So it’s kind of nice.
Youngers
So, you’re writing books. Is that just a passion you always had?
L’Heureux
Yes. I had a joint major in Stetson—History and English. And I always wanted to write books. And I always wanted to write books about Florida—novels. And in my insurance career, which was somewhat boring—I hate to say that, but it wasn’t really a stimulating thing for me. I had a family to raise, kids to raise, and I went through it and did it and was able to accomplish it, but the fire was not in the furnace. And my dad saw that melancholic hue when I was in my early forties, and he said, why don’t you dust off your pencil and pen and write again like you did in college? Because in college, I wrote for the paper. Wrote feature articles for The DeLand Sun News, up in Stetson at DeLand. And one day, I was out walking in a field and I saw a story. It just came to me. And I wrote it, and I wrote a second and third and fourth, and took it down to Rollins College, to a friend of my dad’s who was in the English department, and he thought they were very good. And my career was launched.
Youngers
So you’ve been doing this now since you were in your forties?
L’Heureux
Yes, yes, over 20 years.
Youngers
Oh, very nice. And when you do public lectures and things, what do you talk about?
L’Heureux
I have a slate of, oh, about 35 topics. All aspects of Florida history. Current, old history. Civil War. Seminole Indian Wars. Many of the industries—citrus, cattle, timber. The early founders. The early explorers. The treasure coast. Over 30 lectures I’ve crafted and researched and I deliver all around to all manner of places.
Youngers
And you do them at the local colleges?
L’Heureux
Yes, I do college level. Civic clubs, retirement centers, private organizations—business enrichment for companies that want to enrich their employees with a lecture. All kinds of ways and things. And I’m doing that now, currently in retirement, and I love it.
Youngers
Well, you said you were married, and you mentioned you had children. Do you have a special courtship story?
L’Heureux
Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. Funny you’d ask that. It’s not staged. I’ll never forget it. We were in law school together. And I had noticed her, because there were three women in the law school, and the rest were men. And she cut a pretty nice figure and I noticed her early on. And we had never spoken. We had seen each other and she had noticed me and I had noticed her. We were both freshmen. She had come in a semester before me. I had come in on the off-semester. And oh, maybe two or three weeks had gone by, and I had heard that everyone was dating her, and I found out that nobody was. It was just a rumor. We sat next to each other on a bench before class. The first words she said to me were, “I wonder what colors eyes our children will have.”
Youngers
Oh my.
L’Heureux
Just like that. Just like that. And for once in my life, I was speechless. She said it just like that. And the answer was blue and brown, but not on the same child. So we had a son and a daughter, and they were brown-eyed and blue-eyed. The first thing she ever said to me. So I guess that’s a courtship story.
Youngers
That was very forward. And that’s right.
L’Heureux
That’s exactly what she said.
Youngers
That’s awesome.
L’Heureux
It just—I wonder what color eyes our children will have.
Youngers
That’s very good.
L’Heureux
Isn’t that amazing?
Youngers
Yes, that’s awesome. And do you have any special family heirlooms or keepsakes that your kids share? Do your kids share your passion for history?
L’Heureux
Not particularly. That’s strange. They don’t. My wife was trained as a journalist. And I had the English major, and History, and I had been writing. We both were writers. She wrote in industry.
My son is a[sic] entrepreneur of sorts. He’s a very successful businessmen. He went to Georgia State [University] on a tennis scholarship and was an excellent student all the way along. And he operates and owns a company. And he’s a businessman and a coach. He coaches his daughters—my granddaughters—in lacrosse. And he’s steeped in the business world, but also with his church and philanthropic things. He likes history, but not with the same passion I have.
My daughter is in the insurance business. Similar to what I did for a long, long time. I think mine was 27 years—something like that. And she’s got two children. My son has two children. She’s too busy to read much about history. So I don’t think—even though they’re smart children, they were exceptional in school, and I don’t think they have that historic bent. That happens a lot. But they’re both successful in their own right, and I’m happy about that.
Youngers
You all lived in Winter Park for a long time. Do you remember any historical events that happened?
L’Heureux
Yes. I do. A couple I could mention. Rollins College had a very close union with Winter Park. They were joined at the hip, and they loved each other, and they just cooperated all the way through. It was wonderful to see. Rollins had something called The Animated Magazine” where people would come and speak and tell their life story, or a portion thereof. Some of the greatest notables of the age came. And I was selling newspapers there as a young boy, in my teens and even younger—10, 11, 12, 13. And I saw some great people. James Cagney, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings—the writer—Mary [McLeod] Bethune—the educator—all kinds of people from all walks of endeavor. And that made a great impression on me, because I knew some of these people. I knew their plaudits, I knew their successes, and yet I could see them speak from a stage. And here I was scurrying around trying to sell newspapers there. They held it every winter, in one of the months without a lot of rain. They held it outdoors in February. It’s usually cool. And I remember in the early days, when I was just a little boy, the women and men would come all decked out. Women would wear hats, you know, all women wore hats until somewhere in the ‘40s—‘50s, I guess it was. And they’d wear their fox stoles with little beaded eyes, you know—and foxes, all heavy coats in the winter time. And men would dress up with hats. I remember that. And I think I got a lot of history from that.
One thing from my youth that I recall, when Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings wrote The Yearling, the famous book which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1939. The movie came out in the late ‘40s. With Gregory Peck and Jane Wyman. And the theaters thought so much about it that they decked the theaters—the lobbies—in a Florida motif. Hanging moss, they had a possum in a cage, they had a raccoon in a cage, they had palmetto bushes in there, just like the big scrub that she wrote about. And it was—everybody was decked out in old frontier days, and you walk in the lobby, you thought you were at Cross Creek, where she lived. And you can’t get that today.
Youngers
Oh my. And that’s the theater in Winter Park?
L’Heureux
Well, the theater in Winter Park, the Colony [Theatre], and the theater in Orlando, the Beacham [Theatre]. Today, you’ve got a multiplex. You know, you’ve got 20 little theaters. Nobody talks to anybody, you just go in, and there you go. And you can never get that today. But they thought so much of her movie, after she won the Pulitzer Prize. They decked the lobby of the theaters in Winter Park and Orlando in a Florida backcountry theme. Literally. You know, you could see a possum in a cage, and a raccoon, and moss dripping down, you know. Palmetto bushes, which were cut up and put in there as props. So I remember those things.
Youngers
Wow. Were there—when you were attending school and things, during the times of segregation and things, do you recall anything as far as when those differences came in? Were there any notable things in the Winter Park area or even Seminole County area that you remember as far as that?
L’Heureux
Well, I remember never playing ball against any black boys or African-Americans. Never. You know. They had their own schools. And it was a shame, because they were great athletes. I never interacted with them in high school in any manner. We knew where they were, they knew where we were, and we were friendly to them, you know. But I look back and remember the colored restrooms, where they were marked “colored,” where the African-Americans had to go to separate restrooms.
I remember my dad’s business. He was in the trucking business. And he would hire casual labor every day down in Winter Park in Hannibal Square. And we’d go down there and they’d come up to the door of his car and ask whatever he was paying, and they’d negotiate the pay, and then they’d get in the back seat and go for a day’s labor. When I was out on the trucks with him—because I worked on my dad’s truck from the time I was 12 years old—hauling freight, hauling furniture. We’d go to a diner, and get something to eat sometimes at lunch, and if we didn’t bring our lunch. And the black laborers would have to sit out back. Sit down on the ground out back. And my dad would order a sandwich for them. They would go through the kitchen, go out the back door, and they’d sit and eat it out back. They weren’t allowed in to sit.
Youngers
And they didn’t even really have a dining area?
L’Heureux
No. There was no dining area, even. And we took the bus a lot in those days, from Winter Park to Orlando. I used to go down to Orlando to a bookstore—McVicker’s—go down to the theaters there when I was a small boy—10, 11, 12. On the bus, by myself. If I use “colored,” “blacks,” “African-Americans” —it’s interchangeable, because they called themselves those things at various times. But they would come on the bus, and they’d march right to the back of the bus. And sit, and there’d be no question about it. And if one was sitting and a white woman came on and there was no place for her to sit, they were expected to give up their seat.
Youngers
Wow.
L’Heureux
So I was in the terrible segregation days. Grew up in it. It was terrible. I loathe the fact that it took place. I would like to have interacted with them. I played baseball—sports—in high school. We never played against blacks ever, that I can ever remember.
Youngers
Once they made that change, how did the community react?
L’Heureux
Well, some fought it for a long time, because they always wanted something to lord over people. You know how people are. A lot of people embraced it, were happy about it, and glad it came along. But it was a very begrudging thing. It didn’t happen overnight. We had Brown v. the Board of Education—the lawsuit and the legal argument at the Supreme Court—but it wasn’t like turning a light on or off, you know, all of a sudden. There was a transition period of several years. Several years.
I remember when I was at Stetson—my senior year, I was in charge of homecoming. And we had a black entertainer come from New York for a homecoming dance and a concert. His name was Roy Hamilton, and he was excellent. He wasn’t quite as famous as Johnny Mathis in those days, but this is in the late ‘50s—‘59 or ‘60—and I was in charge of getting him lodging, for he and his wife, and his bass player, and his piano player. And no motel would take him. No motel would take him. And I had to put him up in a couple of houses in the black section of DeLand. And this—this guy was a New York entertainer, he was an RCA Victor recording artist. He was big. Roy Hamilton, back in the ‘50s and ‘60s. And I couldn’t find lodging for him. He drove—drove down from New York and I was so embarrassed. No hotel would take them. So, to answer your question, it was a long process. It didn’t happen overnight.
Youngers
Wow.
L’Heureux
It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?
Youngers
It is. It is. Is there any other things, like those type of events, that you can recall? I mean, I know the history of just this area—they had the freeze, and they had hailstorms, and the fires, and hurricanes, and things.
L’Heureux
Well, hurricanes, yes. I can tell you stories about the hurricanes. The Weather Bureau [National Weather Service] was so embryonic in its stage, and so much in its infancy. We didn’t have good rapport with the Weather Bureau, because they didn’t have good rapport with the storms. And we had our radios in the early days before TV. We had our little Philco radios. And they’d scratch and you could barely hear them sometimes.
And the indicator of hurricanes was not somebody coming on the TV or the radio to tell you, it was the Australian pines. Australian pines were brought to Florida as a windbreak. And also, a windbreak against hurricanes. And also, because they looked kind of pretty in margins of road and along canals and this kind of thing. My dad had Australian pines on our property. Our warehouses were next to our home, because we lived in a rural part of town. And the Australian pines would whoosh and you’d hear them make a sound that was different than just a little storm. The hurricane sound was unmistakable. It was a wail—an actual wail. And we’d hear it, and then we’d say, “There must be a storm coming.” And a lot of times, it’d be a hurricane. It would be a hurricane, and this was the late ‘40s, the early ‘50s. And I can remember some terrible storms that came through Orlando. Rowboats on the street, you know, and the water off, the lights off, for days. But the early warning for hurricanes was so backward, because we didn’t have the technology for it. And we missed school all the time. And it would rain for days when the storms were around. I remember distinctly, storms in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s that were rough that came through here. Trees down, and power out, but we had no notice. It wasn’t like the hurricanes in ‘26 in Miami and ‘28 that came across Lake Okeechobee. When they were there, you knew they were there. But not any notice. And even in the ‘40s and ‘50s, we had almost no notice of hurricanes.
Youngers
Wow. Wow. That’s—kind of makes you wonder what we would do without these things.
L’Heureux
Exactly, today.
Youngers
You were saying earlier too that your father ran a trucking business?
L’Heureux
My dad had a trucking business, and there’s a great story there. He bought an old truck—a 1934 Ford—in New Jersey, where we had our farm. He was in the Coast Guard and almost farmed by night. He farmed with the lights on on[sic] the tractor. He’d farm at night, because we was trying to make a living. And my mother would take the produce and sell it downtown. In an old Pontiac car with a running board, and my sister and I were three, four years old, and we’d go with her.
He bought this truck to transport our belongings from the farmhouse to Florida. My mother inherited this property out near Rock Springs, out near Apopka. And he had money from the sale of the farm. And he built our house that summer. The war was over that summer. And the goods coming in, like [inaudible] nails to build a house were slow. My dad had never built a house. My dad was afraid of nothing. He built a house and not knowing how to do it. He built it. The footers, the concrete block foundation, the rafters—he just built it with the help of two men from town, and had a little money from the sale of the farm.
The summer—and by fall, the money was low, and he had no job. The house was up, we were in the house. So he took the truck down to the railroad station, when the Rollins co-eds were coming in for the year. And in those days, almost nobody drove a car to college. You took the train. Literally. And Rollins was a fancy, expensive school, even in those days. He met somebody down in Winter Park. “I’ve been here all summer. I need a job.” “We built our house. We’re in our house. I need a job now.” He had that truck. The man said, “Why don’t you go down to the train station and walk down through the cars when they stop and tell them you’ll haul trunks to the college—to the dormitories?” He said, “Taxicabs have been doing this for years.”
So my father took his truck down there, and in competition with the taxicab drivers, he walked up and down the train saying, “We’ve got a truck outside to haul your trunk.” So he started hauling trunks to the college for about 10 days, till everybody was down and school was in session, and he was out of work ,because he had worked for 10 days. So he ran an ad in the paper in Winter Park. He had a caption that read, “We will move anything”. And he put it in the paper with a phone number—four digits. You could talk to the operator. And this was right after World War II. And he set up a moving business. And he was in the moving business 28 years.
Youngers
Wow.
L’Heureux
Trucks and warehouses, and that’s how he had his start.
Youngers
Wow, that’s really cool.
L’Heureux
I think so. He had a truck and no job, and he put the truck to work.
Youngers
Wow. And your mom—did she stay home?
L’Heureux
She stayed home and ran the office. And he was in the early years out there in the truck, hauling with everybody else. And then he graduated to giving advice and direction behind the scenes as he got older and his business grew—flourished.
Youngers
Wow, that’s a really cool story.
L’Heureux
I think so.
Youngers
Well, is there anything that you would like to discuss that I haven’t really brought up?
L’Heureux
Well, yes. I guess. Let’s see. I was very fortunate in living as a young boy and young man through probably as wonderful a time in Florida history as there could be. That was from the end of World War II until the early 60s, when all the riots started and all the national trouble with the Vietnam War. There were about 15, 18 years in there that were just marvelous. And I—it was all my grammar school years, my high school years, my college years. It was just a remarkable place to grow up. It was remarkable.
I would ride my bicycle—you are not going to believe this. Nine and 10 years old, I’d ride my bicycle two and a half miles to Downtown Winter Park, go to the police station, and say, “I was going to lock it in one of their little racks. Would they look after it?” I’m telling you the truth. I was taking the bus to Orlando for the day. And I’d get on the bus at age nine or 10, by myself. You know, you never thought about bad people. You never heard of them. And I would go to Orlando on the old bus, go to McVicker’s bookstore and buy a Hardy Boys book. They were popular then. Go to a Saturday matinee and see Roy Rogers and Gene Autry and eat popcorn and Coke. Spend all day in Orlando. Go by the Cub Scout den, the Yowell Drew Ivey’s—a great department store. Look for the next badge I was going to get, or a new hat, or whatever. And come back in the afternoons, after being in Orlando for six or seven hours, claim my bicycle from the police rack, unlock the thing that locked it, and ride home at night, and be gone all day. Nine, 10 years old. I’m telling you the truth. Nobody thought a thing about it.
Youngers
Wow.
L’Heureux
Today, you couldn’t even—I was in grammar school! I remember going once when I was 10 years old to Orlando with a $10 bill for Christmas presents. And I bought my dad a fishing lure at Denmark’s Sporting Goods store, which was a landmark—Denmark’s. I went to the Yowell Drew Ivey’s, and bought my sister a little gift, a Nancy Drew book. Because Nancy Drew was like Hardy Boys. Nancy Drew was for girls, and Hardy Boys was for boys. And I went over to Dickson [&] Ives, went up the floor in an elevator, and bought my mother a nice handkerchief. And I had lunch down there. I had bought a gift for my sister, my father, my mother. And went to the movies and came home and still had change from the $10 bill.
Youngers
Oh, my goodness.
L’Heureux
I remember it, I was about 10 or 11 years old.
Youngers
Wow.
L’Heureux
And it wasn’t that I was particularly brave or anything. It was just that you didn’t have any worries. Nobody accosted you or anything. There was never any trouble. I’d go to Orlando alone for the day.
Youngers
Wow. I don’t even go to Orlando alone right now.
L’Heureux
Exactly. Exactly.
Youngers
So, you’d mentioned too that you had served some time in the army?
L’Heureux
Yes.
Youngers
Did you serve in the war?
L’Heureux
No, no. I’m not particularly proud of that, but it wasn’t my fault. I had the wrong age. I was too young for [the] Korea[n War] and too old for [the] Vietnam [War]. Now, I would have been old enough for Vietnam, but I was married by then, had a child by then, and I didn’t go.
But I signed in the Army Reserves when I was in high school. I went to Reserve meetings when I was a junior in high school. And senior. That’s pretty young to be out there—a soldier with men. I was only 16. And then I went in the active duty after high school. And got out—and we only went six months to active duty, and we were in Reserves seven and a half years.
And I was going to go to Davidson College in North Carolina, because some friends went and I was accepted there. I came back in January, after six months in the service, from June to January, and some friends talked me into going to Stetson for just a semester. Because if I didn’t go to school, I was going to be on my dad’s trucks hauling furniture. I promise you—I hated to go home on the weekends form college, because I’m going to be on his truck working. So I said, “Going to college is better than working on Dad’s trucks.” So I went to Stetson and liked it and never went to Davidson. I went on through Stetson the whole time. But that’s how that worked out.
We used to—when I finally got a car at Stetson, I could get a tank of gas a week if I’d come home and see Mom and Dad. It was only 34 miles from DeLand to Winter Park. And I would run the gas down to near the E-mark, because I knew how far it was. There was a Pure station in our neighborhood—an old Pure station—and I could get a tank of gas. And of course, I always bought my dirty linens home in a big duffel bag for Mother, you know. I would, time and time and time again. One time, I got down to Casselberry, and I thought that I was going to run out of gas. And I pumped nine cents. Nine cents of gas. And the gasoline was about 32 cents a gallon. I got enough to get me home. Nine cents!
Youngers
Oh, my goodness.
L’Heureux
There are more, you know, people that are older—a hundred years old—remember the early 1900s, which is even more archaic than what I’m talking about. But you asked me what I remember. That, from end of World War II until the Vietnam War, America was at its zenith, its power, its influence, its peacetime.
And it was a marvelous time to grow up in Florida. Florida was booming. The tourism was starting. The [Lockheed] Martin Company came to Orlando. The Cape [Canaveral] was starting to make some rumbles, and Orlando was really growing. I know in my graduating class—and my sister’s—we were about the same size, the year before me. We were 56, 57, 58. We’re all about the same. Two or three years later, the class size had doubled, because of the Martin Company and all the Allied Aerospace Company [Allied Aerospace, Inc.]. People were flooding into Florida in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s. But it was a great place to grow up. I miss it. It’s gone. It’s gone.
Youngers
I can understand that. Do you remember when they first built [Walt] Disney [World?
L’Heureux
Oh, yes. I remember “B.D.”—“Before Disney”. Oh, I do. I do. I went into the brokerage business and met a man who made a lot of money by being on the inside looking out, and bought land as a speculator. He ran a service station in Beverly Hills. And he owned it. He was blue collar, but he owned it, and all the stars would gas up there. And he flew an aircraft, along with a couple of his buddies. Had a little piper cup group. And the word is, that Disney was coming east. They had Disneyland, and they were coming east, and they thought it was going to be St. Louis[, Missouri]. Proved not to be St. Louis, because Mr. [Adolphus] Busch from Busch—Anheuser-Busch [Companies, Inc.], heard something that they weren’t going to serve beer, and he said something at a big gala unveiling, “you can’t come to St. Louis and not sell beer.” And Walt Disney didn’t like that. So St. Louis was crossed off.
The next option was either Ocala or Orlando. So this man from California that owned an old Standard Oil gas station—he was a thousand-aire, he wasn’t a millionaire. He knew some of the stars. And they leaked that this area might be it. So he and three of his buddies flew—took a month off—flew piper cubs[?] to Orlando Executive Airport—the old airport—checked into a motel, hired Kelly [Service, Inc.] girls to post themselves in the various county seats—Kissimmee, Tavares, Sanford, Orlando—to see if anything unusual was being recorded— anything deeds or anything. They ate four meals a day, trying to eavesdrop scuttlebutt. They got their hair cut every week whether they needed it or not. They got their shoes shined. They wanted to be where scuttlebutt was, where gossip was, because they were trying to bankroll the buying of land if Disney was going to buy in Orlando. They’d meet every night and confer. “How’d your day go?” “Where’d you go?” “Oh, I ate four meals in restaurants,” and this and this and this. And they’d move the Kelly girls around every day. The girl that was in Orlando would be in Sanford and then the next day she’d be in Tavares so she wouldn’t be suspicious. And they had a map they put across their bed in the motels there. “Where were you?” It was like a war. They were trying to find out if Disney was coming here. So then money was going.
This is a true story. He gave this story in my living room. In fact, I did business with him. He’s dead now. I shouldn’t use his name. The money was up, and darn it, we didn’t find it. Nothing. Because it was really—only three people in town knew it. The man in charge of The Orlando Sentinel, the man in charge of First [inaudible] Bank of Orlando. I mean, it was like keeping the A-bomb secret. Because Disney knew the prices would escalate.
So here’s the story. And it’s true. They checked out of their motel rooms. They got their planes at Orlando Executive Airport. And they had flown during the month around to see what they could see from the air too. They flew out to present Lake Buena Vista that had a wind sock little airstrip there owned by a family-kind of a mom-and-pop business. Little wind sock, you know. And piper cubs[?] would land. A place to gas up. So they landed there to gas up. It was a two day flight to California. They were flying to Texas and then on to California. Little piper cubs[?], they go about 120 miles an hour, tops.
Youngers
Right.
L’Heureux
There was an old boy there at the little airstrip with an old cracker hat on, piece of straw in his mouth. You know, and he was making conversation with them. And they were glum, because they were there and spent a month’s salary and nothing. And this guy—and this is a true story. He told it in my living room. You could hear a pin drop. This guy said, “What’s going on around here? Mr. Brown down here, he’s got his farm for sale. Mr. Smith down here, he’s under option with some other people, and Mr. Miller down here, he’s selling out too.” “And Mr. C.”—I’ll call him “Mr. C.,” because he’s gone. I want to protect him. He said, “Oh, really? Oh really, really? People around here auctioning their farms? Yeah, we don’t know what’s going on. It’s crazy over here right now.” Well, it was at Bay Lake, right by where it was. And they came in and made some deals with farmers under the rug, and so Mr. C. and his buddies got back in the airplanes, went back to the motel, which was on Colonial Drive—across from a place called Ronnie’s Restaurant, which was famous—checked back into the motel, and redoubled their efforts, and found it.
Youngers
Oh, my goodness.
L’Heureux
And they begged, borrowed, and stole every buck they could from California—their friends, their relatives. And in two short years, they were all multi-millionaires. The guy at the gas-up station at the little family-owned airstrip spilled the beans.
Youngers
Wow.
L’Heureux
Now, that’s a true story, and isn’t that a great story? Yeah, it’s funny, but…
Youngers
It’s great that that’s how you find out stuff, though. It might not be in the middle of the city. It might just be…
L’Heureux
That’s right. They had Kelly girls they hired. They were everywhere. Listening—listening in the corridors of courthouses. All of them got fat, he said, because they were going in every restaurant, every diner, trying to sit and hear something, you know. They got their shoes shined when they glistened, you know. Got their haircut too often. They just wanted to be places to get gossip. Because they’re trying to bankroll big money. Thirty days—nothing. They leave town, they gas up, and the guy at the place spills the beans. And he said, “It was the greatest thing he had ever heard.” He said, “Oh, really? This, Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown?” That probably was not the names, but those were the names he used. It was somebody that was selling out to Disney. And this was all prior to the announcement. So they went back, and said, “We found it.” And it was Bay Lake. And they found it. And they searched for 30 days and couldn’t find it.
Youngers
Well, now, did it really help the area? Initially it brought in a lot of income, and…
L’Heureux
Well, I’m an environmentalist. You know, my books have that theme. I love nature. I love the outdoors. And yes, it’s done a lot of good, but I like the old Florida. I write about the old Florida. The backcountry roads, the way it was, you know. The animals. Not that we had them running loose, because we had cattle fencing and all, but I guess it’s helped. If you’re on I[nterstate Highway]-4 in gridlock, and a tractor-trailer’s across the way and you’re two hours late for an appointment, you’re not liking it. There was no turning back once Disney came. It was just—it was just frantic. It was the most frantic thing I’d ever seen. The people coming in here with jobs, and the growth, it was just unbelievable. I like the old Florida. I like the old days.
Youngers
Wow.
L’Heureux
But that story about Mr. C. is a true story. I did business with him and we had him out to the house one night for beer and popcorn, and had some of my friends over, about 10 of us. Maybe a little more. And we all sat around listening to him tell that story. And that’s just a fantastic story.
Youngers
It’s hard to imagine what Florida would be like without that aspect of it, especially Central Florida.
L’Heureux
Well, it would have grown despite Disney. It was growing early. The Cape—the aerospace industry really took off after the war and in the early ‘50s, it would have grown without Disney. People had pensions. They had retirements for the first time. And they wanted to get out of the cold. So it had started to grow long before Disney. But not at the rate that Disney brought after that. When they came, it was much different than it would have been. It would have been a gradual increase. It wouldn’t be like it is today. But it still would have been a very big state. So we can’t blame Disney totally.
Youngers
No. Well, if you don’t have anything else.
L’Heureux
Stephanie, I think this has been fun. And enjoyable. And to learn that you came from the Okeechobee area, which I know also. And I went to college with many people from the towns around Lake Okeechobee—La Belle—also and I so enjoyed being interviewed by you today.
Youngers
Well, good. I’m glad.
L’Heureux
Thank you.
Lester
I’m Dr. Connie [L.] Lester, the Director of the RICHES program, and you are listening to the RICHES documentary podcast.
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Lester
Welcome to the RICHES documentary podcast. RICHES—the Regional Initiative for Collecting the Histories, Experiences, and Stories of Central Florida—is an umbrella program housing interdisciplinary public history projects that bring together different departments at the University of Central Florida with profit and nonprofit sectors of the community in order to promote the collection and preservation of the region’s history. By facilitating research that records and presents the stories of communities, businesses, and institutions in Central Florida, RICHES seeks to provide the region with a deeper sense of its heritage. This series feature a podcast every two weeks, in the middle and at the end of each month that will explore various aspects of Central Florida history.
In today’s episode, “Gentrification and Urban Renewal: Revitalizing Central Florida’s African-American Communities,” Geoffrey Cravero examines some of the reasons that these once flourishing neighborhoods began to decline, and what city leaders are doing to save these communities.
Cravero
Hi. I’m Geoffrey Cravero, and in today’s episode, “Gentrification and Urban Renewal: Revitalizing Central Florida’s African-American Communities,” we’re gonna be speaking with Representative Geraldine [F.] Thompson and Dr. Benjamin [D.] Brotemarkle about the Parramore district of Downtown Orlando, and Dr. Julian C. Chambliss and Fairolyn Livingston about Hannibal Square, the African-American side of Winter Park, Florida. Central Florida’s African-American community was once relatively prosperous, consisting of a thriving business district, populated by a mix of professionals and working-class families, and in many ways, quite self-sufficient.
This podcast will examine some of the factors that led to the ultimate decline of these regions, the efforts that have gone into restoring them, and the overall effectiveness of those campaigns. Geraldine Thompson has been a representative in the Florida State Legislature since 2006. A former educator and administrator at Valencia Community College, she is also a founder of the Wells’ Built Museum of African American History and Culture.
The Executive Director of the Florida Historical Society, Dr. Brotemarkle has written several books on Florida history and culture, including Crossing Division Street: An Oral History of the African American Community in Orlando and Beyond the Theme Parks: Exploring Central Florida. You might also recognize him as the producer and host of Florida Frontiers, the weekly radio magazine of the Florida Historical Society.
Dr. Julian Chambliss is an associate professor of history at Rollins College, specializing in 19th and 20th century urban America, African-American history in Florida, race and ethnicity, American planning history, as well, as other topics related to the urban experience.
Born in Hannibal Square, Fairolyn Livingston has spent most of her life in the community, and is now Manager of the Hannibal Square Heritage Center.
I’d like to thank each of our guests for taking the time to speak with us. I asked Representative Thompson and Dr. Brotemarkle to tell us about the rise and fall of Orlando’s Parramore community.
Thompson
Parramore was founded in the 1800s, uh, when the city was just, uh, beginning to form, and it was the location where many African Americans lived initially. The city was separated, as was the case throughout the South, generally by the railroad tracks. You had the, uh, white community on one side and the African-American community on the other side. So, uh, Parramore is just west of the railroad tracks in Downtown Orlando, and the pioneers in the African-American community who made significant contributions to the City [of Orlando] and to Central Florida lived in Parramore.
When the community went through integration at the end of, uh, “legally sanctioned apartheid” —is what I call it—uh, the idea was that, in order to get true integration, you had to close some of the major institutions in Parramore. So you saw the schools, uh, close. Many of the churches also moved out. Uh, the Parramore area had become saturated, and people needed other places to live, and so, uh, places like Washington Shores, the Richmond Heights area, uh, Carver Shores, were established and many people moved to those areas which were, at that time, considered the suburbs, and many of the professionals who lived in Parramore also moved, and so you left behind, uh, people who were, for the most part, renters, who did not own the properties where they lived. Uh, there was very little that was owner-occupied in Parramore—a lot of absentee landlords.
So when you lost the major institutions like your schools, your churches, the professional individuals who had made it the economic and the social hub for African Americans in Central Florida, then an element, uh, of crime began to—to build, and, uh, there were a lot of problems, and quite frankly, a lot of the decision-makers, who were deciding what was going to happen and how Central Florida, uh, would grow, did not really consider Parramore worthy of much of an investment, and so that’s what led to a blighted area for a very long time.
There have been a lot of very effective efforts to bring business back into the community. Uh, there is one charter school now in the community—the Nap Ford [Community] School. Other than Nap Ford, however, there are still no schools in Parramore. The students are bussed out to nine different, uh—different schools in—in the area. Uh, the businesses that have come into the area include, uh, the Bank of America. You now have the Federal Courthouse that is also built in the Parramore area, as well, as the Florida A[gricultural] & M[echnical] University College of Law. Uh, the Wells’ Built Museum, which is in the former Wells’ Built Hotel, um, is celebrating now 10 years—our 10th anniversary, and so we have been able to document, and to preserve, and to share a lot of the history of Parramore, which makes people much more aware that it is a significant co—uh, community, and as we revitalize and as we grow, it’s something worth saving.
We are in the process of, uh, restoring the residence of the person who built the Wells’ Built. His name was William Monroe Wells, one of the early African-American physicians here. He came here in 1917, and in addition to a thriving medical practice, he had a social club, which was called the South Street Casino, and he brought, uh, big bands, [Edward] “Duke” [Kennedy] Ellington, [William] “Count” [James] Basie, Ella [Jane] Fitzgerald, to perform at the South Street Casino, which he owned, and after the entertainers, uh, finished performances, they didn’t have a place to stay. So that was his motivation for building a hotel, and, uh, so in addition to refurbishing the Wells’ Built and operating it as a museum of African-American history, we’re now in the process of refurbishing his home, which was located where the new Amway Center, uh, is, And that’s another business that has come into Parramore, which is Downtown Orlando, and so the home was moved rather than, uh, to have it demolished, and we will make it part of the museum complex, and we’ll operate a museum store in Dr. Wells’ residence. So his legacy is alive and well, on South Street.
Brotemarkle
Well, there are many factors that—that led to the demise of the hotel and casino. Uh, first of all, eh, as—as great and wonderful and necessary as the civil rights laws of the 1960s were, once African Americans could move anywhere they wanted to, uh—and this is not unique to the Parramore neighborhood. This happened to communities throughout the South, in particular, uh, but many of the community leaders—that[sic] helped keep the infrastructure of the community together—moved out of the neighborhood. So consequently, in many cases, uh, all that were—were left were the people who couldn’t afford to move anywhere else, and actually, in the case of the Parramore neighborhood, this had actually started a little bit before that in the 1950s. People had started migrating over to the Washington Shores neighborhood in Orlando, but the—the—the civil rights laws definitely contributed to the continued exodus, uh, from the Parramore neighborhood of many of the people, uh—the community leaders. Uh, also, the building of I[nterstate Highway]-4, uh, right through—right by the—the Parramore neighborhood kind of—into that neighborhood, uh, helped to break that up a little bit, as well. Uh, that was, uh, another factor.
Uh, so as these—as the community leaders moved out of the neighborhood, the Parramore neighborhood itself entered, uh, a state of social and economic decline, and, uh, I—I think it is starting to, uh, pull out of it a little bit, and that was really part of the purpose of the Wells’ Built Museum of African American History and Culture—was to be an economic engine for the neighborhood, and hopefully, tap into this cultural and heritage tourism and bring people into the neighborhood for that reason. It is a fascinating era because, uh, again, between—with—with Division Street as the dividing line the—the Parramore neighborhood was really a thriving, self-sustained community, uh, parallel to the—to the white community in Orlando. Uh, here were institutions, Jones High School, uh, many of the churches, uh, that really created a strong fabric. Uh, uh, there was a, uh, uh, African-American chamber of commerce there in the Parramore neighborhood. There were black theatres. There were everything that the community needed right there. Uh, tailors, and—and businesses of all types were right there, and—and of course, the Wells’ Built Hotel and South Street Casino right in the middle of all this—this—this thriving African-American community.
So it’s really an interesting, uh, look at history, and—and also, the unintended negative impact of those civil rights laws in the 1960s, again, as—as wonderful and as necessary as they were, they really did have this—this unintended negative impact when, uh, some of the community leaders moved out, and, again, the building of I-4, kinda right through the heart of the community, and, uh, the East-West Expressway too, meeting right there, uh, caused further problems, uh, but I—I think that the community is—is pulling out of that era of social and economic decline that it suffered in the late 20th century, and hopefully the Wells’ Built Museum of African American History and Culture is contributing to that.
Cravero
Dr. Chambliss and Mrs. Livingston describe some of the factors that enabled Hannibal Square and Winter Park to grow into thriving communities, and how this prosperity has affected the development and gentrification of the region.
Chambliss
Well, in that early period, um, Hannibal Square, was, I think, able to grow and be successful because, of the model of, uh, attracting residents, promoting, uh, Winter Park as a sort of like leisure, uh, vacation destination, uh, and this has really become at the core of the identity of Winter Park. If you think about Winter Park over time, it really was founded by [Loring] Chase and [Oliver E.] Chapman as a sort of destination location for people who wanted to sort of live a certain kind of sort of leisurely lifestyle. Well, into, uh, 20th century that—that has been maintained.
If you look at the growth of Winter Park, uh, which grew rapidly after, uh—in the 1930s and 1940s and 1950s, like, and the people of Winter Park recognize. It’s part of the reason that it grew is because, like, they really sort of like saw the place as a kind of residential haven, and the fact—by the time you get to the 1950s, um, the city is known as the “City of Homes.” Um, and part of this is because they have like a large number of wealthy residents. Again, those wealthy residents have servants, and some of those servants are working in—in—are black people, uh, working in these white homes and then going back across the railroad tracks to Hannibal Square. So like, they have this steady work from all these rich people and that really does affect Hannibal Square.
At the same time, there’s a number of architectural—James Gamble Rogers is a very well-known architect—really sort of crystallized the architectural identity of Winter Park, with a fresh revival—a Medi—a Mediterranean revival style. So when you look at the homes, there’s a lot of like talk about Winter Park and Park Avenue—really sort of like crystallizes that sort of European style, uh, café culture look, right? And that really starts in 1960, and they really sort of keep trying to promote that. The chamber of commerce does a great job of trying to promote that and maintains it really today. it’s one of the reasons that these places really talk about Winter Park. They tend to talk about it as a place where you just want to kind of like stroll, in sharp contrast to the rest of the sort of retail and vacation experience in the rest of Central Florida, and as a consequence, the growth of the east side of Winter Park has been phenomenal, and the value of land there has grown tremendously, and so much so that by the time you get to the late 1990s, uh, arguably, the east side of Winter Park is built out, alright? So you can’t cheaply acquire land on the east side of Winter Park. You can buy a lot and—and really, we’re talking—we’re talking about the high-end of the real estate bubble, and Winter Park was one of the places where values were extremely high, and so the east side, really, by—by every stretch of the imagination is really sort of built up in value, um, over the period of the town.
The west side, which was the black side—which was sort of like off limits because it was—because of segregation—had lagged behind. It started out with the development of the town, as I—as I said, a sort of economic area where African-American property owners, and—and business owners, and African-American businesses were flourishing in Hannibal Square, but very quickly, with the end of—of official Jim Crow segregation, um, you see middle-class people moving out, and the median income and the median age on the west side of Winter Park really starts to—the income starts to go down. The age starts to go up, and services for the west side don’t keep. in fact, [inaudible] great stories about the fact that the roads, on the west side of Winter Park, weren’t really sort of kept up at the same level as the roads on the east side of Winter Park, And other kinds of infrastructure issues like that, and as a consequence, the value of homes and property on the west side lagged behind that was on the east side of Winter Park. So value of black property lagged behind value of white property, which is common.
As a result of that, there’s a lot of push, um, to do something about the—the view—the view-scape and the housing stock on the west side, and if you go back and look at some of the language that people use in the city council meetings or in some of the things that people are saying when they—they’re pointing to houses that are boarded up, they’re talking about a spike in crime, and indeed, there is a real concern that Hannibal Square, which by this time, is no longer home of like businesses more like light retail and bars and things like that—convenience stores—that are really the haven for—in the minds of white residents, at least—crime and violence. Indeed, there is[sic] the police reports show large number of drug arrests or suspicious crime in the west side in 1980s and early 1990s, and it really sort of spurs on dialogue about what needs to be done to improve the housing stock to clean up Hannibal Square and basically correct this problem, and there are a variety of reasons for this. I mean, some of it was the crime, but also, if you look at the way that the town is laid out, if you’re coming in through[?] the main drag, coming in—off of, like, Orlando Avenue, one of the main sort of like entry points into the city of Winter Park is through, um, Morris [Avenue], and you basically go through the heart of the black community to do that, and if you go back to the 1990s, that looked radically different than it does now.
If you look at it now it looks actually quite nice, ‘cause it’s been rezoned and it—there’s new buildings, uh—office buildings, mix-use stuff—but back then, it—there were homes there, and some of them were boarded up, and the City had routinely had issues or had programs in place where they were trying to address this question, of, like, the quality of housing stock on the west side. They had some housing rehabilitation programs that they created in the 1970s. They supported, of course, you know, the creation of the Winter Park Community Center in Hannibal Square, but really, you know, the economy changed, as I said, and the median age started to creep up.
So you get a large number of elderly people who, eh, own property—been in their family for generations—but they couldn’t keep it up in a way that the City might want, and so—so this created an opportunity for developers to come into, um, the west side and champion sort of a new push to sort of rehabilitate the region, and this made sense from the City’s standpoint, because, like, depressed property is low—low tax property. so if you want to increase your tax base, you want to improve the—the value of the property there—but it also created, like, a high gentri—gentrifying push, because, remember, you can’t cheaply build anything on the east side of town. So for most developers, they’re really looking to do a big project. they kind of have to do it on the west side of town. They had to do it west of the railroad tracks.
So in the late 1990s and the ear—early 2000s, the City of Winter Park creates a Community Redevelopment Agency—the CRA—and the sort of focal point of the CRA is the sort of box that is bordered by Park Avenue on the east, Webster Avenue on the north, and, like, [U.S. Route] 17-92, and then Fairbanks [Avenue]. So it’s a huge block, and basically it’s Park Avenue and Downtown Winter Park, and the black side of town. So that’s a huge swath of land, and it—it’s prime real estate that could be developed, but is also, primarily, the heart of the black community, and almost immediately, large numbers of residents in the black community recognized that the City’s efforts to improve the area of the CRA was going to push out the black community. Now, from the City’s standpoint, the City’s always maintained that its goal was to maintain the character of the black community or the character of Hannibal Square, but if you’re going to allow traditional market forces to be your primary vehicle to achieve this, then gentrifying effects are almost unavoidable.
You can’t, as the city’s done—like the city’s done a, uh, sort of three-tier sort of approach. It’s provided loans for businesses to move into Hannibal Square. It totally redesigned, um, Shady Park, which is in the center of Hannibal Square, in response to some of the crime and complaints of some of the businesses that were being enticed into the—into the area, because of the CRA. So the old part was—had a lot of benches and—and shading covers, and—and older people would hang out there and talk, and the new park sort of took all that away, and is much more aesthetically pleasing, but is also a place where you can’t really linger, which made a lot of sense, in terms of trying to address some of these questions about crime and—and—and disruption associated with that area—um, but they also worked very diligently to eliminate some of the bars, some of the focal points of crime, and that was successful. They moved in new businesses so that Dexter’s on Winter Park, uh—Dexter’s a fairly well-known restaurant chain in the area—where it became like really an anchor and they created a parking lot for it, and then a number of other businesses—light retail, service-oriented, and restaurant businesses—moved in, and of course there was a train—a change in the infrastructure or the sort of decorative infrastructure of the street. So like you had the decorative brick put in, and, like, new lightening-like fixtures—so basically, extending the feel and look of Park Avenue, down New England [Avenue] into, uh, the heart of the community, which was Hannibal Square.
Of course, African Americans felt and, I think, some of them continue to feel that that process is deliberately pushing them out, and they have a point, because once all that—all that was in place, one of the things that started happening is that the—the tax assessment for the area started to change. People had previously—been sort of locked at a tax assessment of like, you know, a very low number. Everything gets reassessed when a large number of businesses start moving in. So these are older people. Remember, the demographics of the area are that the older people are staying and younger people are moving out. So the old people tend to be on fixed incomes, and pensions, living off their retirement savings. So a big hit, in terms of—“I used to pay $500 in taxes. Now, I’m paying a thousand.” It’s a huge deal, and because the property on the west side, as I said, had not kept up with property on the east side, there was a new assessment on all the value of the property. So people were being offered you know, two, three, four times what they bought the property for originally—and to move out—and some of them were, and this is one of the things that really sort of like characterized the region.
So, um, at the height of the real estate bubble, there was tremendous gentrifying pressure on Hannibal Square, and lots of developers were active in the area, and probably the most famous ones was Dan Bellows, who’s usually associated with the transformation of Hannibal Square. he has a number of big projects, and, you know, sort of mixed-use with retail on the bottom and residential on the top, and that really sort of, like, changed the nature of the community, and Bellows is often painted as a boogeyman, and there are a number of stories associated with him, but he’s sort of emblematic of a kind of push to create new construction in the area, in part because that’s the place where you can with relatively minimal investment do something big, and that has been the sort of overriding problem for the west side for many years.
There has been, for well over a decade—I mean, since the late 1990s, I think, there’s been a sort of push to—“There’s going to be the in here. I want to improve the west side. I want to bring more businesses here,” and as a result, uh, longtime residents have, um, sort of been displaced. There are new businesses there, but they don’t really cater to the residents, or nor do they really employ the residents, which is also really problematic. I mean, you don’t really see west side residents going to eat at Dexter’s. So from a sort of symbolic standpoint, African Americans feel that they’re being pushed down, and from an economic standpoint, there are push and pull factors that are hastening the exit of African Americans in the area.
Livingston
Leading up to, uh, the Civil Rights Movement and even probably as early as 19—late 1940s, after the, uh—World War II, the job market begin[sic] to change a bit. More opportunities will open up for, uh—for Afro-Americans. Many Afro –Americans, uh, went away—military, school, whatever the case may be—and didn’t come back, because they felt there was nothing here for them, outside of service to somebody else. They wanted to have real careers and—and—and do big things in the world, and as a result of that, the community began to age, if you will, and certainly after the Civil Rights Movement and—and moving forward, many more of our young people are moving away, because they feel that they don’t have access or they can’t make it in this area in—in—in Winter Park, you know?
It’s been a painful process for them. Generally, uh, when you’re talking gentrification, between the original people who were in a place, and the wealthier people who come into the place, there’s usually a group—a group in between, but for us, we went—we went—we went right from, um, families being displaced to a business area that really doesn’t have any services that local people find of service to themselves. So gentrification’s been a hurtful process, because when people come in to redevelop, they don’t come in to redevelop for the people who are there. They don’t get input from the people in the community, because that’s not what’s gonna drive the dollar, you know? Nobody’s gonna come in and put in affordable housing or affordable rental units outside of a group such as Habitat for Humanity, who’s doing a great job, and the Hannibal Square Community Land Trust. Uh, people felt that they were just pushed aside, and the most painful thing was the picture that was painted of the neighborhood. That’s what they did. They just [inaudible] and made it like a noose, and put it around the necks of the people in this neighborhood, and pulled the chair.
See, some people have been injured over and over and over again. They were injured during slavery. Then, after Reconstruction, they were injured again, and then, Jim Crow came along, and they were injured. So they’ve been injured over and over, and when you keep injuring people, and they[?] don’t get a chance to heal, it—it can really do something to—to them. You know, even though on the outside, they look cold, and they’re moving forward, and they’re doing things, there’s still a pain in their souls that is just almost undescribable[sic].
Cravero
I’d like to thank our guests, Representative Thompson, Dr. Brotemarkle, Dr. Chambliss, and Mrs. Livingston for joining our discussion. I’m Geoffrey Cravero. Thank you for listening.
Lester
Thank you for listening to the RICHES documentary podcast. Feel free to contact us with any questions or comments on the program that you just heard. Please join us for the next episode, “[Episode 5:] A History of Gay Days.”
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